A Knight's Vengeance

by Catherine Kean

  “Read it,” she said, her eyes glistening.

  His gaze skimmed the document which bore an official signature, and he forced himself to read. The meaning of the words at last permeated his mind. “A royal pardon!” he whispered.

  “There is also a letter from the Earl of Druentwode, explaining why he kept the document secret until his death. Oh, Geoffrey, you were right. Your father was innocent. The baron framed him for treachery, and cut him down during the siege.”

  Rage, anguish, and hatred blinded Geoffrey. “I will kill him! Bring him here. Now!” The effort of shouting sent acute pain stabbing through his torso. His vision blurred. He gritted his teeth against the mind-numbing agony and tried to rise.

  “Geoffrey, stop!” Elizabeth shrilled.

  Through the eerie buzzing in his ears, he heard the chamber door open. “Milord!” Mildred’s hands were on his shoulders, easing him down on the pillows as she would a weak child. She pressed a flask to his lips and bade him drink.

  Frustration and helplessness ripped into his soul. He cried out in fury, and Elizabeth leaned over him and pressed her tear-soaked mouth to his. Tender, persistent, she kissed, soothed, and coaxed him to set the emotions free.

  He could fight no longer. The sobs wrenched from him as they had that terrible night eighteen years ago, when his father had perished. He wept until he was hoarse, and had no more tears to give.

  He must have fallen asleep, for when his eyes cracked open, Dominic stood beside the bed, looking down at him.

  A relieved smile spread across his friend’s face. “’Tis good to see you, milord.”

  Geoffrey cleared the thickness from his throat. “And you.”

  Scratching his chin, Dominic tipped his head to one side. “You do look a bit pale, but a few pints of ale would cure that.”

  Mildred gave an indignant snort. After shooting Dominic a fierce scowl, she snatched up her basket and quit the chamber.

  Smothering a grin, Geoffrey watched the healer leave, then glanced at Elizabeth, who sat embroidering near the fire. She met his gaze and smiled.

  Pride flowed through him. His life had changed a great deal, and all for the better, because of her. He vowed to spend the rest of his living days proving how much he loved her. “What are you doing?” he murmured.

  “Finishing the saddle trapping. Do you not remember?”

  “I remember well, but I did not think—”

  “That I would still work on it once I was rescued from Branton?” She swept a ringlet out of the needle’s path. “’Tis my gift to you. When you set it upon your horse, and ride out among the people of Moydenshire, they will know you are Lord Geoffrey de Lanceau, proud son of Edouard.”

  Tears dampened his eyes. “You are my greatest gift,” he said, heating his words with sensual promise.

  Her face pinkened, and she resumed stitching. A moment later, she let out a delighted whoop, snapped a length of silver thread, and held the trapping aloft. “Look.”

  The rips in the silk were gone. Her clever mending could not disguise where they had been, but again, the magnificent hawk glowed on the silk, its wings extended as it prepared to soar.

  The trapping was whole again, as he remembered when a boy.

  He blinked hard, overwhelmed by gratitude. “Thank you.”

  Her lips curved in a saucy smile, and she winked. “Later, you may thank me.”

  Dominic whistled. “Milord, if I may be so bold as to intrude, the lady and I have discussed a new project. She will begin once she has finished the garments for the orphans.”

  “Orphans?” Dragging his gaze from Elizabeth’s lush mouth, Geoffrey shoved aside fantasies of lusty thank-you kisses.

  “She is embroidering clothes for the children in the local orphanage. A special donation to commemorate her mother and sister’s passing a year ago. She was working on this when you abducted her.”

  Guilt wove through Geoffrey. “I see.” He looked at Elizabeth, but she was picking threads from her bliaut.

  “The new project,” Dominic said, “is a banner to honor you.”

  Geoffrey raised his eyebrows.

  Elizabeth looked up and giggled. Mischief warmed her eyes.

  Dominic’s hand moved in the air as he rendered an invisible picture. “The banner will feature a silver shield on blue silk. In the center, she will stitch a great boar, with its lips curled back in a ferocious scowl.”

  Geoffrey was not sure whether to laugh or groan. “A boar?”

  “A demented boar.” Dominic beamed. “A grand idea, aye?”

