Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set]

by Gentle Warrior:Honor's Splendour:Lion's Lady

  Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and gently removed her husband’s hand from her waist. “You will trust me as I trust you in this matter?” she asked.

  Geoffrey looked down at his wife and nodded.

  She turned away from him then and watched her uncle walk toward her. Roger was at his side, wearing a look of disgust.

  Her gaze was as cold as winter’s sleet, her eyes unblinking, as she studied her uncle. He was dressed as a rooster, in bright reds, except for the brown stain in the middle of his bulging stomach, and Elizabeth thought that he strutted like a rooster too.

  Belwain glanced at her and found her stare unnerving. He faltered in his steps and turned to look at her husband.

  “Good evening, Baron,” he said when he reached the table. He had to turn to his niece and acknowledge her, though he dreaded the task. “You are looking well, niece.”

  Elizabeth did not answer him, only continued to stare. Belwain cleared his throat and sat down opposite the pair. “My heart aches for your loss, Elizabeth. I, too, feel a great sadness,” he added in a hurry.

  A goblet of ale was placed before him and he grabbed at it, almost overturning it in his haste and nervousness. He downed the contents in two huge gulps and tried to cover the belch as he wiped his face with the edge of his sleeve.

  “Where is the boy?” he asked then.

  “You will not see him.” Elizabeth’s voice was hard.

  “It is past his bedtime,” Geoffrey stated, his tone almost pleasant.

  I cannot do this, Elizabeth decided as she watched the man sitting so calmly across from her. I cannot share a meal with this vile creature. She turned to look at her husband, willed him to understand, and then started to stand. Geoffrey would not allow it. He placed his hand on her shoulder and held her down, though to Belwain, who was watching the couple closely, it looked like an awkward show of affection on the lord’s part. Belwain’s eyes darted from one to the other and back again, his mind racing with his thoughts. Thank God I did not speak my true feelings concerning Elizabeth to her husband, he thought with a shiver. For some reason, the Baron has found favor with the bitch and would probably be outraged if he knew what I thought of her.

  Belwain looked at Elizabeth and smiled. What a shame she did not die with the others, he thought. Such a disobedient, outspoken child, always so unimpressed with his attempts to win her favor. She seemed able to look through his exterior, and know his hatred. He didn’t like her, aye, he did hate her . . . all of them, he thought. They were all trying to do him out of what should have been his. And when I am in charge here, she will be gone with the Baron. That, too, was a shame, he decided. He would have liked the chance to make her as miserable as she was now making him. To finally get even with her. He would wipe that expression of cold disdain off her face, skin and all, and then marry her off to one of his friends. Their sadistic ways with women would teach her a lesson she would go to hell with. His smile increased at his fantasy and he almost chuckled out loud. He caught himself in time and coughed.

  “Have you given consideration to my rightful re-quest?” Belwain asked Geoffrey, being sure to stress the word “rightful.”

  What request? Elizabeth asked herself. She turned to her husband and awaited his answer.

  “This evening is not the time to discuss the law and your request,” Geoffrey answered. He motioned to his servants and pointed to Belwain’s empty cup.

  Belwain knew better than to press his issue. He nodded his agreement. He could wait. And he would win, no doubt about that, he thought. The law was on his side.

  He looked at Elizabeth again and had to quickly pull his gaze away. She knows, he thought, but she can do nothing! His eyes became slits and his shoulders began to tremble with suppressed laughter. He felt himself grow hard with his thoughts and slid his hand between his legs hidden beneath the table linen. There is nothing she can do, he repeated as he stroked himself, nothing. You have no proof, slut, his mind screamed with glee.

  Oh, that he could tell her! Yes, he would say, I helped with all of the planning and more! It was I who gave the design and the flaws of your fortress, and my only remorse is that I could not be here when they were all killed. Still it gave me great pleasure just to hear the telling . . . such pleasure that it took all three of his male companions to catch his orgasms, one after the other. It was the greatest day of his life, he decided.

