Medieval Rogues by Catherine Kean

gnarled roots lined the water’s edge. Swallows lifted from the boughs of one of the trees, looped and danced in the breeze, then disappeared in the direction of the distant, mist shrouded, blue-gray hills.
    Elizabeth dropped her brow to the cool metal. What she would give to be a bird, with the freedom to soar wherever she desired. She would spread her wings, slip through the grille, and fly to a place where fear, death, and the past could never touch her.
    Somewhere beyond the hills, her father and Aldwin rode toward Tillenham. They would reach it soon. Worry nagged at her again, and her fingers curled tighter around the bars. Did they know of her abduction? Did they know she was imprisoned at Branton?
    If only there were some way to get a message to them.
    Or escape.
    A pair of robins hurtled past the window. They dove into the bailey and over the curtain wall, then raced back past her window. She laughed, wriggled her hand through the grille, and stretched out her fingers. One of the birds alighted on the ledge outside and studied her with its head cocked to one side.
    At that moment, the door to her chamber opened. She glanced over her shoulder. De Lanceau stood in the doorway.
    The robin flew away.
    Withdrawing her hand, she faced him.
    His expression was controlled, almost bland, but she sensed his seething rage. His gaze raked over her, from her hair to her bliaut’s hem that grazed her calves, and his lips curled in a faint grin.
    He strode forward, slamming the door behind him.
    Anxiety settled in Elizabeth’s belly like a lump of ice.
    She was alone with him.
    He halted near her, leaned one hip against the side table, and folded his arms across his jerkin. “You are well?” he asked, his words crisp yet polite.
    “As well as I may be, under such conditions.” A silent groan burned inside her, for her frazzled nerves had betrayed her. While she had wished to convey her outrage and disdain, she did not want to infuriate him. Then he might never grant her a bath.
    She also had no wish to repeat their earlier confrontation. Her skin still tingled where he had touched her.
    “You feel mistreated?” His eyes darkened to the color of wet slate, and his gaze shifted to the bandaged wound at her temple. “How so?”
    Unease ran through her, but she squared her shoulders and met his stare. “For a start, I am not used to being attended by a stranger. Mildred is my lady-in-waiting, and has been since I was a girl.”
    “Elena is skilled.”
    “She is, but I prefer Mildred’s help.”
    He shrugged. “You cannot have it.”
    Anger and concern thickened Elizabeth’s tone. “How do I know she is all right? If you dare mistreat her—”
    “No one has harmed her. She is being held in another part of the keep, and is fine.”
    Elizabeth crossed her arms to stop them from shaking. “If I could see her for myself, my worries would be appeased.”
    He leaned farther back on the table, into a bright splash of sunlight. “You will see her soon enough.”
    “When? The day my father batters through the gates and rescues me?”
    De Lanceau’s jaw hardened, as though she tested the frayed boundaries of his temper. “The day my demands are met and I choose to release you, if not before then.”
    A defiant reminder of her father’s military might sizzled on her tongue, but before she could say one word, de Lanceau shook his head. “I will not discuss your freedom. I was told you had grievances. Is your concern for Mildred the sum of them?”
    Elizabeth shot him a glare. “Not at all. Elena tried her best, but could do naught with my hair. She could not even run a comb through it, ’tis so matted with grime. The jug of water provided me is enough to wash my face and hands, but no more, so I cannot complete my morning bath.” She sucked in a breath. “My bed linens also smell sour, and the dust in this room is thicker than mud in a pigpen.”
    “I see.” His words held menace. Yet, in her ramblings, she had