A Knight's Vengeance (51 page)

Disbelief and remorse jabbed at him like two cantankerous old crones. He had suspected Veronique could not be trusted, yet he had believed her lies. She had manipulated him, the baron, Aldwin, all of them. Aye, she had wanted the silver, but above all had wanted de Lanceau dead and his revenge forfeit.

Arthur shuddered. He wanted de Lanceau's death too. He had wished for it even as he heard his daughter confess she loved the rogue, and longed to be his bride. Part of Arthur felt numbed, betrayed. Was it sacrilege to hope Edouard's son never lived to claim Elizabeth's fair hand?

An image flashed through Arthur's mind, a knight silhouetted against the dawn sky, the young man who had bested him. Arthur recalled the cool calculation in de Lanceau's eyes when he demanded Elizabeth as his betrothed, an emotional blow that proved his ambition to impregnate her and beget a blood claim to Wode and all Arthur owned. Yet was that de Lanceau's motive? Or had something more glimmered in those gray eyes, something Arthur had not wished to recognize before now?

He folded his hands and warmed them with his breath.
And what of Aldwin?
In different circumstances, his actions might be considered chivalrous. Would he be executed for believing Veronique's slander, and doing what he believed was right? A moral dilemma Arthur did not want to ponder.

A heated argument started in the bailey. A moment later, the forebuilding's outer door crashed open, and footsteps thundered on the stone stairs.

"I tell you again, you are not to disturb Lord Brackendale," Bertrand shouted and lunged up the stairs two at a time in pursuit of Dominic, who had reached the top and was stalking across the hall. "If you do not stop, I will arrest you."

"Indeed," Dominic
said,
his expression savage. "If you insist on throwing yourself upon my sharpened sword, so be it."

As the knight marched toward the table, Arthur pushed himself to standing. Without missing a stride, Dominic dropped down on one knee and bowed his head in a gesture of respect.

Arthur sighed. Dominic seemed to be the most loyal of de Lanceau's men who had escorted the wagon bearing their lord. Since arriving at Wode, Dominic had slept in the stable with de Lanceau's destrier and refused to leave the keep until de Lanceau ordered him to do so, or died.

"Milord, I have
come
requesting news of my lord and comrade, Geoffrey de Lanceau."

"Again, I see."

Dominic charged to his feet, shedding bits of straw. "I beg
you,
do not deny me the truth." His eyes were bright behind a grazing of brown lashes. "Does he live, or is he dead?"

"At present, he lives. Yet his fate remains uncertain."

Relief softened Dominic's boyish features. "I would see him."

"As I told you yestereve—the last time you so boldly demanded an audience—Mildred advised against visitors. She insists de Lanceau's life depends upon it."

"You care whether he lives or dies?"

Arthur scowled at the challenge in Dominic's voice. "I despise de Lanceau. I loathe being responsible for his well-being. I do so because he is now rightful lord of Wode, and my squire committed a rash act and caused him injury."

"And what is being done about this squire?" Dominic asked, his hand settling on the pommel of his sword.

Bertrand reached to draw his weapon, but Arthur stayed him with a flick of his hand. Though Dominic looked irritated, he did not seem a man to attack without due provocation. "My squire's name is Aldwin," Arthur said.

"He—Aldwin—is in the dungeon?"

"For now."

Dominic's curse echoed to the smoke-blackened beams overhead. "You protect him? You believe he will be vindicated from a deed he committed in cold blood, before witnesses? If Geoffrey lives, Aldwin's life will be forfeit."

Shaking his head, Arthur set his hands flat on the table. "There are other considerations."

"Such as?"

"His reasons for the impetuous act," Arthur snapped. "I, for one, cannot blame Aldwin for being incensed by lies which I believed myself."

Dominic stood very still. "Lies, milord?"

"The courtesan, Veronique, told me de Lanceau bedded my daughter against her will. That he raped her without mercy or remorse."

An indignant laugh burst from Dominic. "You believed her?"

Arthur pounded his fist on the tabletop. Parchments fell to the floor. "Her lies confirmed all that I feared. He held my daughter hostage. He demanded a ransom. By God's holy blood, he wanted to destroy me."

