Page 108 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“I have sent de Lanceau’s friend to fetch her,” her sire said and limped up beside her, his face contorting with pain. Blood trailed down his leg.

“Father, we must tend to your wound.”

“Fear not, I shall live.” His eyes softened with a strained smile. “You have a tender heart, Daughter, but do not fret for de Lanceau. He is, after all, a rogue. Sedgewick, take Elizabeth from this gruesome scene, and see that she is well attended.”

Fear whipped up inside her. She must not leave Geoffrey to fight for his life, alone. “I will stay.”

“Do as I command,” Arthur said. “’Tis not a sight for a lady.”

A brisk “harrumph” carried above the commotion, and Mildred elbowed her way through the men-at-arms. She looked down at Geoffrey, at the crimson pool by her feet, and whispered, “By the blessed Virgin.”

“Can you save him?” Elizabeth asked.

Mildred knelt in the dirt and with light touches, probed the wound. Blood gushed between her fingers, and her mouth pinched. “I cannot say for certain.”

Arthur growled, a sound of annoyance. “Take my daughter from here, Baron.”

The matron rose to her feet with the sound of popping joints. “Milord, I have much work ahead of me, tasks that would benefit from a woman’s delicate hand rather than a knight’s crude fist.” Her gaze, bright with meaning, slid to Elizabeth. “Would she be able to assist me?”

Elizabeth squared her shoulders. “I will be glad to help.”

Fatigue shadowed Arthur’s face. Rubbing his brow, he sighed. “Very well.”

As her father hobbled over to the well, assisted by several knights, Elizabeth crouched down beside Geoffrey. She touched his cold cheek, and fresh tears filled her eyes.

She fought the horrible, pressing fear that she had lost the man who had captured her heart and soul.

Forever.

CHAPTER 19

Raising her lashes, Elizabeth stared at the candles flickering on the altar. Laughter, music, and the sounds of revelry floated into Wode’s quiet chapel. While she prayed for Geoffrey, the castle folk celebrated her father’s safe return and the fact that none of his men had died in the skirmish at Branton Keep. Thirty were wounded, and some had serious injuries, but they would live.

One man at Wode stood to die from the siege.

“Oh, Geoffrey,” she whispered.

Her lips trembled, and she pressed her knuckles to her mouth to quell a sob. When she and her father’s weary army had ridden up to the keep’s gates, she had smiled and waved to the sentries on the wall walk who cheered and clapped. She had bathed, dressed in her finery, and dined in the great hall as her father expected where ale and wine flowed and servants brought endless courses of rich food. Through it all, she had struggled to keep her face a mask of noble dignity. Inside, she was dying.

She linked her icy hands over her favorite blue silk gown, noting with a stab of anguish that the folds were a soft gray hue, the color of Geoffrey’s eyes when he bent his head to kiss her. She prayed with all the aching love inside her that he would live.

She had done all that Mildred had asked. Elizabeth had watched, horrified but unable to look away, as soldiers cut the bolt from Geoffrey’s body and sealed the gaping flesh with red-hot irons heated in the fire. Her head swimming, she had fought not to faint while she helped Mildred apply a poultice of crushed nettles to the burnt flesh.

When Mildred declared Branton’s garden ill equipped to deal with a wound of such magnitude, Elizabeth had helped her lay Geoffrey on a crude mattress of straw and blankets strewn in the back of a supply wagon. For good luck, she had tucked the half-mended saddle trapping next to him, and had ridden by his side until they reached Wode.

She might never feel the joy of his lovemaking again.

Tears welled, and Elizabeth blinked them away. She would do all within her power to save Geoffrey, for she could not bear to live without him.

Gathering her skirts, she hurried down the corridor toward her chamber. She passed it and halted at a door father along the passage. Elizabeth made a fist and pounded on the wood.

She knocked again. Why did Mildred not answer?

A muffled exclamation came from inside the chamber, an instant before the door opened and the scent of rose and dill soap floated into the corridor. “Here I am,” Mildred grumbled, clutching a towel over her wrinkled bosom and removing one draped over her head. “Can an old woman not have a few moments of privacy?”

When she saw Elizabeth, she started. “Oh, milady, I do apologize.” Her gaze softened with concern. “You are crying.”

Elizabeth dried her eyes. “Please, I need your help.”