by Denise Lynn
Reaching out, he touched the chemise she’d hung over the bedpost nearest the brazier. He removed the now dry garment, noting the square hole cut from the hem, folded it and placed it on the foot of the bed. Retrieving his still-damp cloak from a peg by the door, he hung that from the bedpost. She would need something to keep her warm and dry during their journey over the next two or three days and his cloak would have to do.
Warehaven’s maiden mumbled something he could barely make out. A step brought him to the side of the bed. She still slept, but her shivers would soon have her awake. He leaned over her, reaching across to pull the free side of the covers she slept upon over to cover her body.
She turned in her sleep. The warmth of her breath brushed lightly across his cheek, sending a tremor of nearly forgotten longing racing down his spine. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms and hold her close until he chased the cold away.
Gregor tucked the edge of the cover beneath her shoulder and quickly stepped away, silently cursing his stupidity. What was he thinking? Had one missed night of sleep left him so dull-witted that he believed things best left alone could come true on a whim? What made him think just because this woman was interested that she would allow him such liberties?
He needed to face the facts. He was never going to have the marriage or future he’d long desired. Especially not with Warehaven’s heiress. Once all was said and done, not only would she never permit him such closeness, he’d be surprised if she sought anything other than his death.
While he didn’t know her well, he was fairly certain that she would devise some slow and painful way to send him to his grave.
Chapter Four
Beatrice blinked her eyes open, squinting against the shaft of sunlight streaming in through the narrow window across her face.
She sprang upright on the bed, fighting off the lingering traces of sleep that left her uncertain of her whereabouts.
‘Good morning.’
The deep timbre of the voice greeting her to the day brought it all flooding back. She sank back down on to the bed, silently cursing her lengthy slumber. The intent had been to rise early so she could sneak away and find someone else to escort her to Warehaven.
Now with that chance lost, she would have to devise another plan that would permit her to arrive at Warehaven without his escort. In the meantime being rude would not serve her well.
‘And a good morning to you, too. I see you returned.’
‘Yes. You were asleep when I came back and I had no wish to wake you. So, let me now apologise for leaving so abruptly. It was troubling to find myself responsible for such a high-born heiress.’
Something about his explanation didn’t sit right, but she wasn’t going to argue with him about it. Instead she forced a laugh and sat back up. ‘Oh, yes, I am certain you find King David’s court lacking in high-born ladies.’
‘Ah, but I rarely find myself personally responsible for any of them.’
Beatrice swung her legs over the side of the bed away from him. ‘You are not responsible for me.’
Hadn’t she just decided not to be rude, or argue with him? Yet here she found herself eagerly fanning the flames of an argument. Why? If she were to be honest with herself, she was doing it for no reason other than the fact that she liked the sound of his voice, especially now when it had a gravelly tone as if he, too, had just been roused from sleep.
‘Oh, but I am. I would be remiss in my duties if I were to knowingly permit a granddaughter of old King Henry’s to travel without so much as a guard.’
Beatrice rolled her eyes, and stood to shake out her gown. ‘A grandfather I met but twice.’
‘I would imagine your grandfather had a few more important things to tend to than playing with his grandchildren.’
She couldn’t help smiling at the memory his comment drew forth.
‘What do you find amusing now?’
‘Amusing? Nothing really. I was just remembering the first time he came to Warehaven.’
‘It must have been an enjoyable visit to produce such a smile.’
‘I think I was three or four at the time. The only thing I actually remember is sitting on his lap and playing with a small wooden horse he’d given me. He was the brave knight on the horse coming to rescue the Princess Beatrice.’
Gregor frowned. ‘Not exactly an image I can fathom.’
She shrugged. ‘He wasn’t at court and, besides the ship’s crew, he had only brought a few guards with him, so I’m certain the time spent at Warehaven had been more of a break from his usual responsibilities than any official visit.’
‘While that is a nice memory for you, King Henry is not here to take responsibility for you. As unworthy as I may be, I am all you have and I will see to my duty.’
Obviously he was as eager to argue as she. Turning to face him more directly, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head. ‘As a warrior for King David you are far from unworthy and I cannot have someone in such an exalted position act as a mere servant. Surely you have more important matters to attend for your King. I can find someone more suited to the position of guard. Someone of less...importance.’
He rose from his seat on the bench, not bothering to smother his laugh as he had last night. ‘Perhaps someone less apt to inform your parents of what you’ve done?’
Oh, this Wolf was quite cunning. ‘Well, yes, there is that.’
‘Since doing so would only direct their focus to me, fear not as I have no intention of informing your parents of this little...journey. And as I am more than suited to guard the safety of Warehaven’s daughter, I am...’ he paused to bow before finishing ‘...willingly at your service, my lady.’
‘I wish not to deter you from your duty to your King, as this journey would do.’
‘Since I am already on my way to Roul Keep in Normandy to visit my brother, a side-trip to Warehaven will in no way deter me from my duty.’
His statement confused her. ‘Your lands are in Normandy?’ How was it then that he served King David instead of Matilda, or her husband Geoffrey of Anjou?
