by Denise Lynn
‘Gregor, that is the love of a child for a parent. There are invisible boundaries that my siblings and I would never cross out of respect. You are angry that he thought to slap me and that I turned around and followed his order without question. What did you expect me to do?’
‘I know what would have happened had I been the one to raise a hand and then issue an order.’
‘But as of this moment, you are nothing to me other than the lord of the keep where I reside.’ When he stiffened at her comment, she rushed on, asking, ‘Am I not still an unmarried woman?’
‘By your own choice.’
‘Regardless, I am unwed. He is my father and he gave me an order.’
‘So if we were wed and I were to slap your hysteria away and then order you to your chamber, you would react the same?’
She laughed. ‘You are not my father and I am not your child. Were you to do anything so foolish I would make your life a living hell.’
‘And why is that? Because you love and respect your father, but not me?’
Beatrice fell silent. Was he looking for some sort of declaration from her? Did she love him? Sometimes she thought so. Other times she wasn’t certain if it was love or lust that made her dizzy with an emotion so strong she wanted to weep.
She turned into him, resting against his chest. ‘Gregor, I don’t know if what I feel for you is love or lust. But I do know that I do respect you. I respect you as a strong man who does not resort to violence against those smaller and weaker. I respect you as an honourable man who keeps his word.’
‘I do not want your love.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because some day you may have greater reason to hate me. Love would only make it worse for you.’
She had no reply for that, so she simply wrapped her arms around his waist and listened to the steady beating of his heart.
Gregor sighed and kissed the top of her head. ‘Have I told you lately that you are an odd woman?’
‘Not for a couple of days you haven’t.’
‘Well, my little warrior, you are an odd woman.’ He tightened his embrace around her. ‘But I don’t think I’d have you any other way.’
Beatrice closed her eyes tightly to hold her tears at bay. Heaven help her, but she was fairly certain the emotion filling her heart and making her want to weep was not lust.
Gregor caressed her cheek, then tipped her head back and wiped a thumb over a tear she’d been unable to hold back. ‘What is this?’
‘Nothing.’ She shook her head. ‘Just silly tears for nothing.’
‘Stop. I don’t like it.’
She burst out laughing. There was little else she could do when he spouted such nonsense.
He stroked her cheek. ‘That is better. I can’t have you crying when your visitors arrive.’
‘Visitors?’
‘Did I forget to mention that we will be having visitors join us for the evening meal?’
She lowered her arms and stepped back. ‘Yes, you did.’
‘Well, I am telling you now. And since your bath should be ready, perhaps we should go inside.’
He turned to leave and she grasped his arm. ‘Gregor!’
Turning back to face her, he raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’
‘Who are these visitors?’
‘Your mother and aunt.’
She leaned back against the wall for support. ‘Not my Aunt Matilda.’
‘I didn’t realise you had more than one.’
‘I have four, but are you speaking about Matilda?’
‘She’s the only one I know.’
‘If you don’t answer me, I may become ill.’
Somehow, Gregor managed to appear innocent. ‘Honest, as long as you aren’t facing her or her troops across a battlefield, the Empress isn’t that bad a person.’
Beatrice dropped her chin to her chest. ‘Yes, I am going to be ill.’
Gregor laughed then took her hand. ‘It will not be that bad. Come, we have things to do.’
‘Things to do? We have three days’ worth of things to do.’ Beatrice realised her voice had risen to a near-scream. She swallowed, then added in a softer tone, ‘And you have left me mere hours. I swear, Gregor, if you ever do something like this again—’
He cut off her words in a manner that never failed to work. He pulled her into his arms and covered her lips with his own.
Once she relaxed in his embrace, he lifted his head to ask, ‘You’ll do what?’
She rested her cheek against his chest. ‘I don’t know, but I promise it will be something quite horrible.’
* * *
A few hours later, they stood together in the centre of the Great Hall as the doors opened. Beatrice took another look around the hall, ensuring everything and everyone was in place.
Her heart raced as her mother and the Empress entered the hall. She longed to throw herself in her mother’s arms, but restrained herself and instead knelt. ‘Aunt Matilda, welcome to Warehaven.’
Matilda took her hands to bring her to her feet before kissing her cheek. ‘Yes, thank you, child, it is good to see you are well after your recent ordeal.’
The Empress turned her attention to Gregor. ‘Roul.’
When Gregor rose, the Empress pierced him with a glare that should have had him quivering in his boots, but he seemed to take it in his stride.
She then sighed, loudly, and said, ‘Since the last time you were at court, you showed so much concern for Lady Emelina, I brought her along.’
She motioned the lady forward. ‘Lady Emelina, I’m sure you remember your champion, Sir Gregor of Roul?’
Before the lady could respond, Matilda said, ‘He will be glad to see to your needs while we are here.’
Beatrice felt her eyes widen. She knew she’d clenched her jaw because her teeth were grinding against each other. She pinned Gregor with a stare that he ignored as he took Lady Emelina’s hand and led her away from the welcoming party.
