Gentle Warrior

Chapter Two

On the sixth day the lord awakened.

The mist from the drug-induced sleep was slow to recede and in its wake, confusion and momentary disorientation clouded the warrior's mind. He opened his eyes to bright sunlight and stared at the area visible to him from his position on his side while he struggled to remember where he was. It looked so familiar and yet so strange and new. A frown marred his rugged features as scenes of the battle flashed before his eyes, interfering with his need to know what had followed.

With a muttered oath of frustration, the knight rolled onto his back. A stab of pain, not unlike the initial thrust from the enemy's sword, shot up his shoulder blades and he inhaled deeply in an effort to stop the tremors coursing through his body. The brief flicker of pain in his eyes was his only acknowledgment of the injury, for pain was an accepted constant in his life. To give it voice was to weaken. Strength, invincible and absolute, was Lord Geoffrey's power, and weakness, the hated antithesis, belonged only to lesser men.

"Welcome back to the living, my lord." The gruff voice of his faithful vassal, Roger, removed the scowl of concentration from the knight's face. Now he would have some answers. He nodded, noting his vassal's haggard appearance. The proof of his companion's vigil during his illness was obvious. His loyalty pleased the lord.

"What day is this?" Geoffrey asked, his voice rough from sleep.

"It has been six days since you were felled," Roger answered.

The lord frowned over this information, glancing around the room once again while he formulated questions in his mind. The sight of the banner hanging above the hearth halted his wondering gaze. For a long silent moment, Lord Geoffrey studied the design. Suddenly the memory of his "vision" blocked all thought, all movement. She was alive, she was real, and the scenes of what had transpired within this room were as clear and fresh as the new day.

"Where is she?"

"You remember?" Surprise sounded in the vassal's voice.

"Yes," Geoffrey answered in a soft voice. "Bring her to me." The terseness of the command after the gentle acknowledgment jarred Roger.

"She has gone."

Lord Geoffrey's bellow of outrage could be heard in the courtyard below, and was both intimidating and somewhat heartening. It clearly stated his displeasure over some matter, but also indicated that he was well on the mend. Roger took the verbal blows with practiced ease, knowing full well that the tirade would soon end and that he would then be allowed the opportunity to explain all. Lord Geoffrey possessed a fierce temper that was quick to ignite, but he was a fair man. One only had to wait until the anger eased, provided one was courageous enough, Roger mused, and then state his case.

The command finally came. "From the beginning, Roger. Tell me."

Roger's narrative was swift and without interruption. Only when the telling was complete did he pause for breath, for though he had served his lord nearly five summers, it was a fact that his leader still had the power to undermine his ability to think clearly when he was as upset as he now appeared.

"My lord, I would have bargained with the devil, and met his terms willingly, to save your life." It was said as a fervent vow, and Geoffrey could find little fault with his friend. His loyalty was absolute. "Still, I did try to find out where she lived. Yet everyone I questioned seemed not to know her."

"Do they speak the truth?"

"I do not think so. I think they try to protect her, but I do not understand why."

"The boy she asked about… bring him to me," Geoffrey commanded. He forced himself to control his frustration and alarm. She was gone! Outside the walls, unprotected…

Roger hurried to the door and gave the order to one of the sentries. He then returned to the chair before the hearth and sat down. "The boy almost got away," he began, shaking his head. "One of the guards intercepted the girl's servant stealing away with the lad. I have questioned the servant but he will tell me nothing. I thought I would wait for you to make sense of all of this."

"The boy will tell me all I need to know," Geoffrey said.

"He still does not speak, my lord. How-"

"Do not question me," Geoffrey interrupted, his tone sharp. "I must be certain."

Within short minutes, the child stood before the lord. He showed neither fear nor timidity, meeting the leader's probing stare with a wide grin. Geoffrey was amused by the lad's fearlessness, for it was true that grown men were known to quake in their boots when Geoffrey turned his attention to them, yet this wisp of a boy acted as if he was about to break into a fit of giggles. He was dressed in peasant garb and in need of a bath.

The child wasn't afraid. Thrilled was a far better description, for the man who had saved his life, the warrior who destroyed the band of men waylaying his protectors on the isolated route to London, was finally awake. The child's memory began with Lord Geoffrey, and although the leader could have no knowledge of this fact, he was impressed with the innocent acceptance and trust in the lad's eyes.

"You will not die now?" the child asked. Both Roger and Geoffrey showed surprise that the boy could speak, but before either of them could remark on the matter, the little one continued, "Everyone heard you yelling and they smiled."

