by Alexa Aston
“I’m sorry for your loss, my lady,” Timothy said. “We are also sorry to see you go. I hope you have enjoyed your stay at Ashcroft. You have certainly transformed the keep.”
“It was my small way of trying to repay Sir Raynor.”
Bobbit smiled. “He’s a good man. I’m sorry he’s not the master.” He looked around guiltily. “I know I shouldn’t be saying so. It’s just that Lord Peter’s an odd one.”
“Sir Raynor truly cares for Ashcroft and its people,” Timothy agreed. “As do you, my lady.”
Beatrice willed herself not to cry. She despaired leaving the estate behind as she headed to a place that might not embrace her so warmly.
“You’ll have to return again and visit someday, my lady,” Bobbit said. “Sir Raynor continues to better the place each day. You can come and see all of the new improvements he makes.”
“I would like that,” she said softly, but Beatrice knew once she passed through the gates of Ashcroft, she would never return.
She led them back downstairs, and they went outside with her trunk. Beatrice turned and saw all the servants from inside the keep lined up, Hilda at one end and Cook at the other. Hugging each of them goodbye, it was easy to thank them for their hard work and friendship. She reminded Hilda of what tasks should be finished next, and then Cook took her aside, handing her a basket.
“I’ve already given Bobbit some food, but here are a few special treats for you to eat along the way.”
“Thank you, Cook. I appreciate your kindness to me.” Beatrice hugged the woman again and slipped the basket over her arm.
For the final time, she walked through the doors of the keep and descended the stairs to the bailey. Bobbit sat atop a chestnut horse, next to the cart that awaited her. Timothy rose from the driver’s seat and reached out a hand to her.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer riding in the back so that I may stretch out my legs.”
Timothy jumped down. “Of course, my lady.” He climbed into the back of the cart and took her lute. Placing it on the blanket next to her trunk, he secured the basket she gave him. Then Timothy handed her up and made sure she was settled, giving her another blanket to drape over her.
Beatrice turned and waved goodbye to those who had gathered to see her off. She kept a smile on her face, though her insides ached with unhappiness because Raynor wasn’t there to see her go.
It shouldn’t surprise her. After all, he was fulfilling his promise to see that she was escorted to Brookhaven. It didn’t mean that he would personally perform the task when he had trusted soldiers that could do so on his behalf. She realized it was too soon for him to leave. He wouldn’t want things to fall back into the previous state—yet disappointment covered her more heavily than the wool blanket that sat in her lap.
Beatrice would never see him again. She’d been given no chance to say goodbye.
But she would always remember his kiss.
Timothy flicked the reins and the horse trotted off. As they went through the baileys, Beatrice saw activity everywhere. They passed Donaldus, the carpenter, who gave a shout and jaunty wave to her.
Soldiers on duty appeared on the wall-walk. They, too, waved down at her and she returned the gesture as she looked back at the keep. Though she’d only spent a little over two months living within its walls, Ashcroft seemed more a home to her than the manor house in which she had been brought up. Beatrice brushed a tear aside.
As they approached the gate, she steeled herself for the moment they would drive through it. Her stomach turned as she glanced beyond it and spied Raynor sitting atop Fury.
Waiting for her.
Chapter 16
They had been on the road almost a sennight, and each day unfolded much in the same way. Raynor rode ahead of the cart carrying Beatrice and her meager belongings in order to scout the way. Timothy drove the cart, while she watched the passing scenery. Bobbit brought up the rear, keeping his eyes open for anyone that might follow them.
Their party stopped briefly at midday to stretch their limbs and partake in a simple meal before they continued north. By twilight, Raynor would have found a place to make camp.
He hated that time worst of all, being in camp with Beatrice. He always volunteered to hunt for their supper, leaving Timothy and Bobbit to build the fire and gather water. Raynor would return with some small game, cook the meat and listen to the others talk.
