by Sarah Hegger
“What is it William?” Sir Arthur’s eyes narrowed on Garrett.
“There is no time for this.” Beatrice pulled at the shoulder of William’s hauberk.
“You travelled from Anglesea without an escort?” William crossed his ankles as if he were settling in for the rest of the day. “With only him for company.”
“And Tom,” Beatrice said.
Roger and her father studied Garrett with the same intensity as William.
Bloody, blasted William. The damage was done. “I told you, Tom was with us. And we gathered some people along the way, but that is a tale for another day. The important thing is I am here now and father must go home. He is sorely needed at Anglesea.”
“Your brother raises a good question.” Her father’s chest swelled, and he balled his fists.
Beatrice stepped in front of Garrett. “I told you, his name is Garrett and he helped me to get here.”
“Why?” drawled William into his wine.
“I am also sure I know you.” Sir Arthur firmly, but gently, pushed her to the side.
“Aye, you know me,” Garrett said.
* * * *
Garrett stared at the face he’d conjured in his mind for all these years. Sir Arthur had aged well. He looked craggier around the edges and his hair was laced with white, but he still possessed the same strong features, and hard eyes that stared back at him. He waited for the hate to thicken his blood.
* * * *
“God be praised!” Godfrey charged through the door. “Thank God, I found you before you left, brother.”
Beatrice’s heart leapt into her throat. She grabbed her father’s arm.
“Godfrey?” Sir Arthur swung around.
“Get away from him.” Godfrey pointed at Garrett. “He is here to kill you.”
“It is not true.” Fury surged through Beatrice.
“Look at him, brother. Do you not recognize Wulfric’s bastard? He is here for vengeance.” Godfrey’s sword cleared his scabbard with a loud hiss. He sprang for Garrett.
“He is lying, Father.” Beatrice blocked Godfrey’s path.
Garrett pushed her. “Get her safe.”
Beatrice stumbled toward her father, her head snapped back on her neck.
Sir Arthur shoved her behind him.
Godfrey advanced and Garrett dropped to the floor and rolled clear.
She clawed the back of her father’s hauberk. She had to save Garrett. Black spots danced in front her eyes.
Unarmed, Garrett rolled to his feet, gaze locked on the blade.
Godfrey closed on him and swung.
Beatrice screamed.
Garrett staggered back. A red stain bloomed on his sleeve.
Dear Lord, he was hurt. Beatrice ducked under her father’s arm and ran for Garrett.
Roger caught her waist and hauled her back.
“Nay.” She flailed against her brother’s hold. Godfrey would kill Garrett for sure. She had to stop it.
“Do not be stupid,” Roger said. “Do you want to be killed?”
Roger’s arm around her waist almost cut off her breathing as she thrashed to get free. She didn’t care, she had to save Garrett. “You must stop it. Garrett is not armed and Godfrey wants to kill him. You must stop it. Please.”
Godfrey thrust.
Beatrice’s heart stopped.
Garrett danced out of the way. He ducked beneath the sword and rolled toward the table.
Godfrey’s sword sheared through the wood and he tugged it free.
Garrett came up on the other side of the table.
Godfrey leapt onto the table.
“Stop him, Father, stop him. Garrett saved me. Godfrey tried to kill me.” Didn’t they see what was happening? Terror turned her blood to ice as Godfrey’s sword arced toward Garrett.
“Enough.” Sir Arthur’s bellow shook the rafters.
Godfrey’s sword stopped for a breath, and then continued.
Her father sprang forward, his sword raised. Metal met metal in a ringing clang. Sparks flew as her father twisted his wrists, trapped Godfrey’s blade with his, and pinned it to the table.
“What in hell is Beatrice shrieking about?” Her father’s voice cut through the heavy air.
Godfrey licked his lip. His hand shook as he strained against Sir Arthur’s lock on his sword. “She is bewitched by him.” Godfrey panted, sweat streaming down his face. “He has seduced her into believing he cares for her, but he is only using her to get to you. I hurried here to save you, Arthur. He wants revenge for his father’s death.”