The child sounded so relieved and so sure of himself that Lord Geoffrey found himself smiling.

"Tell me your name," he commanded in a gruff voice.

The child opened his mouth, frowned, and then shrugged his shoulders. His voice held surprise when he replied, "I do not know my name."

"Do you know where you came from, how you came to be here?" Roger asked the question and the boy turned to stare at him.

"He saved me," the child said, pointing at Geoffrey. "That is how I came to be here," he explained. "I am to be a knight." The boy's shoulders straightened with pride. He had figured that out all by himself.

Lord Geoffrey exchanged a look with Roger and turned back to the boy. "Who do you belong to?" he asked, although he already held the answer.

"To you?" The child no longer looked so sure of himself. He clutched his hands together while he waited for an answer.

The nervous action was not missed by the warrior. He had rarely dealt with one so young, but the instinct to protect, to guard, pulled at him. "Aye," he answered, inwardly wincing at the harshness in his tone. "Now leave me. We will talk again, later."

The child looked relieved. The lord watched him run to the door, wishing the boy to smile instead of frown and wondering why he felt this way. The fever must have left him weak in spirit as well as body, he decided.

"My lord?" the boy asked from the doorway, his back facing the leader so that his expression was hidden.

"Yes?" the lord answered impatiently.

"Are you my father?" He turned then, and Geoffrey had a clear view of the torment and confusion on the boy's face.

"No."

His answer brought tears to the youngster's eyes. Lord Geoffrey glanced at Roger with an expression that clearly stated, "Now what?" Roger cleared his throat and muttered to the boy, "He is not your father, lad. He is your lord. Your father was his vassal."

"My father is dead?"

"Aye," Geoffrey answered. "And you are in my care now."

"To train to be a knight?" the boy asked with a frown.

"Yes, to train to be a knight."

"You are not my father, but you are my lord," the boy stated very matter-of-factly. " 'Tis almost the same thing," he announced, challenging Lord Geoffrey with an unwavering stare. "Is it not?"

"Yes," the warrior answered with exasperation. " 'Tis the same."

Neither the lord nor Roger said another word until the door was closed behind the child. They could hear him boasting to the guards posted at the door, and Roger was the first to smile. "Thomas surely had his hands full with that one," he chuckled. "And he was not a young man when the boy came along, if my mind serves me well."

"How could I have forgotten?" the leader asked. "Thomas had several children, all female, and fully grown before his wife gave him a son. His pride reached London," Geoffrey added.

"And the girl?" Roger asked.

"She is his sister. You have only to look at the boy's eyes, Roger, to see the truth. They are replicas of hers." Geoffrey swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His legs felt weak but he braced them against the side of the bed and took a deep breath, willing himself strength. "She hides from me, Roger, and I will know the reason."

"We were told that the entire family was killed," Roger said. "And the boy was dressed as a peasant…"

"Obviously for his protection, for he is heir to Montwright…"

"The servant who tried to take the lad, perhaps he can tell you the answers to this riddle," Roger advised.

"Yes. I am sure he knows where his mistress hides," Geoffrey agreed. "He will tell me why she is afraid."

"Afraid?" Roger laughed. "I doubt she is afraid of anyone or anything. Why, she had all of us doing her bidding. Horace tells all who will listen how the golden one walked into the great hall and enchanted all who were present. All but me," Roger added.

"You were not enchanted?" the leader inquired with one raised eyebrow.

"Humbled," Roger admitted with a sheepish grin. "I am too old to be enchanted."

Geoffrey chuckled and walked over to look out the window. He stared out at the forest while he listened to Roger.

"When I first saw her, I was filled with anger. I did not expect a slip of a girl to tend you and I was convinced that you were dying. But she knew what she was about. Her lack of fear intrigued me. She was a contradiction," Roger admitted, "but I noticed the vulnerability in her when she asked me about the boy. I was too exhausted at the time to put two and two together. I see the connection now."

"Why did she leave, knowing that her home was once again secure? To chance the outside when she could be well protected here…" Geoffrey turned from the window and added, "I will find her."

"And when you do?" Roger asked.

"I will make her mine," the warrior answered in a hard, determined voice. "She will be mine."

The vow was made.

It took less than an hour to conduct the necessary business of righting Montwright. Roger had been most efficient, and the men were all hard at work reinforcing the walls. Lord Geoffrey dressed-all in black, as was his mood-and waited impatiently in the great hall for the servant to be brought before him.