The two soldiers spoke of their lives before coming to Ashcroft. Both were fairly new to the barracks, but Raynor had found the two men skilled in the yard during their training sessions. He believed himself a good judge of character and thought each man trustworthy. He had only brought two soldiers with him, thinking Sir Lucas could not spare any more.
More than anything, he avoided meeting Beatrice’s eyes as the four of them gathered around the fire for their evening meal. While polite to her and respectful of her station, Raynor observed both soldiers had grown increasingly enamored with her and he couldn’t blame them. What man would not be drawn to her?
Beatrice shared small bits of her childhood with them, nothing too specific. She never spoke of her fear of horses, and neither Timothy nor Bobbit asked her about it. Mostly, she listened to their tales—until their third night on the road. Bobbit asked if she would play her lute for them. It surprised Raynor when Beatrice agreed to do so although it took both Timothy and Bobbit urging her on.
Her voice was low and throaty, much as her speaking voice. The words she sang wove a spell as her fingers strummed the strings of the instrument. If he hadn’t already been in love with her, Raynor would have toppled deep into the abyss of love after hearing her perform.
From then on, his men begged for her song. She seemed pleased that they did so and obliged them every evening once they had supped. Raynor sometimes could feel her eyes on him as she sang, but he chose to stare off into the distance. Yet, her voice touched his heart each time she sang. Actually, she tore it in two. For as much as he hated being near her as they journeyed north, he lived for each minute in her presence. These were the last precious days he would ever have in her company. Each league they traveled brought her closer to her new life.
Raynor wondered what kind of man Edwin Stollers was. Would her husband care for Beatrice as much as he did? Would he appreciate not only her beauty but enjoy her sweet spirit? Would the nobleman enjoy her intelligence and conversation, and value her kindness and compassion?
He tamped down the jealousy that rose within him, jealousy of a man he’d yet to lay eyes upon and one that he would dislike on first sight. Would he resent this faceless man till the end of time? For ’twould be this nobleman who claimed Beatrice Bordel as his bride. Stollers would give her his name and a home. He would be the man that would take Beatrice to his bed and make sweet love to her. Stollers would be the father of the children she bore.
And in an ironic twist of fate, Raynor would be the fool to deliver Lady Beatrice to the nobleman.
This must stop, he told himself. Misery already filled him. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like once he rode away from Brookhaven. Raynor pushed aside the gloomy thoughts in order to listen to Beatrice’s song and relish the little time he had left with her. If ever there had been a time to live in the moment, it was now.
“What will you sing tonight?” Timothy asked eagerly.
“I want to hear more about Odysseus,” Bobbit proclaimed. “I like the man.”
“You like hearing about war,” Timothy teased, punching his companion in the arm. He looked back to Beatrice. “But what of his home? Odysseus fought for ten years. You’ve sung tales of war and glory, yet I can’t help but think about what Odysseus missed while he was away.”
“You are right,” she said. “Half a score is a long time to be gone, and it’s another ten years before he returns after the fall of Troy.”
“Why did it take him so long to make his way home?” Bobbit demanded. “I would think he would be impatient to return.”
&n
bsp; Beatrice laughed. “Because he had to have many more adventures. Homer let it take Odysseus another decade to arrive back at his starting point so he would have more to write about.”
“Well, we arrive at Brookhaven soon,” complained Timothy. “We won’t have time to hear about all of those adventures. Tell of him coming home, my lady. I want to know he arrived safely and that he had loved ones waiting for him.”
She sat her lute aside. “Then instead of song, I shall merely tell you some of his story.”
Both soldiers stretched out their legs, getting comfortable as they leaned against a fallen log. Raynor sat atop the log, his elbows resting upon his thighs. He was familiar with The Odyssey and knew what Beatrice would share.
“While Odysseus was gone making war and searching for his way back to Ithaca, twenty years had passed,” she began. “Most everyone believed him dead. A group known as the Suitors vied for his wife’s hand in marriage. Each day they tried their best to persuade her to wed one of them, but Penelope remained loyal to her husband’s memory.”
