Vengeance 02 - Trust In Me (4 page)

Chapter Three

Elizabeth heaved a sigh and rolled over yet again. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten enough at supper. Awareness and nervousness had deluged her the moment she’d caught sight of Lord Trisbane and had squelched what little appetite she’d had.

There was no help for it. She had to go down to the kitchen and at least have some bread. Maybe even a bit of cheese. Otherwise, sleep would remain elusive.

With reluctance, she threw back the covers and picked up a coverlet to wrap around her. She glanced at her maid, who slumbered on a pallet near the fire. A candle sat on a bedside table, and she lit it from the coals in the hearth.

She’d best take the back stairs to make sure she didn’t run into anyone, especially the guests sleeping in the hall. She sighed as an image of Lord Trisbane formed in her mind. He had a way of looking at a person with those intense blue eyes as though they had his entire focus.

Quite unsettling.

His attempts to charm her had not gone unnoticed. Nor had his impossibly broad shoulders. He towered over her. How in the world was she supposed to sleep when she knew he slumbered below her in the hall?

While her suspicions regarding the reason for his visit had not been completely alleviated, she couldn’t help but think he would’ve raised the subject of William by now.

Her breath caught as her bare feet hit the cold stone stairs. The steep, uneven steps meant to deter invaders gave her no pause as she descended with the flickering candle lighting her way.

She entered the kitchen, relieved that the coals in the hearth still shed a soft amber glow over the large, timbered chamber. Round loaves of bread draped with cloths sat on the worktable in the center of the room, leftover from the evening meal.

Elizabeth’s mouth watered as she broke off a chunk of the crusty bread and took a bite. Cheese was definitely in order. Before she could search out some, a sound caught her attention. She strained to listen, holding her breath.

Nothing but silence echoed in the cavernous kitchen.

Uncertain she’d truly heard anything, she listened closer. Another noise gave her pause. She gripped the coverlet around her and moved toward the dark entrance of the great hall to see if someone stirring there had caused the sound.

As she peered into the dark passageway, she felt a presence behind her. She spun, her breath caught in her throat, to find Lord Trisbane standing before her. Startled, she glanced around the kitchen, wondering from where he could’ve come.

“Lady Elizabeth,” he greeted her softly. “Are you having trouble sleeping?” His voice shivered through her. The deep burgundy of his tunic set off his dark hair and blue eyes. She hoped he didn’t take notice of the way she gawked at him.

Embarrassed at being caught foraging for food in her chemise with bare feet, she stepped back. With a sigh, she gave up attempting to retain her dignity and gestured with the bread, curling her toes with the hope of hiding them. “I came down for a bit of repast. Would you care for some?”

“Nay, but thank you.” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall beside her as though he often had late night visits with scantily clad ladies. “You ate little at supper.”

“I wasn’t very hungry and onions are not a favorite of mine.” Anxious to turn his attention away from her, she added, “I didn’t see you when I entered.” She nibbled at the bread. Her stomach demanded no less. Besides, what else was she to do with her hands? His gaze caught hers, and she nearly forgot to chew.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replied, his words rumbling in the quiet kitchen.

“I never sleep well in a strange place either,” she confided. “How fares your companion?”

He looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, he’s still not feeling himself. We’ll know more come morn.”

His gaze dropped to her hand.

An image of him nibbling the bread she held made her stomach do a slow roll. Surely it was just the glow from the coals in the hearth that made his gaze appear heated.

Elizabeth tore off a small piece of bread, conscious of his gaze. Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, and she could only hope the dim light hid her extreme discomfort.

Would it be rude if she made her escape and left him alone in the kitchen? She wasn’t certain of the proper etiquette in this situation.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his head tilted to the side, his gentle tone at odds with his strange question.

Confused, she suggested, “I had no bread in my chamber?”

“Nay.” He chuckled. “I mean why are you, a beautiful lady, still at home with your father? You should be married with a family and keep of your own.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard. The bread that had been so welcome earlier caught in her throat. She pushed aside the question of whether he truly thought her beautiful and let anger straighten her spine. “You sit in judgment of me? You know nothing of my circumstances.”

“I meant no offense, my lady. Surely, you must have to chase away the suitors from your door each day.”

The subject he raised brought forth a longing she’d buried some time ago. “I’d always thought I would be. Married, that is.”

She looked up to find him watching her, as if he were truly interested in her answer. Somehow it made her want to tell him everything.

But nay, he was a stranger, albeit handsome and kind, but a prying one. “Circumstances are...difficult.”

“The loss of your brother?” The sympathy offered in his tone, in his expression, struck her anew. His broad shoulders cast a shadow against the wall, making him look even stronger, more capable. Someone to lean on, to share her burdens with.

She sighed as a lump formed in her throat, then bit her lip to keep from speaking. The changes her life had taken of late or the responsibilities she carried would be of no concern to him. She simply nodded. “What of you, Lord Trisbane? Did you leave a wife and children behind at your keep?”

