Knight's Vengeance

by Catherine Kean

  She huffed a breath. "Please take yourself and your curiosity elsewhere. We are busy."

  "Of course, milady."

  He executed a graceful bow, then strode away to speak to the guards blocking the door to the bailey.

  As soon as his back was turned, Mildred joined Elizabeth at the cutting table and started breaking the sage leaves from the stems. "By the blessed Virgin."

  "When you suggested we brew sleeping potion," Elizabeth said between her teeth, "you failed to warn me of the stench."

  "'Tis the valerian. I did not remember myself, for when I use the braziers in my workshop, I open all the doors to circulate the air." Mildred gave a bright, toothy smile. "'Twas clever of you to burn the chickens to try and disguise the odor."

  "The hens scorched by accident, as well you know." Elizabeth grabbed the knife, swept the herbs into the middle of the table, and chopped them with a vengeance, drawing a wary glance from Dominic and the guards.

  Mildred touched her arm. "The accident was timely, then."

  Elizabeth grunted. Perspiration dripped down her nose. Over the knife's rhythmic thud, she heard Mildred lift the lid of the copper pot, and the ladle clank against the side.

  "'Tis done.

  A smile warmed Elizabeth's lips. "Good. Now, if you will rinse the salted pork we left to soak earlier, we can cook it and set it on the platters."

  At last, the meal was ready. Elizabeth dried her clammy palms on a linen towel and forced herself to draw slow, even breaths. Soon she and Mildred would be free.

  She was pouring a fresh white sauce, only a little scorched this time, into bowls when she heard Geoffrey's clipped strides. Her pulse jittered. At the same time, a shameful ache reminded her of his body pressed against hers.

  Did his tongue still taste of berries?

  She shut her mind to the thoughts. She must focus on escape, not on what, in her silly dreams, might have come true.

  Geoffrey came to an abrupt halt. He looked through the smoke to where she stood at the serving table, and threw up his hands. "What mischief have you been up to?"

  She ignored a nervous tingle. "We prepared a meal, milord, as you asked." With the edge of a cloth, she wiped drippings from the side of a bowl.

  He set his hands on his hips. "What did you cook?"

  "Salted pork with an herbed mustard sauce."

  His mouth flattened, and he strode around the cutting table to peer into the pots over the fires. "You created this

  amount of mess, not to mention the vile stench, to serve salted pork?" He sniffed the steam over the sleeping potion. "What is that?"

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Mildred stiffen.

  "'Tis . . . well, a surprise."

  "I do not like surprises," he growled. "Not from you. I warn you, do not think to deceive me."

  Misgiving shivered through her. She must divert his suspicions, now, before he ordered one of his men to taste the potion and ruined the chance to escape.

  Tossing aside the cloth, she planted her hands on her hips and matched his defiant stance. "How could we trick you, with the guards keeping watch? If you must know, Mildred has been most kind. She brewed a special herbal tonic for you and your men. She planned to present it to you when finished, but, of course, you have spoiled that now."

  "'Tis medicine?" he asked with the faintest hint.of a smile.

  "Of a sort." Elizabeth smothered an uneasy giggle. "It eases many ailments, including headaches, stomach pains, and"—she arched an eyebrow-—"wind."

  "Ah." He grinned. "'Tis good she made some, since we will be eating your cooking."

  Dominic and the other guards chortled, and Elizabeth snapped her jaw shut. Let them laugh. Moments from now, they would be snoring into their salted pork as she and Mildred ran to freedom.

  The rogue had the gall to chuckle, too. "Dominic, have

  the ladies take the food to the great hall."

  "With pleasure, milord."

  Mildred caught Elizabeth's gaze and tipped her head toward the steaming pot behind them. They had yet to put the potion into the ale.

  With brisk strides, Elizabeth walked around in front of the chopping block. Her ploy worked. Dominic's gaze followed her and not Mildred, who hurried to the wooden cask and began filling pitchers with ale.

  Elizabeth pointed to the serving table. "Dominic, would you and the guards help us with the platters? They are heavy."

  The knight's cheeky grin faded. "Must I?"

  Pasting a smile on her lips, Elizabeth looked at him and the other men, who also looked disgruntled. "Please."

  "Do not look at me so," Dominic grumbled. "I will summon the serving wenches."

  "Lord de Lanceau assigned them other duties today."

  With a sigh, Dominic nodded. "Very well. I will help. Yet, if I do not quench my thirst this instant, I will not reach the hall." Leaning past her, he grabbed one of the frothing pitchers Mildred had just set on the serving table, poured a mug, and downed the ale in one swallow.

  Elizabeth gasped. The matron shot her a fierce look, then resumed her task, pretending that naught out of the ordinary had happened. Covering her open mouth with her hand, Elizabeth pretended her outburst was a big yawn. The

  distrustful guards looked away.

  Dominic burped and slammed down the empty mug. "Much better. Now, if you will come with me, milord is waiting."

