Page 46 of A Knight’s Vengeance

Elizabeth stared at the tempting mouthful. Gravy ran down his fingers and dripped onto the tablecloth, but he made no move to wipe it away. She tasted a biting refusal that would no doubt irk him as much as his stern words had irritated her.

But the stew-soaked bread smelled so incredible, she could not refuse.

She bit down on the morsel. Her lips closed around his fingers, and, as his skin brushed her bottom lip, awareness shot through her. She jerked back.

He smiled and lowered his hand to the table. “Good?”

Elizabeth wiped the corners of her mouth and tried to sound nonchalant. “Aye, though not as tasty as the stews Mistress Fraeda prepares at Wode.”

“How is Wode’s fare better?” His tone was mild, almost detached, but she sensed his displeasure. For a moment Elizabeth regretted baiting him. Yet, she could not deny a thrill of satisfaction that she had struck a nerve in his dark heart.

“Well,” she said, watching him dip more bread, “Fraeda adds handfuls of fresh herbs to her cooking, such as sage, rosemary, and basil. Each morning she cuts what she needs from Wode’s gardens, then tells the scullery maids how each herb should be prepared for a particular recipe.” Keeping her voice light, Elizabeth added, “Mildred is responsible for our extensive herb patch. She redesigned Wode’s gardens after my father took control of the keep.”

De Lanceau frowned. “Redesigned them? How?”

“She increased the number of vegetable beds. The layout is much prettier.” When de Lanceau’s gaze darkened, Elizabeth shrugged. “I believe Fraeda puts bay leaves in her stew, and a few sprigs of rosemary. It does make a difference.” She parted her lips and took more bread from him.

“I see,” he muttered.

She chewed, and he stared at her mouth a long moment before glancing away.

“The rich flavors therefore cannot be achieved,” she said, licking her lips, “if Branton lacks a garden and herbs.”

“We have both.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “’Twould take a healer to tell weed from herb, though. The garden has not been tended for years.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth slapped her hand to her mouth to stifle a belch, and her stomach released such a growl she was certain the entire hall had heard. The mongrel licking up scraps under the table pricked up its ears and looked at her.

De Lanceau sighed. “Eat.” He snatched up the silver dagger, stabbed some meat, and held it to Elizabeth’s lips. When she gobbled that bite, he offered another. “Chew with care, damsel, or you will end up with a bellyache.”

The trencher was half-empty when murmurs rippled through the hall. Mildred hurried toward the table, her gray braid swinging to and fro.

“Milady,” she called and waved.

Elizabeth lunged to her feet. She jumped down from the dais, ran to the matron, and embraced her. Held tight in Mildred’s arms, tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes. How she had missed Mildred’s harrumphs and her gruff affection.

After a moment, Mildred held Elizabeth at arm’s length. Her green eyes shone. “What a wretched bliaut. You look so wan.”

“I am well,” Elizabeth said, proud her voice did not waver.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she turned to find Dominic at her side. His smile seemed strained, and she looked past him to the lord’s table.

Fury blazed in de Lanceau’s eyes.

“Milady,” Dominic murmured, “please return to your place.”

Aware of castle folk gaping at her, Elizabeth choked back a surge of anger. “I was greeting Mildred. I have not been permitted to see her.”

Dominic nodded. “True, but ’tis best not to bait a dragon, if you understand my meaning.”

She did. With a sigh, Elizabeth stalked back to the dais. Mildred’s shuffled footsteps came a few paces behind. De Lanceau’s stare never wavered, and Elizabeth fought the awful tightness in her chest. De Lanceau was a fool if he overreacted to such a trifling matter.

She had just set one foot upon the dais when Geoffrey motioned to Dominic. “See the matron has what she needs.”

With obvious reluctance, Dominic pointed to a place at the table’s opposite end.