Elizabeth nodded and started down the path. Her grandfather did not follow and she turned, waiting for him. "Grandfather?"
"You go on, Elizabeth. I will visit the graves first. I would say good-bye to my daughter."
Elizabeth nodded, knew that he needed to be alone for a few minutes. She motioned Roger to her side and walked beside him back to the hall.
"Is it true that my husband saved the king's life?" she asked.
"Aye, and he was only a boy at the time," Roger said.
"Tell me, please," Elizabeth asked.
"There was poison in the wine that Geoffrey carried to William," he said. "Geoffrey knew this as he had seen the deed done by one of the nobles. As he approached William's place, he tripped and the wine spilled to the floor. William was angry over the clumsiness and was about to punish the lad when one of the dogs began licking the wine from the floor. Within seconds the dog went into fits and died. It was obvious to William that the wine was the reason. He made everyone save Geoffrey leave the hall and then questioned the boy. The plot was uncovered and the guilty punished."
"Why did he not just yell out what he had seen?" Elizabeth asked.
"He had only been a page in William's court a short time, but already knew not to speak unless asked. It was a rule he would not disobey."
"Aye, my husband seems to place great import on rules," Elizabeth said, smiling to herself.
"It is the way of things," Roger announced, borrowing his lord's phrase. "Without rules there would be chaos."
"But being rigid at all times," Elizabeth began, "seems most predictable. Surprises are sometimes a nice change from the daily hardships. Don't you think?"
Roger glanced over at his mistress and shook his head. "Surprises imply that one is not prepared. Geoffrey is always prepared."
"Therefore nothing can surprise him?" Elizabeth asked.
"Nothing."
"You make my husband sound most predictable, Roger."
"It is a compliment I give him."
Elizabeth did not agree that describing her husband as predictable and rigid was a compliment. Rigidity left little room for spontaneity. No, it was no compliment, she decided.
In truth, it sounded quite dreary.
"And do all follow his rules, Roger?" she found herself asking.
Roger looked surprised by her question. "Of course," he said. "He would have it no other way. Nor would we! He is our lord, our leader."
"Do not frown so, Roger. I was not discrediting my husband or your loyalty. I merely wish to learn as much about my husband as I can."
Her explanation placated the knight and he relaxed his scowl.
She decided to change the subject and said, "Roger, I wish to thank you for your guard over my brother. I know you do this because my husband ordered it, but it must be a hardship and I-"
Roger coughed and Elizabeth guessed it was with embarrassment. "I do my duty," he muttered, "and would give my life to protect the boy."
Elizabeth smiled and knew that what he said was true. "My worry is lessened because you are in charge of him," she admitted. "Tonight-"
"He will be well guarded," Roger interrupted. "Have no fear concerning him."
"With you about, I have no fear. Thank you, Roger."
He was about to say that he did only what his lord ordered, but recognized the lie. He would protect
the
boy whether he was ordered to or not. Had not his new mistress helped him in his hour of need? When his lord lay near death and he had no notion as to what to do? And now he had an opportunity to lessen her fear. He could not refuse, nor did he wish to. She had captured his loyalty.
He nodded, indicating that he had heard the remark. Compliments make him feel awkward, Elizabeth decided. For that reason she did not smile or make a jest about his discomfort but changed the subject once again. "I fear my parents' room will be overrun with rats." She sighed and continued, "It must be made ready for my grandfather, and I am sure he has no liking for their company." Her chattering ceased when the only reply she could get from Roger was a recognizable grunt, telling her that he was not interested in mundane household matters, she surmised.
They reached the doors and Roger escorted her into the hall where her husband waited.
There were several of Geoffrey's men in the room, all wearing serious expressions. There was tension in the air and Elizabeth knew the talk was concerned with grave matters.
Later she would excuse her behavior on her nerves, the tension that was building up inside her over the coming encounter with Belwain, but that was only half the truth, she admitted.
