Vengeance 02 - Trust In Me (29 page)
Read Vengeance 02 - Trust In Me Online
Authors: Lana Williams
“Elizabeth is right,” Margaret agreed. “We believe Lord de Bremont.”
“Bah,” Gerard cried out. “You owe de Bremont no loyalty. Do not encourage his lies.”
“I need to know, Gerard, if you killed my Gregory. Is it as de Bremont says?” Crefton asked, his voice wavering. “Did you?”
“I don’t owe any explanations to you, old man.” Gerard’s composure seemed to be crumbling. “You’ve had everything all of your life. You never bothered to give my father anything.”
Crefton pulled back, obviously surprised by Gerard’s verbal attack. “We each must earn our own way in life. Surely my cousin did not give you this bitterness.”
Gerard laughed. “He gave me nothing but debt. Debt that there is no money to pay for.”
“And this is your solution?” Elizabeth asked, her voice quiet, her eyes filled with tears. “You kill my brother? You try to take what is ours?”
“You have no idea what it’s like.” Gerard faced her. “You’ve always been a spoiled little girl.”
“You know not of what you speak,” she said, her anger evident.
“Nay. You all are the crazed ones if you believe this beast with his visions.” He tucked his knife in his belt and drew his sword, then turned to Nicholas. “And I will not let you ruin this. I will have what I am due.”
Nicholas held his sword before him, waiting for Gerard to make the first move, hoping for a chance to get him to shift away from Elizabeth and Crefton.
Gerard waved his weapon at Nicholas. “Was it one of your visions that showed you all of this?” The sneer in his voice grated on Nicholas.
“Oh!” Lord Crefton clapped his hands. “I do love a good sword fight. Let us see your skills.”
Gerard laughed. “You are a dotty old man. Neither you nor this vision-seer will be in my way for long.” He pointed his sword at Crefton.
“Gerard, put down your weapon,” Elizabeth said as she stepped in front of her father.
“Elizabeth!” Nicholas tipped the heavy table toward Gerard to send it crashing to the floor, his fear for her safety lending him strength. He grabbed Elizabeth and pulled her behind him.
Gerard gave an angry cry at Nicholas’s action, his eyes wild. He seized Crefton and held his sword to his neck, choking him with the blade. The old man was no match for his angry young cousin. “Get back!”
“Let him go!” Elizabeth demanded.
“I told you I’d take care of you, Elizabeth. Why didn’t you believe me? Now I have to do something I’d hoped to avoid.” Gerard looked at Crefton as though he’d enjoy running him through despite his words.
Crefton giggled like a young child as he pulled at Gerard’s arm, then lost his footing, the weight of his body loosening Gerard’s hold.
Nicholas took advantage of Gerard’s distraction to reach forward and strike Gerard’s injured shoulder with the flat of his blade.
“Ah!” Gerard cried out in pain as he let go of Crefton, who collapsed onto the floor. “Damn you!” He shifted the sword to his other hand and edged toward Nicholas. “You should’ve left when I gave you the chance.”
Elizabeth ran to her father as Nicholas and Gerard moved in a slow circle.
“Give it up,” Nicholas urged as he tried to force Gerard away from Elizabeth and Lord Crefton. Sir Kenneth moved to guard them while Stephen continued to watch Matthew.
“Never!” Gerard lunged forward, but Nicholas easily blocked his thrust and made one of his own.
Gerard dodged the blow then glanced around the hall. “Why don’t you help me? You are my family!” He seemed genuinely surprised that Elizabeth and Crefton hadn’t taken his side. “Elizabeth?”
“You are not our family any longer,” Elizabeth said as she and Sir Kenneth helped her father sit up.
“Out with you, Gerard,” Crefton wheezed. “Before I have my men drag you from this hall. You are no longer welcome here.”
Gerard scoffed. “You’ve all lost your minds!” He thrust his sword at Nicholas then spun to swing it at Crefton. Sir Kenneth was not prepared for the attack.
Before Gerard’s blade reached the old lord, Nicholas plunged his sword into Gerard.
