by Sarah Hegger
“Do not concern yourself.” He flicked her chin with a finger. “In the morning, this lot will be gone and you will not have to think of them again.”
Roger might do something like that. She didn’t like it when her brother did it either. “Will you not tell me?”
“Why do you ask?”
Always answering a question with a question. Could she not just get a straight answer? From anyone. She wasn’t a child. “Because nobody ever tells me anything. These women are bitter and angry. I want to know why. I want to understand why they are so thin.” She had hundreds of questions. Each one birthed another. “Why do they travel? Should they not be settled in a village or farming? Why do—”
“Enough.” He placed a finger across her lips.
“I thought, at least, I could trust you to tell me the truth,” Beatrice said.
He leaned farther away and frowned.
“Forgive me.” She’d spoken too hotly and made him angry. “I did not mean to vex you. I only wanted to understand. I ask too many questions anyway.” She caught his hand. “We will talk of something else.”
“Nay.” Garrett glanced at where their hands joined and placed them on his thigh. “I shall tell you.” He shook his head slowly and smiled.
“What?” She blushed, shy under his fixed regard.
The look vanished as if it had never been there. “Their men have all gone to war or been chased off their land as outlaws.” His jaw hardened. “Those who remain are forced to pay taxes they cannot afford. There is no food and no money to buy more. People do not understand much other than their children are starving, and the king demands more taxes from them every day.” He gestured to the cook fire. “These women are looking for a better place. Somewhere to settle where the land is rich enough to support them and the liege lord merciful.”
“Will they find it?”
“Nay.”
The older one, the angry one, handed out food. She started with the youngsters before moving to the adults. She took a meager portion for herself. Beatrice wished she had more to give them. “What will they do?”
Garrett gave a short bark of laughter. “They will do, my lady Beatrice,” he drawled her title, making a mockery of it and Beatrice flinched, “as the poor have always done. They will fight to survive. Some of them will lose that fight. Despite it all, however, these piteous souls will find a way to laugh and cry their way through it.”
“My father always tells Roger a baron must care for those in his charge, as he would care for his own blood,” Beatrice said.
“Does he now?” His body tensed and he dropped her hand as if it were on fire.
She’d erred again. Her heart skipped a beat or two. How?
Garret’s anger was clear in the tightening of his jaw. He rose and slipped into the darkness of the night.
The unfriendly dark closed in around her.
“A lover’s quarrel?” Tom asked.
Beatrice clambered to her feet. Should she follow Garrett? Nay, men were best left to cool their anger in peace. That’s what Nurse said. She glanced back, but Garrett was gone.
She walked with Tom back to the fire. The women spoke quietly amongst themselves. Their children were spread out beneath their blankets, lying like small cocoons a safe distance from the blaze. It hardly seemed fair that she had so much. She’d never questioned the appearance of food on the table or clothes to wear. These women’s clothing hung by threads and many of them were barefoot.
Her father had gone to London to stop this. Her heart swelled with pride. These women mightn’t know it, but Sir Arthur of Anglesea stood for them. Her mission was doubly important. There were people like this throughout the land. England needed men like Sir Arthur. Good men, who would speak against injustice. She understood, now, what Godfrey had meant when he’d said the kingdom needed her father. As soon as he’d put things at Anglesea to rights, Sir Arthur must return to his noble cause.
It didn’t help these women this night, though. Beatrice approached the angry one.
* * * *
Garrett had barely restrained himself when she spoke of her father, her eyes glowing. The stupid girl had no idea of what her father was capable. She spoke of the sod as if he were a shining, gleaming hero. His fingers tightened about the pouch.
She walked to one of the old crones by the fire.
Sweet Jesu. He couldn’t conceive of a life as sheltered as hers, a life without want or need. Everything she desired, handed to her by her doting father.
