Gentle Warrior

Chapter Nine

Everyone tried to interfere. Even the servants, Geoffrey thought with exasperation. He should have been angry over their disregard for his orders, but found that he was not.

Two grim weeks had passed, and Geoffrey was ready to call a truce-yes, he admitted without shame, even to concede defeat. He would welcome it just to glimpse one small smile from his wife.

His every thought concerned her, he realized as he walked into the great hall. There were several servants busy cleaning the area, and two of his loyal knights sat, drinking from cups at the table. He walked over and sat in the chair he had used when he assumed the role of judge, placed next to the hearth, and waited. He was conditioned to what was happening around him, and sat there without expression until one and all had fled the room on missions they just then remembered. Aye even my knights desert me, Geoffrey thought. But he was smiling; he knew the reason for their vanishing act. They feared him. It was true, and it did not displease him overly. It was a fact that he had been known to blow his temper on occasion… but what man, pushed to his limit of endurance, would not? he asked himself.

It did not matter, he told himself. He was used to being alone. It was his way… as a child raised among the battle-hardened warriors and now as his own ruler-save William as his overlord, of course.

Yet he was not alone, not even now, in the emptiness of the silent hall. She was always with him. She haunts me, Geoffrey muttered with disgust.

He could not understand it, this hold she locked him within. As a small boy he had learned to harden himself against the need for food or water; as a squire he had braved the frigid winter nights, all for short periods but long enough to learn the discipline of body. But how to discipline himself against Elizabeth? he found himself asking. What form of exercise could he call upon to accomplish that?

He braced his hand against his brow and closed his eyes. He was weary of the fighting with his wife, though they had barely exchanged a word since their argument in the forest. Except at night, when their bodies came together, only then did they speak. He remembered that first night after their argument with both arrogant pride and a little shame. He had not forced her, knew that he could never force her, yet he was not gentle with her either.

The sight of her had inflamed him when he had finally sought his bed. He had indulged in perhaps one too many cups of ale, but his head was still clear. She had thought him drunk, and he did not tell her otherwise.

She was standing in the center of the room, but once she read the intent in his eyes, she began to slowly back up, until she could not take another step. "You stalk me like a panther," she had whispered, "and I do not like it."

"So now I am compared to a panther, when only this morning I was your lion," Geoffrey had drawled as he began to strip his clothes from his body. "You have a fixation for animals, wife," he said. His gaze never left her mouth, for, God's truth, he was fascinated by the pouting lips, remembered the magic of their touch.

Elizabeth wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. She was nervous, clutching her robe together like a shield against his raking gaze.

"I do not want you to touch me," she said, trying to sound forceful and knowing she failed miserably. Every pore in her body was beginning to tingle with anticipation of his touch, but there was no way that he could know, was there? "I do not-"

"I do not care what you want," Geoffrey muttered. He stood just inches from her, completely nude, his hands resting on his hips, "take your clothes off, wife, or I will tear them from your body. I want you."

Elizabeth thought about refusing him, but from the intent look in his eyes, she knew it would be futile. She was his wife, she reminded herself as she began to remove the robe. It was her duty. Duty, yes, she thought, but there will be little pleasure in the deed, she promised him.

She let the robe fall to the floor and matched his stance, her hands on her hips, her head tilted back defiantly. "You are an arrogant, unreasonable brute, but you are my husband and I will not deny you. Be warned, Geoffrey, you will get little pleasure from the marriage act this night, for I absolutely refuse to respond to your touch. Is that understood?" she asked. Her breasts were heaving from her nervous speech and his grim expression.

He surprised her by throwing his head back and laughing until tears filled his eyes. He was surely drunk, she thought with disgust. How could she teach him a lesson if he was too drunk to care? "I believe you are right, wife. There will be little pleasure, indeed. When I touch you, 'little' is the last word I would use to define both of our reactions." He did not give her time to react to his words, but hauled her up against him, felt her gasp at the intimate contact, and laughed again. "So you will not respond to me this eve?" he asked with a challenge in his voice.

"I will not," Elizabeth whispered in a shaky voice as her husband trailed wet kisses down the side of her neck. She found she had to clutch his arms, thick with sinewy strength, to stay on her feet. His tongue, stroking against the sensitive area at the base of her neck, was already forcing moans from her throat. She was able to continue to stand quite rigid in his embrace, until his hands slid down her back and began to massage her bottom. When she began to melt like butter against him, he pulled her roughly up against his hard desire, kneading her softness against his body.

"You will beg me to take you," he whispered, jerking her head up for his kiss. His mouth silenced her protests, his tongue invading and seeking hers.

Elizabeth instinctively began to suck and pull on his tongue, and was pleased when she heard him groan.

