A Knight's Vengeance (8 page)

De Lanceau's low voice came from rtearby. "I will ride up front with the driver. Dominic, keep watch on the women."

Elizabeth felt Geoffrey's stare upon her. Salvaging a last tattered shred of bravado, she raised her chin and glared at him standing beside the wagon.

His mouth twitched.
"On the floor."

Mildred gasped. "You cannot possibly expect my lady to—

Geoffrey strode from view.

Viscon grabbed Elizabeth's hair and shoved her face down against the filthy floorboards coated with flour. She flattened her hands against the wood and tried to rise, but the men crowded in. They trapped her hair and clothing beneath their boots. A rustle sounded overhead; then a sour-smelling tarp settled over her and Mildred.

She heard muffled voices, one sharp with annoyance. Someone reached beneath the tarp and shoved a soft linen shirt in her face. It smelled of
him.
After dropping de Lanceau's garment, the hand disappeared.

A moment later, the wagon creaked into motion.

Elizabeth jostled from side to side. Her cheek bounced against the boards and, with a grudging sigh, she spread out the shirt for her and Mildred, and laid her cheek upon it.

The wagon rumbled on, gathering speed. Each jolted movement sent pain shooting up Elizabeth's arm. Her head throbbed.

She squeezed her eyes closed. She would
not
cry. She would not give de Lanceau the satisfaction. Under her breath, she prayed the wagon would be stopped and searched at either of the two gatehouses.

The cart did not slow. The wheels drummed on the wooden drawbridge, then gritted on the dirt road beyond the keep.

Anger and determination blazed through her. She would escape. She would foil whatever scheme for vengeance de Lanceau had begun.

Above all, she would never let him harm her father.

"Stop here." De Lanceau's terse command carried over the
clop
of hooves and the wagon's rattle.

Elizabeth raised her head a fraction. The crunch of dirt changed to a hiss. The wagon had veered off the road and into grass.

After a while the jostling slowed, then stopped.

Mildred groaned. "My body is one big bruise."

"Mine too." One of the men trapping Elizabeth's hair moved his foot, tugging on her tresses, and she winced.
"Barbarians."

The pressure eased from her hair and clothing. The wagon swayed from side to side. The tarp shifted and was hauled away.

Elizabeth squinted in the sudden light. The sun had risen well into the sky. She sucked in the fresh morning air
and fought the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her. She would not succumb to the beckoning darkness.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up to sitting, shoved hair from her eyes, and looked around.

The ruffians now stood in the waist-high grass. Several guarded her and Mildred, while others moved off to keep watch from a distance. They were all armed.

The wagon rested at the edge of a meadow. A glassy stream meandered through the field of wildflowers and grasses before it disappeared into a forest. There was no sign of a road.

Movement drew her gaze to two men striding toward the willows that grew near the stream. She recognized de Lanceau and Dominic. They headed toward horses tethered in the trees' dappled shade. De Lanceau's dark hair glinted silver-blue in the sunlight and hung in waves over his tunic's shoulders, and she cursed herself for paying him the slightest heed.

The man was a rogue.
Worse than a rogue.

He did not warrant her attention.

"Are ye goin' to sit there gapin', me foin lady, or do I come in and get ye?"

Viscon's fingers clamped around her wrist.
The guards standing a few yards away chuckled.

With a loud "oomph" Mildred
rose
to her feet, her tresses a wild tangle. "Let go of her. This boorishness is unacceptable."

"Ye too, ye fat old hen," Viscon sneered.
"Out.
De Lanceau wants ye ta stretch yer legs.
While ye can."

Proving he would get their cooperation one way or another, Viscon drew his dagger with a slow, deliberate rasp.

Recalling that blade waved in her face, and his earlier threats, Elizabeth rose to her feet. He looked disappointed— he obviously had hoped for a fight—then shrugged and released her.

Mildred climbed out. Elizabeth gripped the splintered edge of the cart and stepped down to the ground. Her stomach did a sickening turn. Daisies swam beneath her feet. As she pitched forward, Viscon chortled.

Mildred rushed over. Her arms went around Elizabeth's waist and propped her up. "Can you stand, milady?"