He could tell her all about her father, the heroic Sir Arthur. He could speak of Sir Arthur’s courage and valor as he’d tossed a woman and her young child out into the world with nothing but the clothes on their backs. How that woman had sold her body to feed herself and her young son. It had been justification enough for Sir Arthur that he and his mother were connected to his enemy. Aye, it took a rare merciful man to do such a thing. Let the goodly Sir Arthur taste of his, Garrett’s, brand of mercy.
Garrett slipped deeper into the forest. Injustice clawed at his innards, demanding to be heard.
Chapter 11
Garrett prepared the horses. Dawn would break in an hour or two. In the clearing, Tom gathered his belongings. Time to move on. Garrett tightened Parsley’s girth.
Beatrice stumbled out of her blankets and shivered in the predawn chill.
He had some work to do there. His anger of the night before hadn’t gone unnoticed. Beatrice wasn’t stupid and Tom’s eyes were keen.
The travelers had left early that morning, slipping away with barely a sound for such a large group. The ashes of the campfire were the only sign they’d shared this space with their small party.
Beatrice accepted some food from Tom and looked around. Her brow puckered before she located him. She slid her gaze away.
He read the uncertainty on her expressive face.
Garrett slapped Parsley on the rump. The huge gelding stumbled a few steps out of his way and shot him a reproachful look. “Good morning,” he greeted Beatrice with a smile.
Relief chased across her face. She returned his smile without hesitation.
The girl had no instinct for preservation. It didn’t occur to her not to return his greeting in kind.
She nibbled on a wedge of hard cheese. Her cheeks were lightly flushed.
It was almost too easy. Garrett put the bridle on Breeze. The mare stood at least sixteen hands. A large horse for a young lady, but Beatrice handled her effortlessly. The mare whickered and pressed her nose against his chest, blowing a moist gust of horsey breath on his tunic.
“How are the horses?” Beatrice stood just beyond his reach. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Breeze swung her head toward her rider.
“Well rested.” Garrett slipped the saddle over the mare’s back. She stood dead still for him. Her eyes fixed on Beatrice.
From her pocket, Beatrice pulled an apple and held it to the horse.
“Hello, sweetheart.” The horse’s ears flickered as she chomped on the apple. “They will know I am gone by now.” Beatrice dusted her hands against her tunic. The fabric pulled tight across the generous swell of her breasts.
Garrett had worked as much out for himself. “Will they come after you?” A brother in hot pursuit wouldn’t suit his plans, at all.
Beatrice shrugged and rubbed her hand gently down Breeze’s cheek. “I am not sure.”
“Then we shall have to ride hard to lose them. I know a little used way to London that could help us.”
“You do?” She smiled at him as if he’d pulled the moon from the sky and handed it to her.
No veils or blinds with this one. Every thought she had, as she had it, right there on her face. She took everything he said as the truth. It irked him, especially as he was speaking out of the wrong side of his face. There was no other path to London. At least, not that he knew of. As he’d brooded through the night, it had occurred to him he ne
eded to stretch this journey to London. He hadn’t accounted for the horses or how much farther four legs could travel in one day. He’d also underestimated Beatrice’s determination and how many hours she could spend in the saddle. The ache in his braies hadn’t abated one bit from the day before.
“It might throw them off our path.” He saddled Badger. The big gelding kept his snapping teeth in his nosebag.
Beatrice’s tunic and chausses were rumpled. She appeared to be wearing half of the forest in her long braid. Yet her eyes were near dazzling and a pink flush brought color to her cheeks. A fine dusting of freckles littered the bridge of her nose.
“The fresh air becomes you.” He meant it. She looked tousled and beautiful.
More color flooded her face. “You are a smooth tongued liar.” She laughed and touched her braided hair self-consciously.
It was such an innately feminine gesture it caught him there, momentarily in it’s simple grace. “Never.” He leaned his elbows on Badger’s broad back. “You look like a girl who should be kissed.”
“Indeed.” She tucked her hands behind her back. Her lips were pursed as if she were picturing the kiss he wanted to give her.
