Medieval Rogues (20 page)

Her pulse thudded with a wildness that excited and terrified her. Mildred’s warnings echoed in Elizabeth’s mind. “Stop. I want—”

“Shh.” He pressed his thumb to her lips. His fingers claimed a ringlet and followed its shiny length to where it ended at her waist. “You smell good. Eau de Cypress?”

She shrugged. “Elena poured the fragrance into my bath.”

He inhaled a long breath, and then nodded. “I brought the scent from Acre. Once, a woman could win my favor by wearing it.”

He leaned closer. His hands spanned her waist and warmed her skin through the gown. Desire rushed through her limbs. She must stop him, before he kissed her. Or she would be lost.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he breathed against the side of her face. His breath was a caress against her skin, and heat shot down into her quivering belly.

Reason nagged at her muzzy thoughts. “I must . . . return to my chamber.”

He shook his head. “I forbid it.”

“Why? What are you going . . . to do?”

His smoldering gaze turned intent. Purposeful. “What I have wanted to do all evening.”

His arms went around her waist.

His mouth brushed hers.

Never before had she experienced such a kiss. His lips came down with the silken touch of a butterfly’s wings. He did not aim to possess, but entice. He did not demand that she kiss him in return. With each stroke of his lips, he offered an invitation, in an unspoken language as old as the first dawn.

Her body recognized that language. Responded. Her eager lips parted, and their tongues meshed.

Sensation shimmered, sweeter and richer than before. She must protest. Force him away. Her hand came up to push against his chest, but of its own volition, wound into his shirt.

She mewled, a cry of urgent need. Her body pressed against him. Hungry. Hungry . . .

He gasped against her lips. Shuddered. He broke away from her, swearing into the darkness, and pushed her to arm’s length.

“Geoffrey?” she whispered.

Breathing like a winded stallion, he looked at her. Fury flashed in his eyes.

She touched her tingling lips and struggled against an overwhelming sense of loss.

His mouth slanted into a mirthless grin. “You will not sway me that way, milady.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You hoped to seduce me.”

“Nay!” She jerked out of his grasp as though he had slapped her.

His harsh laughter grated like a dagger against stone. “You are quite the temptress, when you put a little effort into your kiss. You would put Eve to shame. How foolish of me, to think you were innocent of such methods of deception.”

Tears stung her eyes. “You are mistaken.”

“I think not.”

The depth of her anguish confused her. This rogue meant naught to her. She should not care whether he believed her or not. “Why would I wish to seduce you?”

“You hoped to find my weakness. To make me soften toward your father.” His tone thinned. “Mayhap you thought I might decide to free you. Whatever the reason, I will never yield.”

Rage devoured the torment inside her. “You are despicable.”

“And you play with fire, damsel. If I so desired, I could take what you just offered me. Here. Now.”

Elizabeth shook with fury. And fear. He did not make an idle threat. From the fierce set of his jaw, the rock-hard glare of his eyes, he had spoken true.

Would he do as he said?

“I never intended to tempt you,” she countered, with far more boldness than she felt. “I came here because you summoned me, remember? I did not choose this gown, or the fragrance Elena put in my bath. Nor do I have the slightest desire to lie with you.”

“Nay?”

She sniffed, a sound of acute disdain. “I would rather clean the keep’s garderobes than offer myself to you.”

“Is that so?” A wicked gleam lit Geoffrey’s eyes before his teeth slashed white in the darkness. Did he imagine her tackling the smelly task that even the lowest servants despised?

“’Tis so,” she said.

“Such a convincing rejection.”

She crossed her arms. “’Tis the truth.”

“Careful, damsel, or you might get your wish.”

“You would have me clean garderobes?” Elizabeth shot him a withering look. “I think not.”

“And I think you tread a perilous path,” Geoffrey growled. He whirled away from her and marched toward the solar doors. His boots thundered on the wooden floor. “Go back to your chamber, before I decide I preferred your earlier offer.”

Elizabeth ground her teeth. “I was not—”

Geoffrey yanked open the door with such force, it banged against the wall. “Out, damsel. Before I do something we will both regret.”
 

Chapter Twelve

“Up ye get, milady.”

Elizabeth opened a bleary eye to see two guards standing beside her bed. One shoved a candle near her face and leered down at her.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sat up. “What do you want? Why do you intrude upon my slumber?”

“Our lord requests ye,” said the heavyset guard who appeared enthralled by her dishabille. His gaze wandered over her night shift, and she promptly tucked the bedding under her armpits to curtail his ogling.

