Medieval Rogues

by Catherine Kean

  Elizabeth trembled. He spoke with such nonchalance. Did he not feel the slightest remorse for taking innocent lives? How she hated him. “You are a detestable, selfish man.”

  He jerked her arm, hard, forcing her to stumble. “As I said before, I do what I must.”

  His smug tone, rife with depraved ambition, sparked a thought in the back of her mind. “Even blackmail?”

  His face registered shock. For the barest instant, his fingers relaxed, and she broke free. Before she had run four steps, he lunged in front of her and blocked her escape. One of his hands clamped on her chin, while the other cinched around her waist and pinned her against his heaving gut. “You are clever, my love.” His fetid breath seared her nostrils. “Too clever.”

  She swallowed the urge to vomit. “Release me, or I shall scream.”

  With a cruel laugh, Sedgewick forced her face up into the glare of moonlight. He shoved her against the apple tree. “You know too much, beloved. I have been indiscreet with all I have told you. Now I must beat you into silence.”

  A whimper escaped her. He meant it. She sensed his seething violence, ready to be unleashed. On her.

  “You are wise to fear me.” His hand at her waist yanked her hair, making her neck arch back at a painful angle. Her tresses snagged in the tree’s bark. “With a few good blows, ’twill appear you had a nasty fall during your stroll. Being the devoted husband-to-be, I shall insist on proceeding with our marriage, despite your bruises and broken bones, even if the ceremony must take place at your bedside.” His teeth gleamed. “I will see the terms of our marriage contract fulfilled.”

  A scream welled inside her.

  His sweaty hand slapped over her mouth. “That bastard may have sampled you,”—he planted a slimy kiss on her exposed throat—“but I shall lay claim to your delectable body. And his babe, if his seed took root.”

  “Nmmmffff!” She shook her head and fought him, but could not dislodge his hold.

  “Did you cry out when he took you?” he said against her ear, and laughed when she struggled. His spit dripped onto her skin. “Did you weep when he tore your maidenhood, or did you moan with pleasure?”

  He grabbed her buttocks with both hands, his breaths coming in excited pants.

  She screamed.

  A sword rasped from its scabbard.

  “Sedgewick,” a voice boomed through the darkness. “Let her go. Now.”

  Elizabeth sobbed. “Father?”

  He strode from the garden’s shadows, moonlight shining off his sword pointed at the baron’s chest. More armed men filtered out of the darkness.

  Dominic strode forward, his eyes dark with rage. “If Geoffrey were here, he would cut off your bollocks,” he growled. “If you do not release the lady, I will take the privilege.”

  Sedgewick’s arms dropped to his sides. He squeaked a nervous laugh. “’Twas a lover’s spat, milords. No more.”

  “Do not heed him,” Elizabeth said, massaging her neck, racked by shivers she could not control. “He paid Veronique to poison Geoffrey. He intends to kill you, Father.”

  “As I heard.” Arthur crossed to her side, his weapon still pointed at the baron, and touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

  “A-aye.”

  The baron chortled and wiped sweat from his nose with his sleeve. “I assure you I did not—”

  “I heard all,” Arthur snapped. “Part of your account confirmed what Aldwin told me. I spoke to him”—he looked at Elizabeth—“after I left de Lanceau’s chamber not long ago.”

  “Wretched squire,” Sedgewick muttered.

  Arthur stepped closer to the baron. The tip of his sword met Sedgewick’s tunic. “I despise de Lanceau too,” Arthur said, “but you are a cruel man indeed to manipulate others to do your evil. If there is any doubt left in your mind, no man of that ilk deserves my daughter’s hand in marriage. Most of all, you.”

  Sedgewick’s eyes bulged. “Wait. Milord—”

  “Before the guards drag you to the dungeon, I will know why.”

  “What do you mean?” The baron looked baffled.

  “My daughter guessed the common thread in this mess that I could not. You blackmailed the Earl of Druentwode.”

  Sedgewick’s mouth pinched.

  “Answer me,” Arthur snapped.

  To Elizabeth surprise, the baron laughed. “Elizabeth’s assumptions are wrong. I will not confess to what I did not do, and what cannot be proved.”

  “On the contrary. The earl sent a box of Geoffrey’s possessions to Wode. The earl did not destroy the writ that exonerated Edouard, as his blackmailer had demanded, but kept it safe. He also enclosed a letter telling how, fraught with guilt over Edouard’s death, he had secured the pardon so that Edouard’s sons would not bear the shame of believing their father was a traitor.”

  The baron spat on the ground. “So?”

  Arthur’s jaw tightened. “I saw your reaction when Elizabeth spoke of blackmail. She was correct in guessing your guilt. Why, I asked myself, would you have wanted the writ destroyed? Why would you wish to keep Edouard’s innocence secret? ’Tis clear to me now. You framed Edouard.”

  Elizabeth gasped.

  Fury sparked in the baron’s eyes, as though he could no longer maintain that he was guiltless. “And if I did? Edouard, the fool, would not listen to me. I risked much to take him into my confidence and ask him to support rebellion. He refused and ordered me—”

  “The feast!” Elizabeth cried, remembering. “Geoffrey told me that one evening, his father told visiting lords to leave Wode because they tried to sway him to treason.”

