by Sarah Hegger
“Leave it.” Beatrice wrested the material from Nurse. She wanted to hear more about Godfrey and what was happening in London.
“I will not.” Nurse held firm. “I cannot abide to see a fine fabric ruined. Stand still and I will brush these out. What are you doing wearing your best gown, anyway?”
“I merely wanted to wear it.” Beatrice waved an airy hand. She looked toward the embroidered flowers clambering the silk of her bed curtains. Anywhere but at nurse and those bright, beady eyes.
Nurse yanked on her skirt, forcing her closer. “Where have you been that demands your best gown and you leaving the keep?”
“I went for a walk. That is no sin, is it?” The lies were piling up in her throat, faster than flies on bad meat, waiting to gush out of her mouth.
“You went for a walk?”
“Aye.”
“Where?”
“To the beech thicket.” Heat crept up her face, and she cursed mentally.
Nurse sank back on her heels and studied her. “And what was there in the beech thicket that had you all dressed up like a dog’s dinner?”
“Nothing.” Beatrice threw her arms up. “I wanted to wear the dress. Then I got bored and went for a walk.”
“Hmmm.” Nurse pursed her lips. “You are keeping secrets, my girl. I can see them on your face.”
“Why do you think Godfrey comes? He must know how father fares in London.”
“Saints have mercy.” Nurse shook her head. “Here we are chattering away and you could be called to the hall at any moment.” She gave the skirt a hearty shake.
Air rushed up Beatrice’s shift and cooled her. Nurse mustn’t find out about Garrett. Nurse would tell her mother for sure. Then, her mother would tell her father and—Beatrice shied away from the direction her thoughts were taking.
“Your uncle brings a party with him.” Nurse waved a pudgy finger at her. “There could be a young knight amongst them. A young knight desperately needing a wife.”
“He would have to be desperate, indeed, to come courting here.” Men looking for a wife stayed clear of Anglesea and the Lady Beatrice. Three failed betrothals took care of that.
“You will never be wed if you think like that.” Nurse never gave up. “Your sister, bless her sweet heart, stood always ready to receive her suitor.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. It wouldn’t do any good to interrupt. Nurse would have her say. The sun was still high, forming patterns on the gleaming stone floor.
“And Lady Faye was ready, looking pretty as can be, when ill weather blew the Earl of Calder into the keep. And what happened?”
“He fell in love with her,” Beatrice recited.
“I know not of love.” Nurse stopped fussing with the hem and swayed to her feet on a lusty groan.
Beatrice held out a hand and steadied her rise.
“But what I do know is Lady Faye was ready, looking every inch a nobleman’s wife.”
“Faye was born looking that way.” Beatrice couldn’t quite control the surly note to her voice.
Her sister had been married for seven years and still Nurse carped on about her perfection. The entire kingdom knew of the beauteous Lady Faye. No less than eight ballads were written in her honor. Eight. Beatrice snorted. What was any sensible girl to do with eight ballads caroling her beauty?
“Faye never snorted like some vulgar trollop.” Nurse snatched up her brush from the oak chest in the corner. “And Faye did not go traipsing around the countryside wearing her best gown, sneaking back home with her pretty eyes full of secrets.”
“Faye was a saint.” Beatrice glared back at Nurse.
“And she still is.” Nurse nodded. “She is the image of her mother.”
“She is my mother, too.” Beatrice winced as Nurse dragged the brush through the snarl the breeze had made of her fine, straight hair.
“That she is.” Nurse tugged at a stubborn knot. “And you should make it a point to be just like your mother.”
Beatrice tried, she honestly tried, to be demure and mild-mannered and tranquil. But there was an awful lot of sitting about to being a lady. Sooner or later, the itch would start somewhere within and end in her breaking for freedom as fast as her legs could carry her.
She yelped as Nurse hit another tangle and pulled. It was hard to be the family disappointment. Of the five living children Sir Arthur and Lady Mary had sired, it stood to reason all five could not be exceptional. Her only outstanding characteristic appeared to be a propensity for finding mischief. She didn’t have to try. Every time there was mischief about, it landed at her feet.
