Knight's Vengeance

by Catherine Kean

  "Aye." Releasing Elizabeth's braided hair, the maid strolled to the bed and smoothed the mussed linens. "Dominic went with Lord de Lanceau to tour the estate today. Dominic refused to lie abed one more day, though milord wished it."

  Elizabeth chewed her last bit of bread. "What of Mildred?"

  "She weeds the garden. Milord wishes you to work on the saddle trapping."

  Elizabeth nodded. She was glad of a day's respite from the gardening and, as she well knew, he could have given her a far more onerous task than the embroidery.

  She sat near the hearth in the hall and left her chair once, to eat the midday meal. It seemed strange to dine without Geoffrey's bold presence beside her.

  Veronique was absent as well.

  As the servants chatted and cleared away the remnants of the meal, Elizabeth returned to her work. The torn silk shifted on her lap, and she straightened it with clammy fingers.

  She remembered the shock and loathing in the Veronique's eyes when the courtesan had walked into the solar unannounced. An unspoken rule, that Veronique laid absolute claim to Geoffrey's attentions, had been broken in that moment. Though Elizabeth had resisted him then, Veronique no doubt still held a grudge. The courtesan would hate Elizabeth even more when she learned Geoffrey had spent the night with her in his bed.

  Turning the trapping a fraction, Elizabeth began a row of stitches on the embroidered hawk's talons. The needle slipped between her fingers. Had Veronique gone with Geoffrey to the fields? The courtesan enjoyed freedom to roam the keep and its grounds as she pleased. Elizabeth's mouth pinched. Freedom was denied to her. Now, as she embroidered, she was watched by two guards playing a game of dice.

  Mayhap Veronique hoped to win Geoffrey back.

  Mayhap at this very moment, she kissed him full on the lips. Pleasured him. Ensnared him again in her lover's web.

  Jealousy uncoiled in Elizabeth like a hissing snake. She should not care at all about Geoffrey's affairs with Veronique.

  Yet Elizabeth could not bear the thought of him making love to the courtesan. Not after last night.

  The thread snapped. Elizabeth groaned. She would have to remove the entire row of stitches and start again. How unfair, that the rogue should be able to rattle her thoughts, when he was not even in the hall.

  The servants delayed the evening meal until Geoffrey's return. As the sun's rays lengthened on the walls, Elizabeth heard his unmistakable laughter echo in the forebuilding. Her hand stilled. A thrill of joy and then dread washed through her.

  When Dominic and Geoffrey strode into hall, discussing the harvest, she did not glance up. She longed to raise her head and catch Geoffrey's smile, to see his mouth ease into that devastating grin just for her. But she could not bring herself to look him in the eyes. Jealousy chafed like a new wound. How could she look at him, when he had spent the day with Veronique?

  As the men's conversation continued, she blew a sigh. Thank the saints he had not seen her by the fire.

  The voices stopped. Her relief fled.

  Bold footsteps approached. Halted. A broad, tanned hand curled over the arm of her chair. "Damsel," Geoffrey murmured near her ear.

  His husky voice sent her pulse pounding with delight. How foolish, that her heart beat so. "Milord," she said, and refused to glance up from inspecting her stitches.

  "You have accomplished much today . . ." he said, trailing a finger over the silk.

  The slow touch triggered the memory of his hands on her skin, exploring and caressing. Fierce passion ignited, and she could think of naught but him and the pleasure he had shown her.

  He was still speaking. ". . . you have done excellent work."

  She shrugged aside her sinful thoughts. "I had no distractions today, milord, to keep me from my work." Though she tried, she could not keep the venom from her voice.

  "You are angry with me?"

  Her lashes shot up. A curious smile hovered on his lips. His windswept hair curled over the collar of his moss green tunic flecked with dirt and grain husks. He looked rugged, wild, and very handsome.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, a silent kiss. When he handed her a single, bright blue cornflower, her breath jammed.

  Did he think she would not know?

  She did not take the flower. She stared at her hands clenched into the trapping. "You must take me for a fool."

  "Did one of the servants offend you?" His tone sharpened with each word. "Did Elena speak amiss when I sent her to you this morn?"

  "Nay."

  "Why do you not welcome me with your eyes?" His voice dropped to a purr and he brushed the petals against her cheek. "Did you miss me?"

  She answered with an indignant snort.

  Geoffrey chuckled. "Ah. You are annoyed because I spent the day away from my bed. And you."

  "Cease!" Elizabeth stood and threw the trapping into a heap on the chair.

  Geoffrey's eyes hardened. He did not look at all guilty, curse him. Annoyed, confused, and tired beneath the smudges of dust on his face, but not ashamed.

  He set the flower on the side table. "I thought that after what we shared last night, you would have softened a little."

  "You expect too much."

  "Why?"

  How well he portrayed his innocence. His cool gray eyes hid a lie well. Elizabeth thought of him pressing Veronique's naked body down in a patch of meadow grass, his hot mouth on her skin, and fought a furious shriek. "You should not ask me why. You wished to spend your day with someone else."

  "If you mean Dominic, aye, he came with me to the fields, but he always does."

