Page 20 of A Knight’s Vengeance

Mildred popped open the pot and sniffed the contents. With a finger, she scooped out some of the greasy yellow ointment.

“Sit on the edge of the wagon, milady. This smells vile, but ’tis all we have.”

Elizabeth sat. As Mildred dabbed at her temple, Elizabeth broke off some bread, nibbled the crust, and watched a butterfly flit through a cluster of daisies. Under other circumstances, she would have loved this pretty spot perfumed with wildflowers.

As Mildred pressed on a tender spot, Elizabeth winced. She sensed de Lanceau’s assessing stare, and smothered another groan.

The sooner she escaped, the better.

Geoffrey gave his destrier an affectionate pat on the neck before starting toward the wagon. Wariness shadowed Elizabeth’s eyes. She brushed breadcrumbs from her lap and rose from where she sat beside Mildred on the wagon.

So he made the lady uneasy. Good.

Striding past her, he grabbed a slice of the coarse bread. As he bit off a piece, she moved away and stared toward the forest. The breeze blew her shift against her body. The sheer fabric clung to her figure, and mocked him with its filmy drape, light, and shadow.

He didn’t want to gape like a randy green squire, but he couldn’t help himself.

The cloth outlined all of her woman’s curves. Her glorious black tresses curled down over the swell of her breasts and tumbled to her slim waist. How foolish, that he wanted to run his fingers through her hair, to savor its scent, to feel its shiny weight in his hands. As he stared, drawn by the sunlight playing over her tresses, she brushed strands off her throat.

His loins stirred. She was a magnificent creature.

She was Brackendale’s daughter. Forbidden.

A tiny stone slipped down his throat.

Choking, he groped for the flask, raised it to his mouth, and took a sip. The mead was warm. Sweet as a virgin’s first kisses. As sweet as Elizabeth’s lips.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, and cursed his mind for wandering where it should not.

Elizabeth took another step, and Geoffrey frowned. She swayed a little. It clearly took effort for her to keep her balance. She cradled her right arm.

Unwelcome guilt tore through him. In the Earl of Druentwode’s tiltyards and on Acre’s bloodstained battlefields, he had seen enough wounded to recognize physical injury. She had hurt more than her forehead when she fell.

He gripped the flask and chewed more bread. He would see her wounds healed, but would not feel sorry for her. The lady had enjoyed a privileged life, without the slightest want or need, and had done so because his father had died.

His honorable sire had never deserved to be named a traitor.

He had never deserved to be slaughtered.

Geoffrey forced himself to swallow the mouthful. If he shut his eyes, if he allowed the despair and memories to surface, he again felt his father’s icy fingers gripping his own, and smelled blood-soaked straw …

“Have you finished with the mead, milord?” Mildred asked.

Geoffrey’s eyes snapped open. He quelled a violent tremor, and glanced at Mildred. “What?”

“A drink, if I may?”

He tossed her the flask and looked back at Elizabeth. She bent to pick a flower. By abducting her, he could well end up with his head lopped from his neck. Yet, he could no longer live the bitter lie which had haunted him since he was ten years old.

He could not find proof to exonerate his father—and by God, he had tried—but the simple truth remained. His sire had wanted him to rule the de Lanceau legacy, the lands granted to his proud Norman predecessors by William the Conqueror, and passed down through the oldest male sons.

And so he would.

By force and cunning, Wode and all its lands would be his. He would have his inheritance, and revenge.

A grim smile touched his lips. No one would stand in his way. Above all, Brackendale’s daughter.

Grasses rustled behind Elizabeth, and she tensed. Moments ago, she had sensed de Lanceau’s brooding gaze upon her, prowling over her body in a manner that shot goose bumps over her skin. She had ignored him and hoped that, like an irritating wasp, he would be distracted and go away.