A Knight's Vengeance (36 page)

A half-smile twisted Geoffrey's mouth. "You are responsible for his life now, and your lady's."

Concern shivered across the matron's face. "I will do what you ask. Please, milady—"

Geoffrey's jaw clenched. Rage buzzed inside him with a vicious sting. He stared at the wooden staircase which led up to the landing and his solar.

He strode toward the stairs.

*
    
*
    
*

The silence in Geoffrey's chamber dragged. Arms clasped to her chest, Elizabeth paced before the hearth, slicing through the sunshine and shadows playing across the floorboards.
Waiting.

At any moment, he would walk in and mete out her punishment, whatever that might be.

She glanced at the table between the two chairs. Gone were the wine, sweetmeats, and fine linens—the cultured trappings. Today, light gleamed on the scarred wood. Today, she did not doubt she would see the rough side of de Lanceau's character, the part that fed his anger and his thirst for revenge.

Pushing her shoulders back, she resumed her fretful pacing. She must not lose courage. She would face whatever torture de Lanceau ordered for her with dignity and—

The fire popped. She jumped, and jumped again as the chamber doors crashed against the walls. Geoffrey stood outlined in the embrasure. The doors slammed, cloaking him in shadow.

Her trembling legs were as weighty as stone. They refused to move. She waited, frozen, as he stalked toward her.
Closer.
Closer.
He halted a breath away, his eyes flashing pure fury.

He stared at her, his silence as frightening as lashing words. When he spoke, his voice was a cold, dangerous rasp. "What did you put in the ale?"

Elizabeth inhaled through tight lungs. "H—"

"Answer me!" He grabbed her, and his fingers dug into her arms.

"Herbs."
She gasped. "Chamomile, valerian, monkshood—"

"Monkshood
?
From the garden?"

Her head jerked in a nod.

"'Tis poisonous."
He sounded both incredulous and appalled. "You thought to kill Dominic?" His gaze sharpened. "Or did you wish to kill me?"

She shook her head. "We did not mean to harm anyone."

"Then why poison the ale?"

A shuddered breath tore from her lips. "'Twas not poison. Mildred and I brewed a sleeping potion, which we poured into the jugs. We—"

"You planned to escape."

"'Twas all we intended. I promise you."

His gaze raked over her face, and searched her features with such merciless intensity she could not breathe. "What other trickery have you concocted?"

"None."

"You
lie!"
he roared, his breath scorching her cheek.

She squirmed and fought his crushing hold. "I do not!"

With one hand, Geoffrey caught her chin and trapped her so she could not turn away. "I will know all of your deceit, and far more, by the time I am done with you."

A tremor raked through her. "You will punish me . . . here?" Her gaze darted past him to the bed, streaked with sunlight.

His mouth curved into a brutal smile.

"Please—"

"One wicked deed deserves another, does it not?"

Panic shortened her breaths. "Y-You do not understand."

"I understand all too well. The one person in this world that I love as my brother, that I trust above all others, lies unconscious and near death because of you," Geoffrey snarled. "Did you once think of the consequences of your deceit? Did you consider the possible outcome? How much of your sleeping potion might be too much for a man or woman?"

"You dare to call me a murderess?"

"If Dominic dies, damsel, you will be."

"How dare you accuse
me
of such a
crime.
You, a man who slaughters helpless children."

"I do not kill children." He answered with such quiet conviction she almost believed him.

"You killed Jeremy. Remember?" she said in a tight voice. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Jeremy?" His narrowed eyes lit with comprehension, and he smiled.
"Ah, the boy at Wode.
He did not die."

Elizabeth choked a breath. "You told me—"

"Viscon caught him on his way back from your chamber, but he did not kill the lad. We locked him in a storage cupboard so he could not warn anyone else."

Her belly hurt. Did Jeremy live? She hoped Geoffrey told her the truth, yet wariness overshadowed her relief. "I do not believe you," she whispered.

"Believe what you will, but I speak true." He released her chin, and his expression darkened. "Tell me, damsel. Did you not realize that even if your plan had worked, even if you had escaped, I would hunt you down? I would find you and make you pay for your audacity."

"Nay."

