A Knight's Vengeance (45 page)

"You cannot! Please. This must be a mis- understanding—"

He dropped the chain mail on the bed and the iron links settled with a metallic
chink.
"I knew your father and I would face one another in battle, but I did not imagine 'twould be today." He smiled at her, but his expression offered neither tenderness nor comfort. "You do not dance with joy, milady?"

He reached into the chest again and tossed a padded gambeson and sheathed sword atop the mail.
"Why not?
You have looked forward to your rescue."

Elizabeth shivered and turned her back to him. She could not bear his callous words, not when she remembered the taste of his bronzed skin beneath her lips. It had been wondrous to curl up in his arms, to sleep with her back pressed against his chest, to feel each of his breaths pressing his body closer to hers. She would cherish those moments forever.

"Elizabeth?"

Tears misted her vision, but she blinked them away. She crushed her fingers into the sheet. "How can I be joyous, when this may be the last time I see you alive?"

"A lady like you wants naught from a rogue like me."

She could not stop a sad smile.
"Only your heart."

"Ah." His laughter sounded strained. "My heart carved out in triumph and displayed on a silver platter
. '
The dark heart of a traitor's son,' the soldiers will cheer. 'Strange how his blood is red like ours.' Shall you also demand my severed head?
My steaming entrails?
My—"

"Never!"
She swung around to face him, her cheeks wet with tears. "How can you accuse me of such atrocious things? How, after all that we have shared?"

He glanced at the rumpled bed. Anguish clouded his gaze, and he shook his head. "Elizabeth, I—"

"Do you believe I care naught for you? That I wish you dead?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "With all that stands between us, damsel, 'tis not a fair question. As well you know." He picked up his sword, drew it part-way from the scabbard, and checked the lethal blade.

Desperation screamed inside her. "Do not fight my father." Her words softened to an urgent plea. "I beg
you,
find another way to resolve your feud."

He sheathed the weapon and dropped it onto the coverlet. "Do not ask me to forfeit my revenge. I cannot and
will not
promise you that. I have waited eighteen years for this fight."

"I could not bear to see you killed." A sob wrenched from her before she could put her hand over her mouth.

Geoffrey bowed his head and cursed. It seemed an eternity before he crossed the few steps between them and gathered her in his arms. He held her in a firm, possessive hug, and she pressed her face against his tunic. "I never thought to hear you say those words," he murmured into her hair.

"Nor did
I
."

With exquisite tenderness, he smoothed the damp curls away from her face and tilted her chin up, warming her with his sensual smile. "When the siege is over, we will speak of us again," he whispered against her lips.

"Promise?"
Elizabeth linked her fingers through his. The press of his strong hands offered reassurance, yet fear roiled inside her like a terrible beast. Despite his brave words, Geoffrey might not live to see another dawn.

"I promise," he said.
"With my very breath."

She managed a weak smile. "'Tis not your breath I want to seal your vow, milord."

Half-chuckling, half-groaning, Geoffrey dipped his head and kissed her until her pulse pounded and her knees shook. As he drew back, he brushed away her tears with the pad of his thumb. "No more crying, damsel."

As he stepped away, Elizabeth sniffled and hugged the sheet close to her chest. "What will happen to me?"

He scooped up his gambeson, armor and sword and strode for the doors. "You will be safe here. Stay in the solar," Geoffrey said over his shoulder. "I do not want you harmed."

She
huffed
a breath. "You cannot expect me to sit idle and wait. I do not want you to die, but I will not allow you to kill my father, either."

"Stay inside," Geoffrey repeated, his tone firm. The door slammed behind him.

Elizabeth ran to the window. The stream of knights and soldiers had passed, but a cloud of dust lingered in the air. Distant shouts and commotion reached her.

She could not twiddle her thumbs while Geoffrey and her father battled.

She would not stay in the solar, alone, and await the outcome of the siege.

Not when Geoffrey's life and her father's were at stake.

Not if she could prevent the bloodshed.

She searched the floor for her chemise, yanked it on, and did not bother to tie the laces. Her hands shaking, she shoved on the rose wool and hurried to the doors. They were not locked.

