His eyes did not have the intensity of Rhys’ brilliant blue, but they were nonetheless captivating and intelligent. He was tall with a muscular build that was both lean and powerful, and he had a smile that positively lit up the heavens; it was the first thing Elizabeau noticed when she saw a strange, handsome knight standing in the courtyard of Whitebrook. He smiled and all she could see was teeth. Rod was smiling broadly at his older brother, who walked up to him, grabbed him in a bear hug, and promptly threw him to the ground. Elizabeau gasped as the two of them began to wrestle in the dirt but it was clear that their antics were not the result of animosity. It was widely apparent that the brothers adored each other as they rolled around, mock-punching and trying to rub each other’s face into the dust. “You little whelp,” Rhys had his brother by the shoulder, good-naturedly pounding him in the chest. “I should have smothered you while I had the chance.” Rod was not as strong as his brother but he held his own quite well. In a slick move, he swept his legs sideways and took Rhys’ feet out from underneath him.
