Page 113 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“Daughter?” Arthur whispered.

Love for Geoffrey bloomed in every part of her being. “He did not force me. I wanted to lie with him.”

“God’s teeth!” Anger and dismay darkened her father’s gaze.

Elizabeth clasped her hands to steady them.

The baron gripped the back of his chair, his fat fingers as white as unopened lilies against the dark oak. “You deceived me?” he roared. “You spread your legs for him when you were betrothed to me?” His arm swept over the table, hurling food and wine onto the floor. A dog ran, yelping. The chair followed with a splintering crash.

When he grabbed the edge of the table, her father limped forward. “Baron!”

Sedgewick straightened, his face puffed and red. “I apologize, milord.” His jowls twitched. It appeared an immense effort for him to restrain his temper. “A walk will settle my thoughts.” Without a backward glance, he strode from the hall.

Elizabeth exhaled. Her body still shook, and she wondered if Sedgewick’s rampage would have continued, if her father had not stopped him. The baron had looked angry enough to commit murder.

She shoved the frightening thought to the back of her mind. She need not think of him again. He would not wish to pursue the wedding now.

After a tense silence, her father asked, “Did you speak true of your love for de Lanceau?”

“Aye.”

“You want to marry him?”

“With all my heart.”

His gaze shadowed with concern. “He has not been… unkind to you? In any fashion? One that might make you reconsider such a union?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

“’Tis difficult for me to believe.” He dragged a stiff hand over the back of his neck. “Veronique⁠—”

“Veronique?” she cried.

“Geoffrey’s courtesan intercepted us on the road to Branton Keep. She told me de Lanceau forced you to his bed.” Her father’s mouth turned up in a wan smile. “I paid her to get us through the keep’s gates.”

“Geoffrey knew he had been betrayed,” Elizabeth said. “I am certain what Veronique told you was vicious, spiteful lies.”

“’Twas easy to believe her.”

Elizabeth stared at the ruined, overturned chair and wine-soaked rushes. “I cannot condone all of Geoffrey’s deeds,” she said, sickened anew by the baron’s violence, “but I do love him. He is a good man. I will do all I can so that he will live and be my husband.”

“What accursed irony.” Arthur’s voice broke. “Edouard de Lanceau’s rogue son claims Wode, my fortune, you—all that I hold dear—yet you see him as a hero?”

“Father, please try to understand⁠—”

“I cannot. I will not forgive de Lanceau as you have, Daughter. I look forward to the day you bring word of his death.”

CHAPTER 20

With a weary groan, Arthur sorted the parchments on the table before him. Too many matters of estate had been neglected during his absence.

He scowled, irritated by his own pricking conscience, for these were de Lanceau’s problems now. Yet, with his death imminent, someone had to ensure that the keep’s affairs and its people were kept in order before discontent stirred another pot of headaches.

Headaches, indeed. Arthur grimaced and massaged his throbbing brow, an aftereffect of yestereve that matched the nagging pain in his leg. He was glad of the quiet hall. Not a soul disturbed him, not even the dogs that lay stretched out by the fire. Thank the saints, the baron was elsewhere. Composed since his outburst but still rankled, Sedgewick had gorged himself at the midday meal and accepted Arthur’s offer of a guest chamber where he could sleep off his meal. And, Arthur hoped, his foul temper.

Arthur skimmed the first grievance, filed by a villein whose leeks had been eaten by a neighbor’s sow, and tossed it aside. Leeks? Pigs? How could he think on such matters when Elizabeth’s revelations spun through his mind and scattered his thoughts like dry leaves in an autumn gale?

She loved Geoffrey de Lanceau.