Page 58 of A Knight’s Vengeance

Without breaking his stride, Geoffrey crossed to the empty chairs near the hearth. The garment lay folded on the side table, its design glittering in the firelight.

He held the tunic up for a better look and a smile tugged at his mouth. As he expected, the damsel had done well. Swallowing past the tightness in his throat, he let the garment slide to the table.

His gaze shifted to the trapping, pushed to one side. He rubbed his fingers over the tattered, torn fabric. She resented his demand to mend it, but she had the skill to stitch life back into the cloth, to make the embroidered hawk soar again. He trusted her to make it worthy of his father’s memory.

To make it whole.

He lowered his arm and his fingers grazed the parchment tucked into his belt for safekeeping. Today he had learned a great deal about Elizabeth, and also the mother she had adored, a lady who had cared enough about her daughter to spend days teaching her difficult needlework. A vision of Elizabeth’s tear-streaked face and anguished gaze flew into his thoughts, and a heavy weight pressed upon his conscience. He forced the memory from his mind.

A child’s giggle carried in the hall, and he turned to see a dark-haired toddler dart behind one of the chairs.

“Roydon, come at once.” Elena appeared at the top of the stairwell, her cheeks flushed and her arms laden with linen towels, rags, and a cake of white soap. “Roydon!”

Geoffrey grinned and pointed to the hearth. “There.”

Elena saw him and attempted a curtsey, but the soap tumbled off her pile, followed by two of the towels.

Chuckling, Geoffrey rounded the chair and crept up behind the little boy who was crouched down, watching Elena pick up the fallen items. With a mighty roar, he grabbed the child around the waist and swung him high in the air. Roydon squealed in delight, before Geoffrey set the squirming boy down.

His eyes shone with excitement as he stared up at Geoffrey. “Again.”

“Roydon,” Elena said in a gentle but firm voice. “To bed with you. I have a lady to tend.”

He stuck out his bottom lip. “Mama, ’tis not fair.”

Reaching down, she took Roydon’s chubby hand in hers and hurried across the hall.

“Elena,” Geoffrey called to her.

She halted and looked back at him. “A-aye, milord?”

“When the lady has finished her bath, bring her to me.”

CHAPTER 11

“The water is getting cool, milady. I will fetch you a towel.” Elena set aside the lathered soap and pushed to her feet beside the round wooden tub.

With a reluctant nod, Elizabeth trailed her fingers one last time through the lukewarm bathwater. Candlelight winked off the rippled surface, and the scents of rose, lavender, and cinnamon drifted up to her. Elena had poured the fragrance earlier from a glass-stoppered bottle into the bath, and, closing her eyes, Elizabeth savored the exotic essence that reminded her of faraway lands.

When she raised her lashes, Elena waited beside the tub. “Please, you must not get a chill.”

Elizabeth sighed. After rinsing a soap bubble from her arm, she stood. Water dripped from her hair and body. Shivering, she stepped out of the tub and into the towel Elena held out.

Concern in her gaze, the maid poured a mug of wine from a flask on the table. “Drink. ’Twill warm you.”

Elizabeth swallowed a mouthful, glad of the heated glow flowing down inside her.

Once dried, with a towel wrapped around her hair, she took the clean chemise Elena offered. The sheer undergarment was not cut from coarse linen, but fine silk, and felt as light as goose down against Elizabeth’s palm.

“Whose garment is this?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Elena lowered her gaze. “Veronique’s, milady.”

“Why does she lend it to me?”

“I cannot say.”

Memories of Veronique flaunting the gold brooch and her vain hostility whirled through Elizabeth’s mind, and she wondered at the courtesan’s motives for being kind. Elizabeth’s fingers curled into the silk, and she drank more wine to wash down the bitter taste of indignation.