Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set] (5 page)

“Did I tell you that Herman has sent three men to Belwain’s holding? Mayhap they can gather the proof we need, for if they talk with Belwain’s servants . . .”

“Herman is a good man,” Elizabeth interrupted. Her voice was relaxed now, and the servant let out a little sigh of relief. “But I do not think Belwain’s servants will speak the truth. They fear him too greatly. Joseph, tell Herman I thank him for his effort,” Elizabeth whispered.

“He loved your family too, my lady. It was Thomas who freed him. You were just a babe and probably do not remember, but Herman will not forget the debt to the Montwrights.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth returned, “I have heard the tale.” She smiled and added, “I could not understand why everyone referred to Herman as the Bald, for his head was thickly covered with hair, and my father would grow quite embarrassed whenever I asked him the reason.”

Joseph assumed that she still did not know the reason, and blushed. He hoped she would not ask him to explain. It was a silly men’s joke and he certainly would not damage his mistress’s delicate ears with the truth.

The happy memory with her father helped to lift Elizabeth’s spirits. She whispered, “We will get through this, Joseph. Now I must get back to the Baron. Pray, Joseph. Pray Geoffrey heals. Pray that he will listen to me. Listen and believe.”

She patted the servant on his stooped shoulder and slowly made her way back to the bedroom. Her stomach was churning again and she fought the urge to throw up. The thought of Belwain returning to Montwright was overwhelming. Had there been no little brother to consider, then Elizabeth would have welcomed the news. She would have planned her trap, and met Belwain with an eager embrace, her dagger at the ready.

She would bide her time. Revenge would be hers. Her resolve kept her upright, her steps sure. It kept her sane, in this insane time, this insane situation. Revenge and her duty to her little brother. Only when her brother’s life was protected and his lands secure and only when Belwain paid with his life for his mortal sins could Elizabeth allow the abyss of desolation yawning before her to make its claim. Only then.

When Elizabeth opened the door to the bedroom, she found her two animals had taken up vigilance on either side of the lord’s bed. They had taken to the warrior, Elizabeth surmised from their watchful attendance. She resumed her seat on the wooden stool next to the bed and once again sponged the lord’s forehead.

For two more days and nights Elizabeth continued her vigil beside the lord. She changed his dressing countless times, saying the Paternoster twelve times each and every time she sprinkled marrow and sage upon the healing wound, just as her mother had taught her.

She took her meals in the room and only left the leader’s side when absolutely necessary. On one such occasion, as she made her way down the steps, she
spotted Thomas in the great hall. He looked up and gave her a glance, and in that fleeting second, Elizabeth recognized that he did not know who she was. She did not let that disturb her, for there would be time in the future to help him mend. And perhaps it was for the good that little Thomas did not remember. He too had seen his family murdered, and if God was indeed a good and compassionate God, then mayhap little Thomas would never remember any of what took place.

Elizabeth turned her attention to Joseph, standing next to her little brother. The servant looked pointedly at the boy and then nodded to Elizabeth. With a little nod of her own, Elizabeth acknowledged that he would do what was necessary, and continued on her way.

She had made up her mind that she could wait only one more day. Then she would leave. And tonight, while the soldiers slept, Thomas would be taken by Joseph. If only the Baron would cooperate! If he would just wake up and listen to her! With these thoughts Elizabeth returned to her patient.

Roger had taken control of the dogs, seeing to their food and exercise, a task he disliked immensely if his grumblings were any indication. The reason was the dogs’ strange behavior whenever Roger approached the sleeping knight. “They act as if
I
would harm my lord,” he muttered with disgust.

“They protect him,” Elizabeth said, smiling. She too was surprised by the animals’ obvious loyalty to the warrior and could not explain it.

Several times during the second day Roger left her alone with his lord and Elizabeth acknowledged that she had finally gained his trust.

It was the middle of the second night when Elizabeth, sitting beside the sleeping form, again took up the damp cloth and bathed his brow.

The warrior now lay in a deep, seemingly untroubled
sleep, his breathing no longer shallow. Elizabeth was pleased with his progress but thought that the fever still held him prisoner.

