A Knight's Vengeance (56 page)

"She is embroidering clothes for the children in the local orphanage. A special donation to commemorate her mother and sister's passing a year ago. She was working on this when you abducted her."

Guilt wove through Geoffrey. "I see." He looked at Elizabeth, but she was picking threads from her bliaut.

"The new project," Dominic said, "is a banner to honor you.

Geoffrey raised his eyebrows.

Elizabeth looked up and giggled. Mischief warmed her eyes.

Dominic's hand moved in the air as he rendered an invisible picture. "The banner will feature a silver shield on blue silk. In the center, she will stitch a great boar, with its lips curled back in a ferocious scowl."

Geoffrey was not sure whether to laugh or groan.
"A boar?"

"A demented boar."
Dominic beamed.
"A grand idea, aye?"

*
    
*
    
*

"His strength is returning at a remarkable rate," Mildred said three days later. She stood at Geoffrey's bedside, stirring an herbal infusion into a goblet of red wine.
"'Tis not surprising, Lord Brackendale, since he does whatever I tell him and is basking in all the attention."

Arthur grunted. He stood leaning his shoulder against the wall, as far as he could be from Geoffrey in the room, Elizabeth noted. Although news of Geoffrey's awakening had spread throughout the keep, her father had not revisited the chamber until this morn. He did not look at all pleased by Mildred's good news. In fact, his forbidding frown seemed to deepen.

Blankets rustled, and Elizabeth looked over at Geoffrey. He grinned at her, and awareness and happiness swooped through her in a giddy rush.

"How could I not recover," he murmured, "with my betrothed's tender ministrations, and when your medicine is delivered in such exceptional syrup." When Mildred lowered the goblet to his mouth, he took an obedient sip.
"Delicious but for the musky aftertaste."

The healer shrugged. "The servants tell me there are ten barrels of this wine in the storage cellar. I cannot imagine a jug or two will be missed."

"You give him the
Bordeaux
?" Arthur growled.

Geoffrey's eyes brightened. "Bordeaux?
Mmm."

"That wine cost Sedgewick a great deal of coin," Arthur said, his face reddening. "'Twas for Elizabeth's wedding."

Elizabeth set down the child's chemise she was embroidering. Whatever her father and Geoffrey had still to discuss between them, those matters were best left until Geoffrey's wounds had improved. "Father, please."

Geoffrey's gaze sharpened. "What wedding?"

Arthur shoved away from the wall. "The marriage planned between my daughter and the baron before you chose to wreak vengeance. The one Sedgewick rescheduled assuming you would be dead and buried."

Elizabeth feared to look at Geoffrey and see his fury. Yet when she glanced at him, his expression held understanding.

"You do not like that Elizabeth and I are betrothed."

Hostility flashed in Arthur's eyes. "You may have won Wode, de Lanceau, but I will not stay silent any longer. I am a man of honor. I will respect the agreements made during our fight, but it irks me to see you lord of what was once
my
home, drinking the finest wine in the keep, and being coddled like a hero." He dragged a shaking hand through his hair. "You have taken all from me—my home, my lands, my titles. Is it any wonder that I resent your claim to my daughter?"

Dread clutched at Elizabeth. Before she could try to ease the tense situation, Geoffrey said, "Elizabeth. Mildred. Leave us. I wish to speak to Lord Brackendale alone."

Elizabeth dried her clammy palms on her skirt, put aside the chemise, and stood. Mayhap 'twould be better if her father and Geoffrey settled their differences now. She took Mildred's arm and walked out.

The matron pulled the door shut, "What will they discuss?"

"I do not know." Elizabeth suppressed a shiver. Geoffrey either meant to reconcile with her father, or punish him for his outburst. Yet Geoffrey was still very weak.

Crouching down, the matron pressed her ear to the keyhole. "Harrumph! I cannot hear a word."

"Why do we not walk in the garden? I would enjoy some fresh air. In truth, I will go
mad
if I must stand here and wait."

