A Knight's Vengeance (43 page)

"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."

"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.

"Harrumph! Do not scowl at me, milady. I do not

intend
to become besotted from this rogue's drink."

"I did not mean to remind you of your mother," Geoffrey said, his words soft with apology. His hand closed over Elizabeth's, and, together, they moved a pawn forward into an empty square. As they did so she wondered what had become of her mother's brooch. Would he return it to her now, if she asked?

He stroked his thumb along the sensitive curve between her thumb and finger, and the thought blurred. "Tonight, we shall celebrate some of the joys of life," he murmured. "Will you join us?"

She wet her lips. "Milord—"

He released her hand and snapped his fingers. The lutenist began a new song. A few of the servants started to dance. They linked hands, formed a ring, and stepped and turned. The lute player quickened the pace and pounded out the rhythm with his foot, while another musician joined him and drummed the beat on a tabor.

Dominic approached from a far table. "Will one of you beauties accompany me?"

Elizabeth shook her head.

Mildred pouted and took a big gulp of wine. "I am old enough to have birthed you. I know you do not wish to dance with a crotchety old woman."

"Age brings experience," Dominic said with a crooked grin. "Come, Mildred. Let us show them how 'tis done."

The matron cackled. "You are a charmer." Smiling, she struggled up from the bench, took the arm he offered and they strolled toward the dancers. As the clasped hands parted, Mildred and Dominic joined the ring.

Geoffrey propped one leg up on the bench and leaned sideways against the table's edge. "You do not enjoy dancing, damsel?"

"'Tis not right to celebrate."
Elizabeth sipped her wine, dark and red as blood.

"'Tis foolish to dwell on events that may never happen, or ones you cannot prevent."

He spoke of the melee. Refusing to meet his gaze, to let him see her uncertainty, she watched Dominic and Mildred twirl and dance. The matron's wrinkled face glowed with the effects of wine and good cheer.

"Dance with me, Elizabeth," Geoffrey whispered.

The decision was made for her. At that moment, the dancers separated and Mildred whirled toward the table. She grabbed Elizabeth's hand and pulled her toward the ring.

"Mildred, nay."

"Please, milady
. 'Tis most enjoyable."

As the dancers turned and stepped in exact time, Elizabeth found herself drawn into the momentum. The music quickened even more, but she sensed the rhythm and kept pace. The melody hummed in her blood.

She dipped and turned, her bliaut billowing at her ankles. She stomped on herbs strewn in with the rushes, and the blended tang of rosemary, thyme, and meadowsweet rose up from the floor. Her braid came loose and hair tumbled thick and wild about her face. Caught up in the swell of music and emotion, she felt more alive than at any other moment in her life.

Mildred grinned, and Elizabeth laughed. The dance quickened again.
Faster.
Faster she turned, whirling around in a blur of hair. She dipped, turned, and spun . . . until strong arms pried her from the ring and drew her into the stairwell's shadows.

With a raw groan, Geoffrey pressed her against the cool stone wall. His breath gusted against her brow.

"Ah, damsel.
What you do to me." His lips crushed hers in a kiss so intense, Elizabeth's knees buckled.