“Penelope. I like that name,” Bobbit said.
“Hush,” Timothy told his friend. “Let Lady Beatrice tell the tale.”
Raynor saw her hide a smile before she continued.
“Penelope didn’t know it, but Odysseus had already returned. He’d been met by his grown son, Telemachus, who told him about the wicked Suitors and their plans. Together, father and son agreed that the Suitors must be eliminated. That’s another story for another night, but Odysseus chose to disguise himself as a beggar upon his arrival in Ithaca. No one knew who he was but the housekeeper, who was sworn to secrecy.”
“I can’t imagine any servant keeping such a secret,” Bobbit remarked.
“But she did,” Beatrice revealed, “thanks to the goddess Athena. Athena prevented the servant from speaking to her mistress about what she had learned. Penelope then decided to have the Suitors compete in an archery match, using Odysseus’ bow. The one who could string it and shoot through a dozen ax heads would win her hand. She thought it would be impossible for any of them to achieve the feat.”
“Of course, Odysseus won,” Timothy interrupted. “He would be the only one strong enough and skilled enough to complete the task.”
“But would they let a beggar take part in such a competition?” asked Bobbit.
“They did,” Beatrice shared, “but Timothy is right. No Suitor came close, and Odysseus won the competition. Along with his son’s help, they turned their arrows upon the evil Suitors who wished to usurp him. Every single one was slain.”
As she wove the tale, Raynor couldn’t help but gaze upon her. He fancied himself as Odysseus and Beatrice as Penelope. He would strike down any man to have her by his side.
She must have sensed his stare, for Beatrice turned and met his gaze. The longing on her face gave away the deep feelings she had for him.
As the two soldiers continued to discuss Odysseus’ prowess, Raynor’s eyes communicated with hers silently. The strength of their feelings seemed palpable enough to cut through with a sword, yet nothing could come of it.
He mouthed the words, “Can never be,” as he shook his head, trying to break the spell between them. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, trying to maintain control.
“It’s good that Odysseus returned and that he took his rightful place,” Raynor declared to the group. He stood and added another log to their fire. “I will stand the first watch.”
*
The next evening, they approached an inn located in a small village. Raynor went inside and spoke to the innkeeper, finding only one room available. Deciding they would stay there for the night, he told the man to ready it and asked if his men could sleep in the stables with their horses. The innkeeper agreed after Raynor produced extra coin.
He went outside and mounted Fury, doubling back to meet up with his party. They’d passed a few inns along the way and had bought fresh bread at them, but it had been too soon to stop for the day and take advantage of the lodging.
Raynor spurred Fury on, allowing the horse to gallop the remainder of the way. He spied the cart in the distance and slowed as he approached it.
Riding up beside the vehicle, he said, “We are close enough to stay the night at an inn ahead. I spoke to its owner and he assured me that we could reach Brookhaven in another two hours once we set out from there in the morning.”
His eyes met Beatrice’s. “My lady, it will give you a chance for a bath and a good night’s sleep before you meet your new family tomorrow.”
She swallowed. “Thank you, my lord. That’s quite thoughtful of you.”
“My pleasure.” Raynor made a decision that he hoped he wouldn’t regret and waved Bobbit closer. He wanted some time alone with Beatrice.
“Since we are so close to Brookhaven, I think it best for you and Timothy to leave in the morning and return to Ashcroft. It won’t take you nearly as long riding back. Sir Lucas will be grateful for your swift return. I can hitch Fury to the cart for the last portion of the trip. I plan to stay a few days and make sure Lady Beatrice is settled, then I will return to Ashcroft myself.”
“Very good, my lord,” Timothy said. He clicked the reins and continued down the road.
They arrived at the inn as the sun set. Raynor instructed the soldiers to take Beatrice’s belongings up to the available bedchamber and then told the men to care for the horses.