“He summons me
now?
” Elizabeth shoved hair out of her face and peered past the men to the window. The faintest glow of dawn was visible beyond the shutters’ slits. With a groan, she collapsed back on the bed in a tangle of blankets.

“Ye best come with us, milady,” said the other sentry. He nudged his comrade and snickered behind his hand. She glared at the stocky lout, wondering what he found so amusing about her predicament, and in answer he thrust a stumpy finger at the green wool. “Ye are to get dressed.”

“Not with you standing there. Await me outside,” she said in a firm voice. “I will knock on the door when I am clothed.”

The heavyset oaf scowled and opened his mouth, then shrugged and did as she asked.

Elizabeth rose from the bed and shook out the green wool. After her confrontation with Geoffrey last evening, had he decided she no longer needed a maidservant to help her dress? Wretched rogue. Shivering in the draft from the window, she stripped off her shift and donned the plain linen chemise. By some miracle, Elena walked into the chamber at the very moment Elizabeth attempted the ties of the bliaut. The maid set down the meager breakfast of bread, blackberries, and ale, and hurried to Elizabeth’s side.

“Why am I summoned? Does he wish me to begin mending the saddle trapping?” she asked as Elena fastened the garment.

“I do not know, milady.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

The maid held Elizabeth’s gaze, then looked down at the floor. “Milord is in a strange mood this morning.” Elena urged Elizabeth to the wooden stool near the hearth and, when she sat, began to braid her tresses.

While the ivory comb slid through her hair, Elizabeth thought back to last evening. Geoffrey had plied her with wine and sweetmeats, told her of his past wounds and future ambitions, and then, of all wicked wonders, he had kissed her. With tenderness. For a fleeting moment, he had become a chivalrous suitor trying to woo her affection. When he had unbound her plait, his hands had been as gentle as Elena’s. The memory of his caresses and kisses crept across Elizabeth’s skin, and she tried to quell her thoughts by brushing a wrinkle from her bodice.

On Elena’s instruction, Elizabeth lowered her chin so the maid could secure the braid. Yet, the memories persisted like an unsettling dream. The rogue’s livid expression and growled words revived in her mind with a wallop.
You hoped to seduce me
.

She frowned down at her clasped hands. She
had
encouraged his kisses—indeed, he had a most tempting and skillful mouth—yet how could he make such an accusation? He had initiated the intimacy. She should accuse him of trying to seduce her.

Annoyance burned the last vestiges of sleep from her brain. ’Twas not her fault he had a temper shorter than a pig’s tail.

Her gaze drifted over the beautiful rose wool and fine chemise, folded on the table where she had left them. “Why I must wear this horrible gown? I thought I could wear the clothes of a lady again.”

“I do not know,” Elena said in a hushed voice. “Milord was quite specific about your garments.”

After downing her breakfast, Elizabeth followed the maid into the corridor. The guards did not take her to the great hall, or Geoffrey’s solar, but to the bailey.

As she stepped out of the musty forebuilding, surprise and excitement thrummed in Elizabeth blood. Overhead stretched the robin’s egg blue sky. The breeze stirred her gown and teased wisps of hair across her cheek, and brought the smells of horse, damp stone, and blooming wildflowers. A child’s voice carried to her, and she saw a boy toss a pail of scraps to the rooting pigs.

Laughter drew her attention to the straw-roofed stables. Geoffrey stood leaning against one of the wooden wagons and chatting with Dominic. Sunlight shot the rogue’s dark hair with silver highlights that reminded her of the gleam in his eyes when he challenged her to a verbal joust. Her stomach squeezed. How handsome he looked, wearing a leather jerkin, tight brown hose, and leather boots.

The guards ordered her forward. When she walked out of the keep’s shadows into daylight, he turned and saw her. His expression became guarded. “Milady.”

She walked past the snuffling pigs and halted before him. “Milord, why did you bring me to the bailey? Am I to embroider outside this day, to better see my stitches?”

Dominic chuckled. She looked into his round, expressive eyes, and he glanced across the bailey. Whatever the secret was, he would not tell her.

“Patience, damsel. All will be clear soon.” A mysterious twinkle lit Geoffrey’s eyes.

“By the blessed Virgin.” At the sound of Mildred’s voice, Elizabeth turned. The matron hastened toward her, doing her best not to trip on the hem of a mud-brown bliaut. “Good morning, milady. Milord.” She attempted a curtsey. “Lord de Lanceau, pray tell me why you roused me from my warm bed. My old bones do not see daylight until the sun is risen.”

Geoffrey answered with a crooked smile.

Mildred’s eyes narrowed. “If an old woman may be so bold, what mischief have you concocted for us?”

“’Tis your lady’s bidding.”