  Gnawing her lip, Elizabeth looked at Mildred. Worry shadowed the matron's eyes, but as she came to Elizabeth's side, she smiled. Scooping up two pitchers, Elizabeth followed Dominic out of the kitchens, aware of Mildred behind her and the tread of the guards in the rear bearing the platters.

  She entered the crowded hall and her mouth went dry. Men, women, and children awaiting their food and drink looked up at her. Elena waved and a little boy, sitting on the bench beside her, thumped his fists on the tabletop.

  Sweat chilled Elizabeth's brow. Fear whined in her stomach. If all went as planned, she and Mildred would escape.

  If it did not. . . if aught went wrong . . . Her throat constricted into a painful knot, and she tightened her hold on the ale jugs.

  She looked at Dominic. He shooed a pair of dogs out of his way, then walked toward the dais where Geoffrey sat polishing his eating dagger on a table linen. Dominic showed no signs of succumbing to the potion. Under her breath, she prayed the potent brew would not begin working until all the meals were served.

  Stopping at a table near the dais, Elizabeth set down the ale pitchers.

  Crockery shattered behind her.

  She whirled around.

  Dominic fell to his knees. The platter lay broken, the salt pork strewn across the rushes. Snapping, barking mongrels converged on the food. Dominic groaned, a sound so horrible, she went numb with fear. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. "Milord," he choked out. "Ale . ..poisoned."

  A convulsion shook him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he crumpled to the floor.

  From a great distance, Elizabeth heard Mildred cry her name. A chair crashed against a wall. Without looking at the dais, she knew Geoffrey had leapt to his feet.

  Panic shrilled inside her. She bolted for the stairwell.

  Behind her, footfalls pounded.

  Her pursuer grabbed her braid. Yanked her back by her hair's roots.

  She screamed.

  Geoffrey spun her around, her hair twisted around his arm, his face contorted with rage. "What have you done?"

  Words refused to form on her tongue.

  He grabbed her arms and shook her. Hard. "Answer me!"

  Elizabeth trembled. "I—"

  "You poisoned the ale, aye?" he bellowed."Aye?"

  She could not deny him the truth. She nodded.

  With an angry roar, he threw her to the waiting guards. He looked at the servants and men-at-arms who knelt beside Dominic's motionless body, whispering and shaking their heads. His gaze narrowed on Mildred. "You"—Geoffrey pointed at her—"will care for him. You will watch over him day
and night. You will do whatever is needed to ensure he lives. By God, he had better live, or you will rue the day you were brought to this keep."

  His head swiveled. He stared at Elizabeth, his gaze so bitter, so pitiless, she fought a sob. She struggled against the guards' hold, but they pinned her arms to her sides.

  "Take the lady to my solar," Geoffrey snarled. "If she tries to escape, lock her in the dungeon."

  * * *

  As the guards escorted Elizabeth from the hall, Geoffrey hurried to Dominic's side. The circle of castle folk stepped back, parted, and gave him space to crouch down on the soiled rushes.

  Dominic's face looked white as a shroud. His jaw hung slack. Thank God he still breathed.

  Geoffrey bowed his head, and his eyes squeezed shut. Rage, guilt, and gut-wrenching fear boiled inside him in a violent tempest. How many times he had awakened in the hospital at Acre, to find Dominic sitting by his bed, a calming presence in Geoffrey's world of physical torment and emotional anguish.

  Dominic was the one person Geoffrey trusted with his life. He would not let Dominic die. He had not been able to save his father or his brother, but he would save his friend.

  Shoving to his feet, he gestured to the men-at-arms awaiting orders. "Take him to his chamber. Make sure he is comfortable."

  Mildred fought the guards that restrained her. "Lady Elizabeth and I did not plan to hurt him or anyone else. You must believe me."

  A half-smile twisted Geoffrey's mouth. "You are responsible for his life now, and your lady's."

  Concern shivered across the matron's face. "I will do what you ask. Please, milady—"

  Geoffrey's jaw clenched. Rage buzzed inside him with a vicious sting. He stared at the wooden staircase which led up to the landing and his solar.

  He strode toward the stairs.

  * * *

  The silence in Geoffrey's chamber dragged. Arms clasped to her chest, Elizabeth paced before the hearth, slicing through the sunshine and shadows playing across the floorboards. Waiting.

  At any moment, he would walk in and mete out her punishment, whatever that might be.

  She glanced at the table between the two chairs. Gone were the wine, sweetmeats, and fine linens—the cultured trappings. Today, light gleamed on the scarred wood. Today, she did not doubt she would see the rough side of de Lanceau's character, the part that fed his anger and his thirst for revenge.

  Pushing her shoulders back, she resumed her fretful pacing. She must not lose courage. She would face whatever torture de Lanceau ordered for her with dignity and—

  The fire popped. She jumped, and jumped again as the chamber doors crashed against the walls. Geoffrey stood outlined in the embrasure. The doors slammed, cloaking him in shadow.