“You bastard!” Gerard cried out as Nicholas pulled his blade free. He clutched his side. “You’re coming with me to hell!” He struck out at Nicholas again.
Nicholas blocked him and left with no option, ran him through once more. This time, Gerard fell to his knees, his sword clattered to the floor, blood seeping into his tunic.
“Don’t you see?” the wounded man asked on a gasp. He held his abdomen with hands that were wet with blood. “Gregory had it all. I didn’t want to kill him. It was only fair.” He fell to the floor. “Only fair.” His voice faded on the last words. He drew one sputtering breath, a frothy deep red blood trickling out the corner of his mouth, and then he lay still.
“Nicholas!” Elizabeth cried and ran to him. She threw herself in his arms and held on tight as though she’d never let go.
Nicholas released his sword and held her. Having her safe in his arms made him dizzy with relief. Love for her flooded through him, nearly undoing him with its power. Perhaps his second sight was a kind of gift after all rather than the curse he’d always believed. It had helped him save Elizabeth.
His wife had given him the capacity to trust; something he thought he’d lost long ago. He met Crefton’s weary gaze over the top of her head.
“Well done, Nicholas,” the old lord said. “Well done. Are you certain you can’t service my daughter as a husband should?”
Elizabeth lifted her head from Nicholas’s shoulder, sniffed back her tears, and turned toward her father. “Are you all right?”
“Indeed, Izzie. I’m fine.” He rose on unsteady legs with Sir Kenneth’s assistance and looked at Gerard’s body. “I should never have believed his lies.”
“He fooled us all,” Margaret added, shaking her head. “I’m sorry I believed him, Elizabeth.”
Nicholas turned to Stephen. “Escort that one out of the gate with orders never to let him return.”
“My pleasure, my lord.” Stephen smiled.
Lord Crefton shook his head. “I would never have believed all this if you’d tried to tell me of it, Nicholas.” He eyed him warily. “Visions, eh?”
Nicholas smiled and met Elizabeth’s gaze. “Whether I want them or not it seems.”
“Well, they might be useful on occasion, don’t you think?”
Elizabeth hugged Nicholas tighter. “I think that as well. You saved us.”
Nicholas shook his head. “Gerard had me worried for a time.”
“And me as well.” She shuddered.
Nicholas released her and took her hands in his, easing her aside as the others conversed. “Elizabeth, I love you. I love you with all of my heart. I would see you happy, for you deserve that and so much more. What kind of life would you have with me? This second sight...these visions...they often hinder more than they help. It is as Gerard said. People think me a beast.”
“People who know you will say differently. Just as I’ll say differently.” She reached up and put her hand alongside his cheek, her eyes warm and filled with a wealth of emotion.
He stepped back, trying to maintain some distance between them, difficult though it was. She had to make a choice now that she knew the whole truth. “I understand if you don’t wish to be married to me. You could stay here with your father. We can try to have the marriage annulled.”
“Nay. Not on your life.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I am not leaving you. And you are not leaving me.” She moved closer to wrap her arms around his neck, her brown eyes full of emotion. “Don’t you see how much better we are together?”
“I know you want a child – ”
Before he could continue, she put a finger to his lips. “A child would be a blessing, but not if that means I can’t have you. Trust in me, Nicholas. Please.”
His heart melted at her words, making him want to give her the world and more. He cupped his hands around her face, desperate to tell her what lay in his heart. “Elizabeth, let me finish. With you in my life, by my side, I know I can do anything. I already trust in you. If we are blessed with a babe, I would drop to my knees to give thanks.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Nicholas! I love you so much! I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“You’d better listen to the girl, Nicholas.” Crefton nodded at him. The old lord had silently moved to stand beside them. “She knows of what she speaks. I seem to regret the times I don’t listen to her.”
“I believe you have the right of it, my lord,” Nicholas said with a smile.
Elizabeth laughed in delight. Then, she reached up on her toes and kissed him. Her soft lips, her sweet smell, her warmth and love rocked him to his core. “I love you, Nicholas. More than words could ever say,” she said.
He held her tight, determined to never let her go, relishing the feel of her in his arms. “I love you, Elizabeth, even more.”