Blessedly, Nurse found no more snarls and brushed Beatrice’s hair in long, soothing strokes.
Garrett loved her hair. He thought her beautiful and passionate and clever.
He was leaving.
Beatrice’s heart sank.
“What is that face?”
Beatrice smoothed her expression, but not fast enough to stop the interrogation.
“You are having a mope again, are you not?”
“I am not moping.” Beatrice ducked her chin to hide her face. “I do not like to be constantly reminded I am not Faye.”
It worked like a magic potion. Nurse’s expression softened. “There, there, pet.” Nurse grasped her chin. “You will find your own way.” She gave Beatrice’s cheek a pat as she released her. “You will find what makes you special.”
She already had, Beatrice wanted to yell. Garrett made her special. She shrugged and let Nurse draw whatever conclusions she wanted. Anything was better than letting Nurse get a hint of the true reason for her sudden glum mood. “How is Mother today?”
“Too old to be having another babe.” Nurse’s gaze flew to Beatrice’s and away again. “She will be fine. She has brought five healthy babes into this world and only two stillborn. She is a strong woman, your mother, and she will bear this one fine.”
Nurse sounded too hearty. The old besom was hiding something. “Will she meet Sir Godfrey?”
“Nay. Lady Mary is not having a good day, and I have tucked her up in bed. Henry will have to do what is needed.”
“Shall I go and see her?”
“Nay.” Nurse squeezed her hand. “She is resting. It is the best medicine for her.”
“She has been resting a lot of late,” Beatrice said.
“Aye.” Nurse turned her back and smoothed the bed linens. There was naught wrong with the bed linens.
Beatrice stepped closer to see Nurse’s face better. “Mother will be all right, will she not?”
“Aye, aye.” Nurse moved to smoothing the furs. She chewed on her bottom lip like she did when something troubled her. Nurse caught her looking and stopped. “Wipe your face.” Nurse swiped the cloth over her cheeks.
“Nurse.” She grabbed the cloth and pulled it away from her face. “Tell me true. Mother will be all right, will she not?”
Nurse opened her mouth and shut it again.
“Tell me.”
Nurse sighed. “I do not know.”
She snatched back the cloth and tucked it into her pocket.
Beatrice’s belly dropped. How could Nurse not know? Her mother was a constant in her life, always there and always capable and beautiful. She searched Nurse’s face for comfort.
“Nurse, you are not scared mother will…” That horrible word lodged in her throat.
“I am not saying anything, pet.” Nurse cradled her face between her palms. “I am a foolish old woman, and why would you mind me now, when you never have before.”
Suddenly, Beatrice wanted to run to Garrett. To have him hold her and tell her all would be well. Nay. She was a selfish, wicked girl to be thinking of a man of whom her mother would, surely, not approve. She should’ve been by her mother’s side today. She would do better, be a better daughter in every way.
“There is no sense fretting,” Nurse said. “God’s will shall prevail.”
God wouldn’t t
ake Lady Mary from this earth. Would he? Lady Mary was good and kind and beautiful.
Nurse adjusted Beatrice’s girdle, then stood back and surveyed her handiwork. “There, now you are ready.”
Chapter 3
She was almost his. The sweet-faced Lady Beatrice of Anglesea with her blue-green eyes and sinful mouth. A tasty armful of sumptuous curves he liked to stroke. Garrett strode down the path toward the village. A few more hints about him leaving and she would present like a bitch in heat. The subsiding stiffness in his braies returned with a rush of blood. Soon now, he would rest between Lady Beatrice’s ladylike, white thighs.
He shook off his guilt. It didn’t belong in the ugly business of vengeance. He touched the small pouch he always kept about his neck. This was what it was all about. A connection with his mother, a reminder he must stay strong and not give in to sentiment.
The village was quiet this time of day. Most of the women were working the fields, their men eking a living from the sea. Not that he’d made many friends in the village. He stuck to himself for the most part. It was an attractive village. A tidy group of cottages overlooking the sea with their gray stone walls and mellow brown thatch. Not too large, but prosperous and thriving. The sort of place he might have settled, if he were of that mind.