Beatrice liked his touch and was too artless to conceal her reaction. She responded to him with an enthusiasm that made his task a pleasure.
Out of the corner of his eye, Garrett saw Tom had finished packing up their camp.
The man strode toward them. Tall and broad, he shouldered his pack and Beatrice’s.
Tom may carp and whine at Beatrice, but the lad’s heart was in the right place. He still didn’t know what he was going to do about Tom. He’d have to find a way to lose her faithful watchdog.
“Ready?” As usual, Tom didn’t waste words on him.
Garrett nodded and took Beatrice’s gear from him.
Tom strode away to stow his own gear.
“He does not like me.” He secured her pack to Breeze.
“He is always looking out for me. He is intimately acquainted with my ability to lead us both into trouble.” Beatrice wrinkled her nose at him.
It was enchanting. The middle of his chest warmed. “Am I trouble?” Garrett dropped his voice, low and intimate.
She giggled and looked down at her feet.
“We could slip amongst the trees whilst he is busy.” He moved around Breeze until he was close enough to whisper against her ear. Wildflowers, the scent clung to her hair. “And I could show you what sort of trouble I am.”
“Hush.” She tried to look stern, but failed.
“As we did at Anglesea.” His shaft stirred in his braies. He wouldn’t mind a small side trip amongst the trees with Beatrice this morning. It was too long since he’d kissed her. Her skin was like buttermilk, smooth and creamy. He stroked her cheek.
“We cannot,” she whispered breathily.
She wanted to.
He was hard enough to tent his braies. “Aye, we can.” Garrett touched his lips to the curve of her ear. “The question is, will you, sweeting?”
“Beatrice.” Tom brought him rudely back to the present.
He slipped behind Breeze, placing the mare between himself and Tom’s sharp eyes.
Beatrice jerked and her face flushed with guilty color. She put some distance between them before turning to look at Tom. “Is there aught amiss?”
Garrett chuckled. Her mind was with his, somewhere amidst the trees.
* * * *
Beatrice’s heart dropped. Tom was checking his pack before mounting.
Tom rifled through his pack, frowned, and dug some more. He looked up, his face a dull sort of angry red. “Those hags have robbed us. My purse is missing and it was right here.” He held up the bag. “It was in a pouch, right here.”
Garrett cursed softly.
“We must go after them.” Tom swung into the saddle. “Most of them are too old to have gone far. We must ride them down and demand our coin.”
“They left hours ago,” Garrett said. “We could lose most of the day trying to find them.”
“It matters not. Our money is stolen.” Tom shook his pack like a dead rat. “It is despicable. After we shared our food with them and—”
“Nay, Tom.” Beatrice was truly dreading what Tom would have to say when he found out the truth. For a craven moment, she almost lied, but she couldn’t. Tom would hunt those poor women to the ends of the earth. “The women took nothing. I gave them the purse.”
Tom’s mouth dropped open.
Beatrice shifted and braced herself for a storm.
Tom went rigid, his eyes starting out of his head. “Say again.”
Garrett merely watched, his elbows braced on Parsley’s back.
“It was my money.” And she’d done with it as she saw fit. “You were merely keeping it safe.”
“You gave our money to those women?”
“They needed it, Tom.” Beatrice moved closer to Breeze’s reassuring bulk. “You saw how thin some of them were. And the children, Tom, how could you begrudge coin to those tiny, starving children?”
“You gave them our money?” Tom’s jerked on the reins.
Badger tossed his head, snorted, and carried Tom into a nearby bush.
Tom cursed and fought his way clear of the grasping branches, arms flailing, his face alarmingly red.
“Aye.” Beatrice winced as he tugged twigs out of his tunic. Inside she quaked like a pudding. “They were hungry.”
“I am hungry.” Tom flung greenery at the ground. “What coin will you use to feed us?”
