Page 121 of A Knight’s Vengeance

CHAPTER 22

Awhispering sound, no more than a rush of air, woke Elizabeth. Her heavy eyelids flicked open to see that the fire had burned low during the night. Her first thought was that Mildred had sent a servant to fetch more wood and rekindle the embers.

The noise came again, louder this time. With a drowsy blink, Elizabeth turned her head. Someone stood at the foot of Geoffrey’s bed, staring down at his prone form.

Alarm swept any trace of sleep from Elizabeth’s mind. The figure walked around the bed, and stark moonlight illuminated the hooded cloak that brushed the floorboards and caused the soft whisper. The hood slipped a fraction. Chestnut curls gleamed, framing a face so hard it seemed carved from stone.

Veronique!

Moonlight flashed off the silver vial in her hand.

Elizabeth lunged for the bed. “Nay!”

She collided with Veronique. The vial dropped onto the blankets and rolled down past Geoffrey’s thigh.

“Stupid!” spat the courtesan. Shoving Elizabeth aside, Veronique clawed at the bedding. She had the vial in her fingertips, but Elizabeth pushed her sideways and sent her crashing into the oak side table. The flask of elixir shattered on the floor. Liquid splashed onto Elizabeth clothes and made the floor slick beneath her feet.

“By the blessed Virgin,” Mildred shouted, rising from her pallet, her eyes huge.

“The vial,” Elizabeth yelled, struggling in Veronique’s grip. “Get it.”

“Where? I see no⁠—”

“On the bed!”

Mildred snatched up the vial and hurried to the door. “Guards,” she bellowed down the corridor. “Guards!”

An instant later, Arthur burst into the chamber with Dominic at his heels.

“She has a knife,” Elizabeth cried. She grabbed at Veronique’s wrists, desperate to stop her from drawing the blade. With a cruel laugh, Veronique shoved her away. Elizabeth tripped on the edge of the pallet and sprawled on the floor.

The courtesan whipped the long knife from its scabbard. Elizabeth scrambled to rise.

Turning to the bed, Veronique clutched the dagger in both hands, raised it high, and plunged it toward Geoffrey’s chest.

The blade winked in its downward arc.

Elizabeth screamed.

Dominic lunged for the bed. He slammed into Veronique, knocking her off her feet. The knife tilted sideways, slipped from her hands, and clattered to the floor. Elizabeth grabbed the dagger and pushed up to standing.

Kicking, screaming, Veronique fought Dominic, but he soon twisted her arms behind her back and held her in front of him, squirming and cursing.

Arthur’s smile held genuine admiration. “It appears your skills are not affected by a few mugs of ale, Dominic, or the late hour.”

Dominic grinned. “A good thing, too.”

Fighting to steady her breath, Elizabeth said, “Were there no guards at the door? Father, you promised.”

“They are dead.” Her sire glared at Veronique. “I did not pay you enough silver, wench?”

Her crimson lips turned up in a sneer. “The baron offered me coin and a keep of my own. His estate in Normandy.”

“How fortunate for the villeins of Normandy that you shall never rule them,” Arthur said, his voice cold.

She spat at his feet. Dominic propelled her toward the men-at-arms waiting in the doorway. Her shrieks of protest rang in the corridor, then faded into silence.

Elizabeth set down the knife and looked at Dominic, her eyes moist with tears. “If you had not come, Geoffrey might be dead.”