Page 111 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“There, if you will.” She pointed to the floor beside Geoffrey’s bed. They dropped the bed with a thump, releasing a cloud of dust.

Mildred half-coughed, half-snorted. “You cannot think to⁠—”

“I am.” With a word of thanks and an authoritative wave, Elizabeth dismissed the two men. They hurried away, no doubt eager to down more ale.

The matron’s brows drew together, and her lips compressed into a forbidding line. “You would be wise to retire to your own bed for a good night’s sleep, milady. You look exhausted. Terrible, if I may say so. If aught happens to Geoffrey this evening⁠—”

“—I wish to be here.” Fighting the weariness in every joint in her body, Elizabeth looked at Geoffrey. “He is my betrothed,” she whispered. “I cannot leave him now, when he needs me most.”

She stretched a clean blanket over the pallet and settled herself for sleep. Squeezing her eyes shut, she ignored the straw poking into her cheek and the drafts that skimmed under the shutters and across the floor like a ghoul’s breath. In the long, dark hours of the night she lay awake and listened to Mildred’s snores and Geoffrey’s shallow breathing.

The fire cast indistinct patterns on the stone walls. Unable to drift into slumber, she thought of the first time she woke in Geoffrey’s bed, content in his arms, and watched the fire dance on Branton’s walls until she fell back to sleep.

She could not imagine life without Geoffrey.

He had become part of her soul.

Rolling onto her side, she stared at his broad hand lying atop the blanket, the hand that had wielded his sword and won him all he had desired for so many agonizing years. As he had wished, he was now the rightful lord of Wode, and he had achieved it without killing her father, for which she would forever be grateful.

How desperately she hoped Geoffrey would not die, after all he had fought for lay within his grasp.

She had not told him how much she loved him.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, unable to hold back her tears.

When her eyelids flickered open, daylight shone beyond the shutters. She tossed aside her blankets and leaned over him, and traced his lips with her finger. His breath gusted against her skin.

A joyous cry burst inside her. Had Mildred not said that if he lived till the morning, he might survive?

The matron grunted and, with awkward movements, rose from her mattress in the corner of the room. “He lives?”

“Aye!”

“Do not smile so, milady. His fever is high. Wash him with herbal water while I check the wound. When you are finished, do it again.”

As Elizabeth rinsed Geoffrey’s face for the second time, a knock sounded on the door. She scowled, for the maids who brought wood for the fire knew not to make so much noise.

She opened the door.

Bertrand stood in the corridor. “Milady,” he said, looking sheepish. “Your sire asks that you come to the hall. Baron Sedgewick has arrived. He wishes to see you.”

Elizabeth resisted a disgusted groan. Sedgewick had led his army back to Avenley yesterday, and she had hoped not to see him again so soon. She would spare him only the briefest moment. Nodding to Bertrand, she said, “I will be there soon.”

Pressing the door closed with her palm, Elizabeth glanced down and despaired at the state of her bliaut. She had not changed garments since yesterday, and had not yet sent a maid to fetch some clean clothes. The silk bore smudges of Geoffrey’s blood and herbs. She had not even washed her face. Yet, ’twould be discourteous not to even make an appearance when her father had requested it, or to keep him and the baron waiting. She made her way to the hall.

Through the pervasive fog of wood smoke, she saw the baron and her father had pulled up chairs near the hearth. The enticing smells of fresh bread and warmed gooseberry jelly wafted to her.

Sedgewick dropped his roll. “Beloved.” He struggled to his feet, licking jelly from his fingertips. His eyes widened at her dishevelment. “You are hurt?”

“I have been tending Geoffrey.”

“So your father told me.” Sedgewick’s smile turned cool. “He says you have not left de Lanceau’s side. You and the healer slept in his chamber last night?”

“We did. He has fever.”

“Ah, fever.” Sedgewick cast her father a smug, victorious grin. Doubt taunted Elizabeth, but she refused to quaver before this man.

“’Tis amusing, milord?” she asked with an edge to her voice.