Matilda called out across the hall, ‘Randall, no greeting for your sister?’
Beatrice half-watched her father’s approach—her attention was more focused on Gregor and his Lady Emelina. If that tiny red-haired wench thought for one second...
‘Beatrice.’ Her mother drew her focus away from Gregor. ‘She is already betrothed to another.’
‘What do I care? He is free to do as he pleases.’ She hated the tremor in her voice. Hated more the way she felt at seeing him with another woman. She trusted him. He wasn’t going to do anything unseemly, so what was wrong with her?
She heard her father snort before he leaned in to give his wife a kiss. ‘Brigit, my love, the girl has made her choice, I don’t think you are going to be able to reason with her at the moment.’
He then turned to his sister, saying, ‘I see now why you saw fit to delay our return by three days. Since Roul’s men took me from the ship, leaving you behind, this was obviously your doing.’
‘Not entirely.’
‘Ah, you had Uncle David’s assistance.’
Matilda moved away from the entrance to take his arm. ‘Perhaps, dear brother, we should talk.’
As they walked away, Beatrice heard her father reply, ‘That would be something different for us.’
‘Child, do we have need to talk?’
Beatrice turned to her mother and nearly cried. ‘Mother, I have missed you so very much.’
Her mother gathered her close. ‘I have missed you, too. What is this about you having made a choice?’
‘It is a long story.’
‘And we have all night. Longer if needed.’ Her mother linked an arm through hers and led her towards the high table. ‘Tell me everything, Beatrice. Start at the beginning.’
Beat
rice sighed. ‘If I start there, you will only be disappointed.’
Taking a seat on one of the end chairs, her mother admitted, ‘Perhaps. But I must ask, are you happy with this choice?’
Beatrice looked at Gregor, who was standing near a wooden support beam listening intently to whatever his Lady Emelina was telling him while she placed a hand on his chest.
As if feeling her stare, he turned to look at her and smiled before he rolled his eyes towards his talkative companion.
Beatrice returned his smile, then told her mother as she sat down next to her, ‘Yes, I am happy with my choice. But it presents grave problems for all of us.’
‘I know about David’s orders to his Wolf, orders that I’m sure Matilda had a hand in since she explained them to me while we rode here from the docks. I am well aware that Randall is no longer the Lord of Warehaven. He was nothing more than King Henry’s bastard warrior when I married him. His title didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now.’ She placed a hand on Beatrice’s. ‘This is not the first time Warehaven has been taken, my love. It is simply the first time someone might die because of the taking.’
‘Mother, don’t speak so.’
‘Have the two of them even talked about this yet?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, then, we have no way of knowing what is going to happen. Beatrice, I have had a good life with my husband, a long life. I worship the ground on which he walks. But I am not foolish enough to believe he is immortal. Some day he will die.’ She paused to swallow, before continuing, ‘Tomorrow or ten years from now will make no difference, it will hurt the same, my grief will be no different. But I am not alone. I have our children, our grandchildren and my memories to sustain me until I, too, die.’
Even though her mother’s voice remained steady, Beatrice gasped at the raw pain etched on her face. She worried greatly for her husband. ‘Mother, stop it.’
‘No. You stop worrying about me or your father. You need to start taking care of your future.’ She grasped Beatrice’s chin, holding it tightly between her thumb and forefinger to ask, ‘Do you know how much we love you, how greatly we have missed you and how much we have longed for you to find someone worthy of being your choice?’
Her mother released her, then asked, ‘Is he worthy? Is he brave? Do you respect him? Do you trust him? Is he strong enough to hold you should you swoon from his kisses?’
Beatrice gasped in shock.
Her mother laughed. ‘You thought I couldn’t hear you and Isabella talking about the boys at night? Your father was outraged by your conversations, but I found much amusement in them. You were so naïve. So young and full of dreams. Have you found those dreams, Beatrice?’
She once again glanced at Gregor, only to find him watching her closely. His steady attention made her warmer than was welcome while sitting next to her mother. ‘Yes, Mother. I think I have.’
‘Have you discussed your futures?’
Beatrice turned her gaze back to her mother, admitting, ‘Somewhat. I have already missed one wedding and begged off another one.’
Her mother tried unsuccessfully to hold back a laugh, but she managed to say, ‘From the way the two of you look at each other, I am fairly certain you did not miss the wedding night.’
Beatrice felt her embarrassment race hot up her face. ‘No. We didn’t.’
‘Then I would say your father has more to discuss than just the surrender of Warehaven.’
Beatrice grimaced and shrugged. ‘I would hope he does.’
‘Now tell me, how did you manage to escape from Jared? Don’t tell me you waited until Lea went into labour.’
Again she felt the flush warm her cheeks.
‘Oh, Beatrice. What were you thinking?’
Chapter Fifteen
Gregor stood in the shadows of the corridor, waiting for Beatrice to walk by. The sleeping arrangements for the night were not to his liking, but he’d had little say in the matter.
