“Why do you test me with falsehoods?” Arthur snarled. Spittle flew from his mouth with the force of his words.
With vexing calm, Veronique sipped her wine. “’Tis not a falsehood.”
“Liar! Lady Elizabeth would never lie with de Lanceau,” Aldwin shouted, his reddened face taut with indignation. “She is a woman of virtue and beauty.”
Veronique’s angry gaze fixed upon the squire. “You believe he gave her a choice?”
“God’s blood!” moaned Sedgewick. “My dear betrothed, suffering such brutality.” He gulped wine, half of it running down his chin and onto his mail and spattering on the ground.
“I witnessed his cruelty with my own eyes,” Veronique said. “She wept and screamed and begged him for mercy. He showed her none.”
Aldwin gripped the hilt of his sword with such violence, his knuckles snapped. “I will kill him!”
Veronique rose from the chair, her bliaut rustling. She glided toward Arthur, and he tensed. The wench was not finished with what she had come to say. She halted a hand’s span away, her sweet fragrance cloying in the confines of the tent.
“I bring you this terrible news,” she said, looking up into his face, “because I know Geoffrey de Lanceau. I know how he thinks and what he intends for Wode. I can get you past Branton Keep’s gates.”
Arthur scowled. Why would she offer to help him? She owed him no loyalty. Indeed, he saw not the slightest hint of integrity in her gaze. “You can get my men inside the bailey?”
She nodded. “’Twill be far quicker than a melee. By attacking de Lanceau without warning—with his hose down, if you pardon the crude phrase—your victory is guaranteed.”
“I have already issued my challenge,” muttered Arthur. “’Twould be dishonorable not to fulfill the terms of that arrangement.”
Her laughter mocked him. “Qualms, milord? You treat de Lanceau with honor when he showed you none? After he deceived you and raped your daughter?”
Rage surged inside Arthur like a battle cry. “You are so willing to betray him?”
“For the right cause.”
“A price, you mean.”
She smiled.
Arthur’s mouth curled in disgust. Devious wench. Still, her plan held merit, providing he could ensure she did not deceive him as well.
He motioned to Aldwin. Shaking his head, the squire stormed out of the tent and returned with a small wooden chest. He sprung the lock and raised the lid, revealing hundreds of silver coins bearing the stamped, curly-haired visage of Henry II.
Veronique’s eyes gleamed.
“Is it enough?” Arthur asked. With immense effort, he resisted the urge to shake the greedy grin from her lips.
“Aye,” she murmured. “I believe ’tis.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Your move, milady.”
Elizabeth looked down at the beautiful inlaid leather chessboard Dominic had loaned her earlier that evening. She had not played the game in months and felt much out of practice. Despite Mildred’s claim to possess an old and addled brain, she would win this one for certain.
Sighing, Elizabeth propped her elbow on the trestle table, rested her cheek on her palm, and studied the carved chess pieces. Geoffrey lounged at the lord’s table though the meal had ended some time ago. She sensed his gaze wandering over her. Again. He watched her like a ravenous hawk.
“Good man.” He gestured to the coppery-haired musician who sat near the hearth, playing a lute. “Play something merry.”
The lutenist chuckled. “Merry, milord?”
Geoffrey banged his goblet on the table, startling Elizabeth and the mongrel curled at her feet. “A song to lift my spirits and ease my loneliness.”
Curiosity nagged at her. Elizabeth cast him a sidelong glance. Geoffrey caught her gaze and stared at her with such scorching heat, she blushed. Did he hope to resume their intimacy this evening? She shook the enticing, wanton thought from her mind and brought her attention back to the game.
The musician’s fingers flew over the strings of the pear-shaped instrument and plucked a familiar melody. Elizabeth recognized the song. Her mother had loved to dance to it. Her feet had flown over the floor as if she were weightless.
Sadness weighed upon Elizabeth. Once she had returned to Wode, she must make sure the orphans’ gowns were embroidered and delivered as soon as possible, in honor of her mother’s passing.
