Page 96 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“Today, much is not usual,” Dominic said with a wry smile. Elizabeth did not mistake his meaning, and flushed.

“Veronique knows not to test my temper.” Geoffrey paced the floorboards. Rushes crackled under his boots. “When she returns to the keep, send her to me.”

Dominic bowed. “Of course, milord.”

As Geoffrey swung back to face her, Elizabeth stiffened.

“Your jealousy is ill placed, damsel.”

She plucked a silver thread from her sleeve. “’Tis ridiculous for me to be concerned with such matters.”

“Because of the melee?”

“Because you are my enemy.”

A crooked smile teased his lips. “Did you ever stop to think, damsel, I might never let you go?”

Elizabeth forced a laugh. “You jest.”

An indefinable emotion flashed in his eyes and vanished on his next blink. “Come, I am starving.” He held his hand out to her. The dark-haired maidservant hurried past and set the roasted meat, steaming bowls of cabbage pottage, and wine on the lord’s table.

Elizabeth looked at his fingers, upturned in invitation. She could refuse, but she did not. She did not want to. His hand closed around hers, and he led her toward the dais.

The warmth of his touch coursed through her.

Bliss …

Arthur glared at Veronique sitting on the opposite side of the tent, which the men-at-arms had erected in haste by the side of the road.

The woman was as cunning as she was beautiful. She had refused to divulge even a scrap of information until she sat in a comfortable chair, ate a decent meal, and drank a goblet of his finest French wine to quench her thirst.

Even Viscon indulged like nobility, though Arthur had denied the scum the privilege of dining in a private tent.

Bees hummed in the clover outside, making Arthur even more aware of the silence within, a silence the wench controlled. Veronique met Arthur’s gaze. Her lips spread into a knowing smile, and she ran her tongue along the edge of the silver goblet, catching a drop of wine.

Arthur’s patience snapped. He lunged to his feet and almost charged into the corpulent, wheezing knight who staggered through the tent’s flap.

“Baron Sedgewick,” Arthur said, startled. “I expected to meet you and your army at Moyden Wood. My message⁠—”

“Was delivered as you ordered.” The baron grasped his chain-mailed side as though to relieve a cramp. Footsteps sounded outside, and Aldwin appeared through the flap with a wine jug and goblets. “Ah, good. I knew I could count on you, squire.”

Arthur frowned. “How⁠—”

Sedgewick poured and guzzled wine with alarming speed. “When the messenger told me of my dear betrothed’s plight”—he belched—“and the ransom demand, I followed him to you post haste.” He brushed sweat from the end of his bulbous nose and rolls of fat jiggled at his wrist. “Poor, dear Lady Elizabeth.”

“So this is the thwarted groom,” Veronique drawled.

“Thwarted?” Arthur swung back to face her. “Explain.”

“Who is she?” The baron’s small, glittering eyes wandered up and down Veronique’s figure. She had shed the mantle, revealing voluptuous curves encased in silk. A fresh sheen shimmered on the baron’s brow.

“Veronique,” Arthur said through his teeth. “She is de Lanceau’s courtesan.”

“Was,” she corrected with a smooth toss of her chestnut curls. “Another has taken my place.”

“I care not for trivialities.” Arthur took a determined step closer. “I have given you food and drink. I wish to hear of my daughter. Without delay. Or I shall have the information flogged out of you.”

Apprehension flickered across her painted features, but was repressed by sheer malice. “Be warned, milord. You will not like what I am about to say.”