The strike of steel on anvil rang from the forge. Lyman was within, plying his trade. This was Garrett’s half day and Lyman expected him later. He would spend the remainder of his day pounding out farm implements. He reversed his path and slipped behind a series of cottages so he wouldn’t pass the open smithy door. Lyman liked company and if he caught sight of him, the smith would want to visit. Garrett needed to gather himself.
Carefully he skirted a bustling cluster of hens. He’d found work with the local blacksmith. The forge was hotter than hell and the work hard, but it fed him and put a roof over his head while he drew Lady Beatrice into his trap. His timing was perfect. Sir Arthur was away from Anglesea. No keen eyes to watch his youngest daughter or question the new smith’s apprentice.
As soon as Lady Beatrice gave him the ripe prize of her virginity, he’d be off again, stopping only long enough to ensure Sir Arthur knew what Garrett had taken from his youngest daughter. Sodding Sir Arthur of Anglesea would pay dearly for what he’d done to Garrett’s mother. Behind the forge, large wooden shutters were open to allow heat to escape. Garrett ducked beneath the sill and crept toward the small hut Lyman had given him.
Lady Beatrice had been hot for him today. His rod throbbed in agreement. It was a good thing he lusted for Beatrice, or it might’ve made his plan a bit more difficult. Truth was, he wanted her and it fit neatly with his aim. Had she been any other girl, he might have pursued the same goal regardless.
It wasn’t her doing her father was Sir Arthur of Anglesea. She disarmed him at times, but he chose not to dwell on that. He wouldn’t be drawn from his quest for vengeance. It was unfortunate the innocent must suffer alongside the guilty.
The inside of the hut was dim after the bright sunlight. Lilly stirred on his small pallet. Garrett bit back a curse. He had only a few minutes and he wanted to spend them savoring his victory. Planning his next step. Lilly and her visits were an annoyance. She no longer demanded payment, but Lilly had her own mouths to feed. He gave her what he could spare.
Her gaze dropped to the front of his braies. “It looks as if you were expecting me.”
“What are you doing here, Lilly?” As if he didn’t know. The ache in his rod was persistent enough to stop him from sending her about her business immediately. As Lilly was here and keen, she could take care of it for him.
She rose and padded on the packed earth floor toward him. Lilly was pretty, buxom, and rosy-cheeked. Her hand slipped past his belt and curled around him. She murmured appreciatively as she stroked.
Garrett closed his eyes. Beatrice, flaxen hair streaming over his arm, her mouth full and soft, her lush body pressed to his. He groaned.
“You are a big lad, Garrett.” Lilly giggled against his ear.
The giggling irked him. He concentrated on the skilled motion of her hand.
“I am glad I could get away for a bit,” Lilly said. “It is not easy when Gil is up and about.”
Garrett caught her wrist. She looked up at him with a murmur of protest.
“Speaking of your son?”
Lilly rolled her eyes and stuck out her bottom lip. “Jesu, Garrett, but you fret more about my boy than his own da.”
“Where is your boy, Lilly?”
“He is with his auntie,” Lilly said.
“Did he eat today?”
“Aye, Garrett, the boy ate today.”
“And you bought him shoes with the money I gave you?”
“Aye, Garrett, I bought shoes. He will only outgrow them, you know.”
“Good.” Garrett released her wrist.
Lilly got back to work.
He liked Lilly; they were friends of a sort, but he wouldn’t tolerate her ignoring her young son. Not for the first time he thought Lilly might be seeing him as a replacement father. It was time to end their arrangement. As soon as she’d taken care of his aching balls.
Chapter 4
Despite Nurse’s preparations, nobody called for Beatrice, so she visited her mother. She couldn’t believe her mother wouldn’t recover. Sir Arthur would have stayed if he knew his lady was in mortal peril. He adored his Lady Mary. Women older than her mother had babies all the time. Still, she couldn’t rid herself of the worry curled viper-like around the dark recesses of her mind.