He was becoming wild with anger, frustration, and worry. Finding the girl before harm befell her was becoming an obsession. He admitted as much but could not explain it. He only knew that seeing her in the forest before the battle to regain Montwright Manor was indeed an omen, and the omen had become reality, had it not, when he awakened to find her caring for him? His reasoning reeked of superstition, yet he was powerless to control it, and for the first time in his twenty-seven years, he found himself ruled by emotion. It was a chilling admission. Emotion had no place in his life. It clouded reason. Discipline and logic, as cold and sharp as the blade he swung for power's sake, ruled his every action. And it would be so again, he pledged, just as soon as the girl was found. Found and claimed.

"Here he is, my lord," Roger said from the doorway. He shoved the trembling servant to the floor in front of the lord.

Lord Geoffrey turned from his position in front of the hearth and gave the servant a hard look. "Your name?"

"I am called Joseph, my lord. Loyal servant to Thomas," he added. The servant knelt and bowed his head, showing his respect.

"You have a strange way of proving your loyalty to Thomas," Geoffrey said in a hard voice. "Trying to take his heir to the outside could well cost you your life."

"I meant him no harm, my lord," Joseph whispered. "I was trying to protect him."

"Protect him from me?" Geoffrey's bellow fairly unnerved the servant.

He shook his head and tried to find his voice. "Nay, my lord! We only thought to keep little Thomas safe until you were recovered."

"And you thought him unsafe here?" Geoffrey asked.

"It was overheard that Belwain, uncle to little Thomas, had been sent for. My mistress believes that Belwain was behind the murders of her family. She did not want Thomas here when her uncle arrived."

"And that is why she has left?" Geoffrey asked, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful gesture.

"Aye, my lord." Joseph sagged his shoulders and chanced a look at the fiercesome man before him.

"And are you loyal to me?" Geoffrey asked.

"Aye, my lord," Joseph answered, placing a hand on his chest where his heart beat a wild pace.

"Stand and prove your loyalty," Geoffrey demanded in a harsh voice.

Joseph immediately obeyed. He stood with his head slightly bowed and waited for the next order. It was not long in coming.

"Tell me where your mistress hides."

"Near the waterfall, about an hour's ride from here, my lord," Joseph answered without hesitation. "When she learns that you are awake, she will return to talk with you," he predicted.

"Her name?" Geoffrey demanded, though his tone was not as forceful now that he knew the servant would cooperate.

"She is Elizabeth, and she is youngest daughter to Thomas," Joseph answered. His hands began to ache, and he only then realized he was gripping them. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he tried to calm himself.

"Was she here when the attack began?"

"Yes, my lord," Joseph replied, shivering with the memory. "All but Lady Elizabeth and her little brother were killed. I was able to help them escape but not before they both witnessed their mother-"

"I know," Geoffrey interrupted. "I was given the body count… and the way of their deaths was recounted to me." His mouth settled into a grim line at the memory of Roger's recent description of the mutilated bodies. "And you say she witnessed this?"

"Both she and the boy. The little lad has not spoken a word since, until today," he amended. "And he seems to have no memory of the event."

"Do you know who was behind the attack?" he asked the servant.

"I did not recognize any of them, for several wore black hoods, but my mistress believes Belwain responsible. With your permission, my lord, I will bring her to you."

"No," Geoffrey answered, "I will bring her back."

Roger's voice interrupted the discussion. "My lord? The priest has arrived."

Geoffrey nodded, inwardly sighing with relief. Though the dead had been buried, they had not been blessed. "See to his comforts, Roger. He is to stay here until I return."

"May I show you the way to the waterfall, my lord?" Joseph's timid voice turned Lord Geoffrey's attention back to him.

"No," Geoffrey answered. "I go alone. Her father was a loyal vassal. It is my duty. You have done your mistress a disservice by keeping silent, but I will not fault you, for I have heard of her stubborn inclination. And you did save her life. I will not forget that! Still, the responsibility for her well-being now rests with me. Your job is done."

Joseph felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He watched Lord Geoffrey as he strode out of the hall, thinking that Elizabeth would indeed be well protected. Lord Geoffrey appeared to be a man of steel, Joseph gauged, and his strength would be Elizabeth 's shield against all who would try to harm her. One question remained, nagging Joseph from the recesses of his mind: who would protect Lady Elizabeth from Lord Geoffrey?

Not a cloud marred the horizon as Geoffrey made his way through the forest in search of the waterfall. He had ridden hard for over an hour when the sound of rushing water, echoing through the lush green foliage, drew his attention. He quickly dismounted and secured the reins to the nearest tree branch and then began to make his way through the denseness. The mist from the cascading water mixed with the heat from the afternoon sun and formed a blanket of steam that covered his boots.

