Page 122 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“You mean, if I had not plied your father with so much drink he could not deny me another visit.” Dominic glanced past her at Geoffrey, and his reckless smile wavered. “In truth, ’twas an honor, and at last, I have paid my debt to him. I hope my friend lives to thank me himself.”

Daylight shone in through the shutters when Elizabeth awoke. Her neck felt stiff and cramped from sleeping on the lumpy pallet, but she shrugged away the discomfort.

The baron and Veronique’s murderous plans had been foiled. Geoffrey lived. ’Twas all that mattered.

She rose and set more logs on the fire, which had burned down since she had refueled it after Veronique’s capture. After indulging in a thorough, catlike stretch, Elizabeth smoothed the wrinkles from her crushed gown. She picked up the saddle trapping and smiled down at her deft handiwork. A few more stitches on the hawk’s left wing, and the repair would be done.

Taking care to be quiet, she crossed to the bed. Beside it on the pallet, Mildred slept, curled on one side, her mouth relaxed open. A fresh flask of elixir sat in readiness on the side table. The healer must have worked late into the night to brew it.

Elizabeth stared down at Geoffrey. He seemed to be in a peaceful sleep. His eyelids lay smooth and still, his lashes forming a dark smudge above his cheekbones. His lips were closed, but his bottom lip protruded a fraction and lent a childlike innocence to his slumber.

Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, she drew a fresh linen cloth out of the willow basket and washed his face. In a feverish fit, he had worked his arms free from the blankets and his hands lay clasped across his chest. Above the linen bandages, his skin gleamed, reminding her again of the bold, muscular beauty of him.

How she hoped that he survived and became strong again. She would not give up hope.

As she worked, the end of her braid brushed his skin. He made a small sound, like a sigh, and turned his face toward her. Elizabeth smiled and leaned over to smooth the tendrils of hair from his cheek.

His fingers brushed her breast.

Elizabeth froze. The movement was so unexpected. Deliberate. Her hand, clutching the wet cloth, hovered in mid-air. She dared not breathe. Had she fantasized the touch? Had she wished with such desperation for him to recover that she had imagined what she felt?

His fingers moved again. A slow, tender caress.

“Geoffrey?” she whispered.

“I had to be sure I was not dreaming,” he said, his voice a dry rasp. “Elizabeth, I had to be sure.”

She drew back and looked down into eyes that were clear and gray, and shining with tears.

“Geoffrey!” She smothered him with fevered kisses on his forehead, eyebrows, cheeks, and at last on the fullness of his lips. The kiss slowed and deepened, rich with loving joy.

“I prayed you would not die,” she sobbed against his lips.

Pain shivered across his face as his warm, rough hand closed over hers. “I would never leave you, damsel.”

She blinked away tears. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” His gaze shone with passionate conviction. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

“As I love you.”

She bent to kiss him again. At a muffled snort, she hesitated. Mildred pushed up from the pallet, wiping her eyes.

“I… do not mean to intrude, but… I am pleased to see you awake, milord.”

“I have you and your herbs to thank for it?” Geoffrey asked.

Mildred nodded. “You do.”

“Whatever you wish in return, ’tis yours.”

The matron gave a proud smile. “Harrumph! Listen to you. Brave words from a man who has much healing to do. I remind you, milord, you are still my patient, and it may take months before you are well again.”

Geoffrey looked at Elizabeth and groaned. “Months?”

Mildred’s head dipped in a curt nod. “If you wish to thank me, you will not disobey when I tell you to rest, or refuse to drink my healing tonics, no matter how foul they look, smell, or taste. I cannot bear to see my lady in distress any longer. Agreed?”

He sighed. “Agreed.”