A Knight's Vengeance (46 page)

Geoffrey's blood ran cold. The enemy had control of the bailey.

His fist tightened around his sword as one knight, mounted on a huge bay destrier and wearing a silk surcoat, kicked his horse forward and claimed the ground separating the armies. His helm sat low over his face. The nasal guard obscured his features except for his angular jaw and the glint of his piercing blue eyes. Even so, Geoffrey recognized him.

The man who had killed his father.

At last, vengeance.

Geoffrey's leather grip burned his palm. The cry to charge forward, slash, and avenge howled inside him, and he sucked in a slow breath. He must not ruin his victory. He must not give Brackendale any reason to cut him down before the battle between them had been fought. His arm trembled with the immense effort, yet Geoffrey sheathed his weapon.

"Geoffrey de Lanceau," Brackendale roared.

Hands on his hips, Geoffrey strode out of the stairwell's shadows and halted before the destrier. He stood firm as the older lord's gaze raked over him, from his hair to his leather boots.

"You bastard!"
Brackendale shouted.

Geoffrey did not flinch.

"Where is my daughter?"

"Safe."

The lord's mouth curled.
"Where?"

Geoffrey smiled, but did not answer.

With a furious growl, Brackendale reached for his sword. The blade whipped out of the scabbard with ferocious speed. He tilted the weapon at Geoffrey's chest. Warning whooshed through Geoffrey, yet he quelled the impulse to draw his blade, even though the pommel sat close to his fingers.

Brackendale's eyes glittered with warning. "You are surrounded, de Lanceau. I have superior forces, and will not hesitate to demolish this keep, stone by stone, and kill every living thing within it. Tell me where to find Elizabeth.
Now.
Or I will give the order."

"I thought we were to have a melee," Geoffrey said and raised an eyebrow. "Were you afraid to fight me, old man?"

"How dare you?!"

"Mayhap you feared I would best you." Geoffrey folded his arms across his mailed chest, pretending nonchalance.

"'Twould be ignoble to die by the sword of Edouard de Lanceau's son, a traitor's son, would it not?"

The older lord's mouth thinned. He shoved the tip of his weapon into Geoffrey's mail. The pressure bruised, even through the padded gambeson, but Geoffrey did not step back or acknowledge the discomfort. He would not show weakness, not when a battle lay ahead and he aimed to win.

"Your mockery is far from amusing," Brackendale snapped.

"But true. You attack me with my defenses down. Not a fair fight. Where is the honor in that, Lord Brackendale?"

"You speak to me of honor?" bellowed the older lord. "I see none in falsifying missives."

"True
. '
Twas a necessary diversion,
though,
and it worked."

"You made a fool of me."

"I want Wode," Geoffrey said. "If I thought you would recognize my claim, the ruse would not have been necessary."

Brackendale's sword bit deeper.
"Did you also plan to defile my daughter?"

Geoffrey flinched.

Behind Brackendale, a bloated knight on horseback swore. He removed his helm and mopped sweat from his brow. Geoffrey scowled. Baron Sedgewick. How could Brackendale have betrothed Elizabeth to this cruel, pathetic excuse for a man? His jaw hardened at the thought of the baron, or any man, touching her the way he had.

When he saw the woman standing in the shadow of one of the watchtowers, tucking a chestnut curl under her mantle's hood, his scowl deepened.
Veronique.
He had guessed she betrayed him, but the confirmation stung. She cast him a gloating smile before turning and crossing the drawbridge to join the soldiers guarding the moat.

A harsh grin slanted Brackendale's mouth, as though he had read Geoffrey's thoughts. "You thought I did not know about Elizabeth?"

Rage and anguish blazed in Brackendale's eyes, and Geoffrey guessed Veronique's words had not been favorable or true. "Lord Brackendale—"

"Bastard!"
The older lord spat. "You will pay for deceiving me. You will suffer for every wretched moment I wasted riding to Tillenham. Above all, you will pay for dishonoring my daughter."

"I did naught she did not want," Geoffrey said.

Brackendale thrust his sword deeper. "You lie!"

Pain radiated through Geoffrey's flesh. He gritted his teeth and fought the battle yell burning in his throat. He would not attack first.

"You will die like a dog," Brackendale snarled, spittle foaming at his mouth. "Take a good look around you, for 'twill
be
your last." He whipped his blade up and back, poised to lop Geoffrey's head from his shoulders.

Geoffrey drew his sword.

"Father!
Nay!"

Brackendale's arm jerked. With an awkward turn of his wrist, he halted the sword's arc and stared in the direction of the piercing cry.

Geoffrey dared to look as well. Elizabeth ran out of the forebuilding, her bliaut flapping about her legs, her tresses streaming out behind her. He would die before he let the baron place a hand on her delicate, scented skin.

She ran to Brackendale's side.
"Father."

As the older lord reached down and smoothed her tousled hair, his hand shook. "Elizabeth. Thank God you are all right."

Sedgewick sighed with relief. "Beloved."

Elizabeth did not even glance at the baron. "Father, please," she said, her skin ashen in the sunlight. "No one has to die."

Her gaze turned to Geoffrey, and he steeled his emotions against the distress in her eyes, moist with tears. He flexed his hold on his sword's grip, resenting the sweat on his palms. No matter what he felt for her, he must not allow her to distract him or sway him from vengeance.

His blood buzzed with anticipation. The vow he had shouted years ago, that had branded his soul, echoed in his mind.
I will avenge you, Father. God's holy blood, I will avenge you.

"Get to safety, Elizabeth," Brackendale ordered in a gruff voice. "You need not witness the fight."

"Please, listen to me."

The older lord placed a firm hand upon her shoulder. "I will kill him first. I will see him dead, for all he has done to you."

Elizabeth's eyes flew wide.
"Nay!
He—"

"Do as he says, damsel," Geoffrey murmured.

She gaped at him, looking stunned.
Wounded.
"Geoffrey?"

"Pah! You address this cur by his Christian name?" Brackendale sneered.

"He is as human as you, Father," cried Elizabeth. "You must heed me. Lay down your sword. Let me explain."

Brackendale signaled to two of his knights and, despite Elizabeth's
struggles,
they pulled her back into his soldiers' ranks.

"Father!" she screamed.
"Stop!"
The knights held her firm.

Geoffrey shuddered. He hated to hear her distress, but at least she would be protected from any harm.

The older lord dismounted from his destrier, removed his helm and tossed it to his squire. "You want a fight, de Lanceau? You shall have it. We will settle our enmity once and for all."

Expectation tingled through Geoffrey. "Do you think you can best me?"

"I
will
defeat you. When you lie broken and dying, you will watch this keep's walls fall in around you." Brackendale raised his blade and lunged.

Geoffrey leapt aside and laughed. "That is the best you can do?"

Brackendale growled. He thrust again, aiming for Geoffrey's midsection. With a snarl, Geoffrey dodged the blow and sliced his blade upward. Brackendale darted back.

Geoffrey smiled and the battle call rang louder in his blood. Every muscle in his body coiled for attack as he circled.
Assessed.
Struck.

Metal clanged and shrieked. The swords locked until Geoffrey shoved away. Slashing his blade down, he caught Brackendale full across his forearm. The older lord groaned.

Geoffrey paused, breathing hard. Had he fractured bone? Brackendale staggered. Allowing him just enough time to regain his balance, Geoffrey lunged forward. His sword hit chain mail. The links protecting the older lord's thigh shattered. Blood ran down his leg.

Frantic cries erupted behind Geoffrey. He shut them out. The ambrosial taste of victory flooded his mouth. A growl rumbled in his throat, and he aimed another strike at Brackendale's injured arm.