At the Warrior's Mercy

by Denise Lynn

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘You need to choose two dozen men to escort all of Warehaven’s people back to the keep. You and the men will remain there to take charge.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I am going to secure a cottage to use for me and my unwilling bride.’

  ‘I will pick enough men to keep guard over you.’

  ‘No!’ That was the last thing Gregor wanted. He planned on helping her shed some of her pain and fear even if it meant fighting with her every step of the way. He had every intention of making her scream out her fear, facing it, enabling her to set it aside before it caused her to do something he would live to regret.

  And he wanted her to cry away a portion of her pain. He knew that tears would not erase the hurt and betrayal she felt right now, but it might help to lessen it some.

  Then he planned on making her scream and cry again—but this time for release, repeating the entire process until only her hatred of him remained. Hatred would fuel her reason to live, even if only to seek revenge for what he’d done. It was no less than what he deserved. So an audience of guards was unwanted.

  ‘But—’

  ‘I said, no.’ Gregor cut off his man’s objection. ‘Once everyone is secured at the keep, the only person I need fear will take a knife to my back is Beatrice. I need no assistance with her.’

  Simon shrugged. ‘If that is your wish and there is nothing else, I’ll be about putting the men to work searching for any stragglers.’

  ‘It is.’

  The only other thing Gregor needed was the willpower to see this through. Since he only needed to remind his wayward mind of what was at stake, he no longer needed Simon’s help.

  He waved the man away. ‘Be off with you. I need to go find myself a cottage to commandeer.’

  Chapter Nine

  Beatrice wove her way through the crowd of people gathered in the Great Hall. She’d already been to the kitchens to ensure everything was running as smoothly as possible. Some of the women from the village had pitched in to assist the cook and baker, so there were enough hands available for the added work. While the food was not of the King’s quality, it was plentiful, tasty and filling which was all that mattered.

  She’d also already made another circle of Warehaven’s walls and tower posts. While most of the men stationed there were experienced soldiers, there were also many young, as yet untried guards. She needed to see for herself how they were holding up. To her relief not a one seemed to be out of sorts, or overly excited or nervous. She and Sir Robert had spent quite a while shuffling the guards about to ensure that there was a good mix of new and experienced men at each location. She had insisted that only well-seasoned men guard the postern gate as that was their sole weak point in the outer wall. It was the same for the tunnel entrance—well-experienced, well-armed guards had been stationed there. If Gregor discovered that way into the keep, all would be lost.

  Since this would be the last night she belonged to herself, as tomorrow night she would belong to one who wished to crush everything she held dear, what she wanted desperately to do was to hide in her bedchamber.

  But she knew that Warehaven’s people needed to see their lady. They needed to be reassured that she would do everything in her power to keep them safe. Hiding herself away out of self-pity would only serve to make them afraid and she wished that not to happen.

  Instead, she’d done what she’d thought her mother would do under the same circumstance—make herself available, be seen and hold her head up as if she were certain of a favourable outcome from this siege. Her fears didn’t matter, nor did her thoughts—what mattered most was how she was seen by her people.

  Right now, as she moved through the gathered throng, she was looking for one of Warehaven’s people in particular. Spying him in a corner with his mother, Beatrice waved and made her way there.

  She joined them and sat on the floor next to little Johnathon, a five-year-old boy whose father and brother were among the missing. He was far too young to fully understand the complications of battle, but he was old enough to sense his mother’s fear.

  She asked, ‘Did you have a good day, Master Johnathon?’

  He giggled at her use of a title before his name, then nodded.

  ‘I saw you watching some of the other boys playing and noticed they were without a scout to see that their way forward was clear.’

  Six of the little ones had banded together, forming a make-believe group who appeared to be on a mission of great secrecy. They would huddle together looking this way, then that before crouching down to scurry to another location. The made-up world of children was so wondrous that it was hard to tell exactly what they were doing, but it amused them.

  ‘Do you think that if you had a horse you could be that brave scout?’

  He nodded vigorously. ‘I could.’

  Beatrice untied a string that was attached to her belt and freed the wooden horse from where it hung hidden in the folds of her over-sized gown. She held the toy out to the boy. ‘This was a gift from my grandfather, but it’s been very lonely these last many years having no one to play with. Do you think you could keep it company?’

  He reached out eagerly, stopping suddenly to ask, ‘For me?’

  But before he could take it from her, his mother stopped him. ‘My lady, we couldn’t take a gift that King Henry gave you.’

  Beatrice laughed. ‘It is a toy and toys need children. I would be delighted if Johnathon could put it to use.’

  The woman relented with a nod and Johnathon carefully took the horse. Holding it to his chest, he whispered, ‘Oh, thank you’, before running off to most likely show it to his friends.

  She took her leave from Johnathon’s mother, with a promise to learn what she could of the woman’s husband and other son, then rose.

  ‘Lady Beatrice!’ Almedha approached with Sir Robert in tow. ‘Could we have a word?’

  They made their way to an empty alcove which provided a small amount of privacy.

