by Alexa Aston
As Shem made his way toward them, Raynor spied a plain young woman and older man accompanying the servant. My lord. Lady Minnith and Sir Gardeau have arrived.”
Stollers made an exasperated sound. “This creature is Lady Minnith?” He turned to Beatrice. “By the Christ, woman. Who are you?”
*
The moment Beatrice had dreaded arrived in a whirlwind beyond her control.
She stood still as all eyes fell upon her. The young bride-to-be and her father. The steward. Edwin Stollers.
And Raynor.
The ruse had played its course. She found the courage to speak. “I am Lady Beatrice Bordel, granddaughter of Sir Henry Bordel. Sir Henry Stollers invited Grandfather and me to Brookhaven for an extended visit. He looked forward to renewing his friendship with my grandfather and hoped we’d be present in time to attend the marriage of his grandson.” She deliberately kept her eyes off Raynor as she spoke.
“So . . . you are not my intended,” Edwin said, a thoughtful look upon his face.
“Nay, my lord,” she answered. “You assumed as much when you entered the great hall a few moments ago.”
Edwin glared at her. “And you did nothing to apprise me of my mistake.”
Beatrice wrung her hands. “I did not, my lord.”
“Excuse me,” Raynor said. He strode from the room without a backward glance.
Her heart cried out for him to stop, but Beatrice remained silent. She turned back to Edwin Stollers.
“I had hoped I could find a place at Brookhaven with my grandfather’s passing,” she explained. “I am handy with a needle. I also cook and play the lute. When I visited with Sir Henry yesterday, he expressed his wish for me to remain at Brookhaven since I am alone in the world. I hope when you become lord here that you will allow me to stay, as well.” Beatrice dropped her gaze to the ground.
“You are far too pretty to cook or clean,” Edwin declared. “I would have you remain, though.”
She looked up at him. “Thank you, my lord. I am grateful for your hospitality.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think of you as a guest,” he said, a sly look on his face. “You can serve as my whore.”
Both Edwin’s bride-to-be and her father gasped. Beatrice froze at the cruel words. She raised her eyes to stare at the man who uttered such filth.
“I’m sure there’ll be times my wife is indisposed with her courses. Or her belly swollen with child. I have needs that must be met.” He gave Beatrice an evil smile. “You’ll do nicely for satisfying those urges, my lady.”
“Look here,” began Sir Gardeau.
“You’ll have no say regarding your daughter, Sir Gardeau,” Edwin interrupted. “She will be my wife. My property. I will do as I see fit since I will rule Brookhaven.”
Lady Minnith visibly trembled. She latched on to her father’s arm for support. “Father, must I marry him?” she cried.
“No, my child.” Gardeau turned back to Edwin. “I wish to terminate the betrothal contract. I won’t have my daughter submit to such a coarse man.”
Edwin stared boldly at the nobleman. “If you want to break the contract, you will have to pay to do so, good sir.”
“Name your price.”
Edwin did.
“Done,” said Sir Gardeau. “Let us void the contracts. Now.”
“Follow me,” Edwin said and moved to leave the room. He stopped in front of Minnith. “It’s better for both of us that we end our association, my lady,” he told the shaking noblewoman. “I fancy Lady Beatrice’s looks more than yours. You are too plain by far for me to take you to wife.”
Beatrice’s temper exploded at his cruel words. “How dare you speak so crudely! You are a rude, insensitive oaf. I hope that no woman ever chooses to wed you.”
Edwin marched back to her and dug his fingers into her upper arms. She knew they would be bruised come morning.
“I did this for us,” he hissed softly. “I want to wed you, Beatrice. I had to do or say whatever was necessary in order to force Gardeau to void the contract. Now stay here like a good girl and let me attend to business.”
Before she could reply, his mouth covered hers in a punishing kiss. She tried to pull away, but his hands held her in place. Beatrice did the only thing she could think of.
She bit into his lower lip as hard as she could.