He just looked so forceful standing there, so rigid. And those hands, those velvet hands he held in such iron fists upon his hips, as if he was just about to let go with some great wrath.
Oh, he was predictable, this new husband of hers, she thought as she stood at the entrance and waited for his attention. Predictable indeed. And that, she later told herself, that was the other half of the reason. He was so sure of everyone's reactions, and yes, their behavior too. He was
too
sure!
She was through waiting. She knew he saw her out of the corner of his eye as he listened to what one of the knights was saying. She tried to listen too, but the distance was too great and the knight's voice too low.
When Geoffrey nodded to his vassal, Elizabeth took that as his dismissal and started across the hall. He turned to watch her, his expression well hidden, as usual. Could he read the determination in her eyes? She hoped not, and suddenly increased her pace until she was almost running. She threw herself into his arms. Geoffrey's reaction was instinctive; he placed his hands on her waist to steady her, a most surprised look on his face. She saw it and was immensely pleased. I am
not
so predictable, she wanted to shout, not so easily molded, husband.
She was not done. Before he could mask his reaction and stand her away from him, she clasped her hands behind his neck and stretched up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek.
"Good evening to you, my lord," she whispered. She let go when she felt his intake of breath but continued to smile. Taking a step back, she tried to assume what she hoped was a subservient and obedient stance, though she had no previous practice in the art of docility, and said, "You wished to speak with me?"
The lilt in her voice, the sparkle in her eyes… Geoffrey felt as if the sun had just penetrated the walls, amazed at the joy she brought into the room. He glanced around and saw the soldiers watching and smiling.
He could not allow it, of course, should not, this independent streak in her, this need to disobey his most explicit order to behave in public with absolute decorum. Why, she was openly defying him! Aye, that was the truth, he decided. She wished to irritate him, but for what purpose? What was her game?
Her manner told him she awaited his reaction. He was about to chastise her with hinted threats he would carry out later, to give her what she expected. The teasing challenge in her eyes stopped him. It is what she expects, he realized.
His expression had turned back to the mask and so Elizabeth was quite unprepared for what happened next. Without saying a word, Geoffrey placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him. Her reaction pleased him, and he favored her with a smile of his intent seconds before his mouth settled on hers. It was no gentle kiss, not from start to finish. His mouth opened on hers, demanding a response. She felt overwhelmed and quite embarrassed, felt his hands holding her hips against his in a most intimate way. She tried to pull away but could not. He was too strong.
How dare he? she demanded as she tried to push his tongue away with her own, how dare he maul her like this?
Her anger kept her from responding for a time, but then that too dissipated, and the warmness of remembrance, last night's passion, filled her. She found herself responding in spite of her intentions. And that was more humiliating than being kissed so passionately in front of an audience.
Geoffrey found her resistance fade and relaxed his hold. He continued to take his fill but stopped when he found himself more affected than he wished. The taste of her was intoxicating, he decided.
He kissed her once on the forehead after releasing her lips and chuckled out loud at the dazed expression on her face.
"You forget yourself," she whispered in a furious voice, pushing at his hands, which still lingered on her hips.
"I never forget myself," Geoffrey answered, grinning. "You have indicated by your embrace that you have a desire to be treated as a-"
It was as far as he got. Elizabeth 's foot came down on his with a gasp of outrage. "Whore?"
she interrupted. "You were going to say whore? Well, you are very mistaken, Baron. I wish for affection and you give me a mauling."
He continued to smile and her temper exploded. "Fine, lord and master! I have learned this lesson. In future there will be no display of affection.
None
! I will give you the cold indifference you seem to wish."
It was a wonderful exit line, Elizabeth thought, but found that her husband disagreed. He wouldn't let go of her.
"I have heard of your temper, mistress," he said. His voice was gentle and soothing, the exact opposite of the anger she had thought her words would have caused. "Perhaps later we might find time to discuss this unladylike bellowing of yours. You are lucky that you find yourself married to such a mild-tempered husband."