He frowned, then looked away. “Nay. Marriage is not in my future.” A grimace crossed his face so quickly that she wondered if she’d imagined it.

“Nor in mine.” In truth, she didn’t see how she’d ever be free to marry. She couldn’t leave her father. No longer could she dream of love. That was for young girls, and at twenty she was far from that.

Much to her surprise, he stepped forward and gently pulled her blanket closer around her shoulders. “’Tis cold in here. You shouldn’t catch a chill.”

Her heart stuttered, and her stomach flew to her throat. How could she possibly be so attracted to this man when she’d just met him? She closed her eyes and drew in a breath to steady herself – only to breathe in him. A warm, musky smell that held a hint of the forest. Her eyes flew open, for she realized his hands still held her blanket. His fingers were unbelievably warm pressed against her thin chemise.

“Elizabeth?” He stepped closer, his vivid blue eyes holding her in place as he lowered his head.

Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried.

He pulled her nearer still, the heat of his body enveloping her. His fingers glided along her jaw, sending a shimmer of sensation flowing through her.

Oh, dear heavens.

Her hands fluttered, uncertain, and the bread dropped to the floor, forgotten.

“I...” his voice trailed off, his breath mingling with hers.

“Aye?” she said, her gaze locked on his. She leaned toward him, her entire being yearning for his touch.

His gaze drifted down to her lips once again. With a gentle finger, he traced the corner of her mouth. For the space of a heartbeat, she thought he might, hoped he might...

*

Kiss her...

Christ, but he longed to.

Her wide brown eyes seemed to hold the same awareness that echoed inside him. The woman before him was much different from the reserved lady he’d met earlier. This one was open, approachable, and even more desirable.

The light from the hearth cast a soft glow over her features. The arch of her brow, the length of her lashes, and her sweet fragrance could turn him into a poet for certain.

How could she smell of flowers when none yet bloomed?

Her light brown hair was twisted into a loose braid that fell past her waist. The firelight spun strands of it to red and gold. He could picture it unfastened and flowing around her. Her bare feet brought to mind bare limbs, teasing him – stirring him.

And those full lips. How was he supposed to resist them when they begged to be kissed? They parted as though she’d read his mind.

He leaned forward to taste her, defenseless against her charms, and pressed his lips to hers. The soft brush was not nearly enough. He moved closer still to better taste her.

“Lady Elizabeth?” A man’s voice intruded from the other side of the kitchen.

Elizabeth jerked back from Nicholas, her expression filled with alarm.

Nicholas cursed under his breath, unsure if he swore because of the interruption or at himself. Did no one in this keep ever sleep?

“Aye, Robert,” she answered, obviously recognizing the quiet voice.

“Is all well?” The steward stepped into the kitchen, his form visible in the shadows, his tone full of suspicion.

“Indeed,” she said. “Thank you, Lord Trisbane, for keeping me company.” She flicked a glance at him from under her lashes, her polite mask in place except for the high color in her cheeks.

Nicholas bowed. “My pleasure.” Indeed, it had been. A moment more, and he would’ve...what? Ravished her thoroughly? What was he doing?

“Lord Trisbane was having difficulty sleeping.” She looked at Robert and back to Nicholas. “And I was hungry.” Somehow, the emphasis she put on the word ‘hungry’ implied something other than food. Or was that just his wish?

Robert remained at the entrance of the kitchen and nodded, but made no move to leave.

“Please see Lord Trisbane back to his pallet. I wouldn’t want him to lose his way in the dark.”

“Certainly, my lady.”

She gave Nicholas a small, polite smile. “Good night. Sleep well.” She retrieved her candle from the table and, without a backwards glance, moved to the stairs and out of sight.

“My lord?” Robert’s tone was polite but firm. “May I show you to your bed?”

Nicholas sighed. His attempt to get a look at the dungeon had been thwarted. He’d certainly touched the lady, but no vision had come forth, not that he’d remembered his intention while in her presence.

He would indeed delay his stay, but the reason why had just become less clear.

*

Mortified, Elizabeth fell onto her bed and buried her face in the pillow. What had she done? Kissed a complete stranger in the darkness of the kitchen, that was all. Which didn’t sound so terrible until she thought of how forward she’d acted.

She moaned. Her actions had been far from those of a proper lady. She’d reached for him – actually leaned forward and kissed
him
.

Oh, heavens!

How could she face Lord Trisbane again?

She couldn’t. She’d hide in her chamber until he and his men left.

Relieved at the idea, she turned from the pillow to gaze into the coals of the fire, drawing deep breaths to slow her pounding heart.

Though embarrassed at what had passed between them, she was fiercely glad she hadn’t let the opportunity pass her by. He’d looked so good – smelled so good – what else could she have done except kiss him? Her stomach did a peculiar flip at the memory of that barest brush of his lips on hers.

In truth, she’d been robbed. To have her first kiss be so brief as to hardly have happened at all was a theft of the worst sort. She should demand another! The idea of doing just that made her smile.

