Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set]

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

  Realization dawned. Elizabeth looked back at her husband, her eyes wide with fright. He was referring to himself, by the name his men had given him.

  “Geoffrey, I would explain,” Elizabeth stammered.

  “Aye, you will,” Geoffrey snapped, trying not to grab her by her neck and wring some sense into her. He dared not touch her at all until his temper cooled and he was in control.

  Another screech from the sky drew her attention again. She watched her hawk circle again and again and said, almost to herself, “Geoffrey, something is wrong, else he would land.”

  “Ride!” Geoffrey’s command broke the quiet. Like a flash of lightning, he pulled Elizabeth into his saddle and threw the reins of her mare to Roger. He goaded his stallion into motion and Elizabeth held on for dear life as they flew into the forest. She closed her eyes and buried her face against Geoffrey’s chest so that the branches could not scrape her, though there was no need, for her husband guarded her well, using his shield to guard her against injury.

  When they neared the edge of the lake, Geoffrey called a halt. “James, take two others and ride back toward the road. Keep well hidden and report who passes.”

  Geoffrey watched three of the soldiers disappear, swallowed by the trees and the dense foliage, and then turned his attention to his wife. She still clung to him and Geoffrey reached into her hair and gave a hard tug, pulling her head back and her face up, just inches from his own. He knew he caused her discomfort from the way she held her lower lip between her teeth, and could well feel her tremble in his arms, yet it was nothing compared to the agony she had just put him through. “When I get you to my home, I will lock you in my room and throw away the key,” he vowed in a low voice, and from the look on his face, Elizabeth had no doubt that he would do just that.

  “I will not complain,” Elizabeth whispered in reply.

  “Whatever you decide to do to me I will deserve and not make complaint, though I wish you would let me explain,” she ended.

  Geoffrey was totally unimpressed with her humble acceptance of his threat. He was still too angry. “Why in God’s name are you here?” he asked.

  “I was on my way to see Rupert,” Elizabeth admitted. Her reward for complete honesty was another hard tug on her hair and she almost cried out with the pain.

  “It is fortunate for you that I was able to stop you, then,” Geoffrey said in a harsh voice. He eased up on his hold when he saw the tears in her eyes but his fury knew no limits.

  “But I was on my way home,” Elizabeth said.

  “You saw Rupert?” His voice sounded incredulous and he found himself pulling on her hair again.

  “Nay,” Elizabeth replied. “Geoffrey, you hurt me! Loose me and I will explain,” she pleaded.

  Geoffrey obeyed her request but promptly captured her shoulders in a tight grip. “I am waiting,” he said. His face was a mask, but Elizabeth could still feel the anger in him.

  “It is true, I was on my way to see Rupert, but I could not do it. I could not go to him. It would have been disloyal to you. And so I turned around and was headed home when you chanced upon me.”

  “Disobedient,” Geoffrey corrected, “not disloyal.” He let go of her shoulders and realized his hands were shaking. She would have ridden into hell had she ventured into Rupert’s web, Geoffrey knew. And he would thank God each and every day for the rest of his life that she had not.

  “No, Geoffrey, I was disloyal as well.” Elizabeth’s confession sounded like a tortured whisper.

  “God give me patience with you,” Geoffrey muttered. “Always you contradict me.” He shook his head and waited for her response.

  “I was not going to Rupert just to offer comfort in his time of need. No, my motives were selfish and sinful, Geoffrey. I grew impatient waiting for you to do something and decided that Rupert would champion my cause. I thought to tell him about Belwain, and in his grief he would not be so concerned about the law . . . and he would go to Belwain and make him confess.”

