Page 19 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“I heard your words,” he murmured. “Foolish words, spoken in haste. But then”—his gaze skimmed over her again—“you seem to have a talent for foolishness.”

Elizabeth’s belly somersaulted. She wondered if he referred to her giving Mildred the mantle, or the market incident. How shameful, that she still remembered his body’s warmth pressed against her, and that she had once dreamed of his kiss.

“Come away from the water, before you slip and fall in, and I have to rescue you again.”

She drummed her fingers on her forearms. “I do not take orders from ruffians.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You wish me to come and get you?”

“I most certainly do not.”

“We have a long journey ahead of us, and will be leaving soon. There is food and drink at the wagon.” He opened the saddlebag. “I brought ointment for your wound.”

Elizabeth turned her back on him. She did not want his fare, or his ointment. She thrust up her chin, tried to walk away, but found her right slipper stuck in the mud. She tugged her foot. It came free with a pfffrrttt, the sound of hearty flatulence.

Laughter erupted behind her. Elizabeth fought the mortified giggle welling in her throat.

“I suggest you eat,” de Lanceau said, his tone lightened by a chuckle. “We leave when the horses are ready.”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “Where are you taking us?”

“You will know soon enough.”

“Branton Keep?”

His expression clouded with wariness.

Elizabeth smiled. “I heard King Richard had granted you that run down old fortress as a reward for your bravery in the Crusades. How ironic that you return the king’s gratitude by kidnapping the daughter of one of his loyal lords.”

De Lanceau scowled.

“’Twill not bode well for you when the king learns of your actions. You will find your keep under siege for the same reasons your traitorous father was attacked years ago.”

He drew a hissed breath. “You have a bold tongue, milady, and know not what you speak of.”

“And you, sirrah, are an idiot to provoke war with my sire.”

De Lanceau stared at her across the muddy ground. The sensual heat had vanished from his eyes. Now, he looked angry enough to throttle her.

Fear whipped through her. She had spoken without forethought. Yet, she had held true to her heart, and would never relinquish faith in her father.

De Lanceau’s voice became a rasp. “You are unwise to speak of matters you do not understand. You are an even greater fool to taunt me. Fall into the water. Eat or not eat. I do not care.”

He shoved a small earthenware pot into one of the men’s hands, slung the saddlebag over his shoulder, and stalked off.

Elizabeth blew a sigh. She uncurled her hands, flexed her numb fingers, and resisted the impulse to watch him walk away.

“We should use the ointment and eat the food he has offered,” Mildred said, her tone soothing. “If he is taking us to Branton, we shall not reach there till nightfall.”

“I would rather starve.” As Elizabeth spoke, her stomach gurgled.

“You cannot best de Lanceau if you faint from hunger.”

Elizabeth sighed. She could not escape, either. She took Mildred’s arm. The matron snatched up the ointment pot and they headed back to the wagon.

De Lanceau stood with several of his men, adjusting the bridle of a gray destrier. He looked up, but Elizabeth refused to meet his narrowed gaze. She swept past him and surveyed the food set out on a blanket on the wagon’s lowered edge—bread pitted with stones, and wedges of yellowed cheese, to be washed down with mead from a battered pigskin flask.

Her stomach whined, and she loosed a silent groan. At least when Fraeda baked bread she picked the bigger stones out of the flour to spare one’s teeth.