  He chanced a look at the Baron and his smile vanished. She has gotten to him, the whore! She has turned his head with false stories about me, that is why he looks upon me with such disgust.

  But no matter, he consoled himself. The law be the law, Baron. There is nothing you can do either; you are too honorable, he thought, and almost snorted aloud. You would have proof before you challenge or deny.

  Elizabeth found that she could not look at her uncle a second longer. She kept her gaze downcast and did not say another word until the meal was done. She refused to touch the food. It was tainted, with Belwain sitting at the table. She had no stomach for it but noticed that Belwain ate as if it was his last meal on this earth. And well it might, she thought just to ease her torment. Perhaps Geoffrey would change his mind, see that Belwain was the only one behind the murders. She knew she fooled herself, knew Belwain wasn’t the only one involved. Her husband’s reasoning made sense. Belwain was stupid, too stupid . . . but God’s truth, the waiting was becoming unbearable.

  When the meal was over and the table cleared, Belwain stood and strutted around the room. He grows more cocky with each drink, Elizabeth saw, and dresses the fool.

  She closed her eyes against the sight of him and wished it was possible to close her ears as well. The noise from too much drink was becoming deafening.

  And then she heard it. The laugh. It was more like a screech, unusual in sound, but one she had heard before, the day of the massacre. Her eyes flew open with the recognition and she tried to find the one making the sound. There were too many blocking her view. She would find him, she would, she told herself. She stood, jarring her husband with the force, but her eyes were not on him. She continued to search the room, watching and waiting.

  The sound issued again, and she found him. He stood near the archway, laughing, with a group of men. She memorized his face and sat back down. Outwardly calm, she turned to her husband and said, “By the door. He was there.”

  Geoffrey had turned when his wife jumped to her feet. He saw the paleness in her face, the tension in her posture. He felt like drawing his sword and standing in front of her, to protect her, but he could not. Not if they were to find proof. And so he continued to sit, keeping his expression almost bored if Belwain or any of the others should chance to notice his wife’s strange behavior.

  He was visually relieved when she spotted one of the attackers. He did not ask her if she was certain, for he knew she was. “Did I not tell you that your uncle was a stupid man?” he asked.

  Elizabeth could not answer. She kept her eyes centered on the soldier.

  “A fool would bring the very ones back into the nest,” he muttered.

  “He wore a mask,” Elizabeth said, turning back to her husband. “But his laugh was high-pitched and unusual . . . and I remembered it. What will you do now?”

  “I will see to it,” Geoffrey answered. His tone was grim, but his words told her nothing.

  “You do not answer me,” Elizabeth returned. She found that tears were clouding her vision and knew that she had reached her limit of endurance. She had to dab at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand to stop them from touching her cheeks.

  Geoffrey brushed her cheek with his hand and caught one of the tears. “Do not let him see you cry. It would give him pleasure and he would smile. And then I would have to kill him, and our plans to find the other would be at an end.”

  Elizabeth was overwhelmed by his tender words, his gentle touch. She looked deep into his eyes, read the tenderness there, and in that instant she glimpsed the inner man, usually so well hidden behi
nd the tough exterior.

  She was about to say, “You would do this for me?” but did not, for she knew that he would. Instead she whispered, “You forget yourself, my lord. I have told you that I never cry.”

  She gave him the gift of her smile then, and Geoffrey felt it was the finest of all gifts he had ever received. He had to stop himself from touching her. Lately, he realized, he found himself touching her, patting her, even kissing her in front of an audience. He knew better, but when she was about, he did not seem to care. She will have me acting like a pup following her about if I do not watch myself, and my men will no longer follow me. He cleared his throat to shake his thoughts free and said, “And you forget yourself, wife. I have told you to trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” Elizabeth said in protest, “and I honor your decisions. If I did not, Belwain would be dead by now.”

  Geoffrey had to smile. Her thoughts concerning her capabilities pleased him. He stood up and took hold of her elbow. “You have shown considerable courage tonight, Elizabeth, though I expected no less, you understand. Still, I would tell you I am pleased.”