  Tears began to stream down her face and Elizabeth wiped them away with an impatient hand. She could tell from the look on her husband’s face that he was furious with her confession. He acted like he had just received a blow to his midsection, and Elizabeth cried all the more, for she was the cause of his anger, his pain. “I am guilty of disobedience and disloyalty and lack of patience. I admit to each sin, and will cut my hair and wear a peasant’s garb for a year if that be my penance. But, Geoffrey, last evening I knew I could not go through with my plan. I had given you my trust. By going to Rupert I would have been telling you that I had no faith in you. Geoffrey, I was so confused. I had made the vow to avenge my family’s deaths . . . and then I made the vows to you . . . and I did not know which came first. Oh, Geoffrey, I cannot be vengeful any longer. Belwain’s death will not bring my papa back to me. This constant thought of revenge truly goes against my nature.” She wiped her cheeks with the edge of her cloak and wished her husband would say something. Oh, how she longed to hear him yell at her. Anything, to show her she had not destroyed any affection he might have felt for her. “If you decide never to look for proof of my uncle’s treachery, then so be it.”

  It took Geoffrey a long while to calm down. He almost shuddered when he realized how close he had come to losing her. The danger! And she had no idea, none at all. That was probably his fault, he admitted. Aye, he too was to blame. If he had not been so stubborn, so bent on teaching her her place, none of this would have come to pass. Yet she had just admitted that she was on her way to another to champion her cause. How dare she? his mind demanded, when she had given her trust into his care. Aye, it was disloyalty, in thought and in action. He would have to address this problem, but not until he had time to think. It was unwise to make snap judgments and decisions, for they could well prove unchangeable. He needed time . . . time and distance away from his wife, to sort this confusion out.

  “Elizabeth, it was Rupert behind the whole of it.”

  She did not understand what he was saying. Not at first. She shook her head, trying to deny what she just heard. No, he was Margaret’s husband! He would not, could not. . .

  “He hides until the wound from the knife heals,” Geoffrey said, watching the play of emotions crossing his wife’s face.

  Elizabeth was too stunned to say anything. The enormity of the situation was too much to consider.

  Geoffrey dismounted and lifted her to the ground. “It is true. You would have ridden into hell and not known it until it was too late.”

  “How did you find out?” Elizabeth finally managed to ask.

  “From the moment you told me the story, I was suspicious of Rupert. The fact that he suddenly became too ill to accompany his wife to Montwright, that planted the seed of doubt in my mind. Then, when Elslow arrived, he told me that Rupert was one of the leaders of the rebels against William, though Rupert does not know that Elslow could name him traitor. The final proof came from the messenger, the first messenger. One of Rupert’s ill-treated servants let slip the news that Rupert’s injury was slow to heal. That bit of information, added to the fact that Rupert refused to answer my call. . . Aye, Elizabeth, he is the one behind the whole of it. I would stake my life on it.”

  “Dear God, he killed Margaret,” she whispered.

  “And you were on your way to confront him, weren’t you? You sought to put an end to this nightmare and end my torment. Geoffrey, I—”

  “I was on my way to challenge him, yes,” Geoffrey said, his voice hard again. “But not to put an end to your torment, wife. You place too much worth on yourself if you think you are my main concern. Rupert attacked what belonged to me, and your father was my loyal vassal. Montwright is but one of my holdings but I protect all I own. And I am loyal to all who place their trust in my hands. Your nightmare is your own, Elizabeth, your torment yours to keep. You are narrow of purpose, thinking only of yourself. Aye, you are selfish and foolish, and that is a most dangerous combination.”

  Geoffrey kn
ew that he hurt her with his harsh words but he was too angry to take them back. She had just admitted that she had been disloyal. Added to that fact was her foolishness in placing herself in such jeopardy . . . and all to go to a madman who would have taken great pleasure in killing her. He let his anger run free, knowing full well that his wife was the only available vessel for his wrath, his hurt.

  “What is my worth, Geoffrey?” Elizabeth’s softly spoken question took him by surprise. He had thought that his words would have angered her and she would have responded in kind. He found he was disappointed and admitted that he wanted a good fight. He studied her for a long moment, noting that she held her head up and her shoulders straight. There was pride in her stance, but no arrogance or anger in her gaze. Geoffrey looked into her eyes and could only read defeat there . . . defeat and sorrow.