  Once she and Almedha were seated, Sir Robert said, ‘Lady Beatrice, there has been much discussion of your marriage tomorrow night.’

  ‘I can imagine there has been.’

  ‘You need not go through with it. We will defend you and Warehaven with our dying breaths.’

  She appreciated the offer, but it wasn’t acceptable. ‘And that, Sir Robert, is what I wish to avoid.’

  ‘You speak as if you are certain we would be defeated.’

  The look of disappointment on his face spoke volumes. She’d not meant to doubt the skills and abilities of Warehaven’s guards. ‘If it were anyone else outside our gates I would gladly and without hesitation set you and your men to the task of defending us. But it’s not anyone else. It’s Lord Gregor.’

  ‘So you do know him.’

  Almedha leaned closer. ‘Which begs the question, how do you know him? And how did you arrive back at Warehaven without Lord Jared or Mistress Agatha?’

  Neither question was unexpected. Beatrice had known that this day’s events would bring them out into the open much sooner than she’d hoped.

  ‘The explanation would be lengthy. Suffice it to say that Lord Gregor provided his protection on my journey home.’

  Sir Robert cleared his throat. ‘Forgive my boldness, but is there a reason you and he must wed?’

  She almost laughed at his badly asked question. ‘No, there is not.’ Although, had she had her way that last night in the forest, there might have been a reason for them to wed. But nobody needed to know that.

  Almedha’s sigh of relief did force a small laugh from Beatrice. She patted the older woman’s knee. ‘I may not have the good sense my mother possesses, but I am not completely lacking in wits.’

  ‘So, what is the problem with defending the keep?’ Sir R
obert frowned a moment before adding, ‘Unless you worry about his safety.’

  ‘I don’t want him killed. Doing so would only gain us King David’s wrath, not to mention my aunt’s also.’

  ‘He need not be harmed, we do know how to aim arrows at least as well as you.’

  But she didn’t want Simon or his guards injured either and how were Warehaven’s men to tell who was who behind their protecting armour?

  Her father’s man knelt before her. ‘My lady, if you wish us not to fight, at least let us stall. Keep the gates closed. Do not permit them entry. Your father should return within a week at the most.’

  She sucked in a breath. There lay her biggest fear—her father’s return to what would be his certain death. ‘No. I wish him not to return.’ She grasped one of Sir Robert’s hands. ‘Don’t you see? He will die.’

  The captain covered her hands with his free one. ‘Lady, will that make any difference if you are or are not wed to Roul?’

  ‘No. But you talk as though you would accept his death.’

  ‘Forgive me for speaking bluntly, but a man’s life is fatal. He is born with his eventual death being the only sure thing.’

  She tore her hands free and covered her face. ‘I cannot bear it. I cannot be the reason for his death.’

  ‘Hush.’ Almedha wrapped an arm about Beatrice’s shoulders. ‘Unless you are the one holding the sword, you will not be the reason for his death.’

  She lowered her hands. ‘I brought the Wolf to our door.’

  Sir Robert rose. ‘Seems to me he would have arrived with or without you.’

  She nodded. ‘But I didn’t know that until this morning.’

  ‘Lady Beatrice, do you truly believe they are going to permit Warehaven’s men to live once they kill the lord?’

  ‘Then that’s what we need to avoid. He mustn’t be allowed to capture my father.’

  ‘How do you suggest we do that?’

  Beatrice frowned. There had to be a way. Suddenly her mind caught on to the image of the standards flying from the lookout perch situated well above the highest tower on Warehaven. The addition to the tower had a clear view of the sea from any direction. She once again grasped Sir Robert’s hands. ‘The standards. Does my father notice them when he sails home?’

  The man rolled his eyes. ‘Of course he does. Every lord looks to the standards flying over their keep before approaching, which is why he never returns at night—he’d be unable to see his standards. What are you thinking?’

  ‘That we lower both the Warehaven and FitzHenry standards and place something plain, something brightly coloured in their place.’ She paused to add, ‘Something not white.’ She was not going to fly a flag of surrender.

  His eyes widened. ‘He would then know there was trouble afoot.’

  ‘Would he understand that he was not to enter the harbour?’

  ‘I am certain he would.’

  ‘Would he then order his guard ships away and wait for low tide to anchor his own ship in the bay below the caves?’

  Sir Robert smiled. ‘You are as wily as your mother, my lady. Yes, that’s exactly what he would do.’

  ‘And from there, could you, or one of the guards whom you trust, slip through the hidden tunnel that will get you to the bay? If we could get a message to him, he could then gather enough forces to retake Warehaven.’

  ‘That plan would work as long as we know when his ship draws near.’

  Beatrice smiled. ‘I was accosted earlier by six of the older lads who are too young to be on the walls, they wanted to help, so I set them to keeping watch, in pairs, from the perch on the high tower. It makes them feel important by having something useful to do.’

  Something that should have been done all along—perhaps then they would have had warning of Gregor’s ships entering the harbour.

  Nodding, Sir Robert pulled his hands from her grasp and said, ‘Yes. I think this will work. Leave it to me to make certain all is in place.’

