Sweet Bea

by Sarah Hegger

  “I am a big girl. There are enough pieces to go around.” She squared her slim shoulders.

  Nay.

  He wanted to gather up the parts of her she scattered around and keep them just for himself. The thought was like a rusty blade to his vitals. He craved all the pieces of Beatrice for himself.

  He fastened his hungry mouth on hers.

  She came without resistance.

  Fight me, part of him wanted to shout. Open your beautiful eyes and see me for the rotten, miserable whoreson I am.

  She sighed and opened her mouth beneath his.

  A better man would have chastely saluted her lips and sent her back to bed. But he wasn’t a better man. He was the son of a traitor and a whore and the rot went right to the core of him.

  He thrust his tongue into her mouth bringing his hands to cup her face and drag her closer to him. He wanted all of her, to grab the sweetness that was Beatrice and drink until he grew sick with it.

  And, sweet Jesu help him, but she gave, as she did everything else, freely and wholeheartedly.

  * * * *

  Garrett kissed her like he was desperate for the taste of her. His mouth devoured hers.

  The woman in her thrilled, as the girl grew shy. She almost pulled back, but as if he sensed her withdrawal, his mouth grew hotter and hungrier.

  He wanted her.

  It was intoxicating, to know he felt it, too. This yearning for each other.

  His hand tangled in her hair, demanding she yield to him.

  There was no resistance. She was his for the taking. She slid her hands around his neck, pulling him to her. That awful chasm between them closed. Still, too far. She inched closer to him.

  He groaned.

  The sound tugged at her matching need.

  His hands were rough on her legs as he pulled her onto his lap.

  This was where she needed to be.

  His thighs were hard beneath hers. His chest rubbed the aching points of her breasts. He parted her legs until she straddled him.

  It was beyond improper, but Beatrice exalted. Her thighs were spread across his. Her aching core met his hardness. The intimate contact rippled through her. She should be shocked, but she had to have this. She wanted much more and she had no thought of how to ask for it with words. Small, needy sounds escaped her to get swallowed in the heat of his mouth. Her body knew what to do.

  Garrett rocked her against him. There. He pressed her where the ache was keenest.

  Her skin was too tight to contain the restless hunger. “Aye.” She pressed harder; she was where she had to be.

  “Beatrice, you should stop me.” His chest heaved.

  “Nay.” She could not get enough of him. More. She wanted more and more. Beatrice moved on him of her own accord trying to assuage the clamor driving her on.

  His hands tightened around her bottom before slipping beneath her tunic.

  They were fiery on the bare skin of her back. Beatrice tugged her belt. She craved his touch on every part of her. She wanted to feel his skin touch hers.

  He closed his hands over her breasts. His long fingers stroked her nipples.

  The ache grew. Pleasure shot to the place where they were joined. Beatrice exalted in it. Her breath came ragged and harsh, as if she’d been running. Nothing else existed for her, except the pressure of where their bodies rubbed and his hands upon her breasts. She was wicked and wild and free. The sensation built until she vibrated to the ends of her fingers.

  She came apart into a thousand brilliant splinters.

  He tightened his arms as she collapsed onto his chest.

  She lay there, melted, panting, and acquiescent. Totally his.

  He stroked her back as her heart slowed. The hard ridge of his flesh pressed her thighs.

  She buried her head into the sweat-dampened heat of his neck. His pulse pounded beneath her mouth. For her, because of what they had shared. Beatrice traced the motion with her lips.

  * * * *

  Garrett ached. He wanted her more than he had wanted anyone in his entire life. She lay spent and recovering atop his pulsing shaft and, damn him to hell, all he could think of was how good she felt in his arms. He burned to slide off her braies and ease his aching rod into her.

  He beat back the frenzy raging in his blood.

  Take her, whispered his body. Get from her what we must have.

  And yet, he sat there and held her. Like some stupid sot, he was content to smell the slight floral scent of her. Her breath escaped in small puffs, tickling the sensitive skin of his neck. Her mouth branded his throat above his pulse.

  She’d given herself completely over to the pleasure.

  It humbled him.

  It terrified him.

  The woman in his arms was far beyond his experience.

  Take her. Here it was, the opportunity for which he’d toiled for all these years. Here was revenge, laid before him, willing and ready.

  And he couldn’t.

  He wrapped his arms about her so she didn’t feel the chill on her fevered skin.

  She’d come sweetly and completely for him. She gave herself with the sort of abandon that left other encounters feeling cheap and unworthy.

  He didn’t deserve the gift she bestowed on him. Some tiny part of him, still clasping a frail tendril of goodness, wouldn’t let him abuse her gift. He would curse himself as the worst kind of sentimental fool for letting the moment pass, but he was equally sure he was going to do it anyway.

  “Garrett?” She blinked up at him and his chest ached.

  She wasn’t for him. And it had nothing to do with the cur who’d sired her or her title. “You should rest.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  “That was,” she wriggled, “marvelous.”

  Garrett’s face split into an idiotic grin. Damn her and her honesty, it reached deep inside of him and tugged at the buried part of him. “Aye, sweeting, it was and now you should go back to Ivy before I forget my good intentions.”