  “Do not ask me that question now,” Geoffrey snapped, “else I will say something I may regret. You have the ability to make me lose my temper like no other.” Geoffrey clasped his hands behind his back, calming somewhat by her docile attitude, and said, “You do not fight with me and I cannot help but wonder at your motives. Perhaps you have realized that you have gone too far this time?”

  Elizabeth refused the bait. She could not handle any more harsh words. “Why Rupert?” she asked, changing the subject. “Did he also want Montwright?”

  “I think not,” Geoffrey said. “No, it was havoc he was after,” he concluded.

  “Margaret was so gentle, so loving,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head, “and he killed her.”

  Roger interrupted with a shout. “The men return, Hawk.”

  Geoffrey and Elizabeth both turned.

  The soldier called James dismounted and hurried over to his lord. “They come this way and outnumber us three to one. They ride from the east.”

  “Rupert?” Elizabeth asked her husband. She started to tremble and could not seem to stop.

  Geoffrey did not answer her. He lifted Elizabeth into his arms and carried her to her horse. Placing her in the saddle, he called to Roger. “See to her protection.” Pulling his sword from its sheath, he turned from her and began ordering his men into position.

  The sun was slowly slipping from the sky, casting a soft orange glow to the lake. Another half hour, and the woods would be in total darkness. Roger led Elizabeth’s mare away from the water and between two tall trees. He motioned to James again and two others and Elizabeth was surrounded by men on horseback. “Do not leave her side,” Roger ordered, and the men immediately nodded. “I know you would not,” Roger corrected when he realized he had insulted them with his order. They would die before letting harm come to their lady, just as he would.

  “God protect you,” Elizabeth whispered to Roger. He nodded and started toward her husband. And you protect my husband, she added to herself.

  The rebels could be heard in the distance, riding hard and fast through the denseness. They aimed for the water, to refill their pouches, Elizabeth thought. But she was wrong. One minute the only sound was that of hard-ridden mounts, and the next, the bedlam of battle. The enemy had ridden into the clearing with their weapons drawn; aye, they were ready for battle. Geoffrey and his men did not have the element of surprise on their side and they were outnumbered, as James had stated.

  As soon as the war cry sounded, the shields were up, blocking Elizabeth’s view. She listened to the screams and the clashes of iron against iron. She pictured Geoffrey injured or dead, and covered her ears with her hands. And then she could stand it no longer. She prodded the soldier blocking her view and demanded that he lower his shield so that she could see that her husband was safe. The trees and the receding light hid them well, and the soldier agreed.

  “They need your help,” she said when she saw the numbers. “Go and lend your skill,” she demanded of James. “I will be safe here with just one of you to protect me.”

  James needed no further urging. He was eager to do his part and agreed that the men could use his aid. He motioned to the others and all but one followed him, each giving the cry for battle as they rode down the slope with their weapons drawn.

  Elizabeth watched her husband as he battled with another. She held her breath when a blow just missed his stomach by inches, and then released it when he felled his opponent.

  Two others approached her husband, one with a lance and the other with a battle ax. Geoffrey made short work of killing them.

  Her attention turned to Roger, fighting against two men at the water’s edge. As she watched, another joined the twosome, and she saw that Roger was losing, and had no place to move. He was silhouetted against the setting sun, an easy target for the enemy, with the lake just inches behind him. Elizabeth frantically looked about to see if anyone was coming to Roger’s aid and then remembered the bow and arrows she carried. “Move aside,” she called to her one protector. She placed the arrow against the string and took aim, hesitating for the barest of seconds while she prayed that the rebel would stand still and that God would forgive her for taking a life, and then let go. The arrow whistled through the air and found its target, lodging in the back of the rebel’s head. Another prayer for forgiveness and thanksgiving for her accuracy and the rebel’s foolishness in not wearing a helmet, and she was ready to shoot another arrow. This time the weapon lodged in the back of the second rebel’s neck, and he fell to his knees, screaming in agony. Elizabeth told herself she was not sorry for it, as he would have killed Roger if she had not interfered. Yet her stomach made a lie of her thoughts, twisting and churning at her deed.

