Page 59 of A Knight’s Vengeance

Dropping the chemise on the table, she said, “I prefer the one I wore before.”

Wide-eyed, Elena shook her head. “’Tis a garment fit for your station, milady.”

Elizabeth stared down at the gossamer silk and could not hold back a pang of yearning. ’Twould be wondrous to wear such a beautiful garment against her skin, and she could confront Veronique’s motives when they were made clear.

“Very well.” Elizabeth set down the mug, donned the chemise, and then reached for the green wool. With a hesitant smile, Elena handed her an exquisite bliaut the color of the wild roses that grew inside Wode’s bailey. Another of Veronique’s garments. As Elizabeth slipped it on, she wondered again what the courtesan hoped to gain by her generosity.

Elena fastened the gown’s ties, stepped back, studied Elizabeth from head to toe, and gave a shy nod of approval.

Elizabeth laughed. She felt like a lady again.

The maid dried Elizabeth’s hair by the fire, and then tamed it into a braid bound with pink ribbon. She fetched a small, round mirror made of polished steel. “You are beautiful, milady. More so, since you do not require layers of powders and rouges.”

Elizabeth stared at her reflection. The eyes that returned her scrutiny appeared wiser and more knowing than days ago. Her face looked slimmer too, mayhap because of the warped metal. But she smiled at her complexion, tinged with pink from the bath’s heat, for the bliaut complimented her skin tone.

“You are pleased, milady?”

“I am.” Elizabeth placed the mirror on the table. “Thank you, Elena.”

The maid beamed. “Milord will be pleased, too.”

Elizabeth’s smile wavered. She did not wish to hurt the woman’s feelings, but she did not care what de Lanceau would think. For the first time in days she felt relaxed, and looked forward to watching the sunset fade into the black velvet of nightfall.

Sipping the last of her drink, she skirted a puddle of spilled water and crossed to the window, the soft wool brushing against her heels. As she drew open the shutters, voices carried on the breeze: children reciting a bedtime prayer.

“I must take you to him now.”

One hand gripping the cold stone ledge, Elizabeth faced the maid. “Pardon?”

Panic swam in Elena’s eyes. “Lord de Lanceau ordered it. He bade me to bring you to him when you had finished your bath.”

“Why?”

“I do not know, milady.”

Disquiet pounded in Elizabeth’s blood. Mildred’s warnings about ransomed maidens raced through Elizabeth’s mind, and she fought for calm. “Tell him I am tired and have gone to bed. He may speak to me tomorrow.”

“A-aye, milady.”

Elena bent and picked up the soap. She was trembling. Did she anticipate a beating? Would de Lanceau punish her, and then send guards to the chamber to see his order obeyed?

Elena was a mere servant, after all, and ’twas her duty to obey the wishes of lords and ladies… but after her kindness with the bath, she did not deserve de Lanceau’s wrath.

Elizabeth stepped away from the window and set down the empty mug. “I will come. I hope the matter is not important, and I may return here soon.”

The maid’s eyes shimmered. “Thank you.”

When Elizabeth followed Elena into the corridor, the guards straightened away from the wall and fell into step behind her. The passage seemed darker and grimmer than before. The maid led her past rows of hissing torches and into the passage ending at the wooden landing. Despite Elizabeth’s sketchy knowledge of the keep, she soon realized the maid led her to the living quarters above the hall reserved for the lord and his family.

To de Lanceau’s private solar.

She suppressed a shudder.

A few more steps and the maid halted before two massive oak doors braced with iron hinges bolted into the wood. The doors looked designed for an impenetrable fortress. Elena knocked twice, pushed open a door, and gestured for her to enter. A nervous giggle tickled Elizabeth’s throat as she walked inside.

The door boomed closed. The chamber plunged into shadow. Elizabeth whirled and groped for the handle, and her nails scratched over wood. When she found the cold metal ring, it did not budge.

This time, de Lanceau had trapped her in his own cage.