“You seem leagues away, damsel.” Geoffrey’s voice came from nearby. As he sat down beside her, the bench shifted and squeaked. He leaned forward and his shoulder brushed hers in silent, physical communication.
“’Tis the music. It reminded me of long ago.”
“Your mother favored this song, if my memory is correct,” Mildred said with a smug grin. Elizabeth shot her a warning glare. Without fail, the matron’s tongue wagged after too much wine.
“Harrumph! Do not scowl at me, milady. I do not intend to become besotted from this rogue’s drink.”
“I did not mean to remind you of your mother,” Geoffrey said, his words soft with apology. His hand closed over Elizabeth’s, and together, they moved a pawn forward into an empty square. As they did so she wondered what had become of her mother’s brooch. Would he return it to her now, if she asked?
He stroked his thumb along the sensitive curve between her thumb and finger, and the thought blurred. “Tonight, we shall celebrate some of the joys of life,” he murmured. “Will you join us?”
She wet her lips. “Milord—”
He released her hand and snapped his fingers. The lutenist began a new song. A few of the servants started to dance. They linked hands, formed a ring, and stepped and turned. The lute player quickened the pace and pounded out the rhythm with his foot, while another musician joined him and drummed the beat on a tabor.
Dominic approached from a far table. “Will one of you beauties accompany me?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
Mildred pouted and took a big gulp of wine. “I am old enough to have birthed you. I know you do not wish to dance with a crotchety old woman.”
“Age brings experience,” Dominic said with a crooked grin. “Come, Mildred. Let us show them how ’tis done.”
The matron cackled. “You are a charmer.” Smiling, she struggled up from the bench, took the arm he offered, and they strolled toward the dancers. When the clasped hands of the revelers parted, Mildred and Dominic joined the ring.
Geoffrey propped one leg up on the bench and leaned sideways against the table’s edge. “You do not enjoy dancing, damsel?”
“’Tis not right to celebrate.” Elizabeth sipped her wine, as dark and red as blood.
“’Tis foolish to dwell on events that may never happen, or ones you cannot prevent.”
He spoke of the melee. Refusing to meet his gaze, to let him see her uncertainty, she watched Dominic and Mildred twirl and dance. The matron’s wrinkled face glowed with the effects of wine and good cheer.
“Dance with me, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey whispered.
The decision was made for her. At that moment, the dancers separated and Mildred whirled toward the table. She grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her toward the ring.
“Mildred, nay.”
“Please, milady. ’Tis most enjoyable.”
As the dancers turned and stepped in exact time, Elizabeth found herself drawn into the momentum. The music quickened even more, but she sensed the rhythm and kept pace. The melody hummed in her blood.
She dipped and turned, her bliaut billowing at her ankles. She stomped on herbs strewn in with the rushes, and the blended tang of rosemary, thyme, and meadowsweet rose up from the floor. Her braid came loose and hair tumbled thick and wild about her face. Caught up in the swell of music and emotion, she felt more alive than at any other moment in her life.
Mildred grinned, and Elizabeth laughed. The dance quickened again. Faster. Faster she turned, whirling around in a blur of hair. She dipped, turned, and spun . . . until strong arms pried he
r from the ring and drew her into the stairwell’s shadows.
With a raw groan, Geoffrey pressed her against the cool stone wall. His breath gusted against her brow.
“Ah, damsel. What you do to me.” His lips crushed hers in a kiss so intense, Elizabeth’s knees buckled.
“I must go back,” she whispered, even as she kissed him with equal fever.
“Nay.” Geoffrey lifted her into his arms and took the stairs to the solar two at a time. Striding to the bed, he sat her on the edge, yanked off her slippers, and slid her bliaut over her head in one fluid motion. He kissed her until her she gasped and quivered.
His hand slid beneath her chemise.
“Geoffrey,” she whispered, “we cannot.”
“You belong to me.” With gentle hands, he pressed her back on the coverlet.
She shook her head. “Impossible.”
“If you do not believe me, let me show you.” He coaxed her with his mouth, his fingers, and tender words whispered over her flushed skin.