He lifted her high in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he forced her on her stomach, coming down on top of her. She thought she would suffocate before he lifted himself and began to kiss her, all the way down her back. By the time he reached the base of her spine, Elizabeth was clutching the covers with both of her hands and moaning her need. Geoffrey slipped one hand between her legs and began to stroke the fire building inside Elizabeth.

"Tell me you want me," he demanded. His fingers were relentless and Elizabeth would have told him anything to stop the sweet torment he caused.

"Yes, Geoffrey," she gasped when his fingers invaded her warmth, "I want you." She groaned. She tried to roll over, to take him into her arms and body, but Geoffrey stayed her actions. He knelt between her legs and lifted her hips.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice harsh.

"I want you," Elizabeth cried. "Please, Geoffrey," she begged, beyond caring that she was indeed begging him.

Geoffrey growled his satisfaction and entered her swiftly, filling her completely. Elizabeth began to sob with pleasure, her eyes closed in building rapture. She was reaching the peak when Geoffrey stopped, turned her, and pulled her up into his arms. He kissed her deeply, hungrily before falling to the bed with her in his arms. He stretched out on his back and pulled her on top of him. Elizabeth clung to his mouth, moaning against him when he once again entered her. She leaned back, moving slowly at first and then increasing her speed until the explosion of mind and senses caused her to sob his name. He answered her call, arching against her with a force that penetrated her soul. He held her securely against him with his hands on her hips while the tremors of release enveloped both of them. Their gazes found and locked with each other's, and there was no victory in Geoffrey's expression, no submission in Elizabeth 's; no, there was only shared wonder by both.

Elizabeth slowly closed her eyes and collapsed against his chest, rose and fell with his labored breathing, and tried to gather her wits. It was a difficult task she set for herself. Everything continued to be heightened. Her senses were still finely tuned, yet flooded with stimuli. The musky scent of their lovemaking permeated her body, making it difficult to do more than sigh with acceptance. Even the candle, casting a golden glow on their glistening bodies, seemed an erotic happening.

Please, Geoffrey, do not gloat or laugh at me, she silently begged. She realized she was stroking the hairs on his chest and stopped. "Each time is like the first," she whispered against his skin, and then wished she had kept her thoughts to herself. His breathing had slowed and there was the possibility that he would soon fall asleep. Perhaps he would not remind her of his challenge and his obvious victory.

"No, love, each time is always better," he said in a husky voice. His hand began to leisurely stroke and caress her thigh. "Look at me, Elizabeth," he commanded, "I would know if I hurt you."

Elizabeth propped her head up on her hands and gazed into his eyes. She fought the urge to lean forward and kiss him once again. "You did not hurt me," she said in a soft voice.

His hands smoothed her hair away from her face before cupping the sides of her cheeks with such excruciating tenderness that tears filled Elizabeth 's eyes. He leaned forward and placed a warm, gentle kiss on her parted lips. "What we have… this thing between us, it would be blasphemy to use it as a weapon to hurt the other. Never will you try to hold back what is mine," he said. His voice held no anger, only a sweet caress as he continued, "And never will I hold back what belongs to you."

"But, Geoffrey," Elizabeth whispered in return, "how can-"

"The battle between us stops at the bedroom door, wife."

"And resumes in the light of each new day?" she asked, unable to keep the sadness out of her voice.

"If you wish it," Geoffrey acknowledged.

Elizabeth did not have an answer for him. She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his chest. His words confused her. Perhaps, she thought with a yawn, perhaps in the light of day she would be able to sort it all out.

Geoffrey had been so sure that the following morning, after he had demanded that neither hold back from the other in the privacy of their bedroom, that his docile wife would give him the apology he had demanded. Docile! Ha, Geoffrey snorted aloud, that was certainly not the word to describe his new wife. Why she had had the temerity to ignore his request for an apology. He shook his head as he remembered how she had boldly walked over to the window and pointed to the sun. Oh, how she angered him! And at first that anger kept him unaffected. He locked Elizabeth in their room and commanded that she was to receive neither food nor water… nor visitors. And everyone seemed inclined to let him have his way, he thought, smiling to himself, most probably reasoning that the spat between husband and wife would be settled by nightfall.

But it was not, of course, and the interference began the next day, subtle at first, and then more obvious to the most ignorant of men. Geoffrey would go to the bedroom and find the door unlocked. Food would mysteriously appear in their room on trays no one remembered carrying. But his wife did not take a bite or a sip. By the third day, it was Geoffrey himself trying to entice her. And by the end of the fourth day, he commanded it. "I will not have you dead at my feet," he remembered telling her. And when she had raised one eyebrow in question, he had muttered something about becoming fond of her grandfather and her little brother and not wishing to distress either of them.