He knew from Joseph's description that the hut was well hidden within a cluster of trees just beyond the gathering pool. He was headed in that direction when a splash, followed by a faint cough, stopped his advance. Geoffrey automatically drew his sword and turned, waiting for another sound that would give him advantage over his enemy, when he caught a glimmer of gold reflected through the branches. He moved slightly to get a better look. His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. His vision-the golden one, as his men had so aptly named her-rose out of the water like the goddess Aphrodite. He watched, hypnotized, as she moved to the shallow end of the pool and stood. Her legs were braced apart and she stretched her arms high over her head in a lazy, unhurried motion. Streamers of sunlight poured through the canopy of branches and bathed his goddess in gold.

With a slow, graceful motion, Elizabeth brushed the hair back from her forehead. She sighed, content for the moment, enjoying the feel of the sun's warmth upon her shoulders and the contrasting cold of the clear water slapping against her legs. She forced herself to block all thoughts, all worries. In her heart she knew that her trusted servant would move heaven and earth to hide Thomas from Belwain's eyes, until Geoffrey could be made to listen. But the waiting… it was becoming unbearable. Perhaps the fever had returned, and the warrior was dead. Perhaps Belwain had arrived at Montwright and convinced everyone that he had nothing to do with the murders. Stop, she demanded. There is nothing to be done but wait, she told herself. Wait and pray. A woman's lot in life, Elizabeth decided with despair.

Scooping water into her cupped hands, she poured the liquid down her neck. Geoffrey was close enough to see her shiver, to watch the drops of water slip down between her full breasts, past the narrow waist he was sure he could span with but one hand, and farther down, into the blond, curly triangle at the junction of her legs. Her nipples grew hard from the chill but it was Geoffrey who shivered in reaction. Innocent sensuality radiated with her every motion and Geoffrey was hard-pressed to control his emotions, to suppress the primitive desire raging inside of him.

The gentle sway of her hips as she walked from the pool and gathered her clothes nearly made him wild with need. He took a deep breath, gaining control. He was Baron Geoffrey, overlord of all William had bequeathed! He would not take her now, though he thought he would go mad if he didn't taste her soon. Yes, he would have her. Of that there wasn't any question. She would belong to him. It was a simple fact of life. The law. What the lord wanted, he took.

The dogs Geoffrey remembered suddenly appeared at their mistress's side, hovering while she completed her dress. The animals were huge creatures, but from the way they both nudged her as she turned and disappeared into the forest, Geoffrey knew they would protect her well.

He was about to replace his sword and follow Elizabeth to the hut when an abrupt scream penetrated the stillness. It was a woman's scream. Geoffrey raced toward the sound, his sword at the ready. He could hear the dogs' ferocious growls, screams and shouts from men… at least three, judging from the different guttural sounds. Geoffrey crashed into the clearing in front of the hut and took in the tableau in one second's breath of time. There were three of them. Two were struggling with the dogs while the third half-carried, half-dragged the resisting girl toward the hut. The sight of such filth holding such beauty, his beauty, completed the transformation. The fair and noble ruler of the manor was gone, replaced by the Herculean warrior intent on a single action: to kill. There would be no hearing, no fairness, no understanding. The enemy had dared to touch what was his, and whether they realized that fact or not bore no significance. The price for their lust, for their stupidity, would be death.

The warrior's bellow of outrage stilled Elizabeth 's attacker. Terror washed the lust from his eyes as he flung Elizabeth from his arms and turned to face the challenge. The look of fury on the warrior's face changed the attacker's mind. He turned to look for a means of escape from the intent he read in those cold black eyes. His hesitation was his death sentence. Geoffrey's blade whistled as it sliced through the air, guided by the warrior's strong arm, until it plunged down through the man's shoulder, cutting bone and muscle as easily as if they were sheep's fur, in its quest to find and pierce the heart. With one additional jerk of his wrist, Geoffrey completed the kill, removed the sword, and turned to deal with the two men behind him. "Call your animals," he ordered over his shoulder, and Elizabeth, stumbling to her feet, obeyed without question.

Geoffrey allowed both men time to stagger to their feet and reclaim their weapons before he moved forward. Then he stood, his legs braced apart, his sword at his side, waiting. The two men crouched and began to circle the warrior, and their puny attempts to kill him brought a smile to the warrior's face. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Before either man could issue a scream, Geoffrey killed them with two swift slaps from his blade.

Stunned, unable to comprehend how the lord came to be there, defending her, Elizabeth could only watch in a daze. When Geoffrey finished the deed and turned his attention to her, Elizabeth felt her knees buckle from the power, the raw force that radiated from him.