“What manner of man are you,” she whispered, “that so many are so loyal?” She closed her eyes then, for the quiet was soothing, but when she reopened them, she was shocked to find the warrior’s deep brown eyes intently watching her. Elizabeth’s reaction was instinctive; she reached out to touch his forehead. His left hand intercepted hers and slowly, effortlessly, he pulled her toward him. When her breasts were pressed tightly against his bare chest, and their lips were but inches from each other, he spoke. “Protect me well, nymph.”

Elizabeth smiled at his words, sure that he spoke with delirium.

They continued to stare at each other for an eternity of seconds and then the lord’s other hand moved to the back of her neck. With gentle pressure he forced their lips to meet. His mouth was warm and soft and the feeling was not unpleasant, Elizabeth decided. As soon as it began, the chaste kiss ended, and again they studied each other.

Elizabeth could not seem to draw her gaze away, for his eyes, rich and velvet and as dark as his hair, seemed to hypnotize her with their intensity.

Like a child who knows he will not be caught, Elizabeth grew bold and gave in to her innocent curiosity, carefully sliding her hands behind the knight’s neck to rest entwined in his hair. The softness against the hard muscles surprised her and she slowly began to massage his neck. Still they watched each other. If Elizabeth had been more astute, she would have noticed that his eyes were no longer glazed over with fever.

She made her decision. This time it was she who pulled him to her and touched his mouth with her own in a sweet, gentle caress. She did not really know how
to proceed, for she was totally unskilled in the art of making love and was much like a struggling toddler taking his first cautious steps as she experimented against his lips. A warm tingling sensation began to spread through her limbs and she enjoyed this novel feeling.

Her curiosity satisfied, she tried to pull back but the lord was no longer passive in her embrace. His hold tightened and he became the aggressor, his mouth suddenly hard and demanding as he forced his tongue deep into her parted mouth, bruising her tender lips in his assault. Elizabeth’s body reacted swiftly to his sensual attack, tentatively touching his tongue with her own in the beginning of the duel as old as time. It was an amazing moment. Feelings Elizabeth had never known she possessed fought for recognition, urging her onward in this new unsatiable quest. Alarmed more by her uninhibited response than by his assault, Elizabeth jerked back from his rapidly weakening hold. She fought to control the trembling of her body, rubbing her swollen lips with her fingers, looking everywhere but at his face, for she knew her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

Finally she willed her gaze to return to his face and sighed with relief. The warrior was falling asleep. Within seconds his eyes were closed.

With a soft laugh she whispered, “You burn with fever, my lord, and will remember none of this.”

To her consternation, the warrior slowly smiled.

O
N THE SIXTH DAY THE LORD AWAKENED.

The mist from the drug-induced sleep was slow to recede and in its wake, confusion and momentary disorientation clouded the warrior’s mind. He opened his eyes to bright sunlight and stared at the area visible to him from his position on his side while he struggled to remember where he was. It looked so familiar and yet so strange and new. A frown marred his rugged features as scenes of the battle flashed before his eyes, interfering with his need to know what had followed.

With a muttered oath of frustration, the knight rolled onto his back. A stab of pain, not unlike the initial thrust from the enemy’s sword, shot up his shoulder blades and he inhaled deeply in an effort to stop the tremors coursing through his body. The brief flicker of pain in his eyes was his only acknowledgment of the
injury, for pain was an accepted constant in his life. To give it voice was to weaken. Strength, invincible and absolute, was Lord Geoffrey’s power, and weakness, the hated antithesis, belonged only to lesser men.

“Welcome back to the living, my lord.” The gruff voice of his faithful vassal, Roger, removed the scowl of concentration from the knight’s face. Now he would have some answers. He nodded, noting his vassal’s haggard appearance. The proof of his companion’s vigil during his illness was obvious. His loyalty pleased the lord.

“What day is this?” Geoffrey asked, his voice rough from sleep.

“It has been six days since you were felled,” Roger answered.

The lord frowned over this information, glancing around the room once again while he formulated questions in his mind. The sight of the banner hanging above the hearth halted his wondering gaze. For a long silent moment, Lord Geoffrey studied the design. Suddenly the memory of his “vision” blocked all thought, all movement. She was alive, she was real, and the scenes of what had transpired within this room were as clear and fresh as the new day.

