Page 28 of A Knight’s Vengeance

Anguish lanced through her, but she stifled the hurt. She would not stoop to his challenge and fight to defend her father. Her sire was a brave, loyal, noble man, and when he learned of her abduction, he would lead his army to Branton and squash de Lanceau like an annoying bug.

“By your own admission, you are a thief as well as a rogue,” she said in a cold voice. “’Twill cost you many coins to replace my shift with one of equal quality. Yet, you will, since you are responsible for its ruin.”

His brows arched. “Am I?”

“You are.”

He laughed. A warning. He flattened one hand on the bedding and leaned on his extended arm, bringing his broad torso nearer to hers.

She shivered, but refused to shrink back from him. She would not be threatened by his nearness. His mocking words had failed to defeat her. His intimidation would not either.

His tanned fingers splayed on the patched blankets. His hands were beautiful. Callused, weathered, yet nobly formed. She remembered his fingers closing around her mother’s brooch, and resentment swirled within her like a gathering tempest.

Had he taken the ornament to sell it? The gold would fetch a good price, more than most merchants earned in a year. With its proceeds, he could hire an army to fight her father.

She must get the ornament back.

“The brooch you took from me,” she began.

He shrugged. “The trinket?”

“’Tis not a trinket.”

His gaze bored into hers. “Why is it important to you?”

Elizabeth looked at her white-knuckled fingers. If he knew how she cherished the brooch, he might ensure she never got it back. By admitting how much it meant to her, she gave him another means to taunt and wound her.

Yet, if she did not speak out, how could she hope he would understand or return it?

Tamping down an inner cry for silence, she said, “It belonged to my mother.”

“I see.”

“She gave it to me before she died.” Elizabeth looked up at him. “I ask that you return it now.”

His mouth flattened. “I cannot.”

“Why?”

“As I said before, I will not risk you using it to bribe a servant. You are an intelligent and resourceful woman. You would use any means to escape me.”

“I give you my word.”

“Your word?” He laughed. “You think I am foolish enough to trust you?” His gaze clashed with hers, then slid down to her shoulder peeking above the blankets. Dangerous promise blazed in his eyes. “I will not risk losing you, before I have had revenge.”

Wariness screamed through her. He stared as though he saw through her flimsy shield of sheets and blankets.

Someone had undressed her as she slept.

Had he?

Shock snatched the air from her lungs. Heat scorched across her skin. The indignity. The horror. The thought of his hands upon her as she slumbered, oblivious⁠—

Words, rough as stones, ground between her teeth. “Who removed my shift?”

De Lanceau grinned. “Who do you think?”

A chill raked down her spine, yet she must ask. “Did you?”