A Knight's Vengeance (25 page)

Her eyes shining, Elena came to the hearth. "Milady, the tunic looks new again. How can I thank you for helping me?"

Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand and trapped another yawn. She thought of the agreement Dominic had struck with her that morn which had brought her to the hall, and bit back a disappointed sigh. The rogue had never intended to keep his word.

Shifting in the chair, she eased the cramp in her bottom from sitting so long on a hard seat. With a rueful laugh, she said, "A hot bath would be wonderful."

Elena nodded. "I will fetch it."

Elizabeth almost fell out of her chair. "What did you say?"

"Milord told me to bring a bath upon your request."

"He did?" After their heated words regarding the trapping earlier, she had not expected him to follow through with his vow.

"Lord de Lanceau is a man of great honor. He would never break his word. Not a promise made to a lady."

"How chivalrous," Elizabeth murmured and glanced at Mildred, who arched an eyebrow.

"I shall send the bath to your chamber, milady," Elena said. "I will come and assist you as soon as I have fetched soap, towels, and a basin to rinse your hair." She curtsied and hurried away, murmuring under her breath and ticking off items on her fingers as she went.

At
the tromp
of approaching footsteps, Elizabeth stood. The guards had come to escort her and Mildred to their chambers.

After anchoring the needle into the remaining thread, she placed both on the table beside the folded tunic. She turned and hugged Mildred. "I will see you anon."

She drew away, but the matron took her hand. "I am glad he granted you the bath. The rogue has a heart, after all."

Elizabeth frowned. "We shall see."

A smile touched Mildred's lips. "I think we shall."

*
    
*
    
*

Geoffrey met Elena in the stairwell. Head down, one hand flat against the stone wall, she almost ran into him as she descended the spiraling passage.

"Milord."
She dropped into an awkward curtsey.

"You are out of breath." He squinted up at her through the smoky torchlight and wished he could read her expression. "All is well?"

"I fetch the lady's bath."

"She has finished the tunic?"

Elena's head bobbed. "You will be most pleased."

He stepped to one side and motioned for the maid to pass. Her footsteps faded as he climbed the last steps, two at a time, to the great hall.

Without breaking his stride, Geoffrey crossed to the empty chairs near the hearth. The garment lay folded on the side table, its design glittering in the firelight.

As he held it up for a better look, a smile tugged at his mouth. As he expected, the damsel had done well. Swallowing past the tightness in his throat, he let the tunic slide to the table.

His gaze shifted to the trapping, pushed to one side. He rubbed his fingers over the tattered, torn fabric. She resented his demand to mend it, but she had the'skill to stitch life back into the cloth, and make the embroidered hawk soar again. He trusted her to make it worthy of his father's memory.

To make it whole.

He lowered his arm and his fingers grazed the parchment tucked into his belt for safekeeping. Today he had learned a great deal about Elizabeth, and also the mother she had adored, a lady who had cared enough about her daughter to spend days teaching her difficult needlework. A vision of Elizabeth's tear-streaked face and anguished gaze flew into his thoughts, and a heavy weight pressed upon his conscience. He forced the memory from his mind.

A child's giggle carried in the hall, and he turned to see a dark-haired toddler dart behind one of the chairs.

"Roydon, come at once." Elena appeared at the top of the stairwell, her cheeks flushed and arms laden with linen towels, rags, and a cake of white soap.
"Roydon!"

Geoffrey grinned and pointed to the hearth. "There."

Elena saw him and attempted a curtsey, but the soap tumbled off her pile, followed by two of the towels.

Chuckling, Geoffrey rounded the chair and crept up behind the little boy who was crouched down, watching Elena pick up the fallen items. With a mighty roar, he grabbed the child around the waist and swung him high in the air. Roy- don squealed in delight, before Geoffrey set the squirming boy down.

His eyes shone with excitement as he stared up at Geoffrey.
"Again."

"Roydon," Elena said in a gentle but firm voice.
"To bed with you.
I have a lady to tend."

He stuck out his bottom lip. "Mama, 'tis not fair."

Reaching down, she took Roydon's chubby hand in hers and hurried across the hall.

"Elena," Geoffrey called to her.

She halted and looked back at him.
"A-Aye, milord?"

"When the lady has finished her bath, bring her to me."

"The water turns cool, milady. I will fetch you a towel." Elena set aside the lathered soap and pushed to her feet beside the round wooden tub.