"I . . .
I think so. Aye, the dizziness has cleared."

The matron's worried gaze shifted to Elizabeth's brow. "Does the gash hurt?"

Elizabeth nodded. The headache had returned with a vengeance, and her arm throbbed as though goblins hammered at her flesh. A cool breeze whispered through the grass and swirled over her bare ankles, and she shivered.

Mildred, too, was shivering. When she began to fuss over Elizabeth's bloody hair and cheek, Elizabeth caught her wrinkled hands. They felt like slabs of ice. "You are chilled. Here, take my mantle." Elizabeth unpinned the gold brooch and pulled the cloak from her shoulders. She ignored the men's mutters and stares.

"Milady!
You cannot stand before these ruffians wearing only a shift."

Disquiet flooded through Elizabeth, but she shook her head. "I do not want you to become ill. My clothing is not indecent, and I doubt de Lanceau's men will harm me. If they wished to do so, they had the chance earlier."

"But—"

Lowering her voice, Elizabeth said, "You must stay well, so we can escape."

"Are you certain you do not need its warmth?"

Elizabeth resisted the urge to hug herself. "I am."

With a grateful sigh, Mildred pulled the garment around her shoulders.

Fingering windblown hair from her cheek, Elizabeth glanced across the meadow, to where de Lanceau and Dominic stood beside the horses. They were taking items from the saddlebags.

A chill skittered through her. The mantle had given her an added layer of armor against de Lanceau's heated gaze, but now. . .

She shook off her thoughts. She would not drain her strength by worrying. She must focus on escape.

Mildred fastened the brooch beneath her chin and rubbed her palms together.
"Ah, for a hot draught of mint and nettle."
Her gaze slid to Viscon leaning against the wagon, then to the other watchful guards. "Why has de Lanceau run off? The least he could do is offer ointment for

my
lady's wound."

The mercenary picked at a sore on his face. "'Is whereabouts are no concern of yers."

"Oaf!"
Mildred turned her back to him. "Come, milady. Let me wash the grime from your face. Then I can examine the cut."
                                                                          
'

Sliding her left arm through the matron's, Elizabeth whispered, "On the way, mayhap we will get a chance to flee." They started for the stream, flattening a path through the grasses dotted with poppies and cornflowers.

"Oy!" a guard called.

"Where do you think you're going?" another shouted.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. "Ignore them."

Mildred chuckled. "I shall."

Irritated voices rose behind them. Grasses crunched as the men followed. Elizabeth quelled the urge to run. With her wounds, and the guards so close, she and Mildred would only get a few paces before they were caught.

A little later, however, they might have the perfect opportunity to elude their captors.

Ignoring her pursuers, Elizabeth slowed her strides to a graceful walk and pretended she had no intentions of fleeing. As she approached the stream, she slipped her arm from Mildred's, raised her shift's hem, and stepped down to the bank. The earthy scent of mud and sun-warmed pebbles rose up to her. Silver-bellied minnows shot out of the glimmering shallows.

Tucking her shift between her knees, she bent to wash. A bedraggled woman stared back at her.

How wretched she looked. Her hair was streaked with flour. The dried blood on her cheek enhanced the dark smudges beneath her eyes, and her fine linen shift, embroidered at the cuffs and neck with delicate flowers, was creased and stained. Anger and humiliation blazed through her, and she plunged her hands into the water and rinsed her face.

Mildred crouched beside her, tore a strip from the hem of her shift and dipped it into the water. "I will be careful, but this may hurt."

Elizabeth stood. Shutting her eyes, she steeled her nerves against the press of wet cloth. She paid no heed to the approaching footfalls.

"Come away from the water," a guard snapped.

"Did you hear something, milady?" Mildred asked with a disdainful sniff.

Elizabeth smiled. "Naught but the wind's pleasing sigh."

The guard swore. Another spoke in a tone fraught with concern, and Elizabeth resisted a giggle.

More footsteps approached.

"You can tell that rogue de Lanceau we have no intention of cooperating with any of you," Elizabeth said, not opening her eyes. "Tell him I think he is an idiot. If he has even a mote of intelligence in his addled head, he will release us."

"You may tell me yourself."