Page 40 of A Knight’s Vengeance

And the hair splayed across his coverlet in wild abandon shimmered like black silk.

Elizabeth stood resolute until the door banged shut, and then flung herself on her knees beside the bed. She clasped her trembling hands together. Bowing her head, she recited an urgent prayer for forgiveness.

She should not have allowed de Lanceau to kiss her. He was a villain, a rogue without honor. The astonishing sensations she had felt were no more than clever manipulations by a man familiar with a woman’s body.

Of her own free will, she had kissed the knave who had kidnapped her, imprisoned her, and who no doubt intended to barter her for Wode.

Even worse, she had enjoyed it.

“How could you?” she whispered. No one must ever learn of her weakness moments ago, most of all her father. She imagined his expression when he realized her betrayal, for that is how he would see the kiss, and her vision blurred with tears.

She would not allow de Lanceau to kiss her again.

Drying her eyes with her sleeve, Elizabeth stood. Her gaze fell upon the water jug and earthenware bowl on the side table. Her mouth still felt swollen from de Lanceau’s wretched kisses. After pouring a little water into the bowl, she scrubbed her face and lips with her fingers, and then rinsed her mouth to wash away the lingering taste of his ale.

A soft knock sounded on the door. The key scraped in the lock and the door opened, admitting Elena.

“Milady.” The maid bobbed in a shy curtsy and offered a trencher laden with bread and roasted quail, a mug, and a jug of wine.

Behind her, the door creaked most of the way closed.

It did not shut.

Excitement glimmered inside Elizabeth like rekindled embers, and she wiped her fingers on her gown. If she were quick, she could dart by Elena, throw open the door, and run past the startled guards outside.

She must escape, for she would not be held captive to de Lanceau’s sensual wickedness.

Elena crossed to the trestle table, and Elizabeth ran.

“Milady, stop!”

Two steps. Three. Elizabeth grabbed for the iron handle.

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

“Nay!” She pounded her fists against the wood. A frustrated sob welled inside her. Laughter and male voices rumbled in the corridor beyond, and then faded.

Blinking hard, Elizabeth whirled away from the door.

Her fingers knotted together, Elena stood by the food set on the table, her gaze fixed on the floorboards. “Please. You will feel better once you have eaten.”

Elizabeth scowled. She would feel better when she was free.

The overcooked quail did not look at all appetizing.

Storming back to the water bowl, she said, “Return the fare to the kitchens. A hungry child may have my portion.” Twisting her hair into a coil, she lifted it atop her head and splashed water down her flushed throat.

“Lord de Lanceau ensures all the keep’s children are well fed.” Elena sounded worried. “’Tis foolish not to eat.”

Elizabeth sighed. She did not care to argue. “Very well. Leave it.”

The maid nodded and hurried across the chamber. Glancing over her shoulder, she rapped on the door. It opened a fraction, and a guard grunted his consent before Elena slipped out and the door shut.

Elizabeth poured a mug of wine, slumped on the bed’s edge, and pulled at a frayed bit of blanket. De Lanceau must know sheer boredom was a form of torture. At Wode, she never sat idle. If she were there now, she would be overseeing the servants and making sure the daily tasks were done. In quiet moments, she would embroider one of the orphans’ chemises or shirts.

Resentment burned inside her. De Lanceau prevented her from finishing her task, and she had never once failed to do as she promised.

She sipped her drink and wrinkled her nose at the poorly-aged wine. Her temple throbbed. Setting aside the mug, she lay back on the bed. If only she could have one of Mildred’s poppy tonics and enjoy the oblivion of sleep.