A Dishonorable Knight - By Morrison, Michelle Page 0,67

gently-bred noble lady will feel when she turns to you only to discover your intentions were not honorable? She's not a serving wench you can romp in the hay with and then forget about. And though she's part Welsh, she lives in England and they are not so tolerant of love affairs and bastard children as we are. Furthermore, Gareth, I will not let you break Lady Elena's heart."

Gareth's head spun. "Bastard children? Have you lost your mind Bryant? I'm not interested in a 'love affair,' a 'romp in the hay,' or anything else with Elena. I'm just grateful to her for her help and trying to keep her from being more frightened than she already is." His words were true, and yet not the whole truth, but he refused to confess things to Bryant he hadn’t even had time to admit to himself. A new thought struck Gareth. "Have you more 'honorable' intentions than that?"

Before Bryant could respond, the door swung open, blinding the two men in the stairwell with bright sunlight as Gareth's father's voice said, "Come in boys and thank the Blessed Virgin Mary you're alive, son."

Bryant and Gareth entered the brightly lit room and Morgan hugged his son tightly. As his eyes adjusted, Gareth saw that the room was full of men of all ages. Some were sitting, others were standing against the wooden walls, but all had a look of strained impatience at the interruption and a reckless excitement in their faces, no doubt from the meeting's topic. Gareth and Bryant quickly found an empty spot of wall and leaned against it.

"Shall we continue?" said a well-dressed man with an English accent. His face was thin and bearded; Gareth guessed him to be Lord Stanley. "Fair weather providing, His Majesty will arrive sometime in August. You understand we cannot risk telling any of you where he will land. We can not risk him meeting Richard's men before he has had a chance to meet up with my forces and those you all will be able to muster. Again, for safety's sake, we will not give you any direction as to our plan of attack through England until absolutely necessary.

"What I would like to know is this: How much support does the Earl of Richmond, true heir to the English throne, have in Wales?" His steely blue eyes surveyed the room, carefully examining each man's face. A few of the men standing shifted their weight from foot to foot. Others dropped their eyes to the floor. Gareth knew that much of Wales, like much of England, was indifferent to the latest battle in this “War of the Roses.” Common men and women had been affected very little by the fighting between the Lancasters and the Yorks. To most, the battles among the two houses only affected them when it happened in their rye fields or over their vegetable patches. Otherwise, it was nothing more than a skirmish among wealthy gentlemen.

Scanning the room himself, Gareth knew that these men were thinking the same thing. Not many Welshmen would choose to die for a man who claimed the English throne when the next year a new contender may appear with a better claim. Someone cleared his throat and Lord Stanley's eyes narrowed. Before Stanley could say anything, Gareth's father spoke.

"The Welsh will fight for Wales. Should Henry Tudor swear to grant us more rights and freedoms than we've enjoyed under previous English kings, he will find his supporters here innumerable."

Lord Stanley's face flushed and he angrily asked, "Must he bribe you as mercenaries then? Will the Welsh not fight simply for the rightful ruler of all Britain?

Morgan smiled. "There are many men who would claim Richard is the rightful heir. Or the Princess Elizabeth herself. You will have a hard time convincing Welshmen to risk their lives for just another Englishman."

"But he is the grandson of Owain Tudor--a Welsh statesman. You all know that," Stanley argued.

"Yes," Morgan replied calmly. "But will he act like Owain Tudor's grandson? Will a Welsh king of Britain mean a Welshman will be equal to an Englishman? Will it mean the concerns of Wales be given equal consideration to those of England? Will a Welsh grandson mean Welshmen in English government positions?"

Stanley sat back, his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he studied Morgan.

"What I am saying, Lord Stanley, is that his name could be Llywelyn and the men of Wales would not