  The little vixen actually hesitated, as if she was weighing her options and Garrett groaned.

  He wasn’t noble. He was a dog with a throbbing shaft and a desirable woman perched right on it. There was a limit to how much he could take. He shifted her hips until she clambered off him. The relief and the disappointment robbed him of coherent thought.

  “Garrett? You will still be here when I wake?” She stood beside him, her face soft and beautiful.

  He’d put that look on her face. His chest swelled with pride and something else, he dare not put a name to it. “Aye, Beatrice, I will be here.”

  He should’ve left when he had the chance.

  Garrett snorted. What a sodding liar he was. He’d never been going anywhere. He’d been sitting here brooding, looking for the smallest excuse to stay.

  “Beatrice?”

  “Aye.

  “Put your skirts back on.” Not one more day of watching her glorious ass in those chausses.

  * * * *

  Garrett’s eyes burned and he rubbed the grit from them. He hadn’t slept all night. This fledgling part of him had flickered into life as he kept watch over the sleeping camp. It struggled for purchase against the rage and bitterness he had nursed since his childhood and won. He welcomed the new day.

  As the sky lightened about them, the camp woke.

  Ivy was first. She caught sight of him, froze, and nodded. Ivy knew instinctively, what he had fought against. Beatrice had rescued more than her body from those men. As the days passed, if she stayed close to Beatrice, his lady would work her magic for Ivy, too.

  Ivy fussed with the smoldering ashes of last night’s fire.

  Tom joined her, his much larger form almost dwarfing her.

  Ivy tensed but she didn’t move away. It would be some time before she lost her fear. She cried out and sucked her fingers into her mouth. She must have burned them.

  The boy nudged her gently out the way an
d took her place.

  It was such a small action, but Garrett saw it for what it was. Ivy had a protector, whether her protector was aware of it or not.

  What would his mother’s life had been if she’d had Beatrice to bring back the joy and Tom to watch over her while she did?

  Garrett untied the pouch from his neck. His fingers shook as he released the tiny knots that held it closed. He hadn’t looked inside in years. Not since the day he’d tied it around his neck as he left his mother’s grave.

  A flash of color fluttered to the ground. Garrett picked it up and cradled it in his palm. A red velvet ribbon, it had once been bright scarlet, but was faded brown with constant use. His mother had clung to this tiny remnant of happier times. She kept it tied to the bodice of her chainse, close to her heart.

  She hadn’t loved his father. Wulfric had been a heavy-handed, vicious lout but he’d kept her and Garrett well fed and comfortable. The ribbon came from before. She’d been wearing it when she left her father’s house as a young maid.

  Her father had turned his back on her when she took up with Wulfric. She’d been too shamed to return to her family after Wulfric was dead. Or too proud. Garrett was never sure.

  The ribbon fluttered in his palm as a gentle breeze rippled through the clearing. Garrett’s fist closed around it instinctively.

  He stopped and opened his fingers.

  The wind picked up the ribbon and it floated to the ground beside him. It rippled once, twice, and then lifted to be carried into a nearby clump of gorse. It hung there a moment before another light gust took it higher.

  Garrett left the pouch on the ground as he rose.

  “Newt is gone,” Ivy said as he walked toward the fire.

  He looked back to where Newt had spread his blanket the night before. The boy was gone, but the blanket remained, sprawled across the ground like a stain. He wasn’t surprised.

  “Beatrice will worry herself over him.” Ivy folded her hands in front of her.

  “Beatrice.” Tom shook his head. “She will not believe the worst of anyone.”

  “Aye.” Ivy’s hands clenched. “It is a unique gift.”

  “Or a curse.” Tom strode over to the blanket and snatched it up. “Did he take anything?”

  “Not that I can see.” Ivy’s mouth tightened. She rose and moved to where Beatrice lay.

  The boy’s face fell.

  Garrett clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  Tom started and straightened his shoulders.

  “I would check to see what the little turd has taken,” Garrett said.

  Chapter 17

  Shyness beset Beatrice when she faced Garrett in the morning. Her cheeks burned hot as she returned his greeting.

  Tom gave her a sharp look, but carried on packing the camp.

  She and Ivy found a small stream and insisted on bathing before mounting. The stream gurgled through low rocks, hidden from view with the bright green of new leaves. The water was biting cold, but it felt good to be clean once more.

  Beatrice eyed her dirt-encrusted chausses with dislike and wriggled into a dark blue bliaut. It was square necked and plain, made of serviceable linen, but after her days spent in chausses, the dress made her feel softer and more feminine. As did the look she earned from Garrett as he helped her mount Breeze.

  “Are you well this morning?” He adjusted her stirrups for her. His hand lingered on her calf.

  “Aye.” Beatrice smiled down at him. She was better than well. She was alive to the ends of her toes.

  “We should make London by nightfall.” Muscles bunched beneath his tunic as Garrett mounted Parsley.

  Her fingers tingled. She’d touched all that male power. Her cheeks heated, and she ducked her head. She followed his lead out of the clearing and onto the road. The road was paved now and the horse’s hooves clattered over the stone.

