by Sarah Hegger
Of course, Faye had been given some choice in the matter by an indulgent father. But Beatrice knew many girls, of noble birth like herself, who’d been given in marriage without their opinion being sought. For the first time, Beatrice was glad for her three failed betrothals. She’d accepted the notion of marriage to each of the three men, but hadn’t sought it or welcomed it. One of those men could’ve been a brute like the one who had attacked Ivy. Brutishness didn’t confine itself to serfs and the poor.
With her hair neatly braided, Ivy turned to her. “The others can come in now.”
* * * *
Beatrice peered at the darkening day. All she saw was rain and more rain. There was still no sign of Tom. He’d been gone for hours.
“He will be back.” Garrett sat on the other side of the hearth from Ivy with his back against the wall.
Ivy had retreated behind the blanket. When Beatrice last checked, her eyes were closed and she’d appeared to be sleeping.
“What if he is not?” Beatrice willed the darkness to form the shape of Tom.
“You are here,” Garrett said.
Sadness weighed at her. She loved Tom dearly, but the Tom she’d witnessed this day left her shaken and unsure.
“You must not condemn him on a few moments of poor judgment.” Garrett correctly interpreted her thoughts. “It has been a difficult day for all of us. Tom is merely reacting to it in his way.”
“Earlier you looked like you might rip his head off his shoulders.”
“And you stopped me.” He grinned. “You have more courage than good sense.”
That was closer to the truth than he knew. Beatrice pulled a face. “My brothers will tell you I have no sense.” It had been a long day, and the weather matched her mood.
“I would not go that far.” He chuckled. “But I would suggest you stop throwing yourself in front of men with violence on their minds. Come.” Garrett patted the ground beside him. “It is a miserable night, with no fire.”
She didn’t need him to ask her twice. Beatrice crossed the space and sat beside him. His body heat drew her like a lodestone. She wanted to wriggle closer to him and wondered if she dared to be that bold. Things were altered between them. Uncertainty corroded the edges of what she understood about Garrett. Just when she saw the glimmering of an understanding, he shifted and revealed something more. The charming, passionate lover made up only one portion of the man. And yet, at Anglesea, she’d nearly given her virtue to that man. Her head was crowded with the new things she had to fit into place. Her heavy limbs, however, wanted to close the tiny distance between them. None of it made much sense to her.
Garrett dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
The strong column of his exposed throat was dark from working in the sun. The dull purple of a bruise shadowed the harsh line of his jaw.
She traced the mark with her finger. He’d got it in defense of her.
His eyes popped open at her touch.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not much.” He lowered his head. The charmer lurked in the depths of his eyes. “You could kiss it better, if you had a fancy to.”
Beatrice was not of a mind to be charmed. She pushed her shoulder against his.
“Did you suffer any other hurts today?”
“Nothing to speak of.” Garrett shrugged. “Who is Beatrice the Brave?”
Heat rushed up to her hairline.
Garrett laughed.
“Nobody.”
“Tell me.”
His laughter disarmed her. “I am.” She shifted against the hard pack of the floor. “At least, it is how I imagine I should be.” She waved a hand, mortified to be admitting such a thing. “This journey is about Beatrice the Brave.”
Garrett raised his arm and encircled her shoulders. He drew her, unresisting, against his side.
Beatrice immediately felt better. He was a solid, warm presence beside her.
“Was that Beatrice the Brave today? Riding to save Ivy?”
“Nay. Today was me.”
“Were you hurt?” His arm tightened until her entire side pressed against him.
It was a lovely feeling. Beatrice sat absolutely still and enjoyed it. “Nay, you were there before he could do me much harm.”
“Do not do that again.”
“Aye, Garrett.” She lay her head against his shoulder. He was wondrous warm. She curved toward him and fidgeted to get comfortable. “I wish this rain would stop.” Right now, the rain wasn’t bothering her one whit, but the need to get to London pressed against the back of her mind.