‘No. My home is a small isle off the coast of Scotland.’ Gregor shook his head. ‘It came as a surprise for me to have recently learned that my older brother Elrik has been granted the Norman earldom of Roul and I plan on finding out how that came about in person. So you see, you are in no way keeping me from any service to my King.’
She’d known full well before embarking on this verbal chess game she wasn’t going to win. However, his dogged determination to see her to Warehaven was beginning to bring her worries to the fore once again.
‘You travel all the way from King David’s court to Normandy alone?’ Granted, Matilda was in control of the lands south from Oxford and east of the Thames, but there was much of Stephen’s land to cross between Carlisle and Oxford. It would be risky for him to do so alone even if he had a writ of safe passage.
He opened the door to the chamber, letting the sound of men talking flow more freely into the room. ‘My men are below.’
‘Yet mere hours ago you were alone.’
‘No. Like you I had escaped.’ He shrugged, then explained, ‘I have a penchant for desiring time alone when I need to think or to plan.’
His response set her heart racing. What was this Wolf up to that required such secretive planning on his part?
Before she could ask, he said, ‘I am but a lowly shipbuilder by trade. None of my men would be of any use in the planning phase of my projects. In truth they would prove more of a hindrance, so on occasion I slip away to do nothing more than dwell on my own projects.’ One expressive eyebrow rose and he asked, ‘Can you now understand my willingness to visit Warehaven?’
Beatrice studied him. A warrior and a shipbuilder. No wonder his muscles were so well honed and his hands c
alloused. While he could be telling the truth about his reason for wanting to visit Warehaven—it was, after all, a very valid one for someone who built ships—a nagging worry in the pit of her stomach cautioned her to be wary.
He’d told her that her expression would give away any lie she might attempt to tell. However, his expression rarely changed—other than a winging of a brow, or the twitch of amusement teasing at his lips, she couldn’t determine whether he spoke the truth or not. And after her experience with Charles, she had no business trying to judge any man’s honesty. Since he’d done nothing thus far to cause alarm, the only thing she could do was to take his words at face value—for now.
‘I grant you leave to escort me to the coast. But I think your visit to Warehaven would be better suited for a time when my father was present. He could more ably discuss ships better than anyone else there.’
He only nodded, then headed towards the door. ‘I will give you a few moments to ready yourself for the day.’ A frown creased his brow. ‘I’m sure you are able, but I must ask to be certain, can you ride a horse?’
‘Of course I can.’ Even if she’d never ridden a horse before she’d not have said so. After being confined inside a mule-drawn cart for two days she would welcome the change. When they’d first set out from Montreau, she’d believed Charles when he’d explained that he’d procured the cart for her comfort. Now she realised he’d not been thinking about her comfort at all, but of her ability to more easily escape on horseback.
‘Good. Then I will await you below.’
Before he left, she asked, ‘Might I obtain some food before we leave?’
He pointed at the small table. ‘This is at your disposal.’
‘Oh.’ She hadn’t noticed the food-laden plate, pitcher or mug before. When she looked back in his direction to thank him for his thoughtfulness, she found nothing but an empty doorway.
Her rumbling stomach begged her to set aside her surprise at his silent, near-instantaneous departure and to focus on the food instead. A plea she readily fulfilled since she’d not eaten since early yesterday evening before she’d escaped from Charles.
One whiff of the waiting food set her mouth to watering. How on earth had she missed these aromas upon waking? The only explanation she had at hand was that she’d been distracted by arguing with Gregor. Not a bad distraction, but still a distraction none the less.
It took all of her willpower to eat like a lady and not shovel the pieces of fish, cheese and bread into her mouth.
The baked fish could have used an additional dusting of spices, but it was good. The bread was like heaven—soft inside with a crust baked to perfection. It would have been welcome at her father’s table.
She washed it all down with milk from the pitcher before taking a bite of the apple. Fruit in hand, she walked over to the narrow window. The breeze coming in let her know that the day would be mild. Thankfully the sun was unobscured by clouds and would lend warmth to the ride.
A knock on the door frame caught her attention. Beatrice turned to see the barmaid from last night standing in the doorway and waved her into the room.
The woman gathered the dishes from the table. ‘I am relieved to see the food did suit you after all.’
Beatrice blinked. ‘Why would you think otherwise?’
‘His lordship brought stew up with him last night and it came back untouched earlier this morning.’
‘Oh.’ As the woman’s words set fully in her mind, Beatrice repeated, ‘Oh! I was asleep when he returned, so I knew nothing about the stew.’
‘Martha will be relieved to hear that. She takes great pride in her cooking.’
‘As well she should.’ Even though Beatrice agreed with the maid, her mind wasn’t on the quality of the food.
Instead one thought ran round and round in her head. He had thought to bring her something to eat. The ruthless, heartless Wolf had taken the time...no, he had actually considered the needs of someone he barely knew. This supposedly cruel henchman of King David had taken her needs into consideration and acted upon them.