  Sedgewick’s gaze slid to her. “That night, I saw the depth of Edouard’s loyalty. I knew he would feel honor-bound to betray me to the king, so I betrayed Edouard first. I shed doubt on his allegiance. I convinced the king to order the siege.”

  “And I was the ignorant pawn,” Arthur muttered.

  “I wanted the honor of leading the siege. Yet, the king chose you, an unknown in his court,” Sedgewick said with a scowl. “I knew Edouard, and sought him out during the battle. I had the pleasure of running him through with my sword.”

  “Oh, God,” Elizabeth whispered.

  The baron made a sound of disgust. “Was I rewarded for helping the king vanquish a traitor? I asked for Wode. The king, however, granted all of Edouard’s properties to Arthur.” Sedgewick’s eyes hardened. “I was denied what I deserved. I waited for the right opportunity to claim it. When Geoffrey de Lanceau threatened Wode, I seized that chance to realize my desires.”

  Frowning, Elizabeth said, “I do not understand. How could you blackmail the earl? Why could he not expose you as a traitor?”

  Sedgewick grinned, clearly delighted by his own cleverness. “He attended the feast that evening at Wode. For a brief while, he planned to side with the king’s son, but in the end refused. That in itself was enough to ruin him. Yet, I also learned he sought a pardon for Edouard and intended to prove my duplicity. Using my contacts at court, I had significant documents destroyed. I also pressured the king for the earl’s daughter’s hand in marriage.” Sedgewick smile turned wicked. “The earl loved her very much. With her, I ensured his silence.”

  “She died not long ago,” Arthur said. “That left you free to pursue a betrothal to Elizabeth.”

  “Without his daughter’s safety to consider, and when he realized he was dying,” Elizabeth continued, caught up in her father’s train of thought, “the earl could at last send the writ to Geoffrey and let him know the truth about Edouard.”

  A lewd grin tilted the baron’s lips, and he held Elizabeth’s gaze. “A shame, my love, you had to fall in love with de Lanceau. It would have been simpler for us all to let the past lie.”

  “Enough.” Arthur signaled to his men. “Save your breath for the king’s courts. You will need it to convince the jury to spare your head. Till then, ’twill be my pleasure to see you rot in my dungeon.”

 
With a strangled squeal, the baron tried to run, but Dominic stepped forward and shoved the tip of his sword against Sedgewick’s belly.

  Dominic pointed to the keep. “I believe the dungeon is that way.” Smiling, he stepped to one side and let the armed sentries haul the baron, kicking and begging for mercy, toward the keep.

  Arthur blew out a long sigh. Elizabeth turned to him, tears of gratitude stinging her eyes. “Thank you, Father. Dominic. How did you know I was walking in the garden?”

  “One of the servants told us she saw you heading across the bailey.” Arthur returned his weapon to its scabbard and clasped her hands. “I apologize for not interceding sooner. As I left the forebuilding, a guard intercepted me and told me he had overheard you speaking with Sedgewick. I ordered him to get reinforcements while Dominic and I made our way to the garden. At first, I did not want to intrude upon your conversation for fear the baron would not finish his confession, but then . . .” He raked his hand through his silvery hair. “Then he assaulted you.”

  Wiping away tears, she said, “I am not harmed.”

  “I am sorry for being such a rotten judge of character. How could I have thought the baron was a suitable husband for you?”

  She went into her father’s arms and hugged him. “I forgive you. Please, we must find Veronique.”

  “Aye. I will order the keep searched, and will post guards outside Geoffrey’s door day and night. If he dies, ’twill not be from the baron’s poison.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A whispering sound, no more than a rush of air, woke Elizabeth. Her heavy eyelids flicked open to see that the fire had burned low during the night. Her first thought was that Mildred had sent a servant to fetch more wood and rekindle the embers.

  The noise came again, louder this time. With a drowsy blink, Elizabeth turned her head. Someone stood at the foot of Geoffrey’s bed, staring down at his prone form.

  Alarm swept any trace of sleep from Elizabeth’s mind. The figure walked around the bed, and stark moonlight illuminated the hooded cloak that brushed the floorboards and caused the soft whisper. The hood slipped a fraction. Chestnut curls gleamed, framing a face so hard it seemed carved from stone.

  Veronique!

  Moonlight flashed off the silver vial in her hand.

  Elizabeth lunged for the bed. “Nay!”

  She collided with Veronique. The vial dropped onto the blankets and rolled down past Geoffrey’s thigh.

  “Stupid!” spat the courtesan. Shoving Elizabeth aside, Veronique clawed at the bedding. She had the vial in her fingertips, but Elizabeth pushed her sideways and sent her crashing into the oak side table. The flask of elixir shattered on the floor. Liquid splashed onto Elizabeth clothes and made the floor slick beneath her feet.

  “By the blessed Virgin,” Mildred shouted, rising from her pallet, her eyes huge.

  “The vial,” Elizabeth yelled, struggling in Veronique’s grip. “Get it.”