"Come to me." The harshness of his voice startled her. There was a different kind of terror pulling at her now, and Elizabeth couldn't understand what was happening. Shouldn't she feel relief? This man had saved her life, killed for her. Perhaps it was because he was so much larger than she remembered, or perhaps it was because he had killed so easily, so effortlessly… so unemotionally. She was too confused, only knew that the danger was still there, clinging to the air, mingling with the scent of death and sweat. Tension enveloped both of them as they stared at each other. Elizabeth stood rigid and straight, facing the force that poured from him. Power. It was there in his stance, in his muscled legs braced apart in sureness and victory, in the tightly fisted hands resting on his hips, but most of all in his face. And the power drew her to him.

Elizabeth met his stare and slowly walked over to him. She stopped directly in front of him and waited. For what, she knew not.

Geoffrey's body relaxed. Elizabeth could see the tension, the violence, evaporate. He took a deep breath and his eyes wanned a little. And the fear left her.

"I have just killed for you." His tone was arrogant and challenging.

Elizabeth watched as Geoffrey cleaned his blade and then replaced it before she replied, "Yes, you have saved my life. I am in your debt," she acknowledged, her voice soft.

"That is so."

"But I have also saved your life," Elizabeth added, "for I was the one who tended your wounds."

"I remember," Geoffrey answered.

"And therefore, you are in my debt, are you not?"

"I am your lord." What was Elizabeth leading to? Geoffrey wondered. What was her plan? "You belong to me."

Elizabeth didn't answer, waiting for him to continue. A long moment passed and the lord frowned his displeasure. It would do her cause no good if she alienated him, for her fate was in his hands. In truth she did belong to him. Was that all he wanted? Her acknowledgment that he was now her lord?

"You belong to me," he repeated.

Elizabeth was about to agree when his hand moved as lightning to the back of her neck, his fingers locking forcefully in her hair. "It is I who decide your future," Geoffrey stated.

Elizabeth frowned with frustration. He was supposed to be in her debt. He should be grateful, but instead, he was demanding that she acknowledge her position to him.

Geoffrey was not pleased; he twisted her hair until she cried out in pain. Still he did not relent, but pulled her closer until her chest was flat against the cold steel links of metal covering his. Elizabeth shut her eyes against the pain and the look in his eyes, her mouth tightly closed so that she would not cry out again. She was trembling inside but vowed he would not know of her apprehension.

Geoffrey stared down at Elizabeth 's face, smiling at the way she tried to mask her fear. There was a streak of rebellion in her eyes. He had not missed that, and it pleased him. He judged she would not intimidate easily. She was spirited and courageous, Geoffrey guessed, for she had lived outside the walls with only her animals for protection. 'Twas unheard of for a gently bred lady to do such a thing, yet she had done it. Stubborn too, Geoffrey knew, with perhaps a bit of wildness in her nature. He would tame the wildness without breaking the spirit. And the taming would begin now. His mouth descended to hers in a kiss that was meant to conquer. He would have her submission! He felt her jerk with the initial touch of his mouth, but he ignored her efforts for freedom, forcing her by merely tightening his hold in her hair until she opened her mouth to protest. And then his tongue invaded, tasting, probing, taking. His assault was not gentle, for in truth he knew little of wooing the weaker sex; still, he made an effort not to overwhelm her. She was gentle-bred, he reminded himself, and while he thought to drug her with his sexual prowess, he soon found that it was he who was fast losing control. She tasted so sweet, so fresh, and when she finally began to respond, when her tongue timidly touched his, he felt a wave of hot fire race through him.

The effect on his captive was just as startling. Did she struggle? Elizabeth thought that she did, but when the kiss ended, she found that her arms were wrapped around his neck. Had he placed them there? No, she answered herself, she had done that herself. Her face rested against the mail covering his chest. Shame tried to claim her attention, but Elizabeth fought it. She had not forced his embrace but only submitted because of his superior strength.

She felt Geoffrey's hand tighten and only then realized that his arms were around her waist. He smelled of leather and sweat. It wasn't unpleasant to be held by him, Elizabeth admitted.

"Your kissing has unproved, Elizabeth," Geoffrey said against her forehead. A deep contentment he had not known before enveloped him; the feel of her against him was right, he felt it was right in his heart. He inhaled the fragrance of wildflowers scenting her hair and almost sighed aloud, his pleasure was so great. He knew he should let go of her and take a firm, intimidating stand so that she would well understand their relationship from the beginning, for he was her lord and she his subject, but he couldn't seem to drop his hands, to erase the smile. He would have to guard against letting her know the power she held over him. It would most likely be his downfall if he showed her his weakness for her. He knew from past experience that the fairer sex could easily manipulate any man, regardless of their physical strength, if the man allowed it. No woman would lead him around by the crook of her finger; no, he would do the leading, and she would be most thankful to follow.