They sealed their words with a kiss. And then another, their passion rising despite their audience.
Lord Crefton clapped his hands and laughed with delight. “We’re going to have lots of babies!”
Nicholas pulled back to look into Elizabeth’s glowing face, and they shared a chuckle.
“You’ve gone and said it now.” Elizabeth’s smile was bright enough to light the hall.
“Indeed. There’s no going back.”
She chuckled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Another kiss promised a lifetime of love.
The End
A Vow To Keep
Revenge was all he lived for...until he met her.
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Believe
In Me
Book I
II of The Vengeance Trilogy
He took her for revenge...but she captured his heart.
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The Secret Trilogy - Set in Victorian London
Unraveling Secrets
When the past returns to haunt her
, only one man can save her.
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England, September 1268
A life dedicated to God was not for her. Of that, Lady Cristiana Ormond was quite certain. Her stay at the Convent of Saint Gabriel had not changed her mind-set about aspiring toward a religious life. She and the sisters had a difference of opinion--one that could not be easily overcome.
They’d been kind the past two months since her mother’s death, but refused to give credence to her need to discover the identity of her mother’s murderer.
‘Grieve,’ they said, ‘and forgive.’ How could she when anger burned so bright within her?
With a wary eye on her formidable keeper, one Sister Mawde, Cristiana put down the shoe in which she’d feigned interest and edged closer to the back of the shoemaker’s tent. Somehow, she had to find a way to escape. Though her heart pounded with fear at the thought of the journey that lay before her, her fury was greater. Her mother’s death would not go unpunished as long as Cristiana lived.
Yesterday a message had arrived at the convent advising Cristiana that she had been granted the privilege of becoming a ward of Bishop Thomas Duval. The sisters were ecstatic at the honor to be bestowed on her. An escort was scheduled to arrive this very day to see her safely to Longsbury Cathedral.
She could not, would not, let that happen.
Her plans for discovering who’d murdered her mother did not include living under Bishop Duval’s care. He was the one person her mother had warned her to avoid at all costs--the man Cristiana suspected had been involved in her mother’s death. She would not be his next victim.
Through the narrow slit of the tent, she glimpsed the noisy crowded chaos outside. The Michaelmas fair covered the rolling meadow of the small shire, including the busy shoemaker’s tent in which she stood. The autumn harvest had been plentiful, and the local lord had arranged for a great celebration. Once she slipped outside, the crowd would serve to hide her until she could make her way into the surrounding forest.
At least, that was her hope.
“Surely those are far too large for you, Sister Mawde,” Cristiana said as she pointed to the shoes the nun held, hoping to distract her sentry.
It took only a moment for the short, stout nun to latch onto the feigned insult. “Indeed they are. I need something much smaller,” she informed the shoemaker.
“But your feet measured that size,” the shoemaker sputtered.
The resulting conversation escalated into a heated argument between the little man and Sister Mawde, allowing Cristiana to take another step closer to the narrow opening.
She knew she might be committing an unforgiveable sin by seeking revenge rather than offering forgiveness, but her eternal life be damned. Whoever had killed her mother deserved her wrath and would soon have his hands full with it. Wasn’t God supposed to be on the side of the righteous? Her throat tightened as the pain of losing her mother washed over her. Perhaps after her mother was avenged, she’d be able to grieve properly.
“You heathen!” Sister Mawde accused the shoemaker. “First you insult me by insisting I have large feet and now you try to rob me blind! If you think anyone will pay such outrageous prices, you’d best think again.” She waved the birch switch she always carried in his face.
The man cringed as he denied her claim.
Cristiana shook her head, thinking the sister’s behavior rather harsh for a woman devoted to God.
With a deep breath, she looked out of the tent again and determined the moment ripe. “Good day to you, sister,” she quietly bid the back of the angry woman who still haggled with the shoemaker, then slipped outside. As nonchalantly as possible, though her heart clattered in her chest, she wove her way around the next tent.
She pulled off the wimple covering her long blonde braid and stuffed the garment inside her black novice tunic, grimacing as the coarse wool scratched her sore hands. The constant scrubbing required at the convent had granted her chipped nails and chapped knuckles. While she wasn’t afraid of hard work, the scouring of already clean surfaces seemed pointless and surely hadn’t helped to ease her grief or save her soul.
