Page 50 of A Knight’s Vengeance

He could not offer her comfort. She was danger, soft and tempting. She had the power to destroy him, if she knew how.

“The babe lived for a day. She was tiny and beautiful. My father was so distraught over my mother’s death, he could not look upon his child.” Elizabeth sniffled. “I found a maidservant to nurse her. I sat by the fire and rocked her, and held her in my arms through the night. My sister was too weak.”

Steeling himself against her torment, Geoffrey touched her shoulder. “I am sorry.”

“Are you?”

Her words had held no challenge, only grief. “I would not have said so if⁠—”

She shrugged free of his grasp and looked at him. “Now will you return my brooch?”

“I cannot.”

“You could if you wished.” Her wet eyes sparked with blue fire. “You plan to sell the gold to pay for your revenge against my father.”

Geoffrey’s fingers closed around the gold. The brooch’s fastening, as sharp as a fang, bit into his palm. “I respect your love for your mother.” Bitterness hardened his tone. “Yet, your torment is no different to that of a boy who watches his father die.”

Her posture stiffened. “You were with your sire when⁠—?”

“Aye.”

“You saw my father kill him?”

Geoffrey shook his head and fought a flood of anguish. “I did not see the knight’s face, for he wore a helm. Yet, I saw his back as he jerked his sword from my father’s body and walked away. I dragged my father to a horse. I took him to safety. He died in a rat-infested stable.”

Her breath rasped between her lips. “Mayhap ’twas not my sire.”

“We both know it was,” Geoffrey snarled.

The wind screamed, whipping the hem of her skirt against his knees. She rubbed her arms again. “My father and his army carried out an order from the king. Edouard de Lanceau was a traitor.”

“Was he? To my knowledge, my father never abandoned his support for King Henry in written or spoken word, or in deed.”

Her face looked pale against her glistening eyes. “You lie. The king would not have ordered a siege unless he had proof.”

“Mayhap my father was betrayed.”

“Do not twist the truth with falsehoods!” Hair tumbled down over her bodice and the thrust of her breasts, and she flicked it aside with her hand. She glared at him. Tension poured from her like water from an unleashed dam.

Rage burned in his blood. Desire warred with his reason and conscience. Even now, he wanted her. He longed to touch her, to find oblivion in her kisses and sweet body. He cursed his wretched weakness.

“Do you believe all that you are told to be true?” he said, returning the sting of her words. “Would you believe me, milady, if I said your betrothed, Baron Sedgewick, is rumored to have beaten one of his wives so she could no longer walk?”

Elizabeth shook her head.

“He took the Earl of Druentwode’s daughter as his third bride. She was a kind, gentle girl who loved music. I was told she lived in fear of the baron until the day she died.”

“Nay,” Elizabeth whispered.

“I do not know if that rumor is true or a lie. Do you?”

“I care not what the gossips say about the baron. My father is innocent of wrongdoing.” Her voice quavered. “He obeyed the king’s command when he besieged Wode. He did so because of your father’s treachery. That is the truth. Do not try to sway me with deceit.”

She blazed defiance, determined she was right and he was the monster. Easing his hold on the brooch, Geoffrey leaned his elbow on the rough stone merlon. “I remember one night at Wode when my father dined with four or five other lords. I had returned for a visit; for after my eighth summer, my father sent me to the Earl of Druentwode’s keep to serve as a page.”

“If you aim to beguile me with more falsehoods about my father, you will not succeed,” she warned and crossed her arms.

He scowled. “Pray, listen. I left the merriment in the hall to fetch a wooden box I had made under the tutelage of the earl’s carpenter. I was proud of my work. I could not wait to show my father.”