Page 1 of A Knight’s Vengeance

PROLOGUE

MOYDENSHIRE, ENGLAND, 1174

“Father,” Geoffrey de Lanceau moaned. Wrenching his gaze from the dark outlines of the horse and animals nearby, he knelt beside the man sprawled on the stable’s filthy straw.

The metallic scent of blood seared Geoffrey’s nostrils. In the feeble torchlight, his father’s face bore the waxy pallor of death.

Tears blurred Geoffrey’s vision. His mind whirled with memories of flaming arrows. Thundering horses. His father’s agonized roar as a sword slashed his chest. Biting down on his hand, Geoffrey fought the sobs that tore up from his belly.

Outside, the wind wailed past the stable’s walls. The lone torch inside hissed and spat. Light glimmered on the silk surcoat crushed into the straw. The embroidered garment, symbol of his family’s noble heritage, was soiled and torn.

Helplessness welled up inside Geoffrey like boiling pitch. As the acidic taste of bile filled his mouth, he curled his hands into fists.

He would not fail to save his father.

He had rescued his sire from the siege and found refuge. Now, he would save his father’s life. He would prove himself worthy to be the son of Edouard de Lanceau, a knight whose heroism had been lauded in chansons de geste and praised in the king’s court.

Until the king branded Edouard a traitor.

Until the king ordered Lord Arthur Brackendale to besiege the keep at Wode and kill Edouard.

Confusion and fear snaked down Geoffrey’s spine. His sire was not a traitor.

“Geoffrey?” The rasped voice sounded pitifully faint.

“Please, lie still.” Geoffrey pressed his palms to his father’s stained shirt. Fresh blood oozed between his fingers. “Need a healer. Poultices. Must stitch the wounds⁠—”

“No… time,” Edouard whispered.

Geoffrey trembled. “Do not speak. Save your strength. The Earl of Druentwode⁠—”

“—will protect… you now… as his own kin. I would do… same… for his sons.”

“Nay!”

Edouard’s mouth twisted into a pained smile. “Promise me… you will care for… your brother.”

“Live! You must live. Thomas and I do not want to be orphans.” Despair lodged in Geoffrey’s throat like a stone. “When Mother died, you swore we⁠—”

“Promise… me.”

With a choked cry, Geoffrey wrenched his hands away. Panic and anger swarmed in his belly like flies. “Do not die a traitor. Live, Father. Prove Lord Brackendale’s siege was wrong. Prove you did not betray our king.”

Anguish shimmered in Edouard’s gray eyes. “Ah, my son.”

The tender words clawed at Geoffrey. “I cannot make the vow.” The tears he had tried so hard to hold back streamed down his cheeks. “I cannot wield a sword. I have no armor. I am naught but a boy.”

“Not boy.” Edouard groped for Geoffrey’s hand and squeezed it. “You are heir to the de Lanceau estates. I ask you again⁠—”

His father’s tone held urgency. With a shuddered sigh, Geoffrey nodded. He curled his small fingers into his sire’s and held tight. “I promise. ’Tis a vow sealed in blood.”

Edouard groaned. Gasped. His breath expelled on a rush, faded to a gurgle, then… only the wind’s eerie shriek.

“Father?” Geoffrey looked down at his sire’s pale, lifeless hand. In the shadows, animals stirred.

Rats scurried across the fouled straw, eyes bright in the torchlight.

“Father?” Geoffrey’s voice rose to a wail. He freed his hand and blinked away tears. Screaming, he slammed his fist against the dirt floor.