  “So you have found something about me that pleases you?” Elizabeth remarked, agreeing to his lightened mood.

  When Geoffrey admitted that what she said was true, she said, “Then perhaps, since you are so well pleased, you will tell me what you are about to do with—”

  “I will tell you soon,” Geoffrey interrupted. “I must see to the necessary preparations first. Now I think it is time for you to retire. The songs grow raw and your presence dampens the men’s moods.”

  “Dampens their moods! You think I care that—”

  “The ale has loosened their tongues,” Geoffrey interrupted in a low voice. “And once you have gone, their talk will become more free, less guarded.”

  He was right, she admitted. “I will wait until you are done here,” she said. “No matter how late, I will wait up for you. And then you will tell me your plans?”

  “We shall see,” Geoffrey stalled. He walked by her side all the way to their bedroom. She did not try to kiss him when they reached the door, and he found himself disappointed. He had grown used to her inappropriate displays, and that puzzled him. But there wasn’t time to understand it. He had much to do, and before the night was done.

  Elizabeth found little Thomas curled up in a ball and sound asleep in the middle of her bed.

  “He calls out in his nightmares,” the squire named Gerald told Elizabeth.

  “Thank you for your assistance this evening, Gerald,” Elizabeth said. “I did not worry knowing that you watched over my brother.”

  The squire blushed with her praise. He offered to carry the child to his quarters but Elizabeth told him that her grandfather or Roger would take the boy to his room.

  When she was alone, she found that her hands shook. She took off her shoes and sat down on the bed to unwind her hair. Where had her grandfather disappeared to? she wondered. She had meant to ask Geoffrey if there was a reason for his absence during the dinner, but never got the chance. It was just as well that he had taken his leave, Elizabeth decided, and it was most probably his own idea. She couldn’t imagine him keeping his temper around her uncle.

  Her brother’s sleep became fitful. Elizabeth stretched out beside him and patted his back whenever he would cry out. Her voice seemed to soothe him and his breathing became more regular. Within minutes Elizabeth too was sound asleep.

  Geoffrey did not return to their room until the early hours of the morning. He found his wife asleep, fully clothed, on top of the covers, with her brother cuddled up to her side. He saw that she was barefoot and smiled. She seemed more vulnerable without her shoes on, he thought as he lifted the little boy and carried him to the door, where Roger stood, waiting. “Take him to his grandfather and let him sleep with him,” he ordered in a soft tone.

  He shut the door and turned back to his wife. She looked so peaceful, so very innocent in her sleep. He found it difficult to undress, preferred instead to look at her and dropped his sword in his clumsiness. It clattered against the stone floor, making a sound Geoffrey thought was loud enough to wake the dead. His wife’s only reaction to the jarring noise was to roll over onto her stomach.

  He finished stripping and began to undress Elizabeth. The small clasp on the back of her gown defied his awkward fingers but he persisted until he had it opened. Geoffrey paused in his chore to touch her soft, flawless skin, noticed that goosebumps appeared wherever he touched her, and most especially on the base of her spine. Elizabeth began to shiver and Geoffrey hurried to finish the task. He pulled the undergarments from her body and then had to pause once again. He grinned when he caught sight of the knife secured to her thigh, shaking his head at her precaution. She places great store in her own ability to defend herself, he thought, and wondered if she ever considered the possibility that the knife could easily be taken from her and used against her. Probably not, he decided. It pleased him that she thought herself so capable, but it made his work all the more difficult too. Weren’t women prone, by their nature, to swoon at the sight of battle, and cling, with gratitude, to their protectors? Wasn’t it a fact that they were weak and found their strength in their knights? Well, he decided, somewhere along the way, his Elizabeth had failed to learn this most important information concerning her nature. No one had instructed her, told her that she was weak and in need of constant direction. Odd, but that forgotten lesson pleased the lord. It was enough that he knew she needed him . . . even if she did not!