  "I do not mean Dominic," Elizabeth bit out.

  "Then whom?" He sounded annoyed and frustrated.

  "Who else?" Hurt ripped into her. "The woman who throws herself at your feet."

  "Veronique?"

  "Do not sound surprised."

  He frowned. "I have not seen her all day."

  "Nor have I."

  For a moment, wariness shadowed his features. "She did not attend the midday meal?"

  "Please," Elizabeth muttered. "You need not spare my feelings. I am not naive. I realize last eve was no more than a meaningless—"

  Geoffrey's look of pure fury stopped her. "You know naught. 'Tis not your place to question me, but I swear to you, I did not spend my day with Veronique."

  He turned to Dominic, who stood near a trestle table and looked baffled. It seemed the knight did not know of her and Geoffrey's liaison before now. "Find Veronique," Geoffrey said with a growl.

  "She 'as gone ta market," piped up one of the kitchen maids, who was carrying in a wooden board laden with roasted hare.

  "What?" Geoffrey's gaze fell upon the small, dark haired woman who looked about to collapse in a faint. She dropped the board on the nearest table, scattering the dogs at her feet with the loud clatter, and curtsied.

  "She left early this morn, she did. Ta buy rosewater."

  "Veronique did not send a servant fetch it for her?" His stern, disbelieving tone sent the maid into another curtsey.

  "'Twas such a foin day, milord, she decided ta go 'erself. I also overheard her the other week sayin' that the merchant in Branton sold her bad oils. She told me she wanted ta ride to the fair in Haverly ta see if she could buy better there."

  "Haverly is a day's ride from here," said Geoffrey.

  "Aye, milord." The maid straightened.

  "She went alone?"

  "Nay. Viscon went with er."

  Geoffrey's expression darkened. "She knows I despise the man. Why would she—"

  "Veronique also knows the roads are too dangerous for a woman to travel alone," Dominic said. "Who better to protect her from thieves and bandits than a skilled mercenary?"

  "I do not like it." Geoffrey raked his fingers through his hair. "'Tis not usual."

  "Today, much is not usual," Dominic murmured with a wry smile. Elizabeth did not mistake his meaning, and blushed.

  "Veronique knows not to test my temper." Geoffrey paced the floorboard
s. Rushes crackled under his boots. "When she returns to the keep, send her to me."

  Dominic bowed. "Of course, milord."

  As Geoffrey swung back to face her, Elizabeth stiffened.

  "Your jealousy is ill placed, damsel."

  She plucked a silver thread from her sleeve. "'Tis ridiculous for me to be concerned with such matters."

  "Because of the melee?"

  "Because you are my enemy."

  A crooked smile teased his lips. "Did you ever stop to think, damsel," he murmured, "I might never let you go?"

  Elizabeth forced a laugh. "You jest."

  An indefinable emotion flashed in his eyes and vanished on his next blink. "Come, I am starving." He held out his hand to her. The dark haired maidservant hurried past and set the roasted meat, steaming bowls of cabbage pottage, and wine on the lord's table.

  Elizabeth looked at his fingers, upturned in invitation. She could refuse, but she did not. She did not want to. His hand closed around hers, and he led her toward the dais.

  The warmth of his touch coursed through her.

  Bliss . . .

  * * *

  Arthur glared at Veronique sitting on the opposite side of the tent, which the men-at-arms had erected in haste by the side of the road.

  The woman was as cunning as she was beautiful. She refused to divulge even a scrap of information until she sat in a comfortable chair, ate a decent meal, and drank a goblet of his finest French wine to quench her thirst.

  Even Viscon indulged like nobility, though Arthur had denied the scum the privilege of dining in a private tent.

  Bees hummed in the clover outside, making Arthur even more aware of the silence within, a silence the wench controlled. Veronique met Arthur's gaze. Her lips spread into a knowing smile, and she ran her tongue along the edge of the silver goblet, catching a drop of wine.

  Arthur's patience snapped. He lunged to his feet and almost charged into the corpulent, wheezing knight who

  staggered through the tent's flap.

  "Baron Sedgewick," Arthur said, startled. "I expected to meet you and your army at Moyden Wood. My message—"

  "Was delivered as you ordered." The baron grasped his chain-mailed side as though to relieve a cramp. Footsteps sounded outside, and Aldwin appeared thro'ugh the flap with a wine jug and goblets. "Ah, good. I knew I could count on you, squire."

  Arthur frowned. "How-—"

  Sedgewick poured and guzzled wine with alarming speed. "When the messenger told me of my dear betrothed's plight"—he belched—"and the ransom demand, I followed him to you post haste." He brushed sweat from the end of his bulbous nose and rolls of fat jiggled at his wrist. "Poor, dear Lady Elizabeth."

  "So this is the thwarted groom," Veronique drawled.

  "Thwarted?" Arthur swung back to face her. "Explain."

  "Who is she?" The baron's small, glittering eyes wandered up and down Veronique's figure. She had shed the mantle, revealing voluptuous curves encased in silk. A fresh sheen shimmered on the baron's brow.

