Page 73 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“If we get to the kitchens,” Mildred said, “we could add it to the jugs to be brought to the tables.”

Elizabeth’s pulse jolted. “Every grown man and woman in the keep, apart from the few guards patrolling the wall walk, will fall into a slumber.”

“Correct.”

She envisioned de Lanceau’s eyes snapping shut and him slumping face first into a trencher of stew, and smothered a grin. The thought was even more appealing when she imagined his fury at being tricked by two women and a few drops of sleeping potion brewed from plants from his own garden.

Caution nibbled the edge off her excitement. “How long does the slumber last? I would never forgive myself if aught happened to Roydon or the other children while their parents were oblivious.”

“That is my worry too, though I expect the older ones would look after the younger.” Mildred shook her head. “I wish I could remember how long the potion works. I cannot even recall how much monkshood to use, for at Wode, I follow a receipt written out in one of my treatises.” Her nose wrinkled. “Pah! If only my brain were twenty years younger.”

Elizabeth examined her row of stitches. “We have no choice but to improvise. We must escape.”

“’Tis unwise to guess when using poison.” Mildred knotted her thread, her voice lowering to a whisper. “I dare not think what might occur if we get the proportions wrong.”

Laughter erupted at the chess table.

“’Twould not be so awful to tinker with the mighty lord’s constitution,” Elizabeth muttered. “He might feel better for it.”

The matron’s hand flew to her mouth to smother a laugh, but not fast enough.

Had Geoffrey and Dominic heard the cackle?

Elizabeth held up a section of silk and cast the men a sidelong glance. Her fears dissolved like honey in hot wine. Tense and flushed, Dominic complained of foul play while Geoffrey crossed his arms, grinned from ear to ear, and boasted the arrogance of a barnyard rooster.

“There is one obstacle we must overcome,” Mildred said.

Elizabeth’s gaze flew back to the matron. “Aye?” With gentle strokes, she smoothed the silk with her palm before starting another neat line of stitches.

“We must get access to the kitchens. I cannot brew the potion without a fire.”

“Leave that to me.”

“Milady?” Trepidation sharpened the matron’s voice.

Mildred had a right to be worried. They both did, but with escape near, they must focus on achieving it. Elizabeth winked. “I will stir the rogue’s ire, and shall win us scullery work by tomorrow morning.”

Excitement tingled over Elizabeth’s skin like tiny, melting snowflakes. Her mind half-tuned to the men debating the chess game, she settled back in the chair, tucked her legs underneath her, and concentrated on the silver thread bobbing in and out of the silk. As tired as she was from the day’s labor, she no longer minded her discomfort.

Soon she would be free. Her imprisonment at Branton Keep would be no more than an unpleasant memory.

Soon she would foil the rogue’s plot for revenge and be reunited with her father.

Soon she would face the baron again and the prospect of wedding him. Yet, she would confront those difficult days when she had to.

A muffled snore disturbed her concentration, and her fingers paused in mid-stitch. Mildred had fallen asleep. Her head lolled to one side, her mouth drooped open, and the hose lay in a rumpled heap over her stomach. With a tender smile, Elizabeth reached over and pried the needle and hose from Mildred’s fingers, and set the garment on the side table.

As Elizabeth rearranged the saddle trapping in her lap, she yawned. Fragrant logs snapped in the hearth, the sound and heat as comforting as a winter blanket. Fatigue dulled her senses as well as any sleeping potion.

Much later, she sensed the trapping being lifted from her hands. Muscled arms gathered her to a chest that smelled of leather, soap, and summer air. She tried to open her eyes, to rouse her groggy mind, but the effort proved too great.

Her bed ropes creaked as she was laid upon it. A callused hand smoothed away the hair that had fallen over her face, with a touch that seemed almost gentle.

She sighed and a deep slumber claimed her.

CHAPTER 14

Elizabeth opened her eyes and blinked up at the sunlit beams above her bed. Rolling onto her side, she winced. Her shoulders ached. Her legs hurt. Her back twinged when she so much as lifted a finger. Moreover, all her fingernails were split and had a line of dirt underneath them, and her hands bore little resemblance to the smooth, unblemished, lily white ones she had possessed only yesterday.