“It is not true.” Beatrice clawed at Roger’s hands.
“Stop it, Bea.” He shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth. “Or I will be forced to hurt you.”
“Beatrice.” Godfrey shook his head at her and turned toward his brother. “She is enchanted by him and his smooth words. You know his face. He looks exactly like his sire.”
“Drop your sword.” Sir Arthur pressed on Godfrey’s blade.
With a curse, Godfrey released his blade. “I was merely trying to save you, Arthur.” He shook his wrist as if to ease it.
“She tells quite a tale, brother,” Sir Arthur said.
“You know what she is like, Arthur.” Godfrey jumped from the table. “Beatrice will believe anything anyone tells her. She is your daughter. You do not need me to tell you how trouble always finds a home with Beatrice.”
Beatrice shook her head in horrified disbelief. The words dripped like honey from Godfrey’s lips.
“Wulfric’s bastard, after all these years.” Her father’s eyes were deadly intent as they fastened on Garrett.
“Arthur, you know your daughter,” Godfrey said.
Beatrice sobbed her frustration. Godfrey, with his smooth words, twisted everything his way.
“I do,” her father replied. “And she is impulsive, thoughtless, reckless, and inclined to believe any sad tale told her.”
“Nay, Father.” He didn’t believe her. She had failed. The room wavered in front of her eyes as Beatrice swayed on her feet.
Roger took her weight.
“But she does not lie.” Her father’s sword blurred.
Godfrey’s eyes widened at the sword against his neck. His gaze drifted up to his brother. “Arthur?” He swallowed convulsively.
“She does not lie.”
Beatrice slumped against Roger. Her head seemed stuffed with wool, and she couldn’t follow the rapidly changing currents in the room.
“Aye,” Roger added. “Beatrice does not lie. As much as we would wish her to be less truthful at times.”
“For the love of God, Arthur.” Godfrey spread his hands wide.
Arthur’s sword rested beside the vein pulsing in his neck.
“You cannot be seriously listening to the girl. Look at her. She is nigh beside herself. And him?” Godfrey sneered at Garrett. “The whoreson has been swiving his way through most of the village and now he has turned his attentions to the keep. I saw them, Arthur, with my own eyes. He has had her and she is thinking like a woman bewitched.”
“Why?” Arthur asked his brother.
“He is a comely knave, Arthur. He has a way—”
“Why?” Sir Arthur pressed his blade against Godfrey’s throat.
“Arthur, I—”
Sir Arthur’s voice grew hard. “Was it envy, brother? Did you want what I had?”
Godfrey’s face tightened with anger. “You believe her?”
“Aye, Godfrey.” Her father sounded terribly sad. “Now I want to know why my brother would try to kill my daughter, his niece, and jeopardize my family and our entire demesne.”
“If I may?” William remained near Garrett, his sword drawn and within striking distance. “I think the answer lies in what he was promised to act thusly.”
“Does he have the right of it?”
Godfrey stared long at his brother. His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes
briefly before opening them. A glint of amusement shone in their hazel depths.
Beatrice stared at Godfrey in shock. His features familiar and yet, so far removed from the man she had loved as an uncle. It was as if she saw him for the first time. This cold, hard man had plotted her death with no remorse.
“King John wanted you gelded. You grew too powerful. Too many listened to your voice. And I—” Godfrey shrugged. “I merely wanted what is my due.” He raised his hands. “Look at you, Arthur. You play war constantly and leave your lands in the hands of that boy, Henry. Your daughters run wild and your other sons are like you. You are a great, savage brute and this is a time for men of diplomacy and vision.”
Godfrey cocked his head and smiled. “What now, brother?” He chuckled. “Now you have discovered you harbor a viper in your bosom, what will you do?”
“The thing about us savage brutes, brother—”
Beatrice’s blood ran cold.
“—is we act first and think last.” The blade moved.
Eyes wide, Godfrey stared at Arthur and crumpled to the floor, blood pumping from the clean cut across his neck.
Beatrice hid her eyes against Roger’s chest. She didn’t want to see her uncle bleed to death.