It was then that he devised another plan to pull her back in line, and had actually thought it would work. And with other women, it might have, he told himself. But not Elizabeth. She was like no other! The bolts of fine material went unnoticed and the seamstress had to ask him to command her into being fitted for new gowns. He, of course, had done it, more furious with himself than with her. Know your opponent! How often had that statement been drummed into his head. The problem here, Geoffrey admitted, was that he did not know Elizabeth 's mind as well as he might; and in truth, he did not want her to be his opponent.

"With your permission, Geoffrey, I would have a few words with you." The interruption brought Geoffrey back to the present. He looked up and saw that Elizabeth 's grandfather, Elslow, stood before him.

"You walk with the silence of a hunter," Geoffrey complimented. "I did not hear you."

"Your mind was elsewhere?" Elslow asked, smiling with knowledge.

"Aye, it was," Geoffrey admitted.

"On my granddaughter, no doubt." Elslow stated it as a fact, and waved his hand in dismissal when Geoffrey started to protest. "Enough of this, Geoffrey. You behave like a child in this matter."

Geoffrey was so flabbergasted by his new friend's statement that he could only shake his head. "You risk much with your errant words, Elslow," he said in irritation.

Elslow was unaffected by the implied threat. "Nonsense, Geoffrey. I risk nothing. It is you who risks it all." He pulled up a stool-without permission, Geoffrey noticed-and sat down facing the lord. He took a long time adjusting his long legs in front of him and only when he was comfortably settled did he look again at the Baron. "She gets her stubbornness from her father's side of the family, you know," he said, grinning.

Geoffrey found himself laughing. "She is that," he acknowledged. "I cannot give her what she wants, Elslow, not yet. And because of it she has no faith in me."

"She thinks you do not care," Elslow said. It was the first time in the two weeks that Geoffrey had spoken about his wife, and Elslow was very pleased. He sensed his grandson-in-law wanted to make peace.

"How can she think I do not care! Why, I actually called her 'love' one evening. Granted, it was in the heat of passion, but still, it was an… endearment. She is the only woman I have-"

Elslow was trying hard not to laugh. "Talk with her and use more honeyed words. Explain your position," he urged.

"I will not." The quiet refusal was devoid of anger. "It is not my place to explain," he argued. "She must learn patience. That is the way of it."

"And did you get your stubbornness from your mother or your father?" Elslow asked, grinning.

Geoffrey looked surprised by the question. "Neither," he said. "I do not remember my parents."

"That explains your confusion over her feelings," Elslow said very matter-of-factly. "But I tell you this, Geoffrey: I have learned over the years that we dislike in others what we find in ourselves."

Geoffrey stood up and almost tripped over Elslow's feet. "Walk with me and explain your riddle."

Elslow nodded his agreement and followed Geoffrey outside. He did not speak until they were out in the courtyard and headed toward the south end of the area.

"You are both stubborn and that is fact," Elslow said. He imitated Geoffrey's pace, also clasping his hands behind his back as they both charged up the slight incline. "Geoffrey, you are older and stronger in both spirit and body, and therefore you should make amends. Teach her what you expect with a gentle hand and a sweet tongue, else you will lose her."

"And did I ever have her?" Geoffrey found himself asking.

"Oh, yes, son," Elslow said. He smiled to himself and thought, They do not yet know that they love each other and that is their problem. Each guards against the other. "From the moment she said the vows, she became yours."

Geoffrey shook his head and hurried the pace. "You are mistaken," he muttered. When Elslow did not answer, Geoffrey glanced over at him and continued, "Always she talks about the great love between her mother and her father. I have never seen such a love, not even between William and Matilda, God rest her soul." He gave Elslow another long look and then said, "At times I thought Elizabeth made her stories up. No two people would let themselves become so attached to each other… so vulnerable. It is foolish."

"They did not have a choice," Elslow stated. "But it did not happen overnight as my granddaughter would have you believe. Your king married my daughter to Thomas to gain Montwright, and I can give testimony to the fact that the two newlyweds fought like lions and tigers in the beginning. Twice my daughter ran away from him," he said, laughing. "She even took his two daughters with her!"

"Tell me this tale," Geoffrey asked. He found himself grinning as he thought about what Elslow was telling him, wondering if Elizabeth knew these details of her parents' lives.

"Thomas had two pitiful-looking little girls," he began. "They looked like orphans, though dressed in finery, with a sadness in their eyes that tore at the hardest of hearts. They were little more than babes when their mother died and then they were taken from all they knew and placed in the cold home at Montwright. It only took my daughter a month to right the situation. The first time she ran away from her husband, she came to me, in London, and the transformation that had taken place with the little girls was amazing. She loved them and the children blossomed under her care."

"But what did Thomas do?" Geoffrey asked.

"Why, he came after her, of course," Elslow replied. "Used his daughters as his excuse for not beating her. He loved her from the start but was too stubborn to admit it."

