Page 60 of A Knight’s Vengeance

She dropped her forehead against the door and forced herself to breathe. She would not face him with panic screaming inside her like a terrified child. For all she knew, he might ask her a question or two about her father or mending the trapping, and then would send her away.

There could not be many reasons for him to summon her to his solar at night, after a perfumed bath, without a chaperone.

The primary reason that filled her mind was not reassuring.

Elizabeth thrust up her chin. She was the daughter of a strong, respected lord, and she was no coward. She must keep calm and sensible, and see what de Lanceau wanted.

Silence settled around her. Across the room, a fire glowed. Fingers of flame beckoned her, and she headed toward the light.

Her slippers whispered on the wooden floor. Elizabeth held her head high and waited for her eyes to adjust to the solar’s dimness. She walked past a large, comfortable-looking bed covered with a silk coverlet and pillows. Opposite were three windows fitted with wrought iron grilles. The chamber must have a magnificent view of the lake and fields in the daylight.

She paused to brush a loose curl out of her eyes and noted the oak table beside the bed, the unlit candles in the sconce on the wall, and, in the darkest shadows, a large wooden chest. The chamber seemed well appointed but not opulent, and well suited to Branton’s rogue lord.

As Elizabeth approached the fire, her steps slowed. Two carved chairs were drawn up to the hearth. A table draped with a cloth stood between the chairs, and held a burning candle, a jug of red wine, silver goblets, and assorted sweetmeats on a silver tray. Next to the wine she spied a dish of dried figs, glazed with honey and cinnamon.

Her stomach rumbled. She had not tasted figs in so long⁠—

The solar door slammed behind her.

She screeched. Her hand flew to her throat.

De Lanceau emerged from the shadows and strode toward her. He had shed his white shirt. Another of black wool hugged his shoulders and draped to the thighs of his black hose. He must know he had startled her, but ’twas not laughter that gleamed like gray fire in his eyes.

His strides slowed. His gaze skimmed over her bound hair, down the rose wool, and back up to her hand gripping the back of one of the chairs. “Lady Elizabeth,” he murmured.

Her breath burst from her lips.

“I did not mean to frighten you.” He picked up the candle on the table, then walked to the wall sconce and lit the tapers and the candles beside his bed. The shadows dissipated into a golden haze. “Better?”

She managed a nod.

“I do not normally light all the candles in the solar,” he said, implying he had seen a question in her gaze. “I find the firelight adequate, and the darkness calming after a long day.” He crossed back to the table. “I forgot how forbidding the solar can be to those who have not been here before.”

His tone was pleasant, but his mild words mocked her fretful thoughts. She would know why he had ordered her here. “Lord de Lanceau⁠—”

“I just came from the hall. As I expected, you did an excellent repair on the tunic.”

Elizabeth smothered a startled, pleased smile.

He flicked his hand. “Come. Sit. I promise there are no monsters or ghouls lurking in the shadows.” He did not wait for her to reply, or protest, but rounded the nearest chair, lowered himself into it, and stretched his legs toward the hearth.

An uneasy sigh broke from Elizabeth. She did not agree with his comments about monsters and ghouls, but for now, she would do as instructed. She perched on the chair’s edge, smoothed the rose wool over her legs, and clasped her hands about her knees. The loose curl sprang back into her eyes and she swatted it away, aware he watched the movement of her hand.

“The gown is to your liking?” His voice sounded husky against the fire’s muted roar.

She nodded. “Lord de Lanceau, I must ask. Why⁠—”

“Geoffrey.”

“What?”

His mouth twitched. “My given name is Geoffrey. Yours is Elizabeth.”

Her hands dampened. “I know milord, but⁠—”

“For this one night, why do we not address one another by our given names? Pretend that we stand on equal ground.”

She choked down a gasp. She would never consider a rogue who intended to destroy her father her equal. Yet, until she knew what de Lanceau had planned for her, she would feign ignorance and play along. “Very well... Geoffrey.”