Page 63 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“My father’s words,” she said with pride.

Geoffrey’s expression darkened. The poignant intimacy vanished like a wisp of smoke. “Your father’s.” He spat the words like a curse.

Desperate to convince him, to make him see past his hatred, she said, “My father is not the cruel lord you mistake him to be. He is a man of honor and justice.”

Menace blazed in Geoffrey’s eyes. “With his own sword, your father murdered my sire. I will never forget. Or forgive.”

A furious sigh burst from her. “You do not know for certain he cut your sire’s mortal wounds. How can you recall what happened eighteen years ago? You were a frightened child, in the midst of a battle.”

“Lord Brackendale besieged Wode. He commanded the attack. He gave the orders. The responsibility falls on his head.”

“The king’s orders!” Her worn patience frayed, about to snap. “My father could not refuse a command issued by the crown. To do so would be treason.”

Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed to gleaming slits. “Your devotion to your father is admirable, but misplaced. He should have determined, before he led the attack, that my father remained loyal to King Henry and did not support his intransigent son.”

“If there were no justification,” she said, her voice as taut as the knot around her heart, “why did the king order the siege?”

“My father was betrayed.”

“A theory without proof.”

Geoffrey’s face, gilded by firelight, hardened with anger. “My father was a powerful lord. His estates covered half of the county of Moydenshire, and he had great prominence in the previous sovereign’s reign. I have often wondered if King Henry feared my father’s influence.”

“If so, that is another reason why my sire is not to blame,” Elizabeth said.

Geoffrey’s lip curled back from his teeth. “You refer to honor and a lord’s duty to the crown. What of greed? I vow like most of the lords in this land, your father wanted his share of the spoils. He would do whatever King Henry asked, including murder an innocent man, to get it.”

Elizabeth pushed her empty goblet onto the table. A scream shrilled up inside her. Terrible anguish crushed her hopes of persuading Geoffrey of the truth. How could she reason with a man so embittered, so convinced he was right?

“’Tis senseless to seek revenge for what happened years ago,” she choked out. “You cannot change the past. Why can you not find peace within yourself, and forget about Wode?”

Geoffrey lunged with such speed, Elizabeth shrieked. She slammed against the back of the chair, her blood hammering in her veins. He gripped the chair’s arms. Ensnared her. Loomed over her. Tremendous anger poured from him.

His breath hissed between his teeth and her forehead burned with the heat of it. “Forget?” he bellowed. “How dare you ask that of me? You were not there, trying to stop the blood gushing from his chest. You were not there when he drew his last breath. You did not have to listen as he coughed and gasped and struggled for air. My father was a great man. A man of integrity.” Geoffrey’s voice cracked. “He was no traitor, and did not deserve to die as one.”

“I do not doubt he was a great man,” she whispered.

He jerked back a fraction, clearly startled by her agreement, and glared down at her. She braced herself for more lashing words. Yet, his gaze softened. His lips formed a smile tinged with remorse. “Then you understand, milady, why I will take what is rightfully mine. Why I will avenge my father.”

Geoffrey’s hands fell away from the chair, and he straightened. He crossed to the hearth, braced one hand against the stone wall, and looked down into the fire. Shadows played over his face. He looked tortured, haggard, and... human.

“King Richard will never accept your siege of Wode,” she said in a hushed tone.

Geoffrey did not stir.

“What you intend is suicide. My father has the favor of the king. Your attack will be viewed as an act of treason. The crown will send an army to Wode and reclaim the keep, and you will die in dishonor like your father.”

Geoffrey’s head tilted. Hair slid down over his brow as he met her gaze. “King Richard has not returned from Crusade. He may be dead. If that is true, his brother John will inherit the throne. The dawn of a new king is the perfect opportunity to secure what is mine.” Brutal determination rang in his voice.

“You will seek the favor of John Lackland?”

“I will earn it. I have much to offer in exchange.”

“You jest. What can you offer a king that is beyond his sovereign power?”

“Cloth.”

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “Cloth?”