Edwin jerked back. For a moment, Beatrice thought he might slap her. Instead, he smiled. “I like to play rough, Beatrice. I cannot wait to wed you. Have you naked in my bed. I will show you what rough is.” He slowly licked the blood along his lip and walked away.
Beatrice watched Edwin Stollers leave the great hall, Sir Gardeau and Shem trailing after him. Lady Minnith gave her a sympathetic look, as if she knew what had passed between them.
More than anything, Beatrice needed to find Raynor—before he left her in the hands of this monster.
Chapter 20
Raynor paced the open space in front of the keep. Anger rolled off him in waves.
Beatrice was not betrothed.
She was free to marry.
Everything he’d longed for could come to pass.
How could he trust a woman who had misled him from the very moment they’d met? One who had continued to deceive him every day and even lied to his brother regarding her availability.
Why would he wish to spend the rest of his life with a woman such as that?
And yet, his heart soared with joy. She wasn’t betrothed to that arrogant bastard, Edwin Stollers.
Beatrice could be his.
Raynor thought of her elegant beauty, her compassionate nature, her intelligence, and endless talents. Beatrice Bordel was his ideal woman, the one he wanted to spend a lifetime with. He remembered their shared kisses. Now, he would be the man to introduce her to the ways of love. She would be his in every way imaginable.
Need for her burned within him, overwhelming the anger that had been his first reaction. Beatrice must have had a very good reason for spinning such tales.
He must learn why.
Raynor reentered the keep and went directly to the great hall. It surprised him that only a lone figure stood in the middle of the room—the true bride of Edwin Stollers.
“Lady Minnith?” he called out.
She turned, her arms crossed protectively in front of her.
Raynor went to her. “Where did the others go? Stollers? And Beatrice?” he demanded.
Her mouth trembled. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if trying to ward off something evil.
He realized he needed to gentle his tone. “Are you all right, my lady?”
She nodded. “I will be. Father has gone with that fiend to void the contract. Thank the Blessed Virgin.” Minnith made the sign of the cross.
“And Lady Beatrice?”
The young woman’s eyes welled with tears. “I feel so sorry for her. To have to wed that man.”
“Wed?” Raynor could not believe what he heard. “What do you mean?”
“At first, he told her she could remain at Brookhaven.” Her eyes grew large. “As his . . . whore.”
Raynor’s fists clenched. He held his temper, though, in order to find out what he could from this girl. “What did Beatrice say?” He could only imagine her reaction.
“My father said I could not marry Edwin Stollers and that the betrothal contract must be canceled immediately. The new lord . . . he demanded payment in order to do so. Father agreed. Then Stollers . . . he . . . he grabbed the lady and kissed her, right in front of all of us.” She gave him a sorrowful look. “’Twas not a kiss of affection, my lord. He wanted to hurt her. He whispered, but I could hear him. He said . . . awful things to her. She fled, my lord. I don’t know where she went.”
Raynor gently took her hand and placed a kiss upon it. “I am glad your father discovered Stollers’ true nature before you wed him. Excuse me, my lady, but I must find Lady Beatrice.”
“Please do,” Minnith said. “Get her far away from here. If you don�
��t, I fear for her safety.”
Raynor hurried from the room.
*
Beatrice knocked upon the closed door, but no one answered. She opened the latch and entered.
Empty.
She had felt certain that Raynor meant to depart Brookhaven at once, so great was his anger. He might have politely excused himself, but she could see he held back the rage in his taut body. Yet, he hadn’t claimed his possessions from his bedchamber. Had he hastened to the stables and ridden out immediately?
Beatrice rushed down the stairs, her skirts held high. She left the keep and ran the entire way, hoping to catch him before he rode away. She pushed past a groom and made it several feet inside the stable before the smell of horses overwhelmed her. She stopped. Terror trickled through her.
She forced it away. Finding Raynor was more important than some petty childhood fear. She lifted her skirts again and continued through the stables. A boy walked by her, but no other person appeared. Beatrice took her time and searched each stall. Finally, she came upon the one holding Fury. The horse nickered to her softly, as if he recognized her. He ambled over and poked his head toward her.
