Page 114 of A Knight’s Vengeance

Disbelief and remorse jabbed at him like two cantankerous old crones. He had suspected Veronique could not be trusted, yet he had believed her lies. She had manipulated him, the baron, Aldwin, all of them. Aye, she had wanted the silver, but above all she had wanted de Lanceau dead and his revenge forfeit.

Arthur shuddered. He wanted de Lanceau’s death too. He had wished for it even as he heard his daughter confess she loved the rogue, and longed to be his bride. Part of Arthur felt numbed, betrayed. Was it sacrilege to hope Edouard’s son never lived to claim Elizabeth’s fair hand?

An image flashed through Arthur’s mind: a knight silhouetted against the dawn sky, the young man who had bested him. Arthur recalled the cool calculation in de Lanceau’s eyes when he had demanded Elizabeth as his betrothed, an emotional blow that had proved his ambition to impregnate her and beget a blood claim to Wode and all that Arthur owned. Yet, was that de Lanceau’s motive? Or had something more glimmered in those gray eyes, something Arthur had not wished to recognize before now?

He folded his hands and warmed them with his breath. And what of Aldwin? In different circumstances, his actions might have been considered chivalrous. Would he be executed for believing Veronique’s slander and doing what he believed was right? A moral dilemma Arthur did not want to ponder.

A heated argument started in the bailey. A moment later, the forebuilding’s outer door crashed open, and footsteps thundered on the stone stairs.

“I tell you again, you are not to disturb Lord Brackendale,” Bertrand shouted and lunged up the stairs two at a time in pursuit of Dominic, who had reached the top and was stalking across the hall. “If you do not stop, I will arrest you.”

“Indeed,” Dominic said, his expression savage. “If you insist on throwing yourself upon my sharpened sword, so be it.”

As the knight marched toward the table, Arthur pushed himself to standing. Without missing a stride, Dominic dropped down on one knee and bowed his head in a gesture of respect.

Arthur sighed. Dominic seemed to be the most loyal of de Lanceau’s men who had escorted the wagon bearing their lord. Since arriving at Wode, Dominic had slept in the stable with de Lanceau’s destrier and refused to leave the keep until de Lanceau ordered him to do so, or died.

“Milord, I have come requesting news of my lord and comrade, Geoffrey de Lanceau.”

“Again, I see.”

Dominic charged to his feet, shedding bits of straw. “I beg you, do not deny me the truth.” His eyes were bright behind a grazing of brown lashes. “Does he live, or is he dead?”

“His fate remains uncertain. Yet, at present, he lives.”

Relief softened Dominic’s boyish features. “I would like to see him.”

“As I told you yestereve—the last time you so boldly demanded an audience—Mildred advised against visitors. She insists de Lanceau’s life depends upon it.”

“You care whether he lives or dies?”

Arthur scowled at the challenge in Dominic’s voice. “I despise de Lanceau. I loathe being responsible for his well-being. I do so because he is now the rightful lord of Wode, and my squire committed a rash act and caused him injury.”

“And what is being done about this squire?” Dominic asked, his hand settling on the pommel of his sword.

Bertrand reached to draw his weapon, but Arthur stayed him with a flick of his hand. Though Dominic looked irritated, he did not seem a man to attack without due provocation. “My squire’s name is Aldwin,” Arthur said.

“He—Aldwin—is in the dungeon?”

“For now.”

Dominic’s curse echoed to the smoke-blackened beams overhead. “You protect him? You believe he will be vindicated from a deed he committed in cold blood, before witnesses? If Geoffrey lives, Aldwin’s life will be forfeit.”

Shaking his head, Arthur set his hands flat on the table. “There are other considerations.”

“Such as?”

“His reasons for the impetuous act,” Arthur snapped. “I, for one, cannot blame Aldwin for being incensed by lies that I believed myself.”

Dominic stood very still. “Lies, milord?”

“The courtesan, Veronique, told me de Lanceau bedded my daughter against her will. That he raped her without mercy or remorse.”

An indignant laugh burst from Dominic. “You believed her?”

Arthur pounded his fist on the tabletop. Parchments fell to the floor. “Her lies confirmed all that I feared. He held my daughter hostage. He demanded a ransom. By God’s holy blood, he wanted to destroy me.”

“He did,” Dominic agreed. “I will not deny that his actions were driven by vengeance. But, I promise you, his intentions toward your daughter were noble. Geoffrey is a man of deep passions, but he would never harm a woman. Not one whom he admired.” His mouth curved into a lop-sided grin. “I believe they were destined to become lovers. They are well matched in strength of will and temperament, and in all the ways that matter between a man and a woman.”