Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set] (7 page)

Geoffrey allowed both men time to stagger to their feet and reclaim their weapons before he moved forward. Then he stood, his legs braced apart, his sword at his side, waiting. The two men crouched and began to circle the warrior, and their puny attempts to kill him brought a smile to the warrior’s face. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Before either man could issue a scream, Geoffrey killed them with two swift slaps from his blade.

Stunned, unable to comprehend how the lord came to be there, defending her, Elizabeth could only watch in a daze. When Geoffrey finished the deed and turned his attention to her, Elizabeth felt her knees buckle from the power, the raw force that radiated from him.

“Come to me.” The harshness of his voice startled her. There was a different kind of terror pulling at her now, and Elizabeth couldn’t understand what was
happening. Shouldn’t she feel relief? This man had saved her life, killed for her. Perhaps it was because he was so much larger than she remembered, or perhaps it was because he had killed so easily, so effortlessly . . . so unemotionally. She was too confused, only knew that the danger was still there, clinging to the air, mingling with the scent of death and sweat. Tension enveloped both of them as they stared at each other. Elizabeth stood rigid and straight, facing the force that poured from him. Power. It was there in his stance, in his muscled legs braced apart in sureness and victory, in the tightly fisted hands resting on his hips, but most of all in his face. And the power drew her to him.

Elizabeth met his stare and slowly walked over to him. She stopped directly in front of him and waited. For what, she knew not.

Geoffrey’s body relaxed. Elizabeth could see the tension, the violence, evaporate. He took a deep breath and his eyes warmed a little. And the fear left her.

“I have just killed for you.” His tone was arrogant and challenging.

Elizabeth watched as Geoffrey cleaned his blade and then replaced it before she replied, “Yes, you have saved my life. I am in your debt,” she acknowledged, her voice soft.

“That is so.”

“But I have also saved your life,” Elizabeth added, “for I was the one who tended your wounds.”

“I remember,” Geoffrey answered.

“And therefore, you are in my debt, are you not?”

“I am your lord.” What was Elizabeth leading to? Geoffrey wondered. What was her plan?
“You
belong tome.”

Elizabeth didn’t answer, waiting for him to continue. A long moment passed and the lord frowned his displeasure. It would do her cause no good if she
alienated him, for her fate was in his hands. In truth she did belong to him. Was that all he wanted? Her acknowledgment that he was now her lord?

“You belong to me,” he repeated.

Elizabeth was about to agree when his hand moved as lightning to the back of her neck, his fingers locking forcefully in her hair. “It is I who decide your future,” Geoffrey stated.

Elizabeth frowned with frustration. He was supposed to be in her debt. He should be grateful, but instead, he was demanding that she acknowledge her position to him.

Geoffrey was not pleased; he twisted her hair until she cried out in pain. Still he did not relent, but pulled her closer until her chest was flat against the cold steel links of metal covering his. Elizabeth shut her eyes against the pain and the look in his eyes, her mouth tightly closed so that she would not cry out again. She was trembling inside but vowed he would not know of her apprehension.

Geoffrey stared down at Elizabeth’s face, smiling at the way she tried to mask her fear. There was a streak of rebellion in her eyes. He had not missed that, and it pleased him. He judged she would not intimidate easily. She was spirited and courageous, Geoffrey guessed, for she had lived outside the walls with only her animals for protection. ’Twas unheard of for a gently bred lady to do such a thing, yet she had done it. Stubborn too, Geoffrey knew, with perhaps a bit of wildness in her nature. He would tame the wildness without breaking the spirit. And the taming would begin now. His mouth descended to hers in a kiss that was meant to conquer. He would have her submission! He felt her jerk with the initial touch of his mouth, but he ignored her efforts for freedom, forcing her by merely tightening his hold in her hair until she opened her mouth to protest. And then his tongue invaded, tasting, probing, taking. His assault was not gentle, for
in truth he knew little of wooing the weaker sex; still, he made an effort not to overwhelm her. She was gentle-bred, he reminded himself, and while he thought to drug her with his sexual prowess, he soon found that it was he who was fast losing control. She tasted so sweet, so fresh, and when she finally began to respond, when her tongue timidly touched his, he felt a wave of hot fire race through him.

