Page 16 of A Knight’s Vengeance

Men pushed Mildred up into the wagon. The matron shivered, hugged her arms across her bosom, and crouched in the far corner.

Viscon released Elizabeth’s arm. Before he took his hand from her mouth, he grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. He waved his dagger under her nose. “Ye make so much as a whimper, milady, and I will slit yer throat. Understand?”

He sounded so savage, Elizabeth nodded.

From somewhere behind her, de Lanceau muttered a curse. “Easy. Put the knife away. Get her in the wagon.”

The mercenary spat an oath. He released Elizabeth and shoved her up into the wooden cart. Clutching her mantle to her shaking body, she staggered to her feet.

She would yell for the guards.

The wagon rocked, and Viscon leapt up behind her. He must have guessed her intent, for his eyes glinted. He looked from her to Mildred, unsheathed his knife, and pushed it up inside his sleeve.

He strode closer, and Elizabeth’s mouth went dry. The shrill cry refused to emerge.

His hand closed on her shoulder, and he shoved her down to the floor. He squatted beside Mildred, the knife’s leather-bound hilt visible.

De Lanceau’s low voice came from nearby. “I will ride up front with the driver. Dominic, keep watch on the women.”

Elizabeth felt Geoffrey’s stare upon her. Salvaging a last tattered shred of bravado, she raised her chin and glared at him standing beside the wagon.

His mouth twitched. “On the floor.”

Mildred gasped. “You cannot possibly expect my lady to⁠—”

Geoffrey strode from view.

Viscon grabbed Elizabeth’s hair and shoved her face down against the filthy floorboards coated with flour. She flattened her hands against the wood and tried to rise, but the men crowded in. They trapped her hair and clothing beneath their boots. A rustle sounded overhead, then a sour-smelling tarp settled over her and Mildred.

Elizabeth heard muffled voices, one sharp with annoyance. Someone reached beneath the tarp and shoved a soft linen shirt in her face. It smelled of him. After dropping de Lanceau’s garment, the hand disappeared.

A moment later, the wagon creaked into motion.

Elizabeth jostled from side to side. Her cheek bounced against the boards and, with a grudging sigh, she spread out the shirt for her and Mildred, and laid her cheek upon it.

The wagon rumbled on, gathering speed. Each jolted movement sent pain shooting up Elizabeth’s arm. Her head throbbed.

She squeezed her eyes closed. She would not cry. She would not give de Lanceau the satisfaction. Under her breath, she prayed the wagon would be stopped and searched at either of the two gatehouses.

The cart did not slow. The wheels drummed on the wooden drawbridge, then gritted on the dirt road beyond the keep.

Anger and determination blazed through her. She would escape. She would foil whatever scheme for vengeance de Lanceau had begun.

Above all, she would never let him harm her father.

CHAPTER 4

“Stop here.” De Lanceau’s terse command carried over the clop of hooves and the wagon’s rattle.

Elizabeth raised her head a fraction. The crunch of dirt changed to a hiss. The wagon had veered off the road and into grass.

After a while the jostling slowed, then stopped.

Mildred groaned. “My body is one big bruise.”

“Mine too.” One of the men trapping Elizabeth’s hair moved his foot, tugging on her tresses, and she winced. “Barbarians.”

The pressure eased from her hair and clothing. The wagon swayed from side to side. The tarp shifted and was hauled away.