"He did," Dominic agreed. "I will not deny his actions were driven by vengeance, but I promise you, his intentions toward your daughter were noble. Geoffrey is a man of deep passions, but he would never harm a woman. Not one whom he admired." His mouth curved into a lopsided grin. "I believe they were destined to become lovers. They are well matched in strength of will and temperament, and in all the ways that matter between a man and a woman."

Misgiving skittered through Arthur. "How do you know this?"

Dominic grinned. "Have you ever paid homage to a demented boar?"

Arthur shook his head, refusing to digress into metaphor. "Does he love my daughter?"

"That is a question to ask of him, though I expect you know the answer."

Arthur rubbed his aching forehead. Ask de Lanceau how he felt about Elizabeth? Would the humiliations never cease?

"Milord," said Dominic, crossing his arms over his wool jerkin, "what, may I ask, became of Veronique after she told these lies? Is she sequestered at Wode? Enjoying the luxury of this fine keep and your protection?"

Arthur snorted and eased the weight on his wounded leg. "I have not seen her since we besieged Branton and I paid her the rest of her silver. I imagine she has ridden out of Moydenshire and either seeks another lord to cheat, or has booked passage on a ship to the continent to be as far from here as possible."

Dominic grunted. "She is hardly wallowing in guilt."

"Of that, I have no doubt."

Wry laughter gleamed in Dominic's eyes. For a moment, Arthur and he shared a smile.

"Your mouth must be dry from all that blustering," Arthur said after a silence.

Dominic
nodded,
his gaze wary. "'Tis somewhat parched."

With one swipe of his arm, Arthur launched the remaining documents onto the rushes. Ignoring Bertrand's stunned gasp, Arthur drew out a chair and looked at Dominic. "I am ignorant of what happened at Branton Keep during my daughter's abduction. Indeed, I know little of Geoffrey de Lanceau, but that in his youth he served as page to the Earl of Druentwode. You will enlighten me."

"'Twill
take
more than one mug of your stoutest ale to quench my thirst, or loosen my tongue," Dominic muttered.

Arthur laughed. "That is a challenge I am prepared to win." He looked at Bertrand, standing beside the table. "Tell the maidservants to bring spiced wine."

"Aye, milord."

Bertrand's strides faded from the hall, and Arthur sat. Despite his overindulgence yestereve, he needed the wine to dull his body's aches and strained nerves.

No sooner had Dominic rounded the table than Bertrand returned.

"What is it now?" Arthur called to him.

Halting, Bertrand bowed.
"A rider from Tillenham, milord.
He says the matter is urgent."

"Tillenham?"
The pounding in Arthur's head intensified. "Send him in."

*
    
*
    
*

Elizabeth jolted out of slumber. She jerked upright. Her calves hit the hard chair rail and with a groan, she realized she had fallen asleep by the fire in Geoffrey's chamber, as she embroidered his father's saddle trapping.

Torn between the mending, which was almost completed, and the gowns for the orphans, she had chosen to finish the task for Geoffrey. The decision was not easy, yet in her heart, she sensed her mother would agree. With each loving stitch that restored the emblem of the hawk, Elizabeth wished for Geoffrey to heal. He must see for himself the trapping's renewed beauty. She hoped he would be pleased.

A hoarse cry shattered the silence. Geoffrey's harsh, frantic breaths echoed in the chamber.
"Nay!"

She leapt to her feet. Was he waking?

Setting the trapping on the chair, she ran to his side. His eyes were closed. His hair formed sweaty whorls against his cheeks. As his head thrashed from side to side on the pillow, his neck muscles bunched and corded.

"Father," he moaned.

"Geoffrey?" She clutched his hand.

"He is delirious." Mildred drew the stoppered flask from her basket. "Lift his head. We must give him more elixir."

Elizabeth struggled to part his lips. He fought her, strong despite his
injury,
and she willed him to cease for a moment and let them help him fight his demons. At last, Mildred managed to pour more of the tonic into his mouth. He thrashed, struggled, then quieted on a low sob and fell into a fitful sleep.

"Will he be all right?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do not know." The matron moistened a linen cloth in cool water and wiped sweat from his face. "He is fighting, milady. But I do not know whether 'twill
be
enough."