Elizabeth started. “
Mine?
”

“You told me you wished to clean the garderobes.”

Horror slid through Elizabeth like chunks of ice. She had indeed made such a rash claim, but had not expected him to believe her every word.

Mildred wailed and slapped a wrinkled hand to her brow. “Milady, what have you done now?”

“I did not say I desired such a task.” Elizabeth scowled. “If you remember the circumstances of my comment, you will know I am right.”

Geoffrey’s gaze clashed with hers. “Our talk last night made me consider many things. As I told you once before, we have too many tasks for too few hands at Branton. I questioned why I kept two able-bodied women sitting by the fire when they could earn their keep.”

Mildred huffed. “Milady mended your tunic.”

“That is not the kind of toil I mean.”

An angry blush warmed Elizabeth’s face. “You hold us hostage. You cannot mean for us to—”

“I regret the garderobes were cleaned two weeks past,” he said, straightening away from the wagon. “Otherwise I would have obliged. However, the keep’s gardens need tending. You”—he pointed to Elizabeth and Mildred—“will see it done.”

Elizabeth tsked. “What a shame, I am not able to mend the saddle trapping. You will have to ride into battle without it.”

His insolent smile broadened. “After you have finished your day’s labor in the gardens, you will work on the repair.” He thrust an iron-edged spade and a billhook toward her. “You may begin gardening now.”

“This is madness,” the matron sputtered.

Elizabeth stared at the implements, and her fury flared. He expected her to dig up weeds and dirty her hands and clothes like a commoner? She glared at him.

An answering gleam heated his gaze. He expected the refusal on the tip of her tongue.

As she stared at him, standing with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, she forced down an indignant scream. The knave wanted her to protest. He hoped she would throw a tantrum and refuse to cooperate, so he could belittle her in front of his men and have the satisfaction of forcing her to his will.

Elizabeth bit back a smug laugh. If he anticipated an easy victory, he was mistaken.

She accepted the billhook, and her graceful fingers curled around the spade’s wooden handle. “Of course, milord.”

Geoffrey’s face pinched as though he chewed a mouthful of pig slop. “What?”

Mildred gasped.

“Sunshine and gentle exercise do wonders for a lady’s figure and complexion. Will there be aught else, Lord de Lanceau?” Elizabeth tilted her face in a gesture of eager compliance.

The rogue looked baffled. His mouth opened, and then snapped shut. “That is all. For now,” he added with a snarl.

She beamed. “Lead the way.”

He stalked past her, his brow creased into a forbidding frown, and Elizabeth smothered a gleeful shout. She flipped her braid over her shoulder and strolled off across the bailey after him, carrying the spade like a foot soldier’s pike.

“Saints preserve us,” Mildred groaned.

Elizabeth followed Geoffrey past the well, the maidservants airing blankets, the blacksmith’s shop and roaring fire, to an area surrounded by a wooden palisade. He yanked open the gate, and the iron hinges creaked with disuse. “The garden.”

She brushed past him. It must have been beautiful once. Now the vegetation grew in such tangled profusion she could not tell bush from vine, or weed from herb. Insects buzzed. A straggling rose bush with spent blooms grew across the stone path that started at the gate and vanished into the undergrowth.

Mildred shuffled to Elizabeth’s side. “By the blessed Virgin,” the matron whispered, mopping her face with her sleeve.

“Which . . . ah . . . patch do you wish us to weed, milord?” Elizabeth asked. A wasp hurtled out of the bushes and, shrieking, she flicked it away.

He chuckled. “You misunderstand. I wish you to restore this garden to its original grandeur.”

“
All
of it?”

“Aye.” He kicked aside a stone with the toe of his boot. “When you are finished, you will tell me what plants and herbs are here and what I need to purchase.”

Mildred’s eyes brightened with interest. “Herbs?”

“A former lord of Branton Keep hired a monk from a local monastery to lay out the garden and stock it with herbs. Some were used for medicines. Others were dried or went straight into the cooking.” Geoffrey’s smile turned wry. “As Lady Elizabeth pointed out at one meal, adding flavor to our food will be an improvement.”

“’Tis a monumental task you give us.” Elizabeth dropped the spade with a
clank
. “We cannot complete it in one afternoon.”

“I give you two.”

“Two days?” Mildred snorted.

Geoffrey’s eyes glinted like polished silver as he looked Elizabeth. “Two days.” He turned, walked out into the bailey, and slammed the gate closed behind him.

The matron plopped down on the edge of a crumbling rockery. “Harrumph!”

