A Knight's Vengeance (28 page)

"King Richard will never accept your siege of Wode," she said in a hushed tone.

Geoffrey did not stir.

"What you intend is suicide, for my father has the favor of the king. Your attack will be viewed as an act of treason.
The crown will send an army to Wode and reclaim the keep, and you will die in dishonor like your father."

Geoffrey's head tilted. Hair slid down over his brow as he met her gaze. "King Richard has not returned from Crusade. He may be dead. If that is true, his brother John will inherit the throne. The dawn of a new king is the perfect opportunity to secure what is mine." Brutal determination rang in his voice.

"You will seek the favor of John Lackland?" she said.

"I will earn it. I have much to offer in exchange."

"You jest. What can you offer a king that is beyond his sovereign power?"

"Cloth."

She arched an eyebrow.
"Cloth?"

Nodding, he faced her. "You think me a fool. What if I turned half of Wode's farmlands into pasture?"

"Your villeins would starve." When his lips curved in a disbelieving smile, she snapped, "You have forgotten drought, disease, and plagues of insects. In good years, they threaten the harvests and lessen what is stored for the cold months. In the worst. . ." She remembered the harsh winter seven years ago. "Then, there is naught, for lord or peasant alike."

His smile widened. "Shrewd thoughts, milady, yet I vow I would become a rich man. With that much pastureland, I could raise thousands of sheep. Some would be killed for mutton, but the rest will provide wool. Wool woven into the finest, most sought after cloth in all of England." His
eyes glinted. "For a portion of the profits, I vow John Lackland would recognize my birthright to a keep ruled by de Lanceaus for over a hundred years. Well before your father wrested it from us."

"You cannot earn your riches, milord, if you have no means to market the wool."

He chuckled. The disdain in her words did not seem to bother him. "Well said. Yet I have contacts in France and the port of Venice, the center of the silk and spice trades. Good English wool is prized by the French merchants, almost as much as spices and perfumes. Where there is a demand, milady, there is profit."

She swallowed past the ache in her throat. His plans for Wode showed great foresight. He had
planned,
it seemed, for many years. Unable to school the bitterness from her voice, she said, "You will trade your sword for a merchant's tally stick? You are a hero of the Crusades.
A man of war."

He did not even flinch. "I am weary of fighting. When I ride into battle against your father, 'twill
be
my last."

"
T
rue.
"

His gaze hardened.
"My last, because I will triumph.
All that I have told you will come to pass."

He moved back to the table, picked up the jug, and offered her more wine. She shook her head.

Elizabeth shut her eyes against a sudden headache.
Demand.
Profit.
Revenge.
All of his plans hinged upon her. She was the pivotal pawn, his way to get his fortune and destroy her sire.

Fear cut into her soul. Her father would never agree to de Lanceau's ransom demands. Her father would die before he surrendered Wode. Battle was inevitable. Bloodshed and death loomed like a hideous, fanged specters, and here, snared in de Lanceau's grasp, she was helpless to stop them.

Her heart ached with a pain so
profound,
she could not bear Geoffrey to see it. Elizabeth pushed up from the chair. Ignoring his brooding gaze, she crossed to the windows and looked out. Thousands of stars sparkled in the sky and reflected back from the lake's glassy surface. How serene the world outside looked, as though war would never scar its beauty.

She sensed, rather than heard, Geoffrey's approach. His hands touched her shoulders, and she stiffened.

"Elizabeth."

Where he touched, awareness blossomed. Her traitorous body still craved him, despite all he had told her. Despite all he intended to do.

With a muffled gasp, she shrugged free of his hold. "I wish to go to my chamber now."

"You have not finished your wine, or the custard."

"I do not want them."

His breath warmed the back of her neck, and stirred the ringlets that had escaped from her braid. She spun around. He stood so near, her hand brushed his sleeve. Stumbling back, she bumped against the cold stone ledge.

A frantic cry warbled within her. She shut it from her mind. She might be de Lanceau's pawn, but she would not let him intimidate her. Her father refused to yield to a rogue, and so would she. "You may summon the guards now."

"Not yet." His rasped voice sent heat swirling down to her belly, and she swallowed hard.

"'Tis late, milord."

"Mmm."
His knuckles brushed her cheek. Then he cupped her face with his hand, holding her captive with a gentle touch. Moving his thumb, he coaxed her chin up, until she stared straight into his eyes. She could feel a tremble weaving through her, and his steely gaze flickered with a hint of regret. "Do not blame yourself for the
days
ahead, damsel. My battle is not with you."

His tender words rippled through her like water rings spreading across a still pond. How had he known her thoughts? She tried to squirm away, but he did not release her.

"I will not let you kill my father."

Grudging admiration softened his expression. He caressed her cheek.
"As you have said before."

"I will stop you."

"You cannot," he whispered without a trace of threat. His free hand skimmed down her side and brushed over her bliaut, near the small of her back.

"W-What are you doing?"

His fingers moved. He had untied her braid. "Such incredible hair," he murmured, and both of his hands threaded through her tresses. "I will never forget the day we first met. Your hair shone like black silk."

Her pulse thudded with a wildness that excited and terrified her. Mildred's warnings echoed in Elizabeth's mind.
"Stop.
I want—"

"Shh." He pressed his thumb to her lips. His fingers claimed a ringlet and followed its shiny length to where it ended at her waist. "You smell good. Eau de Cypress?"

She shrugged. "Elena poured the fragrance into my bath."

He inhaled a long breath, and then nodded. "I brought the scent from Acre. Once, a woman could win my favor by wearing it."

He leaned closer. His hands spanned her waist and warmed her skin through the gown. Desire rushed through her limbs. She must stop him, before he kissed her. Or she would be lost.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he breathed against the side of her face. His breath was a caress against her skin, and heat shot down into her quivering belly.

Reason nagged at her muzzy thoughts. "I must . . . return to my chamber."

He shook his head. "I forbid it."

"Why? What are you going . . . to do?"

His smoldering gaze turned intent.
Purposeful.
"What I have wanted to do all evening."

His arms went around her waist.

His mouth brushed hers.

Never before had she experienced such a kiss. His lips came down with the silken touch of a butterfly's wings. He did not aim to possess, but entice. He did not demand she kiss him in return. With each stroke of his lips, he offered an invitation, in an unspoken language as old as the first dawn.

Her body recognized that language.
Responded.
Her eager lips parted, and their tongues meshed.

Sensation shimmered, sweeter and richer than before. She must protest. Force him away. Her hand came up to push against his chest, but of its own volition, wound into his shirt.

She mewled, a cry of urgent need. Her body pressed against him.
Hungry.
Hungry . . .

He gasped against her lips.
Shuddered.
He broke away from her, swearing into the darkness, and pushed her to arm's length.

"Geoffrey?" she whispered.

Breathing like a winded stallion, he looked at her. Fury flashed in his eyes.

She touched her tingling lips, and struggled against an overwhelming sense of loss.

His mouth slanted into a mirthless grin. "You will not sway me that way, milady."

She blinked. "What?"

"You hoped to seduce me."

"Nay!"
She jerked out of his grasp like he had slapped her.

His harsh laughter grated like a dagger against stone. "You are quite the temptress, when you put a little effort into your kiss. You would put Eve to shame. How foolish of me, to think you were innocent of such methods of deception."