Geoffrey stopped in midstride and turned to Elslow. "I do not understand why you did not hate him. He took what was yours and cast you out."

"My mind was set against him, I'll admit that," Elslow replied. "But then I saw my daughter with his two little girls. She had become their champion. I saw too how Thomas looked at her and read the caring in his eyes. I told him I would kill him if he harmed her, and instead of becoming angry with my threat, he agreed that I should do just that. He gave me his word to honor and protect her, and he held it to his dying day."

Geoffrey tried to picture Thomas in his mind but the image was vague. "He was a humble man, as I recall, and on the quiet side."

"He was content."

"Like I used to be," Geoffrey snapped. "Until your granddaughter came into my life. I will have this chaos end, Elslow, and things returned to normal."

Elslow knew he had said enough. He nodded and took his leave. He would give Geoffrey time to absorb what they had discussed, and then he would again prod him. The role of peacemaker was new to Elslow and he found himself quite thirsty from his effort. He quickened his pace in his quest for a cool goblet of ale. Maybe he could challenge Roger into another game of chess, he considered, smiling with anticipation.

Geoffrey stood where he was, his mind considering what Elslow had said. He straightened his shoulders and took a different direction, his hands once again clasped behind his back, as he circled the side of the fortress.

Little Thomas called out a greeting, and Geoffrey paused in his walk. He watched the little boy run toward him, holding a small spear in his arms. Elslow had fashioned the toy spear just the evening before.

"And what are you about?" he asked in what he considered his pleasant voice.

"I am going to learn the quintain," the child yelled.

"And who is going to teach you this exercise?" Geoffrey asked, smiling.

"Gerald," Thomas said, pointing to the squire, who was now coming around the side of the fort with his horse trailing behind. "See what he made?"

Geoffrey looked to where Thomas pointed. There, pounded into the ground, stood a five-foot post. Across the top was another piece of board, placed crosswise. Hanging from one end was a straw figure of a knight, and from the other end hung a bag of sand. The object of the exercise was to thrust the lance at the pretend knight, but with sureness and quickness, else the bag of sand would swing around in time to knock the rider from his saddle. The quintain was an exercise that the older squires preferred, and too dangerous for one as small as the child standing in front of him. "Today," he said, "you will just watch. And perhaps tomorrow you can sit in front of Gerald while he practices this most difficult exercise," Geoffrey stated.

Gerald swung up into the saddle of his horse then and showed Thomas how the exercise was done. The child was so impressed that he dropped his spear and clapped his hands with approval. "Again," he shouted, running closer to the squire, "do it again."

Gerald, seeing that he had his lord's undivided attention, was eager to comply. He was anxious to show his lord how nimble and quick he was. He turned the horse and raced him toward the target and swung his lance like an ax. His aim was for the area of the chest, but he misjudged in his enthusiasm, and the lance severed the clump of straw just below the helmet, causing the body of straw to fall in a heap while the head swung in its decapitated state.

Gerald was mortified. To show such clumsiness in front of his baron was humiliating. He started to call an apology for his aim when he caught sight of the child's face. What he saw there stopped him cold. He could only stare. And then the scream erupted from the lad, piercing the air like the release of a tormented soul from hell, the sound so devastating that Gerald had to cover his ears to keep the torment from reaching his soul.

Geoffrey was the first to react. He raced over to the child, turned him to look into his face. The anguish he saw there caused an ache to lodge in his heart. Again and again the child screamed, and all Geoffrey could do was hold him fast against him. It was little comfort, he knew, as the boy did not seem to recognize that he was being held.

Roger, with Elslow trailing behind, raced toward them. Geoffrey motioned to them that it was all right, and then lifted the child into his arms. The screams lessened then and the boy began to sob. He was soon exhausted from his shock and rested his head on Geoffrey's shoulder, clinging to him with his hands while he confronted his memory. "My mama," he sobbed.

"You are safe now, Thomas. Safe," Geoffrey chanted while he patted the boy on his back. His words calmed the child and the heart-wrenching sobs subsided.

Both Roger and Elslow stepped out of his path as Geoffrey walked by, still holding the child in his arms. His intent was to take the boy to his sister.

And then Elizabeth appeared. She came running toward them with a look on her face that saddened Geoffrey as much as the child's distress. She stopped when she saw they were coming toward her, though she continued to look terrified.

Geoffrey could tell by the way she was staring at her brother's back that she thought him injured, and he shook his head and said in a gentle whisper, "He remembers."

Elizabeth understood. Tears filled her eyes and she nodded, reaching one trembling hand out to touch her brother. Geoffrey took hold of it and pulled her into his other side. With his arm circling her shoulders, he began to walk again.