  It might be her fondness for him, but he looked less awkward atop the large horse.

  “We will need to stop.” Tom rode behind them. “We are short on supplies.”

  “When we find my father, he will see us fed.” Beatrice smiled at the rest of the party.

  Ivy looked doubtful, and Tom merely rolled his eyes. Garrett’s face almost dispelled her cheer entirely.

  His expression remained carefully blank. He returned her smile, but it was one of his practiced, clever smiles. Not one of the others she hoarded to herself.

  It was like a slap. The Garrett of the night before had disappeared. So quickly, between one moment and the next, her Garrett was gone and in his place, this smooth stranger. Unease crawled over her skin like ants.

  As with the day before, the road grew busier. All manner of people slid past them. Great wagons loaded with wheat and hay, herds of cattle or sheep and people from lords to paupers, all heading for London.

  “I have never been to London.” Beatrice looked forward to her first sighting of the city. “I hear it is very large.”

  “Aye.” Ivy’s tone was curt.

  “We will not be there long. I must get home.” Beatrice peered over her shoulder.

  Ivy pursed her lips and frowned.

  “When I have found my father, we will return to Anglesea.” Ivy need not be concerned with staying in the city long. “I would like it if you came with us.”

  Ivy’s arms tightened about her middle. “You would have me come home with you?”

  “Aye.” Nurse would take to Ivy. God help Ivy then, because Nurse could fuss and coddle a soul to death.

  They wove their way through a small group of travelers with large baskets strapped to their backs. The baskets were filled with wrapped bundles. Wares to be sold in London.

  “My lady,” Ivy said. “I realize you intend only to be kind, but surely you can see, you cannot arrive home towing one such as me.”

  “I do not see anything of the sort.”

  “I am a whore.” Ivy sighed.

  “Nay, Ivy, at Anglesea you can be what you wish to be. I shall not tell them anything, other than we found you on the way to London. The rest is up to you to tell.”

  “And Tom?”

  Beatrice looked at Tom.

  He raised a brow in question.

  “Tom will honor whatever I say.” Beatrice patted Ivy’s knee. “He behaved badly toward you and I know he is sorry for that. Tom has lived a simple life. Everything to him is either right or wrong. He knows what you suffered was wrong. It just took him a bit of time to sort through the other part.”

  “Me being a whore?”

  “I do not like that word.” Swift irritation spiked through Beatrice. Ivy should not denigrate herself in that manner.

  “It is the truth.”

  “It was the truth.” A new life awaited Ivy. She would see to that. “What happens now is up to you and Tom will not do or say anything to make it otherwise.”

  “He disapproves of me.” Ivy sniffed.

  “And me at times.”

  Ivy chuckled.

  Beatrice guided Breeze past a small herd of goats. The mare snorted at them and sidled.

  “Tom is very moral and his morals sometimes war with his big heart. But his strict principles are also what make him the best sort of man. The sort a person can rely on. He has been my rock since I was a girl.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “As one of my brothers.” Beatrice laughed. “Perhaps even more than my youngest brother, Henry.”

  “And you were never in love with him?”

  “Tom?” The notion was so silly. Tom sat atop Badger, outwardly a man, but always the boy to her. Good Lord, they’d gone tadpoling together. He’s pushed her into the stream. “Nay. Tom and I are great friends, but any more than that and we would likely bludgeon each other to death.”

  The horse’s hooves rapped against the stone in a steady rhythm. They passed a family. A stout father and mother herded a large group of children between them. A small girl glanced up as they passed
. She smiled and waved her little hand.

  “Will you come with us to Anglesea?” Beatrice waved back.

  “I shall think on it,” Ivy said.

  It wasn’t the firm “aye” she sought from Ivy, but Beatrice had time to work on her.

  For a stretch the road was empty. It wove through cultivated land. Villages dotted the hills here and there. The road dipped and they followed it between neat hedgerows. Sparrows argued in the top branches.

  Suddenly, Breeze tossed her head and sidled away nervously.

  Beatrice tightened her grip on the reins.

  “What is it?” Tom pulled Badger out of the skittish mare’s path.

  “I do not know.” Beatrice searched the road to see what disturbed Breeze. “It could have been a wild animal.”

  Breeze whickered and Beatrice ran a soothing hand down her neck.

  Parsley was his normal stolid and Badger, as per usual, merely looked annoyed.

  Newt slid out of the undergrowth and into the road before them.

  “Look, a feral beast.” Tom crossed his arms over the pommel.

  Newt. Whole and well. Beatrice was glad. She kept it to herself. Neither Tom nor Garrett had said a word to her about the boy’s disappearance, but Beatrice guessed what they were thinking.

  “Where did you get to?” Garrett drew rein beside Newt.

  For once, Parsley didn’t carry him a good ten paces beyond where he wished to stop. It wasn’t her imagination. Garrett was improving on horseback.

  “Here and there.” Newt shrugged. He gave her a lavish bow. “My lady.” He held up a large sack. “I bring you something to fill your noble belly.”

  “And where did you get that?” Tom rumbled behind her.

  Newt’s sack bulged. She was hungry, they all were, but she didn’t like to think of some poor family going without this evening.