  Her trembling legs were as weighty as stone. They refused to move. She waited, frozen, as he stalked toward her. Closer. Closer. He halted a breath away, his eyes flashing pure fury.

  He stared at her, his silence as frightening as lashing words. When he spoke, his voice was a cold, dangerous rasp. "What did you put in the ale?"

  Elizabeth inhaled through tight lungs. "H—"

  "Answer me!" He grabbed her, and his fingers dug into her arms.

  "Herbs." She gasped. "Chamomile, valerian, monkshood—"

  "Monkshood?From the garden?"

  Her head jerked in a nod.

  "'Tis poisonous." He sounded both incredulous and appalled. "You thought to kill Dominic?" His gaze sharpened. "Or did you wish to kill me?"

  She shook her head. "We did not mean to harm anyone."

  "Then why poison the ale?"

  A shuddered breath tore from her lips. "'Twas not poison. Mildred and I brewed a sleeping potion, which we poured into the jugs. We—"

  "You planned to escape."

  "'Twas all we intended. I promise you."

  His gaze raked over her face, and searched her features with such merciless intensity she could not breathe. "What other trickery have you concocted?"

  "None."

  "You lie!" he roared, his breath scorching her cheek.

  She squirmed and fought his crushing hold. "I do not!"

  With one hand, Geoffrey caught her chin and trapped her so she could not turn away. "I will know all of your deceit, and far more, by the time I am done with you."

  A tremor raked through her. "You will punish me . . . here?" Her gaze darted past him to the bed, streaked with sunlight.

  His mouth curved into a brutal smile.

  "Please—"

  "One wicked deed deserves another, does it not?"

  Panic shortened her breaths. "Y-You do not understand."

  "I understand all too well. The one person in this world that I love as my brother, that I trust above all others, lies unconscious and near death because of you," Geoffrey snarled. "Did you once think of the consequences of your deceit? Did you consider the possible outcome? How much of your sleeping potion might be too much for a man or woman?"

  "You dare to call me a murderess?"

  "If Dominic dies, damsel, you will be."

  "How dare you accuse me of such a crime. You, a man who slaughters helpless children."

  "I do not kill children." He answered with such quiet conviction she almost believed him.

  "You killed Jeremy. Remember?" she said in a tight voice. "Or have you forgotten?"

  "Jeremy?" His narrowed eyes lit with comprehension, and he smiled. "Ah, the boy at Wode. He did not die."

  Elizabeth choked a breath. "You told me—"

  "Viscon caught him on his way back from your chamber, but he did not kill the lad. We locked him in a storage cupboard so he could not warn anyone else."

  Her belly hurt. Did Jeremy live? She hoped Geoffrey told her the truth, yet wariness overshadowed her relief. "I do not believe you," she whispered.

  "Believe what you will, but I speak true." He released her chin, and his expression darkened. "Tell me, damsel. Did you not realize that even if your plan had worked, even if you had escaped, I would hunt you down? I would find you and make you pay for your audacity."

  "Nay."

  "Aye," he muttered. "I will start now."

  The grim set of his jaw, the determination his eyes, filled Elizabeth with dread. It gusted through her like a winter blizzard, threatening to destroy her last reserves of courage and send her whirling into sheer terror. "W-What do you intend?"

  He released his grip on her arms. "Remove your clothes."

  "I will not!"

  Geoffrey seemed to have expected that answer. He smiled.

  The blade of a bone-handled dagger flashed in the sunlight.

  Elizabeth shrieked and covered her face with her hands. She tensed, anticipating a sharp pain as the knife pierced her flesh. When cold, flat steel pressed against the side of her neck, she froze.

  "When will you learn you cannot fight me and win," Geoffrey murmured. He dragged the blade's icy tip across her skin. It traced the leaping pulse in her neck, grazed the hollow of her collarbone, and fell to the front of her bliaut. His hand moved, once, and her gown and chemise slashed open to her waist.

  Elizabeth gaped down at the rent. A deft, clean cut. The knife had left no marks on her skin, which looked pale as snow against the green wool. Panic spiked inside her. She clutched the sides of the material, desperate to shield her exposed skin. Failing.

  With a strangled cry, she ran for the door.

  Before she had taken three steps, he caught her. His arm wrapped around her waist, and he threw her onto the pillow-strewn bed. Elizabeth landed on her back. Rolled over. Lunged for the opposite side. His hand snaked out and got her ankle. He hauled her back to him like a cat toying with a mouse.

  Fear blinded her vision. She clawed. Struggled. Tried to free her leg and kicked out with her other foot. She got him in the stomach. Geoffrey grunted and his grip eased a fraction. With a second, well-aimed kick, she wrenched free. Breathing hard, she dove for the edge of the bed.

  He was already there.

  Geoffrey ca
ught her wrists in one hand. She tried to jerk free, but he was far too strong, and far too determined that this time, she would not get away. Looming over her, he forced her back on the coverlet. He pinned her hands over her head and, with a triumphant smile, lowered his body onto hers.

  Heat sparked where their bodies touched. "Get off me," she spat.