She found herself leaning against him. The terror that her brother was horribly injured was over. She felt the safety and the peace of Geoffrey's hold and, for the moment, called a truce. They were united for this short time, both offering their comfort and their strength to the little one in need. Without exchanging a word, the three of them walked into their home.

"Thomas, do not hang out that ledge," Elizabeth ordered. "You will fall two stories down and lose your brains." The boy ignored Elizabeth 's command and continued to lean out the window of her bedroom, spitting down at his unsuspecting victims between giggles of absolute seven-year-old delight.

Geoffrey opened the door to their room in time to hear his wife's next words. "If you do not climb down from there this very instant, I will tell your lord and he will be most angry," Elizabeth threatened. "And if I ask it, he will give you a sound thrashing."

The promise worked, and her little brother hurried to the floor, knocking over the stool he had climbed as a ladder. "Maybe he will not listen to you," Thomas said with another giggle. He liked to see his sister lose her patience on occasion, especially when he was bored with confinement.

"He will listen." The quiet assurance nearly knocked the child over. Thomas turned wide blue eyes to his lord and turned a scarlet red.

Geoffrey frowned at the boy and then turned to his wife. Holding his mask of indifference for the child's benefit, he said in a serious tone, "Do you wish me to thrash him or not?"

Elizabeth knew that he was teasing from the glint of warm gold lighting his eyes. She almost laughed and then saw that her brother was watching her.

"I must think this over, husband," she said, pretending to consider the idea. "Since yesterday this impetuous brother of mine has caused much havoc. He placed honey in Gerald's helmet-"

"I thought he would think it funny," Thomas interrupted with obvious distress. He did not like having his sins paraded before his new lord.

"Gerald did not think it the least bit funny," Elizabeth snapped, keeping her expression firm, "and today Roger has confined him to our room because he tries to ride on the backs of my dogs. And now," she ended, "he disregards my orders and tries to spit on your soldiers. What think you of this behavior, my lord?"

Geoffrey shook his head and considered the child bowing his head before him. It had been five short days since the little one had regained his memory and in that time Geoffrey saw a complete transformation overtake the boy. He was wild and totally without caution, and had been saved from certain death at least twice a day by someone or other.

"What say you in your defense?" he asked the child. Laughter was building inside of him but he dared not show it. The child needed to know that there were limits and that he must stay within them, else he would never see his own knighthood. Besides, Geoffrey reasoned, if he so much as showed a grin, his wife would most probably thrash him.

Thomas knelt down and put his hand over his heart. He peeked up to see if his dramatic action had pleased the warrior and found the huge man frowning still. Closing his eyes tightly, he said, "I am sorry and I won't do it again. I promise," he said in a hopeful voice.

"You are totally without discipline and I wonder how you will ever become a knight," Geoffrey stated. "Now stand and follow me. I will put you to work so that you cannot get into further mischief."

"Husband? May I have a moment with you?" Elizabeth 's softly spoken question felt like a tender stroke against his heart.

"Go and wait for me at the bottom of the steps," he told the child.

As soon as the door shut behind the child, Geoffrey began to chuckle.

"It really isn't funny," Elizabeth said with exasperation. "Father let him run like a wild cub. He has absolutely no manners."

"He is not so very bad," Geoffrey answered, "and in time he will learn what is expected of him."

"Sara told me that you ordered the packing begun," Elizabeth said, changing the subject. "What-"

"I was going to tell you tonight, when we were alone," Geoffrey said. He was still cautious when he visited with his new wife, for he enjoyed the temporary settlement between them and did not wish it to end. "We will leave for my home in a fortnight. I must see to a matter away from here, first," he said, deliberately not telling her his destination or intent, "but it will not take overly long, and when I return I wish you ready."

"And Thomas?" Elizabeth asked, finding herself dreading his answer. She clasped her hands together behind her back so that he would not see her trembling.

"He will stay here with your grandfather as his temporary guardian for a time," Geoffrey said. "I do not wish to pull him from what is so familiar to him yet. He has been through enough changes for a time." He smiled at his wife when he saw her surprised reaction to his words. "You think me such a monster that I would not consider the boy's feelings?"

"I do not," Elizabeth whispered, returning his smile. "I think you most reasonable."

"Next summer Thomas will come to live with us. That should give me ample time to nail down my possessions so that he cannot destroy them."

His jest concerning her brother's wildness and clumsiness widened her smile. She nodded her agreement and said, "I will help you, husband." She walked over to him, shy but determined, and put her arms around his waist. "Then you will not send my brother to the king?" she asked. "You have changed your mind?"

"I have," Geoffrey admitted, liking the feel of her against him. He stroked her hair and added, "I find that lately I have changed my mind about many issues."

"Such as?" Elizabeth inquired, smiling up at him.

