A Knight's Vengeance (42 page)

The thread snapped. Elizabeth groaned. She would have to remove the entire row of stitches and start again. How unfair, that the rogue should be able to rattle her thoughts, when he was not even in the hall.

The servants delayed the evening meal until Geoffrey's return. As the sun's rays lengthened on the walls, Elizabeth heard his unmistakable laughter echo in the forebuilding. Her hand stilled. A thrill of joy and then dread washed through her.

When Dominic and Geoffrey strode into hall, discussing the harvest, she did not glance up. She longed to raise her head and catch Geoffrey's smile, to see his mouth ease into that devastating grin just for her. But she could not bring herself to look him in the eyes. Jealousy chafed like a new wound. How could she look at him, when he had spent the day with Veronique?

As the men's conversation continued, she blew a sigh. Thank the saints he had not seen her by the fire.

The voices stopped. Her relief fled.

Bold footsteps approached.
Halted.
A broad, tanned hand curled over the arm of her chair. "Damsel," Geoffrey murmured near her ear.

His husky voice sent her pulse pounding with delight. How foolish, that her heart beat so. "Milord," she said, and refused to glance up from inspecting her stitches.

"You have accomplished much today . . ." he said, trailing a finger over the silk.

The slow touch triggered the memory of his hands on her skin, exploring and caressing. Fierce passion ignited, and she could think of naught but him and the pleasure he had shown her.

He was still speaking. ". . .
you
have done excellent work."

She shrugged aside her sinful thoughts. "I had no distractions today, milord, to keep me from my work." Though she tried, she could not keep the venom from her voice.

"You are angry with me?"

Her lashes shot up. A curious smile hovered on his lips. His windswept hair curled over the collar of his moss green tunic flecked with dirt and grain husks. He looked rugged, wild, and very handsome.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, a silent kiss. When he handed her a single, bright blue cornflower, her breath jammed.

Did he think she would not know?

She did not take the flower. She stared at her hands clenched into the trapping. "You must take me for a fool."

"Did one of the servants offend you?" His tone sharpened with each word. "Did Elena speak amiss when I sent her to you this morn?"

"Nay."

"Why do you not welcome me with your eyes?" His voice dropped to a purr and he brushed the petals against her cheek. "Did you miss me?"

She answered with an indignant snort.

Geoffrey chuckled. "Ah. You are annoyed because I spent the day away from my bed. And you."

"Cease!" Elizabeth stood and threw the trapping into a heap on the chair.

Geoffrey's eyes hardened. He did not look at all guilty, curse him.
Annoyed, confused, and tired beneath the smudges of dust on his face, but not ashamed.

He set the flower on the side table. "I thought that after what we shared last night, you would have softened a little."

"You expect too much."

"Why?"

How well he portrayed his innocence. His cool gray eyes hid a lie well. Elizabeth thought of him pressing Veronique's naked body down in a patch of meadow grass, his hot mouth on her skin, and fought a furious shriek. "You should not ask me why.
You
wished to spend your day with someone else."

"If you mean Dominic, aye, he came with me to the fields, but he always does."

"I do not mean Dominic," Elizabeth bit out.

"Then whom?"
He sounded annoyed and frustrated.

"Who else?"
Hurt ripped into her.
"The woman who throws herself at your feet."

"Veronique?"

"Do not sound surprised."

He frowned. "I have not seen her all day."

"Nor have I."

For a moment, wariness shadowed his features. "She did not attend the midday meal?"

"Please," Elizabeth muttered. "You need not spare my feelings. I am not naive. I realize last eve was no more than a meaningless—"

Geoffrey's look of pure fury stopped her. "You know naught
. '
Tis not your place to question me, but I swear to you, I did not spend my day with Veronique."

He turned to Dominic, who stood near a trestle table and looked baffled. It seemed the knight did not know of her and Geoffrey's liaison before now. "Find Veronique," Geoffrey said with a growl.

"She 'as gone ta market," piped up one of the kitchen maids, who was carrying in a wooden board laden with roasted hare.

"What?"
Geoffrey's gaze fell upon the small, dark haired woman who looked about to collapse in a faint. She dropped the board on the nearest table, scattering the dogs at her feet with the loud clatter, and curtsied.