“We will leave when it does.” Garrett’s voice rumbled against her ear. “We will try to regain the time we have lost.”
The thump of his heart was steady beneath her ear. The Garrett smell surrounded her. Things did not seem so impossible anymore. Ivy would go with them. She would rather send Ivy back to Anglesea, but after today, she couldn’t ask Tom to take her. Leaving Ivy alone wasn’t to be thought of. Beatrice’s head fit perfectly into the hollow beneath Garrett’s collarbone.
His hand dropped from her shoulder to her hip and pulled her closer.
The small pouch around his neck rested near the tip of her nose. She wanted to ask, but weariness dragged her eyelids down.
* * * *
Her body cleaved to his and Garrett smiled. Tom’s petulance had given him the opportunity he needed to press his case. Of course, with Ivy here, he’d be limited in what he could do. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to stroke the fire in Beatrice a bit higher.
He inhaled the scent of her hair. Wildflowers. He’d give it few moments more, until she was perfectly relaxed.
She sighed.
He enjoyed her weight resting against him, trusting and warm. His.
She moved and his shaft gave lazy stir. Her breath sent warm puffs of air down his neck.
She slumped and made a soft, snuffling noise, like a tired puppy.
Garrett glanced down.
She was asleep. Her lashes dark against the pale of her cheeks, her full mouth open in a soft pout.
Garrett wanted to laugh and howl at the same time. He edged down the wall until he made a better pillow for her. Careful not to wake her, he shifted Beatrice into a more comfortable position for sleep. It mildly concerned him he didn’t mind that she used him as her pallet.
She fit right in his arms.
It had been a whore of a day. Things had gotten murky in his head. The lack of clarity sat ill with him, like an itch beneath his skin he couldn’t reach.
Beatrice had flipped his thinking inside and out. He hadn’t, for one instant, thought she’d behave as she had done with Ivy. Truth be told, the boy’s reaction was closer to what he would’ve expected. The image of Beatrice charging down the rise on her horse taunted him. Garrett’s gut tightened. She was a danger to herself.
What was her family thinking to allow her out without a constant guardian angel to keep her clear of trouble? Ludicrous. Unfortunately, it seemed he’d volunteered for the duty, merely by being in her presence. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw that sodding whoreson reach up and pull her off her horse. His anger had been barely contained as he fought. Garrett shook his head at himself. There’d been three of them. Three. He needed his wooden head examined.
And Ivy.
She brought his mother clearly to mind, as if she were in the room with him. Ivy had the same bone-deep weariness that had beset his mother. It rested in the bruised depths of their eyes and carved lines of disappointment around their mouths. Once, his mother had been beautiful enough to catch the eye of the powerful lord of the demesne she lived within and alluring enough to establish her place as his only leman. She had laughed then, sang to him and told him stories of valor and glory.
Then a marauding knight called Sir Arthur of Anglesea, shouting the name of King John’s justice, had torn their world asunder as ruthlessly as he had razed the castle, their only home
, to the ground. His mother had taken years to die, piece by piece. He lived to bring her justice. And what better justice than to render a whore, the daughter of the man who had torn his world apart?
Except, and here was the thing that wouldn’t rest easy within him, Beatrice would have condemned such an action had she been there. She might have even ridden to their rescue. A man didn’t have to spend more than an hour or two in her company to see what she was made of. It was right there, on the surface, written across her expressive face. Every thought she had and every emotion she experienced. There was no cruelty in her.
For the first time since he’d put his feet on the road toward revenge, Garrett was torn. The inherent rightness of his actions didn’t seem quite so certain anymore.
He was a maudlin dolt. It was right what he did. Sometimes it was mete the innocent suffer along with the guilty. Less than a day’s hard riding from London, life had handed this opportunity to him and he would be a fool not to take it. When the rain let up, he’d lead them into the night.