Three guards stood down the corridor, but were preoccupied lacing another sentry into a battered leather hauberk.

She slipped out into the corridor and hurried away.

*
    
*
    
*

"That is the last of the longbows, milord," Dominic said. "The crossbows have been handed out." The knight tossed a quiver of arrows to a young sentry, while Geoffrey passed the remaining pikes and swords to the bleary-eyed servants and men-at-arms congregated in the bailey.

Geoffrey squinted up at the wall walk. A handful of trained archers stood in place, poised to fire upon intruders crossing the moat to scale the outer curtain wall.
God above, 'twas a tiny force to hold back a large army.
In a booming voice, he ordered more armed men to the wall walk.

The snorts of horses anticipating battle, the jangle of bridles, the tromped footfalls and shouts of trained men carried to him on the breeze. Outside Branton's walls, Brackendale had gathered a formidable force, no doubt with Baron Sedge- wick's assistance.

At least Branton Keep was well fortified. Brackendale's men would have to cross the moat, and any soldiers forging through the deep water made easy targets for the archers. If the soldiers made it across alive, they would have to break through the drawbridge and portcullis—

A sound grated down every vertebra in his spine.
The drawbridge.
Descending.

"God's teeth!" he roared.

Dominic
turned,
his face white with shock. "The gatehouse," he said above the cries of alarm.
"Traitors."

Rage and disbelief thundering in his blood, Geoffrey ran for the looming stone building. The mail hauberk, the repaired armor he had worn in battle at Acre, thumped against his legs and slowed his pace. His chausses lay in a heap beside the bailey wall, abandoned because more important matters had demanded his attention. He could not turn back and put them on.

He reached the gatehouse's entry door.
Locked.

Geoffrey pounded his fists on the rough wood and bellowed as splinters dug into his skin. No one answered.

"The wall walk entry," he shouted. Geoffrey bolted up the stone stairs beside the right watchtower with Dominic close behind. He had ascended but a few steps when a hideous roar sounded above him. He glanced up. His belly turned liquid.

Viscon.
A drawn sword gleamed in the mercenary's hand.

As he reached for his blade, Geoffrey swallowed hard. He had not trusted the mercenary when he bought his loyalty. Fighting for the enemy, the man was an even more fearsome foe. Garbed in a hauberk of boiled leather, Viscon looked like the county executioner.

Pacing the mercenary along the uneven stair, Geoffrey forced himself to ignore the taunts spewing from the ogre's cracked lips. Geoffrey dodged Viscon's first calculated feint. Grunting, the mercenary lunged again. Their swords clanged. Geoffrey tensed, expecting Viscon to follow with a crushing blow, but, as the sound of metal grinding against metal rent the air, the mercenary leapt back a few steps. He grinned and leered down into the bailey.

Geoffrey dared a sidelong glance. His gut lurched. The drawbridge was lowered. The portcullis was being winched up at an alarming rate. Mail-clad knights and foot soldiers streamed into the bailey and fanned out to confront the soldiers and terrified servants struggling to find swords and don any remaining armor.

Viscon chortled and raised his sword. "I pity
ye
, de Lanceau."

Eyes narrowed, Geoffrey braced himself for the final attack. He lunged.

His boot hit a raised stone.

He stumbled.

Dominic darted forward. "Pity you, fool." His sword plunged into the mercenary's stomach with the sounds of cracking leather and spurting blood.

His eyes bulging in their sockets, Viscon collided with the wall. He slid to the stair in a crimson puddle. His breath rushed out on a final, rattled gasp. Whispering a few words, Dominic reached over and closed Viscon's eyelids.

Geoffrey blew a sigh. "Many thanks, my friend."

A weak grin tilted Dominic's mouth. "I owed you twice for saving my life. Now, I only owe you once."

Behind them, the archers on the battlements unleashed a hail of arrows upon the army in the bailey. Men screamed. Arrows pinged off shields and helms. Horses whinnied and swords shrieked. As Geoffrey started down the stairwell, the archers fought a concentrated attack from the moat side of the curtain wall. The rain of arrows diminished, and then stopped.