"I was but curious," Elizabeth stated, referring to the kiss she had stolen when she was caring for him. "I have not kissed much," she added as she pushed against him to break the hold.

"I have no doubt that you are pure," Geoffrey remarked, and Elizabeth noted that the arrogance was back in his voice. His smile wanned her, and Elizabeth returned the gesture. She would have to watch herself with this one, she decided. He had a way about him that pulled at her, beckoned her. But he was too powerful, too overwhelming for her likes, she reminded herself; he would be like the stone walls of her fortress, unbending, and it would do her no good to become involved with such a man. No, she could never allow such an attraction to nurture. She had no wish to be swallowed up by his strength, only to be spit out as a former shell of herself when he turned his attention elsewhere. She turned her back on him and tried to remember what they were talking about. Pure, he thought her pure, he bad said. "How could you know?" she found herself asking, "that I am pure," she qualified. She turned back to him and waited for his reply. Although she thought he had made the remark to ease her worry that he might have judged her wanton, she found herself irritated. Instead of being relieved that he did not think her a camp follower, she found herself somewhat insulted. Were her kisses so lacking?

"It was obvious, Elizabeth," the lord answered. "Though to take advantage of a man in a weakened condition tells me much about your character." He was teasing her, the laughter was there in his eyes. It surprised her, for she didn't think he was a man who laughed much. She returned his smile.

She could see that the kiss had lightened his mood, and sought to take advantage of the moment. "You are feeling well now?"

"Aye," Geoffrey replied.

"You have called me by my name, my lord. How did you learn-"

"It was easy to solve part of the riddle," Geoffrey answered. "Still, I would like more answers. When we return to the manor…"

"I would… if it pleases you lord, I would like to talk with you now, before we return to Montwright."

Geoffrey frowned over this request and then nodded. He walked over to the mud-splattered boulder adjacent to the hut and leaned against the edge, his long legs outstretched before him. He wasn't aware that he stroked the dogs leaning against his sides as he watched Elizabeth. "Begin by telling me why you did not stay inside the walls. Why did you come back here?"

"I could not stay there with Belwain coming, I could not." Elizabeth calmed her voice and walked over to stand between Geoffrey's legs. She folded her hands as if she was preparing for her morning prayers and said, "It is a long story, my lord. Will you listen to me?"

"Aye," Geoffrey replied. He was eager to hear her tale, to understand what had transpired at Montwright.

"My parents, my sisters, one of their husbands… all killed," she whispered. "And Belwain, my father's younger brother… he is to blame. He must be punished."

"From the beginning, Elizabeth," Geoffrey encouraged in a gentle tone. "Tell me what you saw, what you heard."

Elizabeth nodded and took a deep breath. "I did not see them arrive. Little Thomas and I were out riding when it began. The family had gathered to celebrate my little brother's birthday. It was a tradition," she explained.

Geoffrey nodded and then realized that she was looking right through him, didn't seem to notice his encouraging gesture at all. Memory had control of her mind now, and from the torment etching her features,

Geoffrey knew a chilling account was about to be told. He wanted to gather her in his arms, to hold her and offer comfort, but he sensed she would not accept his compassion from the way she held herself erect. Memory was taking her to hell's nightmares, and all he could do was listen.

"My eldest sister, Catherine, and her husband, Bernard, came all the way from his holding near Granbury, but Rupert, ailing from liver upset, could not attend. He allowed Margaret to come, though… Oh, God, but if he had not been so agreeable! She would still be alive." Elizabeth took a deep breath, a calmness settling over her features. She told the rest in a flat, emotionless voice. "Thomas and I came in through the side entrance, intent on changing our clothes before our mother caught sight of us, for we were covered with mud. There is a stairwell, well hidden from the great hall, with a tapestry hung over the door on the second landing. As I neared the top I could hear screams and shouts. I knew then something was wrong. I made Thomas stay on the steps and opened the door. No one saw me, but I could see everything from my position. There were bodies, dead, mutilated bodies, strewn about the floor like so many soiled rushes. Those doing the killing were dressed as peasants but they wielded their swords like trained soldiers. Several of the men wore black hoods to conceal their faces. I tried to find the one in charge when I caught sight of my sister Margaret. I saw her stab one of the men in his shoulder, and then run toward our mother. The man she injured followed her and plunged his knife into her back, and Margaret went down. I felt little Thomas against my side then, and turned to shield him from the view and to find safety for him. One of the attackers, his voice was somehow familiar to me even then, called the order to find the boy. 'Find the boy or we fail,' that is what he screamed, and I knew they meant to kill little Thomas. I had to protect him. He was now heir… I couldn't help my mother, but I couldn't seem to move either. It was as if I was frozen in place. I just kept watching her. They were tearing at her clothes. My mother's clothes! She broke away and raked her nails against the face of one of her captors. He screamed with pain and then the one who had killed Margaret… he came up to my mother with an ax in his hand. He raised it high into the air and the blade came down, down and across her neck, and her head, her head was torn from her body!"