Behind another tent, she stopped to remove the tunic and wrapped it over her arm, certain Sister Mawde wouldn’t look for the deep crimson kirtle she’d hidden underneath. She’d donned every item of clothing she’d brought to the convent, the only way she could think of to take them with her. Packing a bag had been out of the question, and she had no intention of gracing the doors of the Convent of Saint Gabriel at a later date for her things.
She threaded her way through the crowd, moving toward the nearest copse of trees, her breath hitching with every step. Boisterous laughter flowed amongst the tents followed closely by the soft music of a lute, the joyful sounds at odds with her dark thoughts.
Villagers dressed in drab clothes rubbed elbows with both merchants and the brightly clothed nobility, each identifiable by the color of his clothing and the weight of his purse. Craftsmen hocked their wares, and entertainers of all sorts roamed the area.
Food was abundant for a small price, including the traditional well-fattened geese. The appetizing aroma of spit-roasted chicken wafted through the air, causing Cristiana’s stomach to grumble. The time for the mid-day meal had passed, but though she was hungry, the scent mixed ominously with her nerves.
The food served at the convent provided another reason not to extend her stay. While the heavy weight of grief had diminished her appetite, the pottage served at each meal failed to entice it back. The few coins in her pouch couldn’t yet be spent despite the tempting aromas that filled the air.
“Hold!”
Cristiana’s heart flew to her throat. She spun to look behind her, only to realize the man yelled at the children bobbing in and out of the crowd, their laughter and shouts adding to the confusion.
She closed her eyes, her relief so great she felt weak with it. On trembling legs, she continued toward the cover of trees a short distance from the crowded meadow where a fence bordered the clearing. A young girl balanced precariously on a fence rail, her focus intent on the savory meat tile she munched, ignoring the pleas from the boy who stood before her.
“Please, a bite is all I ask. They’re my favorite and well you know it!” The boy’s lip quivered with the intensity of his feelings.
“You’ve had your own already, and I’m not sharing,” the girl replied between mouthfuls.
Cristiana’s sympathies fell squarely on the side of the girl. She wouldn’t have shared either.
“Please?” the boy pleaded.
“Nay, and don’t ask again.” The girl’s golden curls bounced as she shook her head, her brow furrowed.
A typical male, the boy resorted to violence. He grabbed the girl’s leg and tugged.
With a scream, the girl lost her balance, rapped the back of her head on the fence and fell, landing on her arm.
“You there,” Cristiana called to the boy before he could do further harm.
He looked up, his eyes wide with fright. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, my lady.”
“Aye, I could see that by the way you pulled her off the fence.” Her sarcasm was lost on the boy. “Fetch help quickly!”
His bright blue eyes filled with tears before he spun and raced across the meadow, disappearing into the crowd. She could only hope he did as she bid him. The little girl lay still, her face pinched with pain, her big brown eyes full of panic.
Cristiana knelt down and smoothed the tousled curls off the girl’s face. With a deep breath, she steeled herself for the task ahead of her. She’d never been able to deny anyone who needed her gift, regardless of the price to herself. Resolved to what needed to be done, she could only hope the delay wouldn’t cost her the freedom she sought. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t bode well. Pushing aside her worry, she cleared her mind, preparing for the task before her. “Does it hurt?”
The girl nodded once, her face scrunching as she started to cry.
Cristiana glanced about to make certain no one watched. Then, as casually as possible, she held her hands at the back of the girl’s head. “Can you tell me where the pain is?” she asked to keep the child’s mind off of what she was about to do.
“My head.” Her chest shuddered with her sobs.
Cristiana closed her eyes, gathering her focus as she pressed her fingers against the lump swelling at the back of the little girl’s head. With a deep breath, she pushed her thoughts toward the injury for a long moment then drew them back, bringing the ache with her, wincing as it pierced her head then flooded her body. She opened her eyes. “Is that better?”
The girl’s tear-filled eyes widened with wonder. “My arm?”