The blame for the shortness of the kiss lay with Robert. Surely Lord Trisbane would’ve continued if not for the interruption. Her smile grew, and she smothered a giggle. Her first kiss with the most handsome man she’d ever met. She was lucky indeed.

Pondering the matter further, she frowned. She hadn’t merely imagined that touch of their lips.

Had she?

Chapter Four

Lord Gerard Perry stirred restlessly, tired and irritated by the continued pain in his shoulder. He sat up in the bed with care, trying not to jar his injury. He had no desire to start the healing process over.

The jousting tournament had not gone according to plan, but the results were just as satisfying. Crefton’s heir was dead, Crefton was mad with grief, and William de Bremont had been accused of murder. Those were the results he’d hoped for.

The pain of a broken bone or two was a small price to pay for everything Gerard would soon collect. The first thing he’d take was his cousin, Elizabeth, as his wife. Envisioning that moment brought a smile to his lips.

He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position and winced. “Damn but there must be more wrong with me than I thought,” he muttered.

“Do you need something, my lord?” The maid’s timid voice came from a dark corner of the room, well out of his reach.

Did she think he didn’t know that she tried to hide from him? No matter. She would come when he ordered her to or suffer the consequences.

“Nay. I need nothing from you.” A simple maidservant could not bestow upon him what he wanted. No one could. A man had to seize what he desired, what was rightfully his.

And he had done just that.

Taking William de Bremont’s place on the lists had been a brilliant idea, the perfect way to kill his cousin, Gregory Crefton, and leave de Bremont to take the blame.

De Bremont had been readying his horse with not even his squire in sight when Gerard had approached him. A firm blow to the back of his head with the hilt of his sword had knocked him unconscious. He’d dragged him to a nearby tent, tied and gagged him, and donned the garments that boldly displayed de Bremont’s colors, his helm, and mounted his horse.

Gregory Crefton had proven a more agile opponent on the lists than Gerard had expected.

Gerard rolled his injured shoulder and groaned at the memory of the painful strike he’d taken on the first pass. The blow had angered him so much that any guilt he’d felt about replacing the blunt tip with a spiked one had been erased.

The second tilt had struck his cousin, but the cur had remained seated. The third had delivered the death strike; Gerard’s lance had pierced Gregory’s mail. Gerard had ridden over to where Gregory had fallen to be certain the injury was enough to kill him.

He smiled at the memory. He’d raised his visor just enough to allow Gregory to see his identity. A risky move to be sure, but worth it to see the shock on Gregory’s face before the light left his eyes.

The situation was unfolding nicely, except for the damned injury and the delay it was costing him. But while his body would soon be healed, he had made certain that William de Bremont’s would not.

Between the blow to the young knight’s head and the wound Gerard had inflicted on his shoulder, he’d be surprised if de Bremont still lived.

At any rate, de Bremont’s injury served as evidence of his guilt. Everyone at the tournament had seen the hit to the shoulder and, along with the witnesses Gerard had planted, confirmed de Bremont as the murderer of Gregory Crefton.

Gerard had escorted Lord Crefton to the tournament to make certain he witnessed his son’s death. Cruel, but necessary to push Crefton over the edge of sanity.

Truly, it had all worked out for the best. The best for Gerard, that was. He chuckled at the thought and felt the maidservant’s wary gaze upon him.

As soon as his shoulder healed enough to allow him to move freely, he would make the trip to Amberley to claim all that was now his, including his lovely cousin, Elizabeth. His body hardened as the image of her swept through his mind. Those long, graceful limbs would soon be wound around him, her soft skin and generous curves his for the taking.

Their blood relation was of no matter. Second cousins often married. He’d wanted her since her sixteenth year.

Each time he visited Amberley, his desire for her grew. All of that unapproachable elegance made him burn. Soon she’d be his. Her warm brown eyes would fill with passion as she clung to him, begging him to take her.

Aye, and how he’d make her beg after the cool treatment he’d gotten from her during his last stay at Amberley before taking Crefton to the tournament.

He rubbed a hand over his groin to ease the ache there, then laughed in anticipation. The rich holding, the woman – prosperity would be his at last.

He would prove he was not the wastrel his sire always claimed him to be. His father’s sword lay beside him on the bed, the hilt wrapped with the form of a writhing dragon, its green jeweled eyes sparkling at him in the candlelight. When he claimed Amberley, he’d finally feel he’d earned the right to carry his father’s sword. To call it his own.

With a smile, he looked at the dark corner where the maidservant hid. “Are you the one with the brown hair?”

Slowly, she rose and stepped closer to the bed. “Aye, my lord.”

Gerard eyed her closely. She was too short and too stout, but she had the right color of hair. That was all he needed to pretend she was Elizabeth. “You’ll do.”

“Excuse me, my lord?” Her voice shook with fear just as he knew Elizabeth’s would.

His breath came faster as he pictured his elegant cousin fighting him. His loins ached with need. He patted the bed beside him. “Come here. I find that I am in need of you after all.”