“I will clean this up, and then we ride for home.” Her father pulled her into his arms.
Beatrice collapsed into the embrace.
“Sweet Bea,” he whispered against her hair. “Did you think I would not believe you?”
Tears swelled behind her eyes and clogged up her throat. She nodded but couldn’t look at her father.
“Of course I would believe you, Beatrice.” Her father tilted her chin up with his finger. His face looked sad and drawn. “You are my daughter. I am aware of each of your faults, but also your great strengths. You were a very silly girl to come here like this, but also a brave one. Now, we must go home and sort out the mess my brother has left for us.”
“Not quite yet,” William called. “We seem to be forgetting something.”
Her father turned and tugged Beatrice around with him.
William dropped his sword and drove his elbow into Garrett’s face.
Beatrice yelled and tried to run for Garrett, but her father put her firmly aside.
Roger, not quite as quick as William, gave a roar and leapt for Garrett.
“Stop them, Father,” Beatrice implored. “They will kill him.”
“Nay.” Sir Arthur looked quiet and grim. “But my boys will make him ache enough to know what happens to anyone who trifles with my daughter.”
Chapter 25
Garrett disappeared under a pile of flying fists. He defended himself, not valiantly, but effectively.
Her father stood firmly in front of her, preventing her from moving.
“Your mother will want to speak with you.” Color climbed from his throat onto his cheeks. “There are women’s matters. She will need…um…to discuss matters and the like with you.”
Beatrice writhed inside. Her father knew of her amorous adventures. It was beyond mortifying. His embarrassment only made her want to crawl beneath the nearest rock.
“Beatrice.” Tom hurtled through the door. “Your uncle came through—” He stopped. In a glance, he took in Godfrey’s body. “I see you know already.”
“Thomas,” her father bellowed, loud enough to make her ears hurt, “I understand you were part of Beatrice’s foolish notion.”
“Aye, my lord.” Thomas paled and dropped his head.
“You cannot blame Tom, Father.” Beatrice dragged her eyes away from the mass of limbs in the corner. Her brothers wouldn’t really hurt Garrett would they? Or he, them.
Garrett seemed to be holding his own.
“He bit me.” Roger’s head popped up. He clasped bloody fingers to his ear.
Biting? Not exactly noble, but it was two against one. “Tom came with me because I asked him to.”
“I do not blame Tom.” Sir Arthur took her by the shoulders and turned her to Tom. “You have always talked him into trouble.”
“Aye, sir.” Tom straightened his shoulders. “But she has always talked me out of trouble shortly thereafter.”
William stood up and glared at the tangle around him, bellowed, and leapt back into the fray.
Ivy stood half-hidden by Tom. She peered around as William yelled. “Should you not stop them, my lord?” she suggested.
“And who are you?” Her father titled his head to see around Tom.
Tom put himself in front of Ivy and raised his chin. “Her name is Ivy.”
Sir Arthur barked a laugh. “Like that is it, young Tom?”
Tom flushed. “Ivy has had a rough go of it and is easily afeared.”
“Aye, Father, stop glowering at her.” Beatrice pinched him. She would not have her father frightening Ivy. “Will you not stop them?” All three of the combatants were bloodied.
“Let them settle it.” He patted her shoulder. “And tell me about little Ivy.”
Had her father gone daft? He wanted to chat about Ivy? “Father, Anglesea? Mother?”
“Don’t fret so, Beatrice. What happened to Ivy?” Her father walked closer to Tom, tugging Beatrice with him.
“We rescued her from some vicious curs on the road,” Tom said.
“You rescued her?” Sir Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You and Beatrice?”
“And Garrett,” Beatrice added.
Near the fight in the corner, a bench went over and broke. The combatants appeared to be running out of vigor.
Sir Arthur grunted and motioned for Tom to continue.
Tom told the story.
Blood oozed from Garrett’s mouth and nose and one eye was already swollen shut.
Roger reared up from the fray, howling and holding his manhood. “The bloody whoreson—”
That was ungentlemanly. Beatrice winced.