“Where is she?”

“You remember?” Surprise sounded in the vassal’s voice.

“Yes,” Geoffrey answered in a soft voice. “Bring her to me.” The terseness of the command after the gentle acknowledgment jarred Roger.

“She has gone.”

Lord Geoffrey’s bellow of outrage could be heard in the courtyard below, and was both intimidating and somewhat heartening. It clearly stated his displeasure over some matter, but also indicated that he was well on the mend. Roger took the verbal blows with practiced ease, knowing full well that the tirade would soon
end and that he would then be allowed the opportunity to explain all. Lord Geoffrey possessed a fierce temper that was quick to ignite, but he was a fair man. One only had to wait until the anger eased, provided one was courageous enough, Roger mused, and then state his case.

The command finally came. “From the beginning, Roger. Tell me.”

Roger’s narrative was swift and without interruption. Only when the telling was complete did he pause for breath, for though he had served his lord nearly five summers, it was a fact that his leader still had the power to undermine his ability to think clearly when he was as upset as he now appeared.

“My lord, I would have bargained with the devil, and met his terms willingly, to save your life.” It was said as a fervent vow, and Geoffrey could find little fault with his friend. His loyalty was absolute. “Still, I did try to find out where she lived. Yet everyone I questioned seemed not to know her.”

“Do they speak the truth?”

“I do not think so. I think they try to protect her, but I do not understand why.”

“The boy she asked about . . . bring him to me,” Geoffrey commanded. He forced himself to control his frustration and alarm. She was gone! Outside the walls, unprotected . . .

Roger hurried to the door and gave the order to one of the sentries. He then returned to the chair before the hearth and sat down. “The boy almost got away,” he began, shaking his head. “One of the guards intercepted the girl’s servant stealing away with the lad. I have questioned the servant but he will tell me nothing. I thought I would wait for you to make sense of all of this.”

“The boy will tell me all I need to know,” Geoffrey said.

“He still does not speak, my lord. How—”

“Do not question me,” Geoffrey interrupted, his tone sharp. “I must be certain.”

Within short minutes, the child stood before the lord. He showed neither fear nor timidity, meeting the leader’s probing stare with a wide grin. Geoffrey was amused by the lad’s fearlessness, for it was true that grown men were known to quake in their boots when Geoffrey turned his attention to them, yet this wisp of a boy acted as if he was about to break into a fit of giggles. He was dressed in peasant garb and in need of a bath.

The child wasn’t afraid. Thrilled was a far better description, for the man who had saved his life, the warrior who destroyed the band of men waylaying his protectors on the isolated route to London, was finally awake. The child’s memory began with Lord Geoffrey, and although the leader could have no knowledge of this fact, he was impressed with the innocent acceptance and trust in the lad’s eyes.

“You will not die now?” the child asked. Both Roger and Geoffrey showed surprise that the boy could speak, but before either of them could remark on the matter, the little one continued, “Everyone heard you yelling and they smiled.”

The child sounded so relieved and so sure of himself that Lord Geoffrey found himself smiling.

“Tell me your name,” he commanded in a gruff voice.

The child opened his mouth, frowned, and then shrugged his shoulders. His voice held surprise when he replied, “I do not know my name.”

“Do you know where you came from, how you came to be here?” Roger asked the question and the boy turned to stare at him.

“He saved me,” the child said, pointing at Geoffrey. “That is how I came to be here,” he explained. “I am to be a knight.” The boy’s shoulders straightened with pride. He had figured that out all by himself.

Lord Geoffrey exchanged a look with Roger and turned back to the boy. “Who do you belong to?” he asked, although he already held the answer.

“To you?” The child no longer looked so sure of himself. He clutched his hands together while he waited for an answer.

The nervous action was not missed by the warrior. He had rarely dealt with one so young, but the instinct to protect, to guard, pulled at him. “Aye,” he answered, inwardly wincing at the harshness in his tone. “Now leave me. We will talk again, later.”