  ***

  “His strength is returning at a remarkable rate,” Mildred said three days later. She stood at Geoffrey’s bedside, stirring an herbal infusion into a goblet of red wine. “’Tis not surprising, Lord Brackendale, since he does whatever I tell him and is basking in all the attention.”

  Arthur grunted. He stood leaning his shoulder against the wall, as far as he could be from Geoffrey in the room, Elizabeth noted. Although news of Geoffrey’s awakening had spread throughout the keep, her father had not revisited the chamber until this morning. He did not look at all pleased by Mildred’s good news. In fact, his forbidding frown seemed to deepen.

  Blankets rustled, and Elizabeth looked over at Geoffrey. He grinned at her, and awareness and happiness swooped through her in a giddy rush.

  “How could I not recover,” he said, “when my betrothed takes such tender care of me, and when your medicine is delivered in such exceptional syrup.” When Mildred lowered the goblet to his mouth, he took an obedient sip. “Delicious, except for the musky aftertaste.”

  The healer shrugged. “The servants tell me there are ten barrels of this wine in the storage cellar. I cannot imagine a jug or two will be missed.”

  “You give him the Bordeaux?” Arthur growled.

  Geoffrey’s eyes brightened. “Bordeaux? Mmm.”

  “That wine cost Sedgewick a great deal of coin,” Arthur said, his face reddening. “’Twas for Elizabeth’s wedding.”

  Elizabeth set down the child’s chemise she was embroidering. Whatever her father and Geoffrey had still to discuss between them, those matters were best left until Geoffrey’s wounds had improved. “Father, please.”

  Geoffrey’s gaze sharpened. “What wedding?”

  Arthur shoved away from the wall. “The marriage planned between my daughter and the baron before you chose to wreak vengeance. The one Sedgewick rescheduled assuming you would be dead and buried.”

  Elizabeth feared to look at Geoffrey and see his fury. Yet, when she glanced at him, his expression held understanding.

  “You do not like that Elizabeth and I are betrothed.”

  Hostility flashed in Arthur’s eyes. “You may have won Wode, de Lanceau, but I will not stay silent any longer. I am a man of honor. I will respect the agreements made during our fight, but it irks me to see you lord of what was once my home, drinking the finest wine in the keep, and being treated like a hero.” He dragged a shaking hand through his hair. “You have taken all from me—my home, my lands, my titles. Is it any wonder that I resent your claim to my daughter?”

  Dread clutched at Elizabeth. Before she could try to ease the tense situation, Geoffrey said, “Elizabeth. Mildred. Leave us. I wish to speak to Lord Brackendale alone.”

  Elizabeth dried her clammy palms on her skirt, put aside the chemise, and stood. Mayhap ’twould be better if her father and Geoffrey settled their differences now. She took Mildred’s arm and walked out.

  The matron pulled the door shut. “What will they discuss?”

  “I do not know.” Elizabeth suppressed a shiver. Geoffrey either meant to reconcile with her father, or punish him for his outburst. Yet, Geoffrey was still very weak.

  Crouching down, the matron pressed her ear to the keyhole. “Harrumph! I cannot hear a word.”

  “Why do we not walk in the garden? I would enjoy some fresh air. In truth, I will go mad if I must stand here and wait.”

  “An excellent sug
gestion, milady. A walk will stretch my old bones, and I shall gather herbs for a fresh poultice, too.”

  Refreshed after a long stroll, Elizabeth and Mildred returned to the chamber. The door remained closed.

  Mildred crossed her arms. “’Tis most peculiar.”

  “I agree.” Elizabeth strode to and fro, racking her thoughts for a good reason to intrude. She had just raised her hand to knock when she heard a most unexpected sound. Laughter.

  The door flew open. Her father stood inside, his features warmed by a hearty grin and the effects of at least one goblet of red wine, held in his hand. Without a word, he took Elizabeth in his arms and hugged her.

  “Father, what happened?” she asked, the sound muffled against his jerkin.

  “All is well.” He released her from his embrace, and his eyes shone. “I am to remain lord of Wode.”

  “You are? Geoffrey—?”

  “—told me all,” Arthur said, “of his anguish over his father’s death, his desire for revenge, the silk trade, his dreams for my lands . . . but most of all, of his love for you.”