As they left, he turned to her. “The inn is crowded. Only one bedchamber remained.”
She frowned at him. “But where will—”
“I told the innkeeper we are married.”
Her eyes widened at this words.
“It’s a rough sort that sups in the public room. I believe it’s best for them to think you’re spoken for and that your husband is by your side. You may sleep in the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor in front of the locked door. It never hurts to be too careful in these situations. I simply wanted you to know of my plan before we entered. Will you agree to it?”
Beatrice nodded. “If you think it’s for the best, my lord.”
“I do,” he assured her.
Timothy and Bobbit returned from the stables. Raynor gave them coin for their trip back to Ashcroft and for their meal at the inn. The four entered and immediately a man on the far side of the room shouted, “Bobbit! What brings you here?”
Bobbit went to greet him. He returned and told Timothy that they could dine with his old friend.
“We were pleased to accompany you, Lady Beatrice,” Bobbit said. “I hope you visit Ashcroft again one day.” He and Timothy gave a bow and went to sit with his friend.
Raynor had asked the innkeeper to prepare a table and food for them. The man indicated where they should sit. Raynor settled Beatrice and then seated himself beside her.
“The fire feels good,” she said, holding out her hands.
Raynor sensed that everyone was watching Beatrice. To let these men know she was taken, he reached for her hand and entwined his fingers through hers.
Pleasure rippled through him as it always did when they touched. He squeezed her fingers affectionately and brought their joined hands onto his lap, under the table.
He leaned over. “Remember, you are my wife. We need to let all know.”
Beatrice glanced about the room and nodded.
Raynor raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his lips lingering on her fingers. She blushed at the contact between them.
“Must you be so brazen?” she whispered to him.
“Every man now knows to keep his hands to himself or he will have me to answer to.”
A woman served them cups of ale and then returned with bowls of steaming stew.
They were halfway through their meal when the door to the inn opened. A tall, fair-haired knight entered, taking in the room as he removed his gloves. His gaze stopped on Raynor and Beatrice. Raynor didn’t like it. The stranger was old enough to be her father.
The knight spoke briefly to
the innkeeper, who handed him a tankard of ale, and then he walked toward their table. All the other tables were occupied.
“May I join you?” the knight asked.
Chapter 17
“We would be delighted, my lord,” Beatrice said.
The knight sat across from her. She found him quite handsome for his age.
“What brings you this way?” the man asked.
“We come to visit with Sir Henry Stollers at Brookhaven, a few hours north of here,” Raynor said.
Raynor’s hand tightened around hers. His tone was very formal and she guessed he did not want to reveal too much to a stranger.
“Ah, I know of Sir Henry. And you are?”
“Sir Raynor Le Roux of Ashcroft. The estate lies far south of here. And this is my wife, Beatrice.”
Beatrice swallowed hard as Raynor introduced her. She lowered her gaze to the food before her, not wanting to give away their ruse. Then she decided it would look suspicious if she did not engage in conversation with the knight, so she looked up and found him gazing at her thoughtfully.
“I’m happy to meet you. I am Sir Thomas Applegate.” He paused as the serving wench brought him his meal. Breaking off a piece of bread, he looked at Beatrice again with interest.
“Forgive me for staring at you, my lady. You strongly favor a woman I knew in my youth.” Applegate chewed on the bread thoughtfully. “Are you from these parts?”
“Nay, my lord,” she said. “I have lived in the south all of my life.”
“And you’ve never been north. Interesting.” He took a sip of the ale and then turned to Raynor. “My lord, where did you foster?”
“In the south, with Sir Lovel. Do you know him?”
“Ah. Lovel. I met him once. He’s a fine soldier and a good man.”
Beatrice reached for her cup and drank the last of her ale. She liked Sir Thomas’ gray eyes and gentle manner, but she found his interest in her a bit disconcerting.