"She left early this morn, she did. Ta
buy
rosewater."

"Veronique did not send a servant fetch it for her?" His stern, disbelieving tone sent the maid into another curtsey.

"'Twas such a foin day, milord, she decided ta go 'erself. I also overheard her the other week sayin' that the merchant in Branton sold her bad oils. She told me she wanted ta ride to the fair in Haverly ta see if she could buy better there."

"Haverly is a day's ride from here," said Geoffrey.

"Aye, milord."
The maid straightened.

"She went alone?"

"Nay.
Viscon went with er."

Geoffrey's expression darkened. "She knows I despise the man. Why would she—"

"Veronique also knows the roads are too dangerous for a woman to travel alone," Dominic said. "Who better to protect her from thieves and bandits than a skilled mercenary?"

"I do not like it." Geoffrey raked his fingers through his hair.
"'Tis not usual."

"
Today,
much is not usual," Dominic murmured with a wry smile. Elizabeth did not mistake his meaning, and blushed.

"Veronique knows not to test my temper." Geoffrey paced the floorboards. Rushes crackled under his boots. "When she returns to the keep, send her to me."

Dominic bowed.
"Of course, milord."

As Geoffrey swung back to face her, Elizabeth stiffened.

"Your jealousy is ill placed, damsel."

She plucked a silver thread from her sleeve.
"'Tis ridiculous for me to be concerned with such matters."

"Because of the melee?"

"Because you are my enemy."

A crooked smile teased his lips. "Did you ever stop to think, damsel," he murmured, "I might never let you go?"

Elizabeth forced a laugh. "You jest."

An indefinable emotion flashed in his eyes and vanished on his next blink. "Come, I am starving." He held out his hand to her. The dark haired maidservant hurried past and set the roasted meat, steaming bowls of cabbage pottage, and wine on the
lord's table
.

Elizabeth looked at his fingers, upturned in invitation. She could refuse, but she did not. She did not want to. His hand closed around hers, and he led her toward the dais.

The warmth of his touch coursed through her.

Bliss . . .

*
    
*
    
*

Arthur glared at Veronique sitting on the opposite side of the tent, which the men-at-arms had erected in haste by the side of the road.

The woman was as cunning as she was beautiful. She refused to divulge even a scrap of information until she sat in a comfortable chair, ate a decent meal, and drank a goblet of his finest French wine to quench her thirst.

Even Viscon indulged like nobility, though Arthur had denied the scum the privilege of dining in a private tent.

Bees hummed in the clover outside, making Arthur even more aware of the silence within, a silence the wench controlled. Veronique met Arthur's gaze. Her lips spread into a knowing smile, and she ran her tongue along the edge of the silver goblet, catching a drop of wine.

Arthur's patience snapped. He lunged to his feet and almost charged into the corpulent, wheezing knight who

staggered
through the tent's flap.

"Baron Sedgewick," Arthur said, startled. "I expected to meet you and your army at Moyden Wood. My message—"

"Was delivered as you ordered."
The baron grasped his chain-mailed side as though to relieve a cramp. Footsteps sounded outside, and Aldwin appeared thro'ugh the flap with a wine jug and goblets.
"Ah, good.
I knew I could count on you, squire."

Arthur frowned. "How-—"

Sedgewick poured and guzzled wine with alarming speed. "When the messenger told me of my dear betrothed's plight"—he belched—"and the ransom demand, I followed him to you post haste." He brushed sweat from the end of his bulbous nose and rolls of fat jiggled at his wrist.
"Poor, dear Lady Elizabeth."

"So this is the thwarted groom," Veronique drawled.

"Thwarted?" Arthur swung back to face her. "Explain."

"Who is
she?"
The baron's small, glittering eyes wandered up and down Veronique's figure. She had shed the mantle, revealing voluptuous curves encased in silk. A fresh sheen shimmered on the baron's brow.

"Veronique," Arthur said through his teeth. "She is de Lanceau's courtesan."

"Was"
she corrected with a smooth toss of her chestnut
curls.
"Another has taken my place."