  She tried to hold back tears. “What of Geoffrey’s desire to reclaim Wode?”

  “He ceded the keep and all of my titles back to me, provided he can ship his cloth up and down the river from Branton.”

  “’Tis wondrous news,” Elizabeth cried.

  “I suggested he petition the crown for Sedgewick’s lands. ’Twould be just for Geoffrey to be granted them.” Arthur touched her arm. “He also told me of the garments you are embroidering for the orphanage. We both agree ’tis an excellent cause. Each year, from this year onward, we will work together to donate such a gift. Whatever you need now so you can finish—cloth, embroiderers, coin—you shall have.”

  Joy burst inside her. “Oh, Father!”

  Arthur grinned. “De Lanceau will make you a fine husband, for a rogue.”

  Elizabeth hurried into the chamber. Geoffrey lay propped against a mound of pillows. He looked drawn, exhausted, but content. At last, his soul seemed to have found peace.

  He smiled, and she bent down and kissed him.

  “I could not take Wode from your sire and hurt you,” he murmured, his breath brushing her cheek. “I do not think my father would have wanted it, either.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “Thank you.”

  His fingers caught hers. “We will be happy at Branton, you and I.”

  “Aye, we shall.” She kissed him again.

  Behind her, she heard Mildred’s wistful sigh.

  Through a haze of bliss, Elizabeth heard her father’s footfalls echo out into the hall. “You there,” he said. “Fetch another jug of Bordeaux. Fetch a whole case. Be quick about it. We have a betrothal to celebrate.”

  Epilogue

  “There.” Mildred gave the hem of Elizabeth’s bliaut one last tug and pushed to a stand. Her mouth quivered with a watery smile. “Oh, milady.”

  Elizabeth laughed and twirled around, sending yards of fabric floating in a cloud around her ankles. She felt like a goddess. The air smelled of the apple blossoms crowning the veil over her hair. Shivering with delight, Elizabeth ran her hands down the expensive silk, and remembered Geoffrey’s determination to find the right color. Ivory, he had insisted, for the honesty of their love. Pietro, dear man, had searched every ship in Venice until he found it.

  She spun again, slower this time, watching the silk shimmer in the sunlight. A pattern of embroidered roses scrolled along the fitted bodice, to which she had pinned her mother’s gold brooch. The gown’s sleeves were fitted at her elbows and flared to her wrists, paralleling the skirt as it belled out over her hips and fell to the floor. As she turned, the silk rustled. Although she could not see them, Elizabeth heard the tip-tap of the slippers Pietro had sent to complement the gown.

  Mildred blew her nose. “If your mother—a blessing upon her departed soul—could see you now. You look beautiful.”

  “I feel beautiful.” Elizabeth trailed her fingers over the brooch, which her father had returned to her long ago. Indeed, she felt better than she had in a long time. No bouts of nausea. No hot flushes. No—

  A sudden little kick sent her stomach muscles fluttering. ’Twas the fifth month she had not had her flux. Smiling, she pressed her palms to her belly’s gentle curve. The babe had inherited its father’s restless energy.

  “’Tis moving?” Mildred asked.

  “Aye. Ohhh!”

  Chuckling, the healer mopped her eyes. “’Tis a strong son. He will make his sire proud.”

  The baby kicked again, and Elizabeth giggled. “I think he knows how nervous I am.”

  “If ’tis any consolation, milady, I imagine Geoffrey is as anxious as you.”

  He was nervous, Elizabeth saw moments later, when Mildred and her father escorted her down the winding path toward Wode’s parish church. ’Twas odd they should both be so affected by the day. At Geoffrey’s bedside months ago, they had exchanged rings in a betrothal ceremony and the priest had published the marriage banns on three successive Sundays. She and Geoffrey had wed in a simple exchange of vows.

  Yet, he had insisted upon honoring her with a formal ceremony on the church portico in front of plenty of witnesses, followed by a lavish and rowdy feast complete with jongleurs, tumblers, and other entertainers, once he had recovered.

  Now, he paced before the crowd of onlookers, his tall form slicing through the streaks of sunlight filtering through the oaks in the church cemetery. A pair of twittering robins darted in front of him, startling him, and Elizabeth chuckled.