"Aye," he muttered. "I will start now."

The grim set of his jaw, the determination his eyes, filled Elizabeth with dread. It gusted through her like a winter blizzard, threatening to destroy her last reserves of courage and send her whirling into sheer terror. "W-What do you intend?"

He released his grip on her arms. "Remove your clothes."

"I will not!"

Geoffrey seemed to have expected that answer. He smiled.

The blade of a bone-handled dagger flashed in the sunlight.

Elizabeth shrieked and covered her face with her hands. She tensed, anticipating a sharp pain as the knife pierced her flesh. When cold, flat steel pressed against the side of her neck, she froze.

"When will you learn you cannot fight me and win," Geoffrey murmured. He dragged the blade's icy tip across her skin. It traced the leaping pulse in her neck, grazed the hollow of her collarbone, and fell to the front of her bliaut. His hand moved, once, and her gown and chemise slashed open to her waist.

Elizabeth gaped down at the rent.
A deft, clean cut.
The knife had left no marks on her skin, which looked pale as snow against the green wool. Panic spiked inside her. She clutched the sides of the material, desperate to shield her exposed skin.
Failing.

With a strangled cry, she ran for the door.

Before she had taken three steps, he caught her. His arm wrapped around her waist, and he threw her onto the pillow-strewn bed. Elizabeth landed on her back.
Rolled over.
Lunged for the opposite side.
His hand snaked out and got her ankle. He hauled her back to him like a cat toying with a mouse.

Fear blinded her vision. She clawed.
Struggled.
Tried to free her leg and kicked out with her other foot. She got him in the stomach. Geoffrey grunted and his grip eased a fraction. With a second, well-aimed kick, she wrenched free. Breathing hard, she dove for the edge of the bed.

He was already there.

Geoffrey caught her wrists in one hand. She tried to jerk free, but he was far too strong, and far too determined that this time, she would not get away. Looming over her, he forced her back on the coverlet. He pinned her hands over her head and, with a triumphant smile, lowered his body onto hers.

Heat sparked where their bodies touched. "Get off me," she spat.

"When I have you right where I want you? I think not."

Elizabeth dug her nails into his skin. He cursed under his breath and exerted more pressure on her wrists, little by little, until with a gasp, she relented.

His breath warmed her temple, and he shifted his weight over her. His body fitted against her breasts, belly, and thighs in a manner that thrilled and alarmed her. His male smell flooded her nostrils.
Tempted.
A traitorous ache stirred in her belly, and she shivered.

"Surrendering at last, damsel?"

"Never!"
Ashamed by her weakness, she arched against him, writhed and bucked to throw him sideways. She tossed her hair in his face like a weapon.

"I have had enough of your struggling. Cease."

Thrashing, kicking, she got his shin twice, despite his strength and the ease with which he deflected her blows. When she continued to fight, he grabbed her hair.
Twisted.
Her tresses pulled taut. Panting, she fell back against the bed. Her ripped bodice
gaped
further open with each breath, and a whimper broke from her. "You are hurting me."

He released her hair, but glared down at her in warning. "Lie still."

"
Let.
. . me . . .
go." On the last word, her voice cracked. He planned to ravish her. He meant to shame and
ruin
her, and she could not stop him.

The rogue looked down at her . . . and smiled.

As his warm, skilled lips brushed the side of her neck, Elizabeth closed her eyes. Her breaths echoed in the stillness, harsh, painful gasps. How foolish she had been to imagine lying with him in a slow, tender dance of bliss. How foolish she had been to savor his kisses.

Somehow she had to sway him. Somehow, she had to touch his tormented soul and make him see how wrong his actions were.

As his fingers skimmed down to her torn bodice, her lashes flew up. She stared up into his dark, glittering eyes with all the anguish inside her. "Please. Do not."

"I will not have to force you," he said against her cheek.

"Your body is willing."

"Then let go of my wrists."

He laughed, and the chilling sound echoed deep inside her. "I will not, damsel. Not until I have finished with you."

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Lying over her, Geoffrey felt the violent shudder that rippled through Elizabeth's body. For all of three heartbeats, he hesitated, and looked down into her proud, pale face.