He started to answer but Elizabeth reached up and kissed him before he could utter a word. He returned the light touch with another and then another. "Such as liking your affection for me," be said finally. "I have become most accustomed to your blatant displays, wife, understanding, of course, how you cannot help yourself."

Elizabeth laughed and a sparkle entered her eyes. Geoffrey had come to know that certain look and waited for the jest or trap she was about to set. Aye, he thought to himself, he was beginning to understand her well.

"Think you so irresistible?" she asked.

"In truth, I did not, until you came into my life," he answered. "The scar bothers many," he said when she began to place soft kisses, one after another along the length of it, "but you…" He could not remember what he was saying as his wife's mouth had reached the lobe of his ear and her warm breath was making him warm with desire. "Stop this foolishness, wife," Geoffrey demanded. "It is daylight and there is much I must see to." He tried to keep his voice strong and determined but knew he failed miserably.

Elizabeth pulled back and gave him a long, sultry look. "Aye, husband," she agreed in a whisper that felt like a stroke against his groin, "there is much to be done."

Geoffrey pulled her back into his arms and kissed her hungrily. "You are without discipline, wife," he told her with a sigh.

It had begun as a game for her, this intent to show him that he found her irresistible too, but Elizabeth forgot her aim. The game was ended with his ravishing kisses, his exciting promises whispered against her ear.

She did not remember later who undressed whom, or how, only knew the explosion to her senses when she was back in his arms and skin was touching, caressing skin.

"So hot, Geoffrey," he heard her moan against his mouth, "you make me so-"

His tongue stopped her words, thrusting inside with velvet insistence.

Elizabeth let her wild need take over. She dug her nails into his shoulders when he turned her and braced her against the wall and entered her. He wasn't gentle with her, nor she with him. He held her against his hips and tried to concentrate on slowing the pace, wanting her to find fulfillment before he, but her frenzied movement against him made that thought leave his mind. He drove into her again and again, as wild now as she, and barely heard her throaty cries against his shoulder.

"I love you, Geoffrey." The words, the verbal commitment, tumbled out with her physical release. She could no more stop their flow than she could stop the tremors racking her body. "I do, I do," she whispered as a litany when she felt her husband shudder against her.

Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder, traced a circle with the tip of her tongue, tasting the salty perspiration she had caused, inhaled the rich, sensual scent that was Geoffrey, and glorified in pleasured contentment. He was holding her so tightly against him that she had trouble catching her breath, but she didn't mind or make protest. She closed her eyes in blissful peace and relaxed her grip on him.

Geoffrey's breathing slowed, but he continued to hold her against him, unwilling yet to let the moment pass. "You intoxicate me," he whispered in a husky voice.

"Just as you intoxicate me," Elizabeth answered. Her voice sounded lazy and as soft and light as her mood. She smiled and knew that she was smiling inside as well.

Geoffrey straightened his shoulders and let Elizabeth slide to the floor. He was looking intently into her eyes, as if he was searching for something there, Elizabeth thought.

Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her eyes wide with innocent trust, and Geoffrey thought she was the most beguiling, most enchanting woman in the world.

"I have not pleased you?" Elizabeth asked in confusion. She did not understand why he continued to look at her so intently.

Geoffrey placed his hands on the sides of her face and answered, "You have said that you love me, Elizabeth. Was it spoken in passion only or did you mean it?" He frowned then, waiting for her answer, his heart suspended above the abyss of uncertainty.

"I love you." She admitted the truth again in a shy voice and wished that he would let her go so that she could shield herself from his stare. She was opening herself to him, giving him the vulnerability she usually kept well hidden and protected. "I did not know it until I said it," she whispered then.

Geoffrey smiled, his eyes full of tenderness. He rubbed the side of her cheek with his thumb before leaning down and kissing her gently on her lips. "You please me, wife," he whispered. "I do not know about love as you do. My years of training did not expose me to such feelings." Geoffrey let go of her then and began to pick up his clothes. Elizabeth stood still, willing him to continue his speech.

Geoffrey knew that she waited and found himself irritated that she wanted more from him. He ignored her while he dressed and then turned back to her. "I am most pleased that you love me," Geoffrey said. "And mayhap when I am an old man I will tell you the same." His arrogant voice stunned Elizabeth and she folded her arms in front of her, ready to do battle. She realized then that she was quite naked, and hurried over to the foot of the bed to reach her robe. When she was covered and the belt secured, she turned back to him and said, "I have not asked for your love, Geoffrey, and God's truth, I do not know why I love you."

"You do not understand, wife," Geoffrey placated. "There is no place for love in a warrior's life. Only foolish men allow this feeling to guide them. When I am old and have many sons, then I can allow myself to become-"

"Foolish?" Elizabeth asked. She found her anger gone and suddenly felt like laughing. Poor Geoffrey, she thought with exasperation. He had so much to learn yet! You will love me, husband, else I will throttle you.

