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“She knows,” Bannaster’s soldier said impassively.

Elizabeth beseeched Lionel with her wide-eyed gaze.

“She was down here not an hour ago,” Lionel said. “Worried about ye, o’ course. We told her through the door that you’d been ordered to stay away today, but that you’d be back up in the mornin’.”

She leaned back against the far wall in relief and closed her eyes. “So my lady will rest easy,” she murmured. If she couldn’t talk to Anne on her own, at least she could be comforted by that. “My thanks, Lionel.”

She turned and walked away, not paying attention to where she went. She was tired and sad and distraught, and all she had were her thoughts to comfort her, not the wise words of a friend. Her plan to send for help had turned upside down, punishing Anne, the poor girl who suffered the most in this terrible affair. Elizabeth’s punishment had only given Sir John greater access to her, and she’d responded to his kiss like⁠—

A hand suddenly covered her mouth, and her scream was only a muffled thing. An arm snaked around her waist, pulling hard until her breath left her lungs.

“Told ye I’d find ye another time,” rasped a voice in her ear.

His beard moved against her neck as he spoke, and she knew at once who it was. It was the soldier who’d grabbed her in the great hall at supper last night.

She struggled against him, but her arms were held tight to her sides. She kicked, and he only laughed and lifted her off the ground. Wildly, she looked around—she had no idea where she was.

When his free hand squeezed her breast hard, she cried out. She sank her teeth into his hand, and it was his turn to moan in pain. She kicked harder, bending her knees to reach up behind. To her surprise, he gave a muffled “oof,” and doubled over her back. Her feet touched the floor, but he still gripped her hard. With one hand, he yanked at her neckline and pulled. There was a sickening rip of fabric, air wafted against her breasts, and her fear rose so fast she felt dizzy with it.

“Release her!”

She almost didn’t recognize Sir John’s voice; it had deepened and roughened and sounded dangerous.

The bearded soldier turned around to face this new threat, keeping her back to his front. He had her wrists pinned together with the same hand that held her body firmly to his.

Sir John loomed out of the dark corridor, the crutch in his hand like a weapon, and in the other a small dagger. His damp hair fell across his forehead; his day’s growth of beard made him look menacing—and the scar completed the effect. He was no longer a bailiff, but a warrior—a warrior with a broken leg, she realized in dismay.

The soldier guffawed. “I seen you watchin’ her, cripple, but I got here first.”

“Let her go, and I will leave you unharmed,” Sir John said, limping forward step-by-step, closing the distance between them.

The bearded soldier didn’t retreat; he only held Elizabeth up like a prize. “Unharmed? Think ye I cannot kill ye easily?”

“Not while you’re holding a hostage.”

Sir John didn’t even look at her. All his attention was focused on his opponent. Even when the soldier pulled her hands lower, and she realized her bare breasts peeked between ripped fabric, Sir John never looked at the display.

“Don’t ye want to see what I won?” the soldier said gleefully.

As the crutch swung over Elizabeth’s head, she ducked and heard the crack against her assailant’s skull. He let go of her as he stumbled back, and she darted beneath Sir John’s arm. Falling onto her hands and knees, she rolled onto her back in time to see the bearded soldier draw his sword. She gasped, but he was already staggering from the first blow. He raised his sword high, but Sir John bent and elbowed him hard in the stomach. The soldier stumbled about, roaring his outrage, thrusting his sword wildly as Sir John danced between the blows.

Sir John swung the crutch again, catching him beneath the jaw. His body arched backward, feet coming off the floor, before he slammed onto his back and lay still.

“The cripple won,” Sir John said with satisfaction, standing over the body.

Elizabeth propped herself up on her hands, then caught the bodice of her gown as it sagged forward. Her head spun as a flicker of black dots danced before her eyes.

“I didn’t need you to rescue me!” she cried, falling backward, as the floor rushed up to greet her.

Ten

Elizabeth suddenly realized that Sir John was carrying her, and she didn’t remember him lifting her from the floor.

And that made her even angrier.

“Sir John!” she cried, outraged.

“Shh!” He looked behind him, then back down at her sternly. “Do you want someone to see you like this?”