Empress Matilda was in Beatrice’s bedchamber with four of her ladies. Beatrice’s parents had resumed possession of the master’s chamber, taking the bed while Beatrice and Almedha shared a pallet in the alcove. Lady Emelina and the other four ladies who’d accompanied Matilda were in the extra bedchamber.
The men who had come with the party had pallets on the floor of the Great Hall with the guards. Those who had drunk until they passed out slept where they’d fallen.
He had his small chamber at the rear of the Great Hall. It was more of a study, a place to do accounts and such, than a bedchamber. But it did have a pallet, along with a door that locked.
He ducked further into the shadows as her parents walked by, followed by two of Gregor’s guards who were FitzHenry’s constant companions. The one good thing about FitzHenry being of royal lineage was that the man didn’t have to suffer the bite of shackles. As long as he did nothing foolish, he could be treated as an honoured guest of sorts. Which would be easier on Beatrice. The constant guards were more for Gregor’s own sake—he didn’t trust the man not to stab him in the back if given the opportunity.
What seemed hours later, Beatrice walked past him. He reached out and clasped her hand to pull her into the shadows, whispering, ‘Spend the night with me.’
She fell into his arms. ‘I thought you’d be too busy with Lady Emelina.’
He knew she wasn’t complaining, but just teasing him. ‘I tried, but she seemed unwilling to share my bed.’
‘Oh, so I am your second choice?’
‘My third, actually. There was this pert little serving maid—’
He gasped when she bent her leg and lifted her knee against his groin, asking, ‘You were saying?’
He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her closer. ‘I was saying I want you in my bed this night.’
‘And I would like that, too.’ Beatrice sighed. ‘However, the keep is a little too crowded for sneaking about.’
‘Oh, I know. If we were caught, what would people say? They might force us to marry, making certain you actually showed up for the ceremony.’
‘Are you going to hold that over my head for the rest of our lives?’
‘Only until you are my wife.’
He felt her lips curl into a smile as she pressed them to his. ‘Those arrangements need to be made with my father now that he is here.’
She was wrong. FitzHenry might be free to walk about, but he was in control of nothing. ‘As Lord of Warehaven the decision is solely mine.’
‘Gregor.’
‘Do not start, Beatrice. Nothing has changed except that nearly all of the parties involved are in attendance.’
She tried to pull away, but he held her in place. ‘Are we going to argue about this each hour of every day? Can you not concentrate on this moment? Must you worry about tomorrow before it is here?’
‘Is that what you would have me do? Not concern myself with the future? My future? Or what could possibly be our future?’
‘Could possibly be? You seem confused, as if you have a choice in this matter.’
‘There is always a choice.’
‘Is there?’ He released her. ‘What would your choices be?’
She had no response and he wondered why she was intentionally trying to anger him. He moved away from the shadows. ‘Join me or don’t. Those are your choices right now. But hear me well, Beatrice. You will marry me. That choice has already been determined.’
He left her standing there as he went back down the stairs and wove his way through the sleeping bodies strewn about the floor of the Great Hall and into his private chamber.
A soft tap on his door moments later surprised him. He opened the door and waved her into the chamber, closing and locking the door behind them. He tossed the key on to the desk before asking, ‘Cha
nged your mind? Again?’
‘Gregor, I am tired. This day has been far too long. I am sorry for arguing for the simple sake of arguing.’
She wasn’t getting out of it that easily. ‘I don’t want your apology. I want an explanation. What choices do you think you have?’
‘I could always run away.’
‘Oh, yes, because you’ve already proven how good you are at that.’
‘I could give myself to the church.’
‘I don’t know about that. I don’t see you becoming celibate. I doubt it would suit your temperament. You need a man, Beatrice.’
‘I could find another one.’
‘Sure you could and you also know that I would simply get rid of him.’
‘I could kill myself.’
He stared at her, certain he’d lost his ability to understand words because she couldn’t have just said that she’d kill herself rather than marry him.
He retrieved the key from the desk, unlocked the door and pulled it open. ‘Go.’
Beatrice’s eyes widened. She rushed to stand before him. ‘Oh, Gregor, I didn’t mean to say that. I am so sorry. Please.’
He refused to look at her. ‘Leave.’
‘Gregor.’
‘Get away from me.’
He slammed the door behind her, locked it and then threw himself on the pallet to stare up at the ceiling. This was not proceeding to plan. Somewhere along the line he’d lost sight of the fact that once he took her father’s life she would bear nothing but hatred for him. He’d known that all along and had been determined not to permit himself to become too close, too attached to her.
Somehow he needed to remedy this situation—and quickly, before it was too late to pull away.
* * *
‘Beatrice, wake up. You need to get ready.’
She opened her burning eyes slowly and stared up at her mother. ‘The sun hasn’t risen yet.’
‘I know, but your wedding takes place at dawn.’
She sat up, shielding her eyes from the light of the wall torch. ‘My what?’
‘Nobody told you?’
‘Please, Mother, I had a bad night. Told me what?’ She knew that she had nobody to blame for her bad night except herself. Her mouth had once again caused her more distress than the person she’d used it against.