Tentatively, she reached a hand out. With trembling fingers, she stroked the horse’s velvety nose. She did it again and then reached up and scratched him between the ears. Fury closed his eyes, a look of contentment on his face. Beatrice grew bolder. She ran a hand under his chin and down his throat. He seemed to enjoy that, so she repeated the action.
Beatrice stepped back, her heart beating furiously. Fury gave a snort of protest and turned away. She let out a long breath.
She had done it. She had touched a horse.
A flood of memories assaulted her. Beatrice remembered being in her father’s arms as he held her up to Blaze. She petted the great beast gently, squealing with delight. She recalled the feel of the horse’s coat beneath her fingertips. Holding an apple out to Blaze as a treat. Laughing as she sat in her father’s lap atop the horse, the world rushing by as they raced along the fence line.
Beatrice dropped to her knees as the memories overwhelmed her. Once, she had loved horses because they had been such a huge part of her father. So many of her recollections of him were tied to horses. And now, she hoped she had conquered some of her fears.
Slowly, she rose, wondering if it was best to wait here for Raynor. He would not leave Brookhaven without his beloved horse.
Then reality banished any hope of Raynor rescuing her from the living nightmare of Edwin Stollers. Raynor was a knight of the realm, faithful to his code of honor. The entire time they had spent together, she had been dishonest with him. No matter what she shared with the knight about Edwin Stollers and the threats he made toward her, Raynor would think she had made her bed and must now lie in it.
She left the stables and returned to the keep, determined to depart immediately. She needed to don her own cotehardie, with its gold coins sewn into the hem. Beatrice returned to the bedchamber that held her things. She left on the same kirtle and smock but placed her cotehardie over them. Everything else could be abandoned as she made her escape.
Turning to leave, she noticed her lute propped against the wall. Could she make a living as a troubadour? Dare she try to earn a living in this manner? Timothy and Bobbit had liked her songs and stories, as had her family. Beatrice determined anything would be better than staying at Brookhaven. She picked up the lute and left the bedchamber. Her goal was to slip away before Edwin Stollers knew she was missing.
Mayhap she could wait somewhere outside the gates. She doubted Sir Gardeau and Lady Minnith would stay after the debacle in the great hall. They knew of her precarious position. They might even allow her to travel with them if she approached them once they left the estate. Lady Minnith, in particular, had seemed to be kind. It was worth making the effort. If they denied her petition, she would set out on her own.
Beatrice started down the corridor. Before she had traveled the length of two rooms, she heard a voice call out, “My lady!”
The Brookhaven healer hurried toward her. Beatrice remained rooted to the spot, unsure if she should ignore the woman or flee.
“Sir Henry has asked for you,” the healer said when she reached Beatrice. When Beatrice hesitated, she added, “He hasn’t long in this world, my lady. Father Bernard is with him now. He is performing the last rites.”
Though they had only spoken a single time, Beatrice felt an obligation to the nobleman. Knowing the priest had been called upon to perform extreme unction, Sir Henry’s time on earth was coming to an end. She would have a brief conversation with him, but she was still determined to leave once it ended.
She followed the healer back to the solar. Her eyes passed over the empty bed where Sir Guy had lain only yesterday. His body had been moved to the chapel to await the return of his son so that a funeral mass could be held. As she approached Sir Henry, she knew the man would soon join his son.
The priest stepped away, allowing her access to the nobleman. Beatrice gazed at the priest.
“You are Lady Beatrice?” he asked.
“I am.”
“’Twas kind of you to come, my lady. Sir Henry has made his confession and final prayers have been offered.” He paused. “I will wait in the other room. Fetch me when he is in God’s hands.”
She nodded. The priest vacated the room as Beatrice went to Sir Henry’s side.
“You came,” he said, his voice weak.
“Aye.” She took a seat in the chair next to his bed and placed her lute on the ground beside her. Taking one of his cold, wrinkled hands in hers, she told him, “I am sorry about Sir Guy’s death.”