The boy would be too busy nursing his own self-righteous grievances to take note of their direction. Through the door, the rain lessened. He’d have a few solid hours of darkness to work with. He should wake Beatrice and tell her to get ready.
Her arm lay across his belly.
She was so trusting it made his teeth ache. There was no need to wake her right away. She was tired and Tom wasn’t back yet.
* * * *
“Beatrice.” Tom’s voice intruded on her sleep.
Beatrice lay with her cheek against a blanket, and her limbs were cold. She shivered and blinked at the hut. Then she remembered where they were. It was dark all around now, but the rain had stopped.
“Beatrice, it is time to go.” Tom shook her by the shoulder.
Beatrice sat up. The last thing she remembered was cuddling up beside Garrett. “Where is Garrett?”
“Outside with the horses. We let you sleep as long as we could.”
“Where were you?”
Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Walking, thinking. Sitting and more thinking.” He cleared his throat. “I was wrong, Bea. I need to beg your pardon.”
Sweet relief flooded Beatrice. This was the Tom she knew and loved. “Aye, you were.”
Tom gave her a sardonic look. “I am not sure what came over me. You were right to chastise me.”
“Garrett nearly did worse.” Beatrice turned to look for Ivy.
The other woman perched on the folded blanket Beatrice had used as a screen. Her hair was neatly braided and her skirts carefully tucked around her legs. She waited.
“Bea.” Tom helped her to her feet. “I want you to be careful with Garrett.”
A glib answer rose to her lips.
“I do not think he is as he appears to be.”
Tom’s words echoed her thoughts too closely. Beatrice squeezed his hand. Tom loved her. He only wanted to protect her.
“You are too quick to trust, and I am concerned for you.” This was her Tom sweet, caring, and hopelessly stubborn, but a good man.
She threw her arms around his neck. “I do not like to fight with you, Tom.”
“God’s wounds, Bea.” He went bright pink but gave her a rough hug.
Chapter 14
A long ride through the night gained some of the time lost. They’d stopped a few hours before dawn to get some rest. The women cuddled together for warmth in the early hours before dawn.
Beatrice woke with Ivy stiff as a board behind her. The bright sunlight stung her eyes. She shifted and groaned. Her body was full of tired twinges and aches. Today would bring more hard traveling.
“We are lost.” Tom’s voice broke the still morning. “How, in the name of God, can we be lost?”
Beatrice sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
Behind her, Ivy did the same.
Near the horses, Tom and Garret stood and glared at each other.
Garrett looked irritated, but not murderous. A horse whinnied over his reply.
“You said you knew the way.” Tom thrust his chest forward.
Beatrice scrambled to her feet. Being lost would be an unmitigated disaster. Her family was counting on her to reach London. Assuming Henry hadn’t suffered a rush of blood to the head and decided to come after her. Henry wouldn’t do anything quite so impulsive.
“What is it, Tom?” Every one of Beatrice’s limbs ached. She was unaccustomed to riding as many hours and sleeping rough. Her steps lacked any semblance of grace as she stumbled to Garrett and Tom.
“He says we are lost.” Tom pointed at Garrett.
Garrett spread his arms wide and grimaced.
Dismay flooded through Beatrice. “We cannot be.” His sheepish expression irked her. “You know the way. You said so.”
Garrett stroked her cheek. “I am sorry, sweeting. I must have taken the wrong path in the dark.”
She jerked away from his touch. “How can you be sure we are lost then?” Beatrice tried to be sensible, but she wanted to shake him until he admitted it was all a silly misunderstanding.
“The sun.” Garrett pointed to a low line of crags on the horizon. “It rose there and if we were on the right path, it would have risen above yonder hill.”
“Nay.” Beatrice glared at the soft, green hills. Disappointment welled into her throat. She pushed it down. “Then we must simply retrace our steps and get back on the correct path.”