The effect on his captive was just as startling. Did she struggle? Elizabeth thought that she did, but when the kiss ended, she found that her arms were wrapped around his neck. Had he placed them there? No, she answered herself, she had done that herself. Her face rested against the mail covering his chest. Shame tried to claim her attention, but Elizabeth fought it. She had not forced his embrace but only submitted because of his superior strength.

She felt Geoffrey’s hand tighten and only then realized that his arms were around her waist. He smelled of leather and sweat. It wasn’t unpleasant to be held by him, Elizabeth admitted.

“Your kissing has improved, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey said against her forehead. A deep contentment he had not known before enveloped him; the feel of her against him was right, he felt it was right in his heart. He inhaled the fragrance of wildflowers scenting her hair and almost sighed aloud, his pleasure was so great. He knew he should let go of her and take a firm, intimidating stand so that she would well understand their relationship from the beginning, for he was her lord and she his subject, but he couldn’t seem to drop his hands, to erase the smile. He would have to guard against letting her know the power she held over him. It would most likely be his downfall if he showed her his weakness for her. He knew from past experience that the fairer sex could easily manipulate any man, regardless of their physical strength, if the man allowed it. No woman would lead him around by the crook of her
finger; no, he would do the leading, and she would be most thankful to follow.

“I was but curious,” Elizabeth stated, referring to the kiss she had stolen when she was caring for him. “I have not kissed much,” she added as she pushed against him to break the hold.

“I have no doubt that you are pure,” Geoffrey remarked, and Elizabeth noted that the arrogance was back in his voice. His smile warmed her, and Elizabeth returned the gesture. She would have to watch herself with this one, she decided. He had a way about him that pulled at her, beckoned her. But he was too powerful, too overwhelming for her likes, she reminded herself; he would be like the stone walls of her fortress, unbending, and it would do her no good to become involved with such a man. No, she could never allow such an attraction to nurture. She had no wish to be swallowed up by his strength, only to be spit out as a former shell of herself when he turned his attention elsewhere. She turned her back on him and tried to remember what they were talking about. Pure, he thought her pure, he had said. “How could you know?” she found herself asking, “that I am pure,” she qualified. She turned back to him and waited for his reply. Although she thought he had made the remark to ease her worry that he might have judged her wanton, she found herself irritated. Instead of being relieved that he did not think her a camp follower, she found herself somewhat insulted. Were her kisses so lacking?

“It was obvious, Elizabeth,” the lord answered. “Though to take advantage of a man in a weakened condition tells me much about your character.” He was teasing her, the laughter was there in his eyes. It surprised her, for she didn’t think he was a man who laughed much. She returned his smile.

She could see that the kiss had lightened his mood, and sought to take advantage of the moment. “You are feeling well now?”

“Aye,” Geoffrey replied.

“You have called me by my name, my lord. How did you learn—”

“It was easy to solve part of the riddle,” Geoffrey answered. “Still, I would like more answers. When we return to the manor . . .”

“I would . . . if it pleases you lord, I would like to talk with you now, before we return to Montwright.”

Geoffrey frowned over this request and then nodded. He walked over to the mud-splattered boulder adjacent to the hut and leaned against the edge, his long legs outstretched before him. He wasn’t aware that he stroked the dogs leaning against his sides as he watched Elizabeth. “Begin by telling me why you did not stay inside the walls. Why did you come back here?”

“I could not stay there with Belwain coming, I could not.” Elizabeth calmed her voice and walked over to stand between Geoffrey’s legs. She folded her hands as if she was preparing for her morning prayers and said, “It is a long story, my lord. Will you listen to me?”

“Aye,” Geoffrey replied. He was eager to hear her tale, to understand what had transpired at Montwright.

“My parents, my sisters, one of their husbands . . . all killed,” she whispered. “And Belwain, my father’s younger brother . . . he is to blame. He must be punished.”

“From the beginning, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey encouraged in a gentle tone. “Tell me what you saw, what you heard.”

Elizabeth nodded and took a deep breath. “I did not see them arrive. Little Thomas and I were out riding when it began. The family had gathered to celebrate my little brother’s birthday. It was a tradition,” she explained.