Her mother had looked tired and a trifle wan, but seemed in good spirits. For once, she and her mother had been in perfect accord.
Winding down the staircase, Beatrice wanted to do something to cheer her mother up. Mayhap she could gather her some fresh flowers from the meadow. Or finish her embroidery without the entire thing becoming an unrecognizable snarl. There wasn’t much chance of that happening and flowers were too commonplace.
She wanted to do something to take her mother’s breath away. Something big, that would stand out in the family history. Garrett’s face flickered across her mind. Such a thing would certainly warrant mention in the family history. Unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons.
Voices drifted up the stairwell. Henry, her brother, spoke.
Her uncle replied.
Beatrice quickened her step. Visitors were always welcome, and her uncle, doubly so.
“You should not have come here,” Henry said.
Beatrice stopped. She couldn’t have heard right. Henry was as fond of Godfrey as she.
“This is madness,” Henry continued.
“Calm your fire, Henry,” Godfrey replied. “And keep your voice down. Anyone might be listening.”
The screens were empty. Nobody was in the dim corridor leading to the kitchens. The people of the keep were preparing for the evening meal.
“She shouldn’t have come.” Henry’s voice came softer now as he heeded their uncle’s warning.
“I had no choice.” Faye?
Beatrice’s heart gave a happy leap. Her sister was here, too. She took a quick step forward.
“You have placed us all in terrible danger.” Henry’s words stopped her a second time.
“Where else would I go?” Faye replied.
Beatrice’s pulse quickened. She should announce herself. If she did, however, the conversation would stop, as it always did when she approached. Beatrice hesitated. Her mother wouldn’t approve of listening to a conversation that didn’t include her. Perhaps, because her mother didn’t need to listen in secret. Nobody ever kept things from Lady Mary.
Beatrice stole closer and peered through the decorative carving at the top of the screens.
Henry and Godfrey stood at the opposite end of the hall, their heads close together.
Faye stood nearby, dressed for traveling with her hood thrown back. Her pale blond hair had escaped its braid and mud splattered
Faye’s cloak to the knees.
Beatrice had never seen her sister as disarrayed.
Her nephews were here, too.
Beatrice almost gave up her hiding place.
Sir Gregory, the knight who always accompanied Faye, stood patiently to the side with the children. Little Arthur curled up in the large man’s arms. His sweet face was pressed against the knight’s tunic, his mouth open in sleep. Young Simon gripped Sir Gregory’s thigh with one arm. The knight dropped his hand and touched the top of Simon’s golden head, his large, rough hand so gentle on the child. Gregory took no part in the quiet conversation between Godfrey, Faye, and Henry.
Damn. She couldn’t hear them from here. Of course, if somebody were to remain concealed beyond the group, behind the great tapestry portraying one of her father’s numerous victories, then that person would hear everything said. And one could reach the tapestry through the chapel.
Beatrice crept out of the screens passage and raced back up the stairs. She slowed as she crossed before her mother’s chamber, but pelted the rest of the way toward the secondary staircase. From here, it was easy to slip through the back of the chapel and find the entrance concealed by the tapestry. She was breathing heavily by the time she reached the small alcove beside the entrance. She took a moment to calm her breathing before she snuck closer.
“Do you have the money?” Godfrey asked.
“Nay.” Henry sighed and muttered something Beatrice couldn’t quite catch, but she did hear the word scutage. The king had levied the tax once again, shortly before her father decided to join the other barons in their Army of God.
“Is there any truth to these allegations?” Godfrey asked as parchment crackled.
If she dared peer around the edge of the tapestry, she’d be directly in Henry’s line of sight. She contented herself with merely listening.
“Of course there is no truth,” Faye replied. One of the children murmured and Faye lowered her voice. “My father would never abuse his position as sheriff in such an unconscionable manner.”
“Of course he would not,” Godfrey replied in his smooth, deep voice, good for stories and soothing. “But the king does not have to provide evidence to damn your father. The rumor alone will cause dissent amongst the rebel barons. The burden lies with your father to prove the king wrong.”
