Page 56 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“I do not care to impress him.” Elizabeth’s tone raised a notch. “You and I are hostages. Have you forgotten we were brought here against our will?”

The warmth vanished from Mildred’s gaze. “I have not forgotten. Nor shall I stop trying to find us a means of escape. Yet, I will do all I can to protect you. You may be a noblewoman, but all the titles in England cannot save you if de Lanceau decides to take you to his bed.”

A gasp parted Elizabeth’s lips.

Reaching over, Mildred touched Elizabeth’s hand. “I do not mean to alarm you, but we have both heard the stories of maidens held for ransom, who return home with bastards in their bellies.”

A log shifted in the hearth. Flames roared, masking Elizabeth’s outraged huff. “He would not dare.”

“He seems to have treated you with honor thus far, despite his contempt for your sire.” Mildred’s lips tilted in a saucy grin. “I do believe de Lanceau respects you. Respect, milady, has a power all its own.”

A draft blew across the floor, and the fire flickered. Elizabeth shivered. Was de Lanceau’s kiss in her chamber the prelude to his ravishing her? She stared down at the tunic and found it wadded into a ball.

“Do not worry.” Mildred smothered a yawn with her sleeve. “Keep your wits about you, and all will be well.”

“Good advice, milady.”

Elizabeth started at the sound of de Lanceau’s voice. She had not heard him approach. He stood a few paces away, holding a length of blue silk.

Fighting a blush, she asked, “How long were you listening?”

“I heard no more than Mildred’s last words. Should I have come earlier?”

“Harrumph!” Mildred waved a disparaging hand. “You must have more important concerns than our chatter.”

“Indeed, I do.” Striding closer to Elizabeth, he held out the silk. The tattered, embroidered emblem of a hawk, its wings outstretched for flight, flashed in the sunlight. The faded material was stained and torn almost beyond repair.

She raised her brows. “Another tunic?”

Anger glowed in his eyes. “A saddle trapping. One I have kept for eighteen years.”

His words hit her like stones. “Your father’s?”

De Lanceau nodded. “I took it from his horse the night he died. When you are done with the tunic, I want you to mend this trapping. I expect your finest work.”

Elizabeth tossed the tunic aside and lunged to her feet. “Never!”

He loomed over her, his face a determined mask. “My destrier will wear it when I ride into battle against your sire. Your father will know that I am proud to be a de Lanceau, and that I am not afraid to avenge my sire.”

Rage shook her to her very soul. “I will not.”

“You will. I know many methods of persuasion.” His gaze smoldered with warning, and he stared at her mouth. “I vow you are familiar with a few.”

She was indeed. Her mind and body tormented her with constant reminders. Elizabeth lowered her lashes, refused to let him see her fear. “You are a beast.”

His laughter rumbled. “Then you agree?”

A scathing refusal welled in her throat. Yet, “nay” was a poor answer when he could force her to yield. If he confined her to her chamber, she might never get a chance to flee. Far wiser to say “aye” and escape him before she finished what he demanded.

Her lips pressed into a line, and she glared up at him with all the fury boiling inside her. “I agree. Not because of your threats, but because you are doomed to fail. Your horse may wear your sire’s trapping, but my father will destroy you.”

“We shall see, milady.”

“Aye, we shall.”

He pushed the trapping into her hands and stormed away. His muttered voice drifted back to her, as he spoke with Dominic.

Mildred shook her head. “If I had known he would use your talents in such a way, I would never have⁠—”