“I have more. I did not give you all our coin to hold.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“How. Much.” Tom’s lips compressed into a tight line.
“Have done,” Garrett said. “The sun will break soon, and I do not like the look of those clouds.” He pointed above the trees.
Gravid, pewter clouds rested above the treetops, streaked with dawn’s colors.
“We should find shelter before the storm breaks.”
“And how shall we pay for shelter?” Tom soothed Badger, stroking the bay geldings neck.
“I told you,” Beatrice said, her patience worn thin, “I did not give them all our money.”
“I do not believe you.”
“Jesu.” Garrett shook his head. “You squabble like children.”
“We do not.”
Garrett kept his gaze level.
“Much.” She squirmed a bit. “All right.” She mounted Breeze, so she wouldn’t have to look at the knowing expression on his face. “We have been friends since we were children. Old habits are hard to break.”
Garrett scrabbled onto Parsley’s back.
Beatrice opened her mouth to give him a hint. She snapped it shut again. Garrett couldn’t ride, but he hadn’t said anything. She suspected he wouldn’t take well to her giving him some instruction.
“Are you coming?” He glanced at Tom over his shoulder. “For myself, I do not care what you decide.”
Tom went redder and clenched his fists by his sides.
Beatrice tensed.
Tom looked ready to launch himself at Garrett and drag him to the ground.
She said a quick prayer that Tom’s normal common sense would prevail. He’d be no match for Garrett’s steely bulk.
“Come, Tom.” She plucked a leaf from the top of his boot. “We still have more coin. We will have to use what remains more sparingly.”
“You had no right to give away money without discussing it first.” Tom’s face was grim, but at least he guided Badger onto the small bridle path behind Garrett.
Danger averted, for now. Beatrice mounted and followed him. “If I had asked what would you have said?”
“I would have told you not to be an idiot,” Tom replied.
Beatrice smirked at him. “You see?” She clucked to Breeze. “Which is why I did not tell you.”
Garrett choked.
He turned his head toward the woods beside them.
Beatrice guided Breeze behind Parsley. “Come along.”
Garrett bounced around on Parsley’s broad back as they followed the bridle path along the line of the wood to where it opened onto a wider road.
She’d love to give him a hint or two. He’d be rattled black and blue if he kept that up. The day was still and oppressive. Even the birds were quite, other than the occasional thrush busily calling from the treetops.
She spared a moment’s sympathy for Parsley. He wasn’t accustomed to having an inexperienced rider jar his back. It was a good thing the horse was sweet tempered. Badger would have had Garrett off by now.
They moved inland. A low line of hills hid the sea and meadows dotted with the yellow, pink, and red of wildflowers stretched beneath the heavy sky.
Tom’s silence weighed heavier at her back. She hadn’t heard the end of the money. And Tom didn’t even know the full story.
Low, stone walls carved allotments in the landscape. The summer crops were good this year. There would be food for the winter if the harvest yielded this promise.
Those women wouldn’t starve whatever the harvest, because she’d given them instructions to Anglesea. Her mother and Nurse would see those poor souls fed. Those who wanted to stay would be welcomed.
Tom would shout the birds out of the trees if he knew. By sending the women to Anglesea, she’d almost drawn her family a map to find her.
She didn’t care, however. Those children were starving and the women nigh desperate.
It was done.
The storm Garrett spoke of gathered behind a smear of purple mountains against the horizon.
Garrett made a more interesting view. His back was much broader than Tom’s. She’d had her arms around his hard body. A tiny tendril of heat snaked through her. Garrett had held her in his lovely, strong arms. Could arms be lovely? But his chest and the march of ridges across his belly had definitely been beautiful. She’d like to see more of those. She lingered over the interesting swells of muscle beneath his tunic. Beads of perspiration formed beneath her tunic and slithered between her breasts. The air was terribly sultry and close. Nurse would pin her by the ears for her wanton thoughts. Best to think of something else. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”
