How dare he? she demanded as she tried to push his tongue away with her own, how dare he maul her like this?

Her anger kept her from responding for a time, but then that too dissipated, and the warmness of remembrance, last night's passion, filled her. She found herself responding in spite of her intentions. And that was more humiliating than being kissed so passionately in front of an audience.

Geoffrey found her resistance fade and relaxed his hold. He continued to take his fill but stopped when he found himself more affected than he wished. The taste of her was intoxicating, he decided.

He kissed her once on the forehead after releasing her lips and chuckled out loud at the dazed expression on her face.

"You forget yourself," she whispered in a furious voice, pushing at his hands, which still lingered on her hips.

"I never forget myself," Geoffrey answered, grinning. "You have indicated by your embrace that you have a desire to be treated as a-"

It was as far as he got. Elizabeth 's foot came down on his with a gasp of outrage. "Whore?" she interrupted. "You were going to say whore? Well, you are very mistaken, Baron. I wish for affection and you give me a mauling."

He continued to smile and her temper exploded. "Fine, lord and master! I have learned this lesson. In future there will be no display of affection. None! I will give you the cold indifference you seem to wish."

It was a wonderful exit line, Elizabeth thought, but found that her husband disagreed. He wouldn't let go of her.

"I have heard of your temper, mistress," he said. His voice was gentle and soothing, the exact opposite of the anger she had thought her words would have caused. "Perhaps later we might find time to discuss this unladylike bellowing of yours. You are lucky that you find yourself married to such a mild-tempered husband."

She could only listen to his words with an open mouth, could not think of a single retort to his ridiculous analysis of his temperament.

And then he was gone, exited from the room, and only the echo of his deep laughter remained.

Elizabeth shook her head with despair. So much for predictable, she thought. Aye, she repeated. Predictable indeed!

Chapter Seven

When Elizabeth had finished her duties helping to clear the varmint and the clutter from her parents' room, she went to her own bedroom. More dust had settled on her than the dustbin. She washed and changed into a gown of pale green, with an overtunic a shade darker and decorated with silver threads circling the top. Sara helped her fix her hair into a coronet atop her head, saying it looked quite lovely, even with the wisps of curls that kept slipping out.

Elizabeth waited until Sara had left the room before tying a second knife to a piece of ribbon and securing it under her gown around her thigh. She then clipped the silver chain that went with her overtunic, her bliaut, around her waist, letting it ride low, just above her hips, and slipped the other dagger in place there. She would use it to cut the meat, as it was the only utensil used and each carried his own, and no one would consider it unusual for her to carry it. But I could also use it to kill Belwain, she considered, if there be a need.

Little Thomas and Geoffrey's main squire, Gerald, were waiting in the hall when she opened the door. Behind them stood three soldiers, all holding drawn swords. "With your permission, we are to wait in your room until the visitors have left," the squire announced. "I am to keep your brother company and they," he said, motioning to the guards with a tilt of his head, "they will watch the door."

Elizabeth took a step back and allowed the two to pass by. She patted her brother on the top of his head and said to Gerald, "There is a chess game and checkers too, in the chest next to the fireplace."

"I am quite good at both games," the squire boasted.

"I do not know how to play," her brother answered.

"Of course you do, Thomas," Elizabeth replied. "You have just forgotten. In time you will remember."

She shut the door behind her and slowly walked to the landing. From the sounds coming from below, she knew Belwain and his men had arrived. She hesitated at the top step, felt her courage try to desert her, and admitted that she honestly did not know if she would be able to see the evening through without trying to kill her uncle.

She touched the dagger at her side, patted it as if it had life, and whispered, "Our time will come."

"Who are you talking to?" her grandfather asked from behind.

Elizabeth turned and tried to smile. She was relieved to see him, knew that he would help her get through this evening. "My dagger," she said. "I console my weapon. You do not think me crazed?"

"I do not," he answered, shaking his head. "And does your dagger have a name?"

"You tease me," Elizabeth said. The smile was more natural now for her grandfather.

"I do not tease," her grandfather answered. "It is most common to name your sword or your dagger."

"I thought only kings named their swords."

"They also, child. Do you remember the tales of the mighty king Charlemagne?" With her nod, he said, "There are songs about his love for his sword, named Joyosa. Truly."

"Roland's name for the sword at his belt was Durindana, and there are songs about it," she volunteered.

"So you are not so daft to talk to your dagger, Elizabeth," her grandfather said. "I wager your husband talks to his," he added.

Elizabeth doubted that but said, "I know he places great pleasure on his weapon but I do not think he talks to it." She found herself chuckling over their ridiculous conversation. "Knights are filled with superstition, I think. To name their weapons, to-"

"It is most serious, this work of killing or being killed. The knight knows that without his weapons he is powerless. That is why he honors his equipment. Every item in his stock has its significance."

"You are making fun of me," Elizabeth said. "I do not believe you."

"Your education is lacking, Granddaughter," her grandfather answered. He took hold of her hand and started down the steps. "Take the knight's spear," he said. "Now, that is a most useful weapon, is it not?"

"Aye."

"The straightness of the spear symbolizes truth to the knight's way of thinking and its iron head suggests strength."

"So a curved spear would never do," Elizabeth said, smiling at her absurd remark.

"Of course not," her grandfather answered, "and it would be most ineffective."

"What about the other'stock'?"

"The helmet indicates modesty, and the spurs diligence."

"My husband does not always wear his helmet so he is not modest?" she asked in a teasing tone.

"Do not bait me when I try to teach you something." Her grandfather's voice was full of laughter.

They had reached the bottom of the steps and started into the great hall. He felt his granddaughter increase her pressure on his arm and knew her stress. Still, his voice continued in the same light tone as he said, "Now, the shield is almost as important to the knight as his sword, though he does not have it buried with him, of course."

"And what does the shield remind the knight of?"

"That by using it he has saved his body and therefore remembers to use his body to protect his lord. In your husband's case, his lord is King William."

"What about the bow and arrows that you made for me? What do they represent?"

"You know that the soldiers do not use the small bow," her grandfather chided her. "They are fitting for a knight's use."

"My father thought my new weapon-"

"Ineffective?"

"Actually, he called it stupid, useless."

"Enough! You wound me, for I carved the arrows myself, and well you know it!" He laughed then and added in a whisper, "Why do you think I gave you such a bizarre present?"