Geoffrey nodded and then realized that she was looking right through him, didn’t seem to notice his encouraging gesture at all. Memory had control of her mind now, and from the torment etching her features,
Geoffrey knew a chilling account was about to be told. He wanted to gather her in his arms, to hold her and offer comfort, but he sensed she would not accept his compassion from the way she held herself erect. Memory was taking her to hell’s nightmares, and all he could do was listen.

“My eldest sister, Catherine, and her husband, Bernard, came all the way from his holding near Granbury, but Rupert, ailing from liver upset, could not attend. He allowed Margaret to come, though . . . Oh, God, but if he had not been so agreeable! She would still be alive.” Elizabeth took a deep breath, a calmness setling over her features. She told the rest in a flat, emotionless voice. “Thomas and I came in through the side entrance, intent on changing our clothes before our mother caught sight of us, for we were covered with mud. There is a stairwell, well hidden from the great hall, with a tapestry hung over the door on the second landing. As I neared the top I could hear screams and shouts. I knew then something was wrong. I made Thomas stay on the steps and opened the door. No one saw me, but I could see everything from my position. There were bodies, dead, mutilated bodies, strewn about the floor like so many soiled rushes. Those doing the killing were dressed as peasants but they wielded their swords like trained soldiers. Several of the men wore black hoods to conceal their faces. I tried to find the one in charge when I caught sight of my sister Margaret. I saw her stab one of the men in his shoulder, and then run toward our mother. The man she injured followed her and plunged his knife into her back, and Margaret went down. I felt little Thomas against my side then, and turned to shield him from the view and to find safety for him. One of the attackers, his voice was somehow familiar to me even then, called the order to find the boy. ‘Find the boy or we fail,’ that is what he screamed, and I knew they meant to kill little Thomas. I had to protect him. He was now heir . . . I couldn’t
help my mother, but I couldn’t seem to move either. It was as if I was frozen in place. I just kept watching her. They were tearing at her clothes. My mother’s clothes! She broke away and raked her nails against the face of one of her captors. He screamed with pain and then the one who had killed Margaret. . . he came up to my mother with an ax in his hand. He raised it high into the air and the blade came down, down and across her neck, and her head, her head was torn from her body!”

She had never said the words until now. She wanted to crumble to the earth and die. The pain was so intense, the screams of her family so agonizing, so deafening, that she involuntarily placed her hands over her ears.

Geoffrey did not say a word. He gently reached out and pulled her hands from her face and held them.

His action helped Elizabeth gain control. She looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw the compassion in his eyes. “I don’t remember much after that. I took Thomas back down the stairway and we stayed there until Joseph found us and took us to the outside. We sent word to Bernard’s relatives and to Rupert.”

Geoffrey pulled Elizabeth toward him, wrapping his strong arms around her. He wanted to erase the horror but knew that wasn’t possible. “Did you recognize any of the men?” he asked.

“No, but the man Margaret stabbed . . . his voice was familiar to me,” Elizabeth suddenly remembered. “Blood covered his garb.”

“What of the other men? Did you know any of them?”

“No,” Elizabeth replied, her shoulders sagging.

“Your servant told me that you sent your brother to London. Why?” he asked after a time.

“I did not know what else to do,” Elizabeth said. “The law would give Belwain guardianship and I thought you old and senile. And I had no proof that it was Belwain behind the deed. My mother’s father lives
in London and I thought to keep my brother safe with him until I could find the proof. . . or kill Belwain myself,” she said.

“Tell me your reasons for believing Belwain is responsible,” Geoffrey said.

“He is the only one to gain,” Elizabeth began. “He was my father’s younger brother and lusted after Montwright. Father gave him a portion of the land for his own but Belwain was not content. Still, my mother told me Belwain used to be a merry man until little Thomas was born, then the relationship changed with my father. I do not know if that is so, for I was too young to pay much notice. I do know that last time my uncle visited my father they had a terrible argument and Belwain said he would never return to Montwright land. He threatened my father and I remember being frightened by his words, but my father seemed unaffected. I heard him tell my mother that Belwain’s temper would calm and he would become content once again.”