When the tempest consumed her, Elizabeth cried out. She soared with such joy, she wished she could hold Geoffrey in her heart forever.
She wondered when the dream would shatter around her.
***
Arthur stood in the tent’s entrance and watched Veronique secure a clinking leather sack to the front of her horse’s saddle. He had given her half of the silver in the chest. The remainder she would receive at Branton, providing she kept her end of the bargain. She had not liked his stipulation, but with a furious nod, had agreed.
Veronique turned to him. “Till the morrow, milord.”
“You are a lady of your word?”
She tittered. “Lady, nay. But I will not fail you. The portcullis and drawbridge shall not bar your way if you arrive at Branton Keep as arranged.”
“Do not betray me, Veronique.”
Her eyes flashed in the twilight. “You question my trustworthiness after parting with your coin?”
Viscon laughed and heaved his body up onto his horse, a roan as ugly as its master.
“I paid a great deal for your help, Veronique,” Arthur said and started toward her, his surcoat flapping in the breeze. “You, in turn, offer me no guarantees but your word. You must agree ’tis not much to weigh against a sack of silver.” As her gaze hardened, he forced a genial smile. “You will understand, then, why I am sending men to accompany you, to ensure our agreement is met.”
Her mouth tautened with anger, and he thought he heard her mask of rouge and powder crack. “You will draw attention to me. Do you think ’twill be easy for me to bribe the guards without de Lanceau finding out?”
“That is why I paid you well. If you cannot fulfill our arrangement, I will take the coin back.”
“Nay!” Veronique gripped the bag. She looked prepared to gouge out his eyes if he tried to wrest the coin from her. “You may send your escort. Two men, no more.”
“Four,” Arthur said. He would not underestimate Viscon. If he and Veronique decided to flee with the coin, ’twould take four able knights to subdue the brute.
“Four,” she agreed with a sneer, “but I work alone.”
“As long as the deed is done.”
“Christ’s blood! ’Twill be.”
Arthur signaled to the armed soldiers who stood nearby. He picked four of his trusted knights and ordered them to their horses.
“Milord.” Aldwin strode over from the fire, buckling on his broadsword. “I beg you to let me ride escort as well.”
Arthur shook his head. “There is much to do here before the morrow.”
“I must go! Milord, I cannot sit idle when Eliz—milady—is being violated by that whoreson.”
“I like it no more than you,” Arthur said with a growl, “but a rash challenge from you will not free her. You will remain with the rest of the soldiers. Go. Check my sword is sharpened and my horse is rubbed down.”
“Already done, milord,” Aldwin said.
“Do the tasks again.”
The squire’s eyes blazed, but he bowed and stalked off toward the horses.
Veronique sat in sullen silence upon on her mount, her curls crushed beneath her cloak’s fur-trimmed hood. He sensed her fury, reined in like the animal beneath her. The wench seethed, and from more than his demand to send an escort. She wanted to see de Lanceau suffer. She wanted to watch him die.
Arthur did not envy de Lanceau in the least.
“Can we trust her?” Sedgewick asked in a low voice, coming to Arthur’s side. The baron had found a meat pie somewhere and crammed it into his mouth.
“Veronique will do as I paid her.”
“My dear Elizabeth.” The baron swiped crumbs from his chin with his tunic’s sleeve. “The morrow shall not come soon enough.”
With a terse command, Veronique kicked her horse toward the road. The sentries followed a few paces behind her and Viscon, and hoofbeats reverberated into the night air until the party disappeared from view. Veronique never looked back, and Arthur did not mistake the slight.
Nor did he miss the anger in Aldwin’s eyes as the squire strode past into the tent.
Arthur sighed and turned to the baron. “Will you join me for more wine?”
The tent’s opening snapped open, and Aldwin brushed by with a woolen blanket. He headed for the tree where Arthur’s destrier was hobbled.
“May I drink with you in a moment?” Sedgewick asked, his eyes bright. “There is a small matter I must see to first.”
“Of course.” Arthur stepped into the stuffy tent that still smelled of rosewater, but after a moment’s hesitation, pulled back the flap and watched the baron hasten after Aldwin. Sedgewick’s belly wobbled from side to side with each of his furtive steps, and he did not slow down until he caught up with the squire. They disappeared behind the destrier.