"Do not dare to laugh at me when I tell you my feelings." Geoffrey shook his head at how easily she could make him angry.

"I was not laughing," Elizabeth said, trying to sound contrite. "Only smiling."

"Do not correct me," Geoffrey muttered.

A loud knock sounded at the door, and Geoffrey found himself thankful for the interruption. "What is it?" he yelled louder than he had intended.

"Both messengers have returned, my lord," a soldier called to her husband.

Elizabeth frowned, wondering where the messengers came from, but decided, from her husband's sour expression, not to ask him. There were easier, less noisy ways to find out, she thought.

"Geoffrey?" Elizabeth 's voice called him back as he started out the door.

"What is it?" he snapped. His mood was fast becoming furious, and all because she tried to make him reach into his soul and give her words he was not ready to release. In truth, he did not know if they were there, these words of declaration she prodded for. There was a chance that he did not possess them, and that, Geoffrey admitted only to himself, frightened him more than the vulnerability she wanted him to give her. He had never been frightened before. There was much to think over, and the sooner Geoffrey left her presence, the sooner he could confront his confused feelings. He did not like the chaos she paced him through, would not have it. "Our subject is ended, wife, until I decide to speak of it again." He turned again and was out the door before Elizabeth could move.

"Geoffrey!" She yelled his name at the top of her voice, and then covered her mouth with her hands, so that her laughter would not reach him.

Her husband appeared at the doorway, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. "What is it?" he roared in a voice that would have knocked a grown man to his knees.

She was totally unintimidated. Well, by God, he would remove that smile from her face and show her fear or…

"You have forgotten your boots, my lord."

Elizabeth laughed the whole time she dressed, stopping several times to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Aye, she loved him, she thought when she regained her control. There was freedom with her new knowledge, and a lightness of spirit. She pictured the expression on his face when he realized he was barefoot, and promptly went into another fit of giggles.

And then she remembered the messengers and decided to find out what they were reporting, where they had come from. She hurried with her hair, brushing it back and free, and smoothed the hem of her new lavender tunic.

As quietly as possible she hurried down the steps but paused at the entrance to the hall when she heard her husband say in an angry voice, "He ignores my summons, does he?"

Elizabeth moved to the wall, else her husband spot her and lower his voice, for her curiosity was great. Who had ignored his command and why? she wondered. Curiosity removed any guilt of the sin of eavesdropping. After all, her husband was yelling loud enough to wake the dead, as was his usual custom, Elizabeth thought.

"I did not speak to him directly, my lord," the messenger said. "One of his men told me that he had locked himself in his room and was mad with grief over the loss of his wife. He also told me that he has refused food and is trying to starve himself to death."

Geoffrey leaned against the hearth, rubbing his chin in thought, but glanced up in time to see a flash of lavender by the edge of the doorway. He waited a moment and, when the spot of material did not move, knew his wife was listening. He smiled and determined to give her something to hear that would irritate her as much as she irritated him by listening to his conversation. Aye, he thought, he was beginning to like these games the two of them played. He cleared his throat and said, "Mad with grief?" His voice was full of disbelief. "No man becomes mad with grief over the loss of a wife. No man! Why, they are too easily replaceable. Now a horse, this is another matter," he added in a loud voice. Elizabeth reacted to his barbs with a gasp of outrage.

Now it was she who stood at the doorway with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "A horse?" she yelled at him across the room. "You would better me with a horse? You dare to-to-"

"Why, Elizabeth, did you chance to overhear?" he asked. His eyes laughed at her discomfort, though his voice was quiet and full of mock surprise. He grinned then, and Elizabeth knew she had been tricked.

"Do you see through walls, husband?" she asked with exasperation. She walked into the hall and came to his side, waiting for his answer.

"It would be well for you to think so," Geoffrey answered. He winked at her, right in front of the messenger, Elizabeth realized, and she found herself blushing at his small show of affection.

"I apologize for the interruption," she said, smiling up at him.

"And?" her husband demanded with one raised eyebrow.

"And for overhearing," she muttered. "Though I will most probably do it again."

"It is undignified," Geoffrey retorted.

"It is that," Elizabeth admitted, "but it is also the only way I can find put what goes on, too," she reasoned. "Where is this messenger from," she asked, "and did I miss the other?"

"You missed the other," Geoffrey advised her, thankful that she did not know he came from Belwain, "and I was now listening to a report concerning your 'crazed' brother-in-law, Rupert." He could not keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Rupert!" Her voice was a whisper of anguish. Oh, poor Rupert. Elizabeth found herself overwhelmed with guilt and shame. She had not given her sister's husband a thought since the tragedy. No, she decided, she had been too wrapped up in her own grief to think of the torment he must be going through. Dear God! How would she feel if she had lost Geoffrey as Rupert had lost his love, his wife! Elizabeth bowed her head and said a silent prayer for her thoughtlessness.

