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“I do not think that is any concern of yours, Grandmother,” Rhys said, drawing Elizabeth closer as they moved past her.
“It is if it involves the progression of our bloodline.” His grandmother’s eyes moved from his face to Elizabeth’s. “I hope you are capable of bearing sons, Elizabeth.”
Rhys tensed but before he could speak, Elizabeth said, “You shall have to wait and see. I will advise you to not harbor any fantasies because my parents never had a son.” She grinned. “I might never bear Guildford an heir.” The Dowager was left speechless at Elizabeth’s reply, and Rhys smiled, proud of his wife’s sharp wit.
“Did you hear that, Grandmother?” Rhys asked, opening his door. “Guildford might leave the Wallace line.” The Dowager’s hand went up to her chest as her face turned pale as ash. “Come, My Darling,” Rhys murmured, nudging Elizabeth into their chambers.
Once the door was closed behind them, he looked down at Elizabeth, searching her face to find what she was thinking. He did not find any hint of her being disturbed by his grandmother’s remarks.
She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “Are you going to show me these wonders that can happen between us, or will you continue to stare at me like that?”
He laughed at her sauciness and took her hand, tugging her close and kissing her with every part of him that had grown to care for and deeply respect her. She was everything he wanted yet never permitted himself to have. As he laid her on their bed and bound her hands above her head, he wordlessly made her a promise. No matter what, she would always have him, body and soul, and he would do everything in his power to protect her and make her happy.
Three hours later, Rhys left a sleeping Elizabeth with great reluctance and got dressed. She needed the rest, especially after what they had done, and the thought brought a lopsided smile onto his face. Webster, bearing a letter, found Rhys on his way to his study.
“This arrived moments ago from London, My Lord,” Webster said.
Rhys took it, expecting to see Paxton’s seal but found nothing on the wax. With a nod, he dismissed Webster and started toward his study, trepidation dogging his steps. He opened the letter the instant he was alone, and his jaw locked when he read.
Forgive my disturbance, My Lord, but I wish to inform you that I am on my way to Dorset. I must speak with you because London has become uninhabitable for me.
Sincerely, W. H.
Matters would appear to have gotten worse since his departure from town. Cold tendrils of fear captured him, and all he could think of was Elizabeth.