“I am, too.” He closed his eyes a moment and then opened them again. “It’s sad that Brookhaven will pass to my grandson. He’s a sorry sort. I have nothing good to say about him.”
Beatrice tried to hide her surprise at his words, which were so unlike what he had written to her grandfather.
“I hope . . . his new bride will change him. Mayhap having children will . . . help him mature.”
She couldn’t tell the old man that the marriage was being called off as they sat here, so she agreed with him. “Aye, my lord. A bride may calm him. And taking responsibility for a great estate such as Brookhaven might be what he needs.”
Sir Henry’s free hand moved up to rest against his heart. The grimace that flashed across his face let her know he was in great pain.
“I will . . . tell him you . . . must stay.” His voice grew weaker. “Mayhap you can become as a . . . sister to him. Be a good . . . influence . . . upon him.”
Once again, Beatrice kept silent. She wouldn’t disillusion a dying man and tell him she was about to flee the castle because of his conceited, overbearing grandson.
Instead, she thought of a way to soothe him.
“Would you like me to play my lute for you, my lord? I could sing to you of adventure. Tales of glory that would appeal to your knightly nature.”
“Nay. Sing of love,” he said. “’Tis what matters most. I am at the end of my life. I once knew love.” His watery eyes focused on hers. “I hope you will, too, my dear. Mayhap with that young knight you brought. He seems . . . a good man.”
Beatrice reached for her lute, too emotional to respond to his words. She let her fingers pick out a melody as she regained control of her emotions. She knew exactly what to sing to bring him pleasure.
Her song was one Odysseus sang to Penelope after all the Suitors had been vanquished. He sang of the twenty years they’d been apart and how he’d longed for her. How he missed not only their life together but also ached by not seeing his son grow to manhood. Odysseus sang of their great love and how it had lasted in his heart across time and space. How happy he was to return and lose himself in Penelope’s arms and in her kiss.
Beatrice finished playing and looked at Sir Henry. She found his eyes closed, a contented smile on his lips. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead before rising with her lute in hand.
As she turned, she saw Raynor standing a few feet away. She had been so lost in her song that she hadn’t noticed his presence.
“I love you,” he said, his voice whisper-soft. “I always have. I always will. I don’t know why you did what you did or said what you said. It’s not important now.”
He closed the short distance between them and lifted the lute from her hands. He placed it on the chair and then cupped her face with his calloused hands as his lips touched hers.
The tender kiss told her that, despite everything, all would be right between them.
Beatrice broke the kiss and asked, “Can you forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Raynor told her.
But she owed him an explanation. “I was so frightened when you came upon me that night in the forest. You were a large, powerful stranger, and I didn’t know if I could trust you. I’d already told Amfrid I was betrothed and that my intended would make good on Grandfather’s debts. I lied to him because I didn’t want him to sell Mother’s pearl necklace.
“Telling you I was betrothed seemed a way to protect myself. If you believed I belonged to another man and upheld your knightly code, I would stay safe.”
“Knights are honorable. Or should be,” he amended.
“I know you refer to Edwin. He is not even old enough to be a knight and should never become one. He is pure evil, Raynor. We must make our way from this place with haste.”
He stroked a loving hand through her hair. “We will return to Ashcroft.”
“Nay. I can’t.”
Raynor frowned at her words. “Why not? I want us to wed, Beatrice. I want to spend a lifetime loving you. I won’t be complete without you in my life.”
She reminded him, “But Peter desires me, too. It would be impossible for us to live there because of that.”
“We can go elsewhere,” he said, his green eyes intense. “I could be happy in a humble cottage if I lived there with you.”
Raynor’s mouth came down on hers. Beatrice yielded to him, opening to his kiss. His arms enfolded her, bringing her against his hard chest. She wrapped her own arms around him, stroking his back, happy to think he would finally be hers. Hungrily, his tongue mated with hers in passion, causing her to cling to him as her bones seemed to fade away.