It was such a small thing, but it gave her pause. This was the type of action that defined a worthy man. Not his face, his form, his looks, or even his kindly spoken words. Because as she was well aware, even the kindest of words held little weight if they were nothing more than lies, or spoken merely for the purpose of manipulating her.
In the space of a few hours, Gregor of Roul had done more to show he was decent and kind-hearted than Charles had in three years.
Perhaps she had little need to worry about the Wolf’s intent. Surely a man this thoughtful wasn’t planning any nefarious deeds for Warehaven. She had probably fretted for naught and could only attribute her unfounded fears last night to Charles’s underhanded actions and her subsequent escape from him.
‘My lady?’
The maid’s query drew Beatrice’s attention away from her thoughts and back to the maid. ‘Yes?’
The woman held a pair of soft boots and stockings. ‘Will you have need of these?’
She glanced down at her ruined slippers on the floor near the end of the bed. Even had they not been beyond repair, they would do her little good for the journey home. She snatched a handful of smaller gemstones from the bedside table. ‘Yes, I will, thank you. You are welcome to make use of whatever fabric you can salvage from my gown and these.’
The maid’s mouth fell open. She glanced at the gown hanging from a hook near the door to the gems in Beatrice’s outstretched hand. ‘No, that is too much. Your lord already overpaid for what we’ve provided.’
Overpaid? Charles would have demanded whatever he’d wanted and then haggled the cost down to nearly nothing—or even taken what he wanted without payment of any kind. ‘You will be doing me a favour. I have no desire to ever wear or see the gown again, but it would be a shame to have it thrown away or used for rags when there is quite a bit of fabric that could be used.’
She dropped the gems into the maid’s hands and gently closed the woman’s fingers over them. ‘And these are nothing more than flawed stones, just brightly coloured baubles to use for decoration.’
‘Thank you, my lady. I know not what to say. Is there anything else you need?’
Beatrice smiled at the woman’s obvious nervousness. ‘No. You’ve done more than enough already. Thank you.’
‘It has been my pleasure.’ The maid paused, then added, ‘Safe travels, my lady.’
Once the maid left, Beatrice finished dressing and getting ready for the day. She used a ruined stocking to tie her pouch of remaining gemstones to her belt, plucked the heavy cloak off the bedpost and headed below.
Gregor awaited her at the bottom of the stairs. She would know him anywhere by the glint of silver in his otherwise dark hair. He leaned against the wall, his back towards her, talking to one of his men.
When he turned to face her, Beatrice’s breath caught and she slowed her descent. The sudden, rapid beating of her heart took her by surprise. How was it possible that a man clad in chainmail could be so striking?
He cut an imposing figure. From the spurs buckled to his boot heels giving proof to his status as a knight, to the solid black surcoat covering his mail, and the sword encased in a black scabbard strapped to his waist, he was every inch the warrior Wolf.
Two steps from the bottom, she stopped and placed a palm on his chest. Oddly spellbound by his steady gaze, she said, ‘Sir Wolf, it seems I owe you more than I thought.’
He smiled slightly before he covered her hand with one of his own, holding it fast in place. ‘How so?’
It was only with the greatest effort that she did not tremble beneath the warmth of his touch. While she couldn’t deny the flash of desire that raced through her at the contact, it was quickly replaced by a sudden longing for things she’d never before considered.
; Even though they’d only met yesterday, it was as if her heart knew this man could be trusted to keep her safe. He would see to her well-being without failing. Unlike Charles. Instead of keeping her safe, her would-be suitor had been the one threatening harm, leaving her to see to her own defence.
‘I am in your debt. I owe you not just for keeping me safe from Charles, but also for the room, the clothes and the food.’
‘I have done nothing more than any guardian would do for his charge.’
‘But you are not—’
He cut her off with the slightest lift of an eyebrow. No, he was right, they were not going to have the same argument yet again. She nodded in agreement before saying, ‘Still, I thank you for your kindness.’
The man standing behind him snorted and turned away to call out to four other men, also dressed in black, seated at a table. ‘Mount up.’
Gregor released her hand and offered his arm. ‘Ready?’
He led her outside to the waiting horses and before she realised what he was doing, he grasped her round the waist and hoisted her up on to the saddle of the smallest animal. She flung one foot over the saddle and secured the skirts of her gown and chemise beneath her legs. Thankfully there was enough fabric in the garments to do so properly.
After handing her the reins, he said, ‘Should anything happen and I order you to ride, promise me you will ride like the wind without stopping.’
And again he was concerned for her safety even in advance of anything happening. Apprehensive, she asked, ‘Do you expect trouble?’
‘Nothing we can’t deal with, but I don’t want you to get caught between the crossed blades.’
‘No, I’m sure I wouldn’t like that either. So, yes, I promise.’
He then left to sling his shield, also black with a silvery-grey silhouette of a wolf in the centre, over his shoulder before mounting his own horse.
The men surrounded her. Gregor to her right. An older man rode at her left and the other four split up, two in front and two behind.