She had never said the words until now. She wanted to crumble to the earth and die. The pain was so intense, the screams of her family so agonizing, so deafening, that she involuntarily placed her hands over her ears.

Geoffrey did not say a word. He gently reached out and pulled her hands from her face and held them.

His action helped Elizabeth gain control. She looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw the compassion in his eyes. "I don't remember much after that. I took Thomas back down the stairway and we stayed there until Joseph found us and took us to the outside. We sent word to Bernard's relatives and to Rupert."

Geoffrey pulled Elizabeth toward him, wrapping his strong arms around her. He wanted to erase the horror but knew that wasn't possible. "Did you recognize any of the men?" he asked.

"No, but the man Margaret stabbed… his voice was familiar to me," Elizabeth suddenly remembered. "Blood covered his garb."

"What of the other men? Did you know any of them?"

"No," Elizabeth replied, her shoulders sagging.

"Your servant told me that you sent your brother to London. Why?" he asked after a time.

"I did not know what else to do," Elizabeth said. "The law would give Belwain guardianship and I thought you old and senile. And I had no proof that it was Belwain behind the deed. My mother's father lives in London and I thought to keep my brother safe with him until I could find the proof… or kill Belwain myself," she said.

"Tell me your reasons for believing Belwain is responsible," Geoffrey said.

"He is the only one to gain," Elizabeth began. "He was my father's younger brother and lusted after Montwright. Father gave him a portion of the land for his own but Belwain was not content. Still, my mother told me Belwain used to be a merry man until little Thomas was born, then the relationship changed with my father. I do not know if that is so, for I was too young to pay much notice. I do know that last time my uncle visited my father they had a terrible argument and Belwain said he would never return to Montwright land. He threatened my father and I remember being frightened by his words, but my father seemed unaffected. I heard him tell my mother that Belwain's temper would calm and he would become content once again."

Elizabeth pulled her hands free of Geoffrey's hold and said, "Belwain would inherit the Montwright lands if we were all dead, wouldn't he?"

"Aye," Geoffrey acknowledged. "But you are not all dead," he reminded her.

"This same law gives Belwain guardianship of little Thomas, does it not?"

"That is so," Geoffrey replied.

"And if you give my brother over to his care, he will kill him," she predicted. "And me also," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"You will not be given into his care," Geoffrey stated.

"Then you believe me?" Elizabeth asked, her voice hopeful. "You will kill Belwain?"

"I believe that you think Belwain responsible," Geoffrey hedged, "and he has the greatest to gain, but I need proof before I challenge him."

"Proof! There is no proof," Elizabeth all but screamed. She pushed away from Geoffrey and added, "Belwain will not go free. He must pay for what he has done. I will kill him."

"If Belwain is responsible, I will kill him," Geoffrey said. "When he arrives at Montwright, I will question him."

"And you think he will admit his sins?" Elizabeth asked in a desperate voice. "He will lie."

"Lies can trap," Geoffrey returned. "I will find who is behind the deed and I will determine the punishment. It is my responsibility."

"Will you give me your word that Belwain will not become guardian to Thomas?" Elizabeth asked.

"If Belwain is innocent of your charges, I could not break the law," Geoffrey stated. "Thomas would be placed under his guardianship. If he is innocent."

Elizabeth took a step back, shaking her head. "You are overlord to Montwright lands, and now that my father is dead, little Thomas is your vassal. It is your duty to protect him!"

"Do not tell me my responsibilities," Geoffrey barked. He stood up and unconsciously put his hands on his hips. "I know them well enough. Until I know the truth in this matter your brother will stay with me." His voice gentled as he added, "Trust me, Elizabeth. I will not let any harm come to the lad."