What did Sedgewick require of Aldwin?
Mayhap he wished the squire to tend his horse or give it an extra ration of oats. Shrugging, Arthur dropped the flap and reached for the wine. Whatever the baron needed, Arthur doubted the matter was of great consequence.
***
Elizabeth awoke to shouts in the bailey. Blinking to clear the sleep from her eyes, she saw the sky beyond the solar’s window was blue-gray. Near dawn. She rolled onto her side, dragging the snug bedding with her, and found Geoffrey had risen. He stood silhouetted against the firelight, pulling on his hose.
A knock rattled the solar’s doors.
“Milord!” Dominic’s cry sounded urgent. A tremor of unease rippled through Elizabeth. Clasping the bedding, she pushed up to sitting.
Geoffrey shrugged into a burgundy tunic, ran to the doors, and yanked them open. Dominic strode in. Alarm buzzed in Elizabeth’s veins. His face grim, he wore a broadsword strapped over a chain mail hauberk. The iron helm tucked under his arm gleamed like a bleached skull.
“What has happened?” Geoffrey demanded.
“An army approaches. At least a hundred knights.”
Tugging down his sleeves, Geoffrey froze. “A siege! I should have foreseen Brackendale’s treachery.”
“Father?” Elizabeth wrapped the linen sheet round her body and leapt from the bed. She ran to the windows and looked out.
Dawn’s watery light glinted off the conical helms of mounted knights. Foot soldiers trailed through the stubbled fields on the other side of the lake, pikes held high as they marched in formation toward the keep. The rumble of wagons carried like distant thunder. She skimmed the lines of men, trying to recognize her sire, but the head of the procession had already passed from view.
Elizabeth whirled to face Geoffrey. The sheet tightened around her body, restricting her movement. “Why has he come here? You agreed to a melee in Moyden Wood.”
His mouth compressed to a bitter line. “I did.”
“Why would my father bring his army to Branton, then?”
“I have been betrayed.”
The dead calm in Geoffrey’s voice slammed into her. Fear tore through her�
�for her father, for herself, and most of all, for the rogue who had made her soul and body glow.
“Who would dare to betray you?” she shrieked.
He did not answer. His gaze shadowed, and he looked at Dominic. “Send the women and children to the storage rooms below. They will be safe there. Wake every able-bodied man and order them to the bailey. Double the guards at the gate. No one enters or leaves.”
“Aye, milord.”
Elizabeth held her breath until the doors clicked shut behind Dominic. She trembled. “Geoffrey, what will you do?”
He strode to the wooden chest against the wall, shoved open the lid, and withdrew a suit of mail armor. “What I am expected to do. Fight.”
“You cannot! Please. This must be a misunderstanding—”
He dropped the chain mail on the bed, and the iron links settled with a metallic chink. “I knew your father and I would face one another in battle, but I did not imagine ’twould be today.” He smiled at her, but his expression offered neither tenderness nor comfort. “You do not dance with joy, milady?” He reached into the chest again and tossed a padded gambeson and sheathed sword atop the mail. “Why not? You have looked forward to your rescue.”
Elizabeth shivered and turned her back to him. She could not bear his callous words, not when she remembered the taste of his bronzed skin beneath her lips. It had been wondrous to curl up in his arms, to sleep with her back pressed against his chest, to feel each of his breaths pressing his body closer to hers. She would cherish those moments forever.
“Elizabeth?”
Tears misted her vision, but she blinked them away. She crushed her fingers into the sheet. “How can I be joyous, when this may be the last time I see you alive?”
“A lady like you wants naught from a rogue like me.”
She could not stop a sad smile. “Only your heart.”
“Ah.” His laughter sounded strained. “My heart carved out in triumph and displayed on a silver platter. ‘The dark heart of a traitor’s son,’ the soldiers will cheer. ‘Strange how his blood is red like ours.’ Shall you also demand my severed head? My steaming entrails? My—”
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