  The familiar haze of stubble on his chin had gone. His hair shone in dark waves to the collar of his finest black silk jerkin, which complemented his black hose that hugged his muscled legs. He wore his best pair of black leather boots.

  Elizabeth sucked in a trembling breath and smoothed her veil with her fingers. She could not believe seven months had passed since Geoffrey was wounded. That terrible episode was all in the past now. The injury had almost healed over, leaving but a deep, pitted scar similar to the other one marring his chest. With Dominic’s persistence, Geoffrey had regained much of his former strength, though ’twould be many more months before he would be able to lift anything heavier than a chair.

  In that time, Aldwin had come before Geoffrey to answer to the charge of attempted murder. She had stood nearby while Geoffrey listened to the squire’s tearful explanation and apology. When finished, Geoffrey had informed Aldwin that his penance would be to swear fealty to him for the rest of his life. ’Twas a decision never once regretted. Aldwin threw himself into his duties and excelled for his new lord.

  Elizabeth nibbled her bottom lip. She wished matters had resolved as well with Sedgewick and Veronique. Accompanied by an armed escort, they were sent to the king’s dungeons to await trial and punishment, but had somehow escaped. Neither had been seen or heard from since. Elizabeth resisted the urge to worry, for she doubted the baron or Veronique posed any threat to her and Geoffrey’s future happiness.

  Sidestepping a muddy puddle, Elizabeth looked up at Geoffrey. She loved him more than she had ever thought possible, cherished even the simplest of his gestures, like the way he raked his fingers through his hair and with lithe grace, strode back to the priest.

  Over the past months, he had proven his devotion to her with his hard work to secure their future. His first shipment of two thousand sheep had arrived at Branton. He left his bed every morning to supervise the construction of a fuller’s shop in preparation for the carding and drying of the first shearing of wool that summer. He had also received his share of the returns from the Venetian silk shipments, a profit more than three times his expectations. The coin had not been in Branton’s coffers two days before he had spent it to upgrade Branton “to a level of luxury suitable for my beloved wife and babe,” he had told her with a tender kiss. Geoffrey had even paid for the modern convenience of piped water.

  He seemed to sense her stare upon him now, for he glanced up. His gaze l
ocked with hers. Still, after all this time, one heated look from him could make her limbs go weak.

  The crowd parted with murmurs of awe. Among those gathered, she saw Dominic, Elena, and Roydon, waving to her as she approached the portico. She laughed and waved back.

  Geoffrey’s eyes traveled over her, and his mouth slid into a roguish grin. Elizabeth smiled too, for she saw in his expression all facets of him—the rogue, the confidant, the gentle lover—and knew without doubt she loved them all.

  As the priest stepped forward with the gold rings and spoke the first words of the wedding ceremony, Elizabeth also recognized the promise in Geoffrey’s smoldering gaze, to cherish her and their children today, tomorrow, and forever.

  —The End—

  Watch for the rest of Catherine Kean’s award-winning Knight’s Series, to be released in

  eBook format in 2012:

  A Knight’s Reward (Book 2)—Dominic’s story

  A Knight’s Temptation (Book 3)—Aldwin’s story

  A Knight’s Persuasion (Book 4)—Young Edouard de Lanceau’s story

  ***

  Other eBooks by Catherine Kean, Available Now:

  Bound by His Kiss (Novella)

  Dance of Desire

  My Lady’s Treasure

  If you enjoyed A Knight’s Vengeance by Catherine Kean, you might like her award-winning medieval romance My Lady’s Treasure. Read on to sample the first three chapters . . .

  My Lady’s Treasure

  The moment widowed Lady Faye Rivellaux sees the tall, commanding warrior riding toward her, she senses the danger in him—a powerful sensuality that she has never experienced before, especially not in her marriage bed. Fighting her unexpected desire, she clings to her promise to rescue the kidnapped child she loves as her own. When he demands a ransom she cannot meet, she offers her one last hope: a gold cup.

  Former crusading knight Brant Meslarches never expected the widow he was ordered to meet to be a tempting beauty. Nor did he expect to see such a chalice. Worth a small fortune, it’s proof that a lost treasure of the legendary Celtic King Arthur does exist—as Brant’s murdered brother believed. Of all things, the lady has offered Brant the one means to redeem his terrible past.