Elizabeth wanted to believe him. While he had not promised to charge her uncle immediately, he did state that he would keep her brother safe for the time being. It would have to be enough. At least Geoffrey had listened to her and had not pushed her accusations aside. If he decided Belwain innocent, then Elizabeth would take matters into her own hands.

"Come, Elizabeth. The hour grows late. We will talk of this when we are within the manor."

"I need not be there when you question Belwain," Elizabeth argued. "And I have no wish to look upon his evil face. No," she continued, ignoring the anger she read on his face, "I will stay here until Belwain has been-"

The roar interrupted Elizabeth 's sentence. In one swift action the lord lifted her high up into his arms. The dogs began to growl but the warrior ignored them as he turned and started back toward the waterfall.

God, but she was a stubborn bit of goods, Geoffrey thought with irritation. She seemed to have absolutely no fear whatsoever of her master, and that both amused and angered the knight. He wasn't used to such brashness. And yet, he reasoned, he did not wish her to cower in his presence. She confused him, he admitted, confused… and delighted him. Still, he would have to do something about her disposition, her inclination to argue. She would have to learn her place, her lot. He couldn't very well present her to William until she learned to curb her tongue. While William's opinion did not rule Geoffrey's life, he admitted that he did not wish his king to think Geoffrey's wife was but a shrew! Wife! Aye, he told himself, she would be his wife. There could be no other way to keep her with him. It would be a grave insult to the late vassal, Elizabeth 's father, if he took Elizabeth as mistress. Thomas was a loyal and honest man; Geoffrey could not shame his memory by soiling his daughter and then casting her aside.

I do this for Thomas, Geoffrey found himself thinking. He did not think that he loved Elizabeth, for he did not think he could love any woman. Past betrayal had sealed his heart against such vulnerability. Yet the fates had decreed, from the moment he sighted her on the rise above the manor before the battle, that they be together. He did not understand why he wanted her at his side, why she had come to mean such a great deal to him in such a short time, but he would follow his inclinations. Perhaps it was all superstition on his part and she was his talisman. He did not know and did not care.

Besides, it was time, he almost said aloud. Time for the begetting of sons.

"Put me down, my lord," Elizabeth ordered for the third time. She saw that the scar on the side of his cheek had grown quite red and decided that she had overstepped her position. "Please," she amended in a soft voice. "I have my horse and my possessions to gather."

"Tomorrow your servant can fetch your things."

What a stubborn, unbending man Lord Geoffrey was, Elizabeth thought. Odd, but she found she wasn't upset any longer. A deep faith that he would right the wrongs to her family made her content for the moment.

They did not speak again until they were well on their way back to the manor. Elizabeth sat in front of the lord on his powerful charger and could not help but lean against him as they rode through the forest at a neck-breaking pace.

"Do you know what you will do with me? Where you will send me?" Elizabeth asked, thinking that she would like to stay near her brother.

"Aye," Geoffrey replied in a rough voice. He was trying to concentrate on getting them to safety, his senses alert, but Elizabeth 's nearness was unsettling. From the moment he had lifted her into his arms, a sense of well-being, of calmness, invaded the warrior. It was as if he could breathe again, and she was the fresh air he needed to survive. He tightened his hold, pleased when she did not protest. The top of her head was nestled just under his chin, and the knight found it a hard task not to rub his cheek against the softness of her golden hair.

Elizabeth waited for what seemed an eternity for Lord Geoffrey to continue, but the lord seemed disinclined.

"My father had signed a marriage contract when I was just a babe," Elizabeth finally said, "but Hugh, the man I was to marry, died two years past. I do not know if another was arranged," she added. Perhaps Geoffrey could tell her, for Thomas would have to gain his permission for any marriage contract to be valid. It was the law.

"There will be no marriage contract," Geoffrey stated with finality.

"I will not be married?" Elizabeth asked with surprise.

"Yes, you shall be married," Geoffrey said. "To me."

Had not Geoffrey been holding her secure, Elizabeth would have fallen off the horse. She twisted around until she could look him directly in the face, and blurted the first thing that came to her confused mind. "Why?"

The lord did not answer, and from the hard line of his jaw Elizabeth surmised he would not tell her any more.

She turned back and stared straight ahead. Montwright came into view as they rounded the water's bend, and fear twisted her stomach into knots. She found herself clutching Geoffrey's hands but could not let go. Belwain and his men might well be waiting inside.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Nothing can ever be as it was, she lamented. Her parents and sisters were dead, and now she was solely responsible for keeping little Thomas safe. She had no one to turn to, no one to champion her cause, save this stubborn, battle-scarred lord. Would he be strong enough, cunning enough to keep them safe?