  “Where? I see no—”

  “On the bed!”

  Mildred snatched up the vial and hurried to the door. “Guards,” she bellowed down the corridor. “Guards!”

  An instant later, Arthur burst into the chamber with Dominic at his heels.

  “She has a knife,” Elizabeth cried. She grabbed at Veronique’s wrists, desperate to stop her from drawing the blade. With a cruel laugh, Veronique shoved her away. Elizabeth tripped on the edge of the pallet and sprawled on the floor.

  The courtesan whipped the long knife from its scabbard. Elizabeth scrambled to rise.

  Turning to the bed, Veronique clutched the dagger in both hands, raised it high, and plunged it toward Geoffrey’s chest.

  The blade winked in its downward arc.

  Elizabeth screamed.

  Dominic lunged for the bed. He slammed into Veronique, knocking her off her feet. The knife tilted sideways, slipped from her hands, and clattered to the floor. Elizabeth grabbed the dagger and pushed up to standing.

  Kicking, screaming, Veronique fought Dominic, but he soon twisted her arms behind her back and held her in front of him, squirming and cursing.

  Arthur’s smile held genuine admiration. “It appears your skills are not affected by a few mugs of ale, Dominic, or the late hour.”

  Dominic grinned. “A good thing, too.”

  Fighting to steady her breath, Elizabeth said, “Were there no guards at the door? Father, you promised.”

  “They are dead.” Her sire glared at Veronique. “I did not pay you enough silver, wench?”

  Her crimson lips turned up in a sneer. “The baron offered me coin and a keep of my own. His estate in Normandy.”

  “How fortunate for the villeins of Normandy that you shall never rule them,” Arthur said, his voice cold.

  She spat at his feet. Dominic propelled her toward the men-at-arms waiting in the doorway. Her shrieks of protest rang in the corridor, then faded into silence.

  Elizabeth set down the knife and looked at Dominic, her eyes moist with tears. “If you had not come, Geoffrey might be dead.”

  “You mean, if I had not plied your father with so much drink he could not deny me another visit.” Dominic glanced past her at Geoffrey, and his reckless smile wavered. “In truth, ’twas an honor, and at last, I have paid my debt to him. I hope my friend lives to thank me himself.”

  ***

  Daylight shone in through the shutters when Elizabeth awoke. Her neck felt stiff and cramped from sleeping on the lumpy pallet, but she shrugged away the discomfort.

  The baron and Veronique’s murderous plans had been foiled. Geoffrey lived. ’Twas all that mattered.

  She rose and set more logs on the fire, which had burned down since she had refueled it after Veronique’s capture. After indulging in a thorough, catlike stretch, Elizabeth smoothed the wrinkles from her crushed gown. She picked up the saddle trapping and smiled down at her deft handiwork. A few more stitches on the hawk’s left wing, and the repair would be done.

  Taking care to be quiet, she crossed to the bed. Beside it on the pallet, Mildred slept, curled on one side, her mouth relaxed open. A fresh flask of elixir sat in readiness on the side table. The healer must have worked late into the night to brew it.

  Elizabeth stared down at Geoffrey. He seemed to be in a peaceful sleep. His eyelids lay smooth and still, his lashes forming a dark smudge above his cheekbones. His lips were closed, but his bottom lip protruded a fraction and lent a childlike innocence to his slumber.

  Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, she drew a fresh linen cloth out of the willow basket and washed his face. In a feverish fit, he had worked his arms free from the blankets and his hands lay clasped across his chest. Above the linen bandages, his skin gleamed, reminding her again of the bold, muscular beauty of him.

  How she hoped that he survived and became strong again. She would not give up hope.

  As she worked, the end of her braid brushed his skin. He made a small sound, like a sigh, and turned his face toward her. Elizabeth smiled and leaned over to smooth the tendrils of hair from his cheek.

  His fingers brushed her breast.

  Elizabeth froze. The movement was so unexpected. Deliberate. Her hand, clutching the wet cloth, hovered in mid-air. She dared not breathe. Had she fantasized the touch? Had she wished with such desperation for him to recover that she had imagined what she felt?

  His fingers moved again. A slow, tender caress.

  “Geoffrey?” she whispered.

  “I had to be sure I was not dreaming,” he said, his voice a dry rasp. “Elizabeth, I had to be sure.”

  She drew back and looked down into eyes that were clear and gray, and shining with tears.

  “Geoffrey!” She smothered him with fevered kisses on his forehead, eyebrows, cheeks, and at last on the fullness of his lips. The kiss slowed and deepened, rich with loving joy.

  “I prayed you would not die,” she sobbed against his lips.

  Pain shivered acros
s his face as his warm, rough hand closed over hers. “I would never leave you, damsel.”

  She blinked away tears. “Promise me.”

  “I promise.” His gaze shone with passionate conviction. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

  “As I love you.”

  She bent to kiss him again. At a muffled snort, she hesitated. Mildred pushed up from the pallet, wiping her eyes.

  “I . . . do not mean to intrude, but . . . I am pleased to see you awake, milord.”

  “I have you and your herbs to thank for it?” Geoffrey asked.