  ‘What if he catches on to what you are doing?’ Almedha asked.

  Sir Robert assured her, ‘Oh, I can devise some sort of distraction if need be.’ He looked at Beatrice. ‘What about you, my lady?’

  Yes. What about her? She was to give herself in marriage to this man tomorrow night at sunset. ‘When do you think my father might arrive?’

  ‘It could be tomorrow, the day after that, or even the next day, but according to his last missive it will be most certainly within a few days.’

  She frowned. Could she hold Gregor off that long? If she didn’t show up tomorrow night ready to wed him, he was going to be angry. But perhaps her father would arrive in time to stop Gregor from taking Warehaven. It was a risk she needed to take.

  Finally, she glanced from Almedha to Sir Robert and said, ‘I can hold off this marriage for at least another night. But if my father has not arrived by then, I am not certain delaying any longer would be the wisest course of action.’

  Almedha nodded. ‘Perhaps by then your parents will return.’

  ‘I like it not, but I also agree.’ Sir Robert did not look, or sound, pleased, but thankfully he didn’t try to talk her out of it.

  This decision would not simply decide her fate, but the fate of everyone behind these walls. It would also define her. Would she be the type of woman who meekly did as she was bid? Or, would she take even this small amount of control for her future?

  Beatrice sighed. She would not choose to go meekly—not even to Gregor.

  * * *

  Since his ultimatum at Warehaven’s gates, a night and the next day had faded away. Now, Gregor watched the stars dot the sky overhead. His anger grew with each pinprick of light that became visible. At first he’d thought she was simply taking too long to ready herself for their marriage ceremony. By the time darkness fell, he’d realised she had no intention of appearing as ordered.

  He wasn’t certain if this move by Beatrice was brave or senseless. But he was well aware that he’d have done the same had someone threatened Roul.

  Brave or senseless on her part, neither made a difference. He couldn’t let this outright show of defiance change the outcome of his task.

  She was only making this harder on herself and the people inside the walls. How could she not understand that she had no choice in this matter?

  Simon rode up alongside of him. ‘This isn’t good.’

  Gregor shrugged. ‘She’s showing defiance. I’d not expect her to do otherwise.’ Although he wished she hadn’t chosen to defy this particular order.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We wait until sunrise.’ He glanced at his man, relieved to see that Simon didn’t seem too upset by this turn of events. That meant the rest of the men were also taking it in their stride.

  ‘What about the people we rounded up in town?’

  Gregor looked back at the keep. He could feel her stare, knew she was watching his every move. ‘Tie them together like the prisoners they now are. We will march them out in the morning.’

  ‘Do you think that’ll change her mind?’

  ‘Perhaps. But if not it will add a measure of guilt to her current show of defiance.’

  ‘How are you going to deal with her?’

  ‘Nothing is going to change. Warehaven is mine and she will be, too. It’s simply going to take a little longer than anticipated.’

  ‘That is not what I asked.’

  Gregor laughed at his man’s curiosity. ‘Right now I would like nothing more than to shake her until her teeth rattled.’ Which wasn’t exactly true. But Simon didn’t need to know that even with his anger at her brash move, she’d succeeded in making him uncomfortably hot to bed her.

  That knowledge shocked and baffled him. Never before had a woman defied him like this. While he’d originally found her
lack of fear desirable, this level of boldness inflamed lust. Pure and simple lust.

  She would pay for her action one night soon—in ways that would leave them both shaken and drained.

  ‘For some reason I don’t believe shaking her is all you’d like to do.’ Simon paused a moment, then added, ‘Well, since nothing is going to happen tonight, I’ll have the men secure the prisoners and then stand down until dawn.’

  Gregor nodded. He wanted to be left alone and not engaging in further conversation seemed the easiest way for that to happen. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the man ride away.

  It allowed him the solitude he needed to control the distracting thoughts whipping through his head.

  Beatrice of Warehaven was an inexperienced leader. But the men she now led weren’t without experience. He couldn’t afford to face them without a clear mind.

  Gregor looked up at the moon, now high overhead. The night was no longer young and he’d yet to eat or sleep this day. He turned his attention back to the keep, to the faint shimmer of light coming from one narrow window.

  He smiled, then nodded in approval. ‘That’s right, sweeting, you watch and wait. Enjoy this night, for there will not be many more for you to spend alone.’

  Gregor raised his arm high for a few heartbeats before lowering it to turn his horse about and head back to camp.

  * * *

  Beatrice had spent the last few hours watching the lone mounted figure stationed in the centre of the clearing. Backlit by the many torches and campfires behind him, his stark silhouette was easy enough to identify as Gregor.

  She drew in a long breath at his farewell. How had he known she’d been watching? She was relieved that he’d not sent his force to attack Warehaven’s gates at her refusal to join him in the clearing. But she wondered what he planned.

  Not for one moment had she thought that he would let her get away with this defiance unscathed. She was certain that soon he would seek to make her pay.

  How angry had this made him? She only wondered because the angrier he was, the more controlled would be his retaliation. That thought sent a tremor of worry slithering down her spine.