With a reluctant nod, Elizabeth trailed her fingers one last time through the lukewarm bathwater. Candlelight winked off the rippled surface, and the scents of rose, lavender and cinnamon drifted up to her. Elena had poured the fragrance earlier into the bath from a glass-stoppered bottle, and, closing her eyes, Elizabeth savored the exotic essence that reminded her of far away lands.

When she raised her lashes, Elena waited beside the tub. "Please, you must not get a chill."

Elizabeth sighed. After rinsing a soap bubble from her arm, she stood. Water dripped from her hair and body. Shivering, she stepped out of the tub and into the towel Elena held out.

Concern in her gaze, the maid poured a mug of wine from a flask on the table. "Drink
. '
Twill
warm
you."

Elizabeth swallowed a mouthful, glad of the heated glow flowing down inside her.

Once dried, with a towel wrapped around her hair, she took the clean chemise Elena offered. The sheer undergarment was not cut from coarse linen, but fine silk, and felt as light as goose down against Elizabeth's palm.

"Whose garment is this?" she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Elena lowered her gaze. "Veronique's, milady."

"Why does she lend it to me?"

"I cannot say."

Memories of Veronique flaunting the gold brooch and her vain hostility whirled through Elizabeth's mind, and she wondered at the leman's motives for being kind. Elizabeth's fingers curled into the silk, and she drank more wine to wash down the bitter taste of indignation.

Dropping the chemise on the table, she said, "I prefer the one I wore before."

Wide-eyed, Elena shook her head. "'Tis a garment fit for your station, milady."

Elizabeth stared down at the gossamer silk and could not hold back a pang of yearning. 'Twould be wondrous to wear such a beautiful garment against her skin, and she could confront Veronique's motives when they were made clear.

"Very well."
Elizabeth set down the mug, donned the chemise, and then reached for the green wool. With a hesitant smile, Elena handed her an exquisite bliaut the color of the wild roses that grew inside Wode's bailey. Another of Veronique's garments. As Elizabeth slipped it on, she wondered again what the leman hoped to gain by her generosity.

Elena fastened the gown's ties, stepped back, studied Elizabeth from head to toe, and gave a shy nod of approval.

Elizabeth laughed. She felt like a lady again.

The maid dried Elizabeth's hair by the fire, and tamed it into a braid bound with pink ribbon. She fetched a small, round mirror made of polished steel. "You are beautiful, milady.
More so, since you do not require layers of powders and rouges."

Elizabeth stared at her reflection. The eyes that returned her scrutiny appeared wiser and more knowing than days ago. Her face looked slimmer too, mayhap because of the warped metal. But she smiled at her complexion, tinged with pink from the bath's heat, for the bliaut complimented her skin tone.

"You are pleased, milady?"

"I am." Elizabeth placed the mirror on the table. "Thank you, Elena."

The maid beamed. "Milord will be pleased, too."

Elizabeth's smile wavered. She did not wish to hurt the woman's feelings, but she did not care what de Lanceau thought. For the first time in days she felt relaxed, and looked forward to watching the sunset fade into the black velvet of nightfall.

Sipping the last of her drink, she skirted a puddle of spilled water and crossed to the window, the soft wool brushing against her heels. As she drew open the shutters, voices carried on the breeze, children reciting a bedtime prayer.

"I must take you to him now."

One hand gripping the cold stone ledge, Elizabeth faced the maid.
"Pardon?"

Panic swam in Elena's eyes. "Lord de Lanceau ordered it. He bade me to bring you to him when you had finished your bath."

"Why?"

"I do not know, milady."

Disquiet pounded in Elizabeth's blood like a drum. Mildred's warnings about ransomed maidens raced through Elizabeth's mind, and she fought for calm. "Tell him I am tired and have gone to bed, and he may speak to me tomorrow."

"A-Aye, milady."

Elena bent and picked up the soap. She was trembling. Did she anticipate a beating? Would de Lanceau punish her, and then send guards to the chamber to see his order obeyed?

Elena was a mere servant, after all, and 'twas her duty to obey the wishes of lords and ladies . . . but after her kindness with the bath, she did not deserve de Lanceau's wrath.

Elizabeth stepped away from the window and set down the empty mug. "I will come. I hope the matter is not important, and I may return here soon."