"… and that is all I have to report." The messenger's last words brought her attention back to what was being discussed.

"You have done well," Geoffrey said. "Go and find food and drink now."

The messenger genuflected before Geoffrey and then left the room.

Geoffrey immediately turned to his wife and said, " Elizabeth, tell me what you know of this Rupert."

"I am so ashamed, Geoffrey. I should have gone to him to offer him my comfort. He was my sister's husband and I knew that Margaret and he dealt well with each other, from the way they behaved when they visited us. They were a well-matched couple, my mother used to say."

"But what of Rupert himself?" Geoffrey asked. "What can you tell me about him? Can he really be 'mad with grief,' " he asked. "Is he so weak that he cannot leave his room to see his wife's grave?" There was ridicule in Geoffrey's voice and Elizabeth shook her head, saddened by his questions, his tone.

"You do not understand," she whispered. And now I fully know the difficulty in your nature, she thought. You do not love me, else you would comprehend. A weight, like a stone, lodged against her heart, and Elizabeth turned away from her husband so that he could not see the sorrow in her eyes.

Geoffrey misunderstood his wife's obvious withdrawal, incorrectly assuming that discussion of her relatives opened the wound she was trying so hard to cover. He placed his hand on her shoulder and slowly turned her to face him once again. "Tell me the story of what took place here once again, Elizabeth. I know that it is painful for you and I am sorry, but I have need to hear it all again. To make sure," he said. Elizabeth puzzled over his last words and wished he had not asked her. "Will my telling you help you understand something?" she asked. Geoffrey nodded, and Elizabeth added, "Then I will tell you." She took a calming breath and closed her eyes and repeated her story. Geoffrey did not interrupt once and she was thankful he did not, as she wished to finish as quickly as possible. When she was done, she looked up into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, his conclusions.

"You have left something out," Geoffrey said, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner.

"What is that?" Elizabeth asked, frowning.

"Before, with the first telling, you said that one of the men wearing the hoods was injured… stabbed, I think you said."

"Yes, I did forget that," Elizabeth answered. "Margaret stabbed him. Why? Is that important?"

"Perhaps. Where did she stab him?" he asked, his voice casual, his eyes alert.

Elizabeth concentrated and pictured the scene again, trying to keep herself as detached as possible. In her mind she saw Margaret turn and raise her dagger and… "Just below the shoulder, the right shoulder. I saw the blood come through the cloth." She looked again at Geoffrey but found no answer in his gaze. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

"Not now," he hedged. "But when I return from my journey you will have your answers."

"Always you ask me to wait," Elizabeth said, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

"You have given me your trust," Geoffrey reminded her. He almost added that she had pledged him her love too, but decided not to bring that subject up again. "You have made a pledge to me," he substituted instead.

But I have made a pledge to my parents and my sisters too, she argued to herself. Should they not come before her pledge to her husband? She sighed with weariness. If only he could understand her position, she thought.

"I made another pledge," she whispered. She turned before her husband could respond and hurried out of the room. There was much she had to consider, and she needed to be alone. She went back to the bedroom and sat down on the bed. Have I become obsessed with my vengeance? she asked herself. Is it so wrong to want justice so that their souls will reach heaven?

The sobs caught her by surprise. She couldn't hold them back any longer. She buried her face in the covers and cried until she was exhausted, weeping for the loss of her family. I will not fail you, she told her parents, her sisters. I will find a way to bring justice so that you may rest in peace. The vow was barely repeated in her mind when the idea took hold. Rupert! She would go to him, pull him from his grief with her knowledge of her uncle's treachery. Aye, she would give him cause to leave his room. She would give him her vengeance. The transfer of the vow would also, she admitted, leave her free.

Vengeance had kept her sane when she would have elsewise gone mad, it would do the same for him, Elizabeth decided. It would give him purpose. Rupert would vow revenge and was strong enough to challenge Belwain for the truth. He would not be so concerned with the law, Elizabeth thought.

She dried her eyes and bounded off the bed. There was much to do, and before the day was over. She must convince Hammond to accompany her and order him to find another willing to aid her. He would do it, she thought with determination, if she threatened to go alone. And he would not betray her to Geoffrey either. No, she thought, he is loyal to me first.

She would leave as soon as Geoffrey and his men were on their way, early tomorrow morning. And it wasn't such a great distance to Rupert's home, not if she could remember the way of the cut-through her father had chanced upon. With any luck she would be back before Geoffrey returned. She hadn't a hope that her absence would go unnoticed by the men he left behind, but by then it would be too late and the deed would have been done.