  Roger looked down at the rebel kneeling before him and saw the arrow protruding from his neck when he fell forward on his face. His curiosity almost caused his death. The third rebel took advantage of Roger’s inattention and rushed forward.

  Roger did not have time to do more than block the blow from the spear, sending it flying into the air. He was not injured, but lost his footing and fell backward into the lake. The rebel promptly turned and ran to fight another.

  “He will drown,” the soldier protecting Elizabeth yelled. “His armor will hold him under.”

  “He will not!” Elizabeth shouted the denial. Her gaze flew to Geoffrey. He would know what to do. But he can do nothing, Elizabeth realized as she watched him fight the rebels trying to surround him.

  “Do you have rope?” Elizabeth shouted. The soldier nodded and she said, “Jump into the water and tie it around Roger’s waist. Between the two of us, we will be able to pull him out.”

  “I too wear armor,” the soldier told her. “It would do no good.”

  “Then I will do it,” Elizabeth decided. “Hurry! Ride to the water’s edge with me and hold one end of the rope. When you feel a pull on it, drag Roger to the surface. Do not argue,” she screamed when she saw he was about to protest. “My husband would wish this.”

  She did not give the soldier time to consider what he should do, but urged her mount into action and raced to the water’s edge. She slipped off her mare and grabbed the rope. “Hold tightly,” she said, and then took a deep breath and made a clean dive into the water. The distance to the bottom was greater than she had anticipated, but she found Roger almost immediately. She pushed at his shoulder but he did not respond. Praying that she was not too late and that he still had air inside of him, she hurried to make a slip knot around his waist with the rope. It was difficult work as the mud was thick and resistant to her struggle to get the rope around the knight. Her lungs ached from the strain but she did not give up her task. As soon as she had the knot secured below the heavy chest mail, she tugged the rope and pulled on Roger’s shoulders. When she could not stand the pressure a second longer, she kicked away from the knight and headed for the surface.

  As soon as the soldier felt the pull on the rope, he began to back his steed, and within seconds the limp body of Geoffrey’s faithful vassal was pulled from the water.

  Roger was doubled over and the tightness of the rope acted as a squeezing vessel below his ribs. It f
orced great gushes of water from his lungs, and by the time he was dragged clear, he was coughing and sputtering.

  Elizabeth did not hear him. She tried to climb out of the water but was crying so hard that she couldn’t seem to keep a hold. She was too late! And now Roger was dead.

  Geoffrey had gained victory over his opponents and was on his way to fight another when he glimpsed Elizabeth just seconds before she dived into the water. He reacted with almost superhuman power then, screaming like a wild animal as he raced to get to her. His men saw to his back, saving his life countless times as he passed the rebels without a glance. And then the fight was over, the remaining rebels running to safety.

  Geoffrey was tearing at his armor, intent on diving into the water to find Elizabeth, when she surfaced just a few feet in front of him. Relief such as he had never known washed over him, and he found that his legs would no longer support him. He knelt down and bowed his head and gave thanks.

  Her soft sobs renewed his strength, and his rage. He thanked God that she was alive so that he could kill her, and shot up to his feet with a bellow of fury. “I thought you drowned,” he screamed as he hauled her out of the water. “I thought you drowned,” he repeated. He was shaking her as he screamed, and then suddenly stopped and pulled her against his chest.

  Elizabeth heard the agony in his voice and cried all the more. “Nay, Geoffrey. It is worse,” she said, sobbing. “It is Roger. He is the one drowned.”

  Her husband did not seem to understand. He began to shake her again, yelling at the top of his lungs. He confused her with his tirade. And then Roger’s coughs reached her and she began to cry louder. “He is not dead, Geoffrey. He is not! Do not be angry any longer.”

  “You are a stupid woman,” Geoffrey ranted. He pulled her against his chest and said something she could not hear, and then jerked her back and was shaking her all over again. It was as if he could not make up his mind. She started to cry again, uncaring that an audience had formed as a half-circle behind her husband, and tried without success to get the mass of wet hair out of her face. “I would explain,” she sobbed, wishing she could just find a place to sit and calm herself.