  "Veronique," Arthur said through his teeth. "She is de Lanceau's courtesan."

  "Was" she corrected with a smooth toss of her chestnut curls. "Another has taken my place."

  "I care not for trivialities." Arthur took a determined step closer. "I have given you food and drink. I wish to hear of my daughter. Without delay. Or I shall have the information flogged out of you."

  Apprehension flickered across her painted features, but was repressed by sheer malice. "Be warned, milord. You will not like what I am about to say."

  "Tell me."

  "Very well. The wench Geoffrey de Lanceau has taken to his bed is your daughter, Elizabeth."

  Arthur's breath exploded from his lips. The baron looked about to topple over, but Aldwin reached out and steadied him. The squire looked shocked.

  "Why do you test me with falsehoods?" Arthur snarled. Spittle flew from his mouth with the force of his words.

  With vexing calm, Veronique sipped her wine. "'Tis not a falsehood."

  "Liar! Lady Elizabeth would never lie with de Lanceau," Aldwin shouted, his reddened face taut with indignation. "She is a woman of virtue and beauty."

  Veronique's angry gaze fixed upon the squire. "You believe he gave her a choice?"

  "God's blood!" moaned Sedgewick. "My dear betrothed, suffering such brutality." He gulped wine, half of it running down his chin and onto his mail and spattering on the ground.

  "I witnessed his cruelty with my own eyes," Veronique said. "She wept and screamed and begged him for mercy. He showed her none."

  Aldwin gripped the hilt of his sword with such violence, his knuckles snapped. "I will kill him!"

  Veronique rose from the chair, her bliaut rustling. She glided toward Arthur, and he tensed. The wench was not finished with what she had come to say. She halted a hand's span away, her sweet fragrance cloying in the confines of the tent.

  "I bring you this terrible news," she said, looking up into his face, "because I know Geoffrey de Lanceau. I know how he thinks and what he intends for Wode. I can get you past Branton Keep's gates."

  Arthur scowled. Why would she offer to help him? She owed him no loyalty. Indeed, he saw not the slightest hint of integrity in her gaze. "You can get my men inside the bailey?"

  She nodded. "'Twill be far quicker than a melee. By attacking de Lanceau without warning—with his hose down, if you pardon the crude phrase—your victory is guaranteed."

  "I have already issued my challenge," muttered Arthur. "'Twould be dishonorable not to fulfill the terms of that arrangement."

  Her laughter mocked him. "Qualms, milord? You treat de Lanceau with honor when he showed you none? After he deceived you and raped your daughter?"

  Rage surged inside Arthur like a battle cry. "You are so willing to betray him?"

  "For the right cause."

  "A price, you mean."

  She smiled.

  Arthur's mouth curled in disgust. Devious wench. Still, her plan held merit, providing he could ensure she did not deceive him as well.

  He motioned to Aldwin. Shaking his head, the squire stormed out of the tent and returned with a small wooden chest. He sprung the lock and raised the lid, revealing hundreds of silver coins bearing the stamped, curly-haired visage of Henry II.

  Veronique's eyes gleamed.

  "Is it enough?" Arthur asked. With immense effort, he resisted the urge to shake the greedy smile from her lips.

  "Aye," she murmured. "I believe 'tis."

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Your move, milady."

  Elizabeth looked down at the beautiful inlaid leather chessboard Dominic had loaned her earlier that eve. She had not played the game in months and felt much out of practice. Despite her claim to possess an old and addled brain, Mildred would win this one for certain.

  Sighing, Elizabeth propped her elbow on the trestle table, rested her cheek on her palm and studied the carved chess pieces. Geoffrey lounged at the lord's table though the meal had ended some time ago. She sensed his gaze wandering over her. Again. He watched her like a ravenous hawk.

  "Good man." He gestured to the coppery-haired musician who sat near the hearth, playing a lute. "Play something merry."

  The lutenist chuckled. "Merry, milord?"

  Geoffrey banged his goblet on the table, startling Elizabeth and the mongrel curled at her feet. "A song to lift my spirits and ease my loneliness."

  Curiosity nagged at her. Tilting her head, Elizabeth cast him a sidelong glance. Geoffrey caught her gaze and stared at her with such scorching heat, she blushed. Did he hope to resume their intimacy this eve? She shook the enticing, wanton thought from her mind and brought her attention back to the game.

  The musician's fingers flew over the strings of the pear- shaped instrument and plucked a familiar melody. Elizabeth recognized the song. Her mother had loved to dance to it. Her feet had flown over the floor as if she were weightless.

  Sadness weighed upon Elizabeth. Once returned to Wode, she must
make sure the orphans' gowns were embroidered and delivered as soon as possible, in honor of her mother's passing.

  "You seem leagues away, damsel." Geoffrey's voice came from nearby, and, as he sat down beside her, the bench shifted and squeaked. He leaned forward and his shoulder brushed hers in silent, physical communication.

  "'Tis the music. It reminded me of long ago."

  "Your mother favored this song, if my memory is correct," Mildred said with a smug grin. Elizabeth shot her a warning glare. Without fail, the matron's tongue wagged after too much wine.