“Language, son,” Arthur yelled back at them. “There are ladies present. I am charmed to meet you Mistress Ivy. You are a woman of uncommon courage.” Her father bowed low over Ivy’s hand.
Ivy’s cheeks turned pink.
“Know that should you decide to make Anglesea your home, no further harm will come to you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Beatrice’s shook her head to try and clear it. Garrett was being beat to a pulp, her family was in danger, and her father was laying on the charm for Ivy.
The tangle of fighters sent the table crashing over.
“My lord, should you not be addressing that?” Tom motioned the grappling men.
At last, someone showed some sense.
“They will run out of fight eventually.” Sir Arthur smiled at Tom. “Now, tell me the rest of it.” He fixed Beatrice with a stern eye. “You have had four days away from the keep. If I know my daughter, there has been no end of tricky situations.”
“Not at all, my lord.” Tom kept his face straight.
Beatrice wanted to kiss him.
“Nothing we could not remedy.” She beamed at Tom.
He gave her a tiny wink.
“Arthur!”
Sir Arthur straightened and his head jerked around to the door.
“Mother.” Beatrice would know that voice anywhere.
Lady Mary stood in the doorway, her fists on her hips, her large belly protruding before her. Behind her stood Nurse.
Beatrice suppressed a groan.
Tom ducked behind Beatrice, pulling Ivy with him.
Henry stood to the right of Nurse, his blond head towering over his mother and Nurse.
Beatrice blinked to be sure she was seeing right. Henry was here? And not looking at her as if she needed a stern lecture.
Beatrice’s heart gave a happy thump. Faye stood beside Henry. Beyond Faye’s right shoulder loomed the stoic form of Sir Gregory, so tall, his head almost touched the lintel, his face as grave as ever.
“Mary?” Sir Arthur’s stern features melted into t
he sweetest smile.
Beatrice’s eyes filled. Sir Arthur and Lady Mary’s story was the stuff of romantic legends. She wanted such a love for herself.
Lady Mary’s gaze moved across the entire chamber. She paused when she got to Godfrey’s body. “I see the morning has been eventful.” She sighed and touched her hand to her belly. “Sir Gregory?”
“My lady?”
“Would you please?” She made an elegant gesture toward Godfrey’s body.
Sir Gregory hefted Godfrey’s lifeless corpse over his shoulder as if it weighed naught. He strode from the room, carefully skirting Faye and Lady Mary.
The corners of Lady Mary’s mouth drooped. She shook her head slowly as she watched Gregory leave. “Such a great pity.” She sighed as if resigned.
“And you.” Lady Mary fixed Beatrice with a glare. “I will speak with you shortly.”
She knew that look. Beatrice wanted to sneak away before her mother’s “shortly” arrived.
“Mary.” Sir Arthur stepped in front of his wife and held out his arms.
“In a moment, Arthur. I am terribly glad to see you, but first things first.” She gently pushed aside his arms and stepped around her husband. “If you would, Nurse.”
Lady Mary was lithe for a woman with such a distended belly. She stopped perilously close to the fight.
“Mother.” Lady Mary could be swept into the tangle. Beatrice went to fetch her back.
Lady Mary struck like a viper, reached into the mess, and emerged with William. Keeping a firm grip on his ear, she dragged him out.
Nurse held Garrett by the seat of his chausses and sent him careening across the room.
The sudden silence fell like a pall.
Lady Mary brushed off her hands and turned to her husband. “Arthur.” A huge smile lit her beautiful face as she embraced her husband. “It is lovely to see you.” She turned her face up and Sir Arthur kissed her cheek. “Although I cannot approve of what you were allowing to take place here. We did not raise our children in a stable.” She cupped Sir Arthur’s face between her palms and studied him. She nodded, then turned and approached Beatrice.
“And you.” She kissed Beatrice and held her face tenderly, her beautiful blue eyes took in everything in minute detail.
Tears stung Beatrice’s eyes. Her mother was here and she wanted to take shelter in her arms and be told all would be well.