Cristiana moved her hands down the girl’s arm, searching for the heat that accompanied injuries. Right there, at her wrist, a broken bone. Trembling, Cristiana again drew a long, slow breath, closed her eyes, and held the wrist.
Pain, sharp and searing, flowed into Cristiana starting at her own wrist before diffusing through her. She sucked in her breath and waited for the sensation to ease, trying not to moan. As the pain slowly ebbed, a deep exhaustion slid through her, weighting her limbs. Her attempt to escape already seemed impossible, and she hadn’t yet made it out of the meadow.
“My lady, however did you do that? My arm, my head, they’re all better.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Cristiana smiled even as pain and weariness rolled through her. She fought to keep her expression and voice steady. “Sometimes it takes a moment to recover when you fall.”
Too late, she sensed a presence behind her. She turned, expecting a concerned parent. She worried about what sort of explanation she might have to give for the girl’s quick recovery.
Instead, she discovered a tall man with a face that begged a second look. His surcoat emblazoned with a roaring lion and the imposing sword strapped to his side marked him as a knight.
His brown wavy hair was overly long, brushing the top of shoulders. A few wayward locks curled over his forehead. His high cheekbones and narrow, straight nose gave him the perfect looks of an angel, but his brown eyes--or did they hold a hint of green?--held a steely edge that put any thoughts of an angel to rest. This was not a man to be crossed.
As she eyed the imposing length of him, she feared her attempt to escape had just been thwarted.
***
Sir William de Bremont stared down at the lady where she knelt beside the child, uncertain if he’d found his quarry. Blonde hair shot with gold was pulled back from the woman’s face in a tight plait. Her slim nose ended in a pert upturn. Brows a shade darker than her hair framed dark brown eyes that held a wary intelligence. Her rounded cheekbones softened the planes of her pale, heart-shaped face.
He’d seen the child fall, yet from the grimace of pain on the lady’s face, she appeared to be the one hurt. Surely he was mistaken. He glanced over at Henry and motioned for him to remain where he was.
The older knight nodded and eased into the crowd, keeping William in sight.
William looked back to find the lady’s expression of pain had eased. “Can I be of assistance?” he asked.
The deep brown of her eyes was cool. “I don’t suppose you’re her father?” she asked, her voice husky and hopeful.
“Nay.”
“I feared not.” She heaved a sigh then turned to the girl. “All better?”
The child nodded, her eyes still wide.
“Off with you then.” The lady tried to raise the girl to her feet, but couldn’t quite accomplish the task.
William stepped forward and lifted the little one to a standing position with his good arm, trying not to grimace at the pain the movement caused.
The lady dipped her head in thanks, as though embarrassed at her weakness. She smoothed the girl’s golden curls. “Don’t let that boy hurt you anymore, all right?”
Again the urchin nodded then bounded off, none the worse for the wear, her meat tile forgotten in the grass.
William said nothing as he tried to reconcile all he’d witnessed. Deciding he’d misinterpreted the events, he offered his hand. “Would you be Lady Cristiana Ormond?”
“A moment if you please,” she said with a shake of her head, remaining where she was, not even looking at his outstretched hand.
Irritated at her odd behavior and unable to guess why she preferred to remain on the ground, he waited impatiently as she gazed around the meadow. William could only shrug at Henry’s puzzled expression. He was confused by her as well.
If this was indeed Lady Cristiana, she’d caused him enough problems already. But then again, beautiful ladies always complicated a plan. She was supposed to be awaiting him at the convent, but instead, he’d found her attempting to flee the fair.
Though he’d never before met her, she’d caught his attention earlier while amongst the gaggle of sisters who’d wandered the shire in their plain black tunics. Her striking beauty and grace had set her apart. He’d followed her at a safe distance until she’d disappeared. Luckily, it hadn’t taken him long to spot her though she’d shed the black tunic and wimple.
Complications were not what he needed.
He glanced down again to where she sat. Beautiful indeed.
“All right then,” she said. With a twist of her mouth as though she were less than grateful for his assistance, she raised her hand for him to take and rose slowly, leaning heavily on him.