  After talking with her grandfather, Geoffrey had a clear idea of just where his wife had formed her radical opinion of herself. Aye, Elslow was quite a character, in both his dress and his mannerisms, but filled with loyalty and other redeeming qualities too. It is good that I do not judge a man by his appearance, Geoffrey thought, praising himself and knowing it.

  Geoffrey yawned for the third time. He was thankful that his wife slept, and had no wish to wake her. She would want her questions answered then most probably, and he was too fatigued to give her the long explanations needed. Under ordinary circumstances, he would not discuss such matters with his wife, but in this instance, it was her right, her family buried at the south end of the courtyard.

  Elizabeth shivered again. Lifting her, Geoffrey pulled the cover back and placed her beneath the spread. He found he had to discipline himself against the urges filling his mind and body when he touched her. She needs her sleep, he told himself even as he trailed his fingers down her thigh. With a sigh of acceptance, he turned back to his fallen sword. He picked it up and stationed it by the other side of the bed and then joined his wife.

  His back itched where the wound healed and he stretched back and forth several times before he got settled. He was about to pull his wife into his arms and let her sleep aginst him, but Elizabeth had the same idea and was quicker. She turned and snuggled up against him, throwing her leg over his thighs too quickly for him to dodge or protect himself. The result was a loud groan, as her aim was most accurate.

  Elizabeth tried to stop the giggle but found it impossible.

  “You are awake, wife?” The surprise in his voice made her laugh all the more.

  “How could I not be?” she asked him.

  “For how long?” he asked, pushing her onto her back so that he could look into her face.

  “From the moment you opened the door, my lord,” Elizabeth admitted. She grinned and tried to roll back into his arms but Geoffrey pinned her to the bed with his hands, a look of exasperation in his eyes.

  “And yet you let me undress you when you should have undressed me?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  “Is that another rule, husband?” Elizabeth teased.

  “It is,” Geoffrey announced. “And you have broken it.” His eyes teased, as did his chest, rubbing against her breasts in slow motion.

  “And the penalty, husband?” Elizabeth whispered, finding it difficult to continue with the teasing tone. His nearness was making her wa
rm all over, and she found she wanted him to kiss her.

  Geoffrey read the desire in her gaze and smiled. “I will let you decide the punishment, wife,” he said in a husky voice.

  “I shall have to kiss you, my lord,” Elizabeth said with a mock sigh.

  “And that is a punishment?” Geoffrey inquired with a raised eyebrow. His voice was gruff, his eyes full of golden chips.

  Elizabeth did not answer, only continued to look at her husband with a look that made the fire in his loins explode into passion. Slow down, he told himself, go easy for her benefit. He took a shuddering breath and rolled onto his back. “Then give me a kiss, Elizabeth. But first, first you must call me Geoffrey.”

  “Why?” Elizabeth asked. She leaned up on one elbow and considered her husband.

  “I like the sound coming from you, and you do not say it enough.”

  “As you wish, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth whispered into his ear. She pulled back, saw that he smiled, and was pleased. “And now I shall kiss you,” she told him. “Do I have your permission, Geoffrey?” she teased.

  “You have it, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey replied.

  “Then come here, my lord,” Elizabeth said, waiting. Geoffrey did not move. Elizabeth began to drum her fingers on his chest, but that didn’t get much of a reaction either.

  “I am too weary,” Geoffrey announced. “You will have to come here.”

  “Too tired to turn to me?” she asked, trying to sound irritated.

  “Aye, that is the truth,” Geoffrey said. “Besides, you are to come to me. Always, Elizabeth.” His voice grew intense and Elizabeth puzzled over what he was trying to tell her.

  Elizabeth sat up in bed and pushed her hair over her shoulders. Geoffrey had to stop himself from reaching out to touch her. He wanted her to be the aggressor but could not explain his reasoning, only that he wished her to take from him. He placed his hands behind his head and smiled at her.