After retrieving the spade, Elizabeth uprooted a dandelion by her feet. “The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”

“I am a lady-in-waiting and a healer, not a brawny gardening wench,” Mildred grumbled. “This garden is so overgrown it no doubt harbors all kinds of nasty creatures—spiders, snakes, and red-eyed rodents, to name a few. If you ask me, you are better off apologizing to that rogue for whatever he is annoyed about and saving your strength for our escape.” She frowned and scratched her head. “What
is
he annoyed about?”

Her cheeks burning, Elizabeth attacked the grass growing between the path stones. Her bruised arm was healing well, and did not twinge with the effort.

She would
not
fail to meet the rogue’s challenge.

Nor did she wish to explain last evening to Mildred.

“Milady?”

Elizabeth cringed at the matron’s suspicious tone.

“Since we will be working together all day, milady, I see no better time for you to divulge all the details. Do you?”

***

Geoffrey halted outside the garden and motioned to the armed sentries who had escorted Elizabeth to the bailey. “Stand guard at the gate. The women are not to escape.”

The men nodded and trudged over to their posts.

Exhaling a harsh breath, Geoffrey tipped his face up to the sky and willed himself not to plow his fist into the palisade.

He would not let the damsel win.

He had meant to bend Elizabeth to his will, to teach her that although she tempted him, she would never control him or his deeds. He had expected her to toss her hair and stamp her foot like a spoiled child, or burst into tears. Instead, she had walked to the gardens like a woman anticipating a delightful day of picnicking and hawking, even with the spade slapping against her skirt. The lady astounded him.

Admiration and desire battled in his thoughts. He shook his head and strode back toward the keep. Right now, he wanted her out of his sight, rather than sitting within easy glance. He needed a quiet spate in the hall to finalize some important matters, without a black-haired, blue-eyed distraction.

As he neared the forebuilding, Dominic’s laughter greeted him. “Well done, milord.”

“Well done?” Geoffrey crossed to his friend, who helped a boy draw water up from the well. “The lady made a fool of me.”

“Did she?” Dominic’s grin was innocent enough, but the warmth in his eyes proved he knew quite well.

“She will not last. Before the midday meal, she shall be begging to return to her chamber.”

As the lad heaved the filled bucket from the well’s edge and stomped toward the pig’s trough, water splashed onto the ground. The boy could not be more than ten, Geoffrey’s own age when his father had died. When his life had changed forever.

Quelling another surge of fury, Geoffrey looked at Dominic. “My friend, find me a suitable messenger. ’Tis time to send the ransom demand.”

***

“If I do not stretch my aching joints, I shall be kneeling for the rest of my living days.” With a pained grunt, Mildred pushed up from her place beside a pile of pulled weeds. “I will see what awaits us farther down the path, milady.” Without waiting for a reply, she raised her bliaut’s hem and trudged into the undergrowth.

Elizabeth set down the spade. The earlier breeze had vanished, and now the sun beat upon her back. Her bliaut and chemise stuck to her body like a second skin that chafed. Why, oh why, had she goaded the rogue?

The garden did not offer any hope of escape. As she had discovered during a quick perusal, the only way in and out was through the gate. The palisade was too high to scale or jump. Moreover, the gnarled plum tree did not grow close enough to the fence to use its boughs to climb over.

“Will you come too?” the matron called. “Spare me from the ticks, snakes, and red-eyed rodents? I recall you once questioned my sense of adventure.”

Elizabeth chuckled and started down the path.

As she batted away a bumblebee disturbed by the movement of snarled vines and leaves, Mildred clucked her tongue. “Weeding is not a task for a noblewoman. De Lanceau must be very angry with you for what happened last evening.”

“He is a fool.”

Mildred’s laugh sounded as dry as the browned rose petals that disintegrated in Elizabeth’s fingers. “You told me yourself he thought you tried to seduce him.”

“I know naught about seducing a man.”

A crow cawed from its perch atop the palisade fence. Elizabeth glanced at it, and did not notice Mildred had come to a halt until she almost walked right into the old woman.

Brushing a cobweb from her sleeve, Mildred glanced over her shoulder. “You need but look at a man with your blue eyes, and I vow he is lost.”

Elizabeth felt a strange pang of discomfort, for Aldwin had once teased her with a similar remark. At the time, she had dismissed it as a jest.

“You must know how smitten Sedgewick is.” Mildred sidestepped the anthill in the middle of the path and resumed her steady plod. “I expect Aldwin is too, and there must be countless others of whom you do not even know.”

Loosing a silent groan, Elizabeth wished she had not told Mildred of last night’s events. “De Lanceau is not smitten. The last thing I want is more of his attentions.” She had only to think of his smoldering, heavy-lidded gaze and her belly flip-flopped in an alarming way.