“Going back will take us almost half a day out of our way.” Tom stamped over to his blanket and snatched it off the ground. “We are running out of time. We had barely enough time to reach London as it was. This will cost us everything.”
“Stop it, Tom. You are not helping.” She had to make London. There was no choice. Beatrice turned on her heel, grabbed her belongings and shoved them into her satchel.
Ivy scrambled to her feet and blinked at her.
“I have not done everything I have done to be told nay now.” She struggled with the blanket. The cursed thing defied her, spilling over the edges and refusing to make itself small. Beatrice punched it into the satchel. “I will reach London. I will warn my father. And he will reach home in time to save us.”
“Beatrice?” Garrett was warm beside her. “I am truly sorry, sweeting, but we have lost too much time.”
“Nay.” Beatrice trod toward her horse. “I will not accept it.”
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
Of all the stupid questions. Beatrice nearly exploded. She hadn’t time to stand and argue with stupid men. “I am going to London.”
“You do not know the way.” Garrett’s hand on her arm burned like a brand against her skin.
Beatrice yanked her arm away. “Then I will ask someone who does.” She loaded her satchel onto Breeze. The animal sensed her mood and danced a few steps away from Beatrice. Beatrice focused on the white blaze between Breeze’s eyes. She forced herself to take a deep calming breath. This wouldn’t defeat her.
“Where are you going?” Garrett asked.
“With her,” Ivy replied. “If she wants to go to London, I will go with her.”
“Jesu, save me from illogical women.”
His hands hard on her shoulders, Garrett spun her around to face him. “You cannot go traipsing off with no direction.”
Beatrice thrust her chin out. He could glare all he wanted. “You said it was that way.” She pointed to the hills. “Then such is the way we will go.”
“I said that is where the sun should have risen.” Garrett rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have no idea where we are.”
Beatrice glared at him. She didn’t want to hear it.
“We could ask someone.” Ivy slipped to her side.
Of course. Hope flared. It was the most sensible thing to do.
“There is nobody here.” Garrett stuffed his fingers through his hair.
“I see smoke.” Ivy nudged her and jerked her c
hin. “And where there is smoke, there is bound to be a person tending it.”
Above the tree line, a thin wisp of smoke rose before disappearing into the cloudless sky.
It was a blessed sign. Beatrice loved Ivy in that moment. People nearby meant help.
“It could be anyone.” Garrett moved to take the saddle from her, but Beatrice fought him. He was stronger than she. She tugged harder at the saddle, not caring how undignified the tussle. “Remember what happened last time you tangled with strangers?”
“Let go.”
“Nay, I cannot allow you to go tumbling into trouble again,” he said with infuriating calm.
“He is right.” Tom spoke.
The knife twisted in Beatrice’s chest. Of all the people she had thought to side with her, Tom was foremost. She lanced him with a look shrieking his betrayal. She gave up the saddle so abruptly Garrett had to catch his balance.
Bareback it was, then. She snatched up Breeze’s bridle and tugged. Breeze sensed she was past discussing the issue and quietly fell into step behind her.
“Beatrice?” Garrett called.
She kept walking, searching for a likely stump or rock to help her mount. Rapid footsteps came after her. Beatrice quickened her pace, but his legs were longer and he got in front of her.
“All right.” He held up his hands. “We will ride toward the smoke and ask directions. Get on the damn horse.”
Her pride demanded she tell him to go to the devil. She looked at Ivy.
Ivy shrugged.
It was her decision to make. Beatrice spun, clasping her dignity about her, and pulled Breeze’s saddle out of his hands.
* * * *
Garrett should have been livid. Outflanked by a stubborn girl and her henchwoman. He stared at Parsley’s neck and fought the grin threatening to spread across his face. By God, she had spirit. He could still see her, marching around their camp with her hair flying behind her head and her jaw locked tight. Why he found this amusing remained a mystery, but he did. At best, his attempt had bought him half a day. He should be galled it hadn’t gained him more time.