"An excellent suggestion, milady.
A walk will stretch my old bones, and I shall gather herbs for a fresh poultice, too."

Refreshed after a long stroll, Elizabeth and Mildred returned to the chamber. The door remained closed.

Mildred crossed her arms.
"'Tis most peculiar."

"I agree." Elizabeth strode to and fro, racking her thoughts for a good reason to intrude. She had just raised her hand to knock when she heard a most unexpected sound.
Laughter.

The door flew open. Her father stood inside, his cheeks warmed by a hearty grin and the effects of at least one goblet of red wine, held in his hand. Without a word, he took Elizabeth in his arms and hugged her.

"Father, what happened?" she asked, the sound muffled against his jerkin.

"All is well." He released her from his embrace, and his eyes shone. "I am to remain lord of Wode."

"You
are? Geoffrey—?"

"—told me all," Arthur said, "of his anguish over his father's death, his desire for revenge, the silk trade, his dreams for my lands . . . but most of all, of his love for you."

She blinked and tried to hold back tears. "What of Geoffrey's desire to reclaim Wode?"

"He ceded the keep and all of my titles back to me, provided he can ship his cloth up and down the river from Branton."

"'Tis wondrous news," Elizabeth cried.

"I suggested he petition the crown for Sedgewick's lands
. '
Twould be just for Geoffrey to be granted them." Arthur touched her arm and smiled. "He also told me of the garments you are embroidering for the orphanage. We both agree 'tis an excellent cause. Each year, from this year onward, we will work together to donate such a gift. Whatever you need now so you can finish—cloth, embroiderers, coin— you shall have."

Joy burst inside her. "Oh, Father!"

Arthur grinned. "De Lanceau will make you a fine husband, for a rogue."

Elizabeth hurried into the chamber. Geoffrey lay propped against a mound of pillows. He looked drawn, exhausted, but content. At last, his soul seemed to have found peace.

He smiled, and she bent down and kissed him.

"I could not take Wode from your sire and hurt you," he murmured, his breath brushing her cheek. "I do not think my father would have wanted it, either."

Tears streamed down her face. "Thank you."

His fingers caught hers. "We will be happy at Branton, you and I."

"Aye, we shall." She kissed him again.

Behind her, she heard Mildred s wistful sigh.

Through a haze of bliss, Elizabeth heard her father's footfalls echo out into the hall. "You there," he said. "Fetch another jug of Bordeaux. Fetch a whole case. Be quick about it. We have a betrothal to celebrate."

"There." Mildred gave the hem of Elizabeth's bliaut one last tug and pushed to a stand. Her mouth quivered with a watery smile.
"Oh, milady."

Elizabeth laughed and twirled around, sending yards of fabric floating in a cloud around her ankles. She felt like a goddess. The air smelled of the apple blossoms crowning the veil over her hair. Shivering with delight, Elizabeth ran her hands down the expensive silk, and remembered Geoffrey's
  
determination to find the right color. Ivory, he had insisted, for the honesty of their love. Pietro, dear man, had searched every ship in Venice until he found it.

She spun again, slower this time, watching the silk shimmer in the sunlight. A pattern of embroidered roses scrolled along the fitted bodice, to which she had pinned her mother's gold brooch. The gown's sleeves were fitted at her elbows and
flared to her wrists, paralleling the skirt as it belled out over her hips and fell to the floor. As she turned, the silk rustled. Although she could not see them, Elizabeth heard the
tip-tap
of the slippers Pietro had sent to complement the gown.

Mildred blew her nose. "If your mother—a blessing upon her departed soul—could see you now. You look beautiful."

"I feel beautiful." Elizabeth trailed her fingers over the brooch, which her father had returned to her long ago. Indeed, she felt better than she had in a long time. No bouts of nausea. No hot flushes. No—

A sudden little kick sent her stomach muscles fluttering. 'Twas the fifth month she had not had her flux. She smiled and pressed her palms to her belly's gentle curve. The babe had inherited its father's restless energy.

"'Tis moving?"
Mildred asked.

"Aye.
Ohhh!"