Page 11 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“Hurry!” she pleaded.

Mildred exhaled a shaky sigh. “’Tis fastened.”

Elizabeth shoved her hair under the mantle’s hood, drew it over her head, and darted into the passage. The wall torches sputtered and cast eerie shadows, but she smothered the anxiety surging inside her. She must reach the stairwell.

“Sweet lady,” she heard Mildred whisper. “God be with you.”

Geoffrey knew each of Wode’s corridors as though he had never left the keep. His strides quickened as he approached the lord’s solar, the spacious chamber where he had been born and where his mother had died from fever when his younger brother, Thomas, was scarce one year old.

The familiar, musty odor of the passage stirred a host of memories: boyish pranks played on the scullery maids; afternoons spent collecting stones and chasing Thomas through the maze of torch lit corridors, laughing and yelling at the top of his lungs; the siege.

Geoffrey fought a maelstrom of fury and hurt so overwhelming, he wanted to roar in agony. He ground his teeth, resurrected the iron wall around his soul, and forced himself to concentrate on his task.

His father had not deserved to die in disgrace.

Lord Brackendale would suffer for his misdeed.

He saw candlelight in the doorway on the left. A plump, gray-haired woman in a linen shift shrank back into the shadows.

Lady Elizabeth’s lady-in-waiting.

A smile twisted Geoffrey’s lips. The woman’s name was Mildred, if Dominic’s information was correct. She had been in the market that day. She seemed to remember him, for her eyes flared and her hand flew to her mouth.

As his gaze shifted to the open doorway, his jaw hardened. The fact that Mildred stood waiting for him was very telling.

The lady had been warned.

Geoffrey halted before Mildred. Her white-knuckled hands tightened around the candle. She shivered. He could not tell whether ’twas from his stare, or the cool, pre-dawn air.

Nor did he care.

Hands on his hips, he strode into the chamber. His gaze traveled over the opened linen chest, the heap of garments and thread on the floor, and the mussed bedding. He placed his palm flat in the center of the bed and fought to ignore the linens’ sweet fragrance. Her scent.

The bedding was still warm. She had not gone far.

Turning on his heel, he glared at Mildred. “Where is she?”

“W-who?”

“Do not toy with me, Mildred. You know of whom I speak.”

Her face blanched. She clearly had not expected him to know her name. Yet, she held his gaze. “Milady is not here.”

Geoffrey growled deep in his throat. He crossed the chamber, his boots rapping on the floorboards. “I will ask you but one more time. Where… is⁠—”

A shout rang out in the corridor. Geoffrey strode to the doorway, aware of Mildred’s shuddered sigh behind him.

Dominic appeared in the embrasure, his brow beaded with sweat. “Milord, Viscon saw the lady heading for a stairwell. She is trying to reach the bailey.”

Triumph coiled inside Geoffrey. “Excellent.” He signaled to the armed men awaiting his order. “Troy. Paul. Bring the matron. We will meet you at the stairwell.”

Dominic frowned. “We intended to take only the lady.”

“Mildred will ensure that Brackendale’s daughter cooperates.”

“Milord, is that wise? ’Twas cramped in the wagon with ten of us. To find room for two mo⁠—”

Anger flared inside Geoffrey, as hot as burning oil. “Do not question me in this. Go!”