She could only listen to his words with an open mouth, could not think of a single retort to his ridiculous analysis of his temperament.
And then he was gone, exited from the room, and only the echo of his deep laughter remained.
Elizabeth shook her head with despair. So much for predictable, she thought. Aye, she repeated. Predictable indeed!
When Elizabeth had finished her duties helping to clear the varmint and the clutter from her parents' room, she went to her own bedroom. More dust had settled on her than the dustbin.
She washed and changed into a gown of pale green, with an overtunic a shade darker and decorated with silver threads circling the top. Sara helped her fix her hair into a coronet atop her head, saying it looked quite lovely, even with the wisps of curls that kept slipping out.
Elizabeth waited until Sara had left the room before tying a second knife to a piece of ribbon and securing it under her gown around her thigh. She then clipped the silver chain that went with her overtunic, her bliaut, around her waist, letting it ride low, just above her hips, and slipped the other dagger in place there. She would use it to cut the meat, as it was the only utensil used and each carried his own, and no one would consider it unusual for her to carry it.
But I could also use it to kill Belwain, she considered, if there be a need.
Little Thomas and Geoffrey's main squire, Gerald, were waiting in the hall when she opened the door. Behind them stood three soldiers, all holding drawn swords. "With your permission, we are to wait in your room until the visitors have left," the squire announced. "I am to keep your brother company and they," he said, motioning to the guards with a tilt of his head, "they will watch the door."
Elizabeth took a step back and allowed the two to pass by. She patted her brother on the top of his head and said to Gerald, "There is a chess game and checkers too, in the chest next to the fireplace."
"I am quite good at both games," the squire boasted.
"I do not know how to play," her brother answered.
"Of course you do, Thomas," Elizabeth replied. "You have just forgotten. In time you will remember."
She shut the door behind her and slowly walked to the landing. From the sounds coming from below, she knew Belwain and his men had arrived. She hesitated at the top step, felt her courage try to desert her, and admitted that she honestly did not know if she would be able to see the evening through without trying to kill her uncle.
She touched the dagger at her side, patted it as if it had life, and whispered, "Our time will come."
"Who are you talking to?" her grandfather asked from behind.
Elizabeth turned and tried to smile. She was relieved to see him, knew that he would help her get through this evening. "My dagger," she said. "I console my weapon. You do not think me crazed?"
"I do not," he answered, shaking his head. "And does your dagger have a name?"
"You tease me," Elizabeth said. The smile was more natural now for her grandfather.
"I do not tease," her grandfather answered. "It is most common to name your sword or your dagger."
"I thought only kings named their swords."
"They also, child. Do you remember the tales of the mighty king Charlemagne?" With her nod, he said, "There are songs about his love for his sword, named Joyosa. Truly."
"Roland's name for the sword at his belt was Durindana, and there are songs about it," she volunteered.
"So you are not so daft to talk to your dagger, Elizabeth," her grandfather said. "I wager your husband talks to his," he added.
Elizabeth doubted that but said, "I know he places great pleasure on his weapon but I do not think he talks to it." She found herself chuckling over their ridiculous conversation. "Knights are filled with superstition, I think. To name their weapons, to-"
"It is most serious, this work of killing or being killed. The knight knows that without his weapons he is powerless. That is why he honors his equipment. Every item in his stock has its significance."
"You are making fun of me," Elizabeth said. "I do not believe you."
"Your education is lacking, Granddaughter," her grandfather answered. He took hold of her hand and started down the steps. "Take the knight's spear," he said. "Now, that is a most useful weapon, is it not?"
"Aye."
"The straightness of the spear symbolizes truth to the knight's way of thinking and its iron head suggests strength."
"So a curved spear would never do," Elizabeth said, smiling at her absurd remark.
"Of course not," her grandfather answered, "and it would be most ineffective."