by Alexa Aston
Both soldiers stretched out their legs, getting comfortable as they leaned against a fallen log. Raynor sat atop the log, his elbows resting upon his thighs. He was familiar with The Odyssey and knew what Beatrice would share.
“While Odysseus was gone making war and searching for his way back to Ithaca, twenty years had passed,” she began. “Most everyone believed him dead. A group known as the Suitors vied for his wife’s hand in marriage. Each day they tried their best to persuade her to wed one of them, but Penelope remained loyal to her husband’s memory.”
“Penelope. I like that name,” Bobbit said.
“Hush,” Timothy told his friend. “Let Lady Beatrice tell the tale.”
Raynor saw her hide a smile before she continued.
“Penelope didn’t know it, but Odysseus had already returned. He’d been met by his grown son, Telemachus, who told him about the wicked Suitors and their plans. Together, father and son agreed that the Suitors must be eliminated. That’s another story for another night, but Odysseus chose to disguise himself as a beggar upon his arrival in Ithaca. No one knew who he was but the housekeeper, who was sworn to secrecy.”
“I can’t imagine any servant keeping such a secret,” Bobbit remarked.
“But she did,” Beatrice revealed, “thanks to the goddess Athena. Athena prevented the servant from speaking to her mistress about what she had learned. Penelope then decided to have the Suitors compete in an archery match, using Odysseus’ bow. The one who could string it and shoot through a dozen ax heads would win her hand. She thought it would be impossible for any of them to achieve the feat.”
“Of course, Odysseus won,” Timothy interrupted. “He would be the only one strong enough and skilled enough to complete the task.”
“But would they let a beggar take part in such a competition?” asked Bobbit.
“They did,” Beatrice shared, “but Timothy is right. No Suitor came close, and Odysseus won the competition. Along with his son’s help, they turned their arrows upon the evil Suitors who wished to usurp him. Every single one was slain.”
As she wove the tale, Raynor couldn’t help but gaze upon her. He fancied himself as Odysseus and Beatrice as Penelope. He would strike down any man to have her by his side.
She must have sensed his stare, for Beatrice turned and met his gaze. The longing on her face gave away the deep feelings she had for him.
As the two soldiers continued to discuss Odysseus’ prowess, Raynor’s eyes communicated with hers silently. The strength of their feelings seemed palpable enough to cut through with a sword, yet nothing could come of it.
He mouthed the words, “Can never be,” as he shook his head, trying to break the spell between them. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, trying to maintain control.
“It’s good that Odysseus returned and that he took his rightful place,” Raynor declared to the group. He stood and added another log to their fire. “I will stand the first watch.”
*
The next evening, they approached an inn located in a small village. Raynor went inside and spoke to the innkeeper, finding only one room available. Deciding they would stay there for the night, he told the man to ready it and asked if his men could sleep in the stables with their horses. The innkeeper agreed after Raynor produced extra coin.
He went outside and mounted Fury, doubling back to meet up with his party. They’d passed a few inns along the way and had bought fresh bread at them, but it had been too soon to stop for the day and take advantage of the lodging.
Raynor spurred Fury on, allowing the horse to gallop the remainder of the way. He spied the cart in the distance and slowed as he approached it.
Riding up beside the vehicle, he said, “We are close enough to stay the night at an inn ahead. I spoke to its owner and he assured me that we could reach Brookhaven in another two hours once we set out from there in the morning.”
His eyes met Beatrice’s. “My lady, it will give you a chance for a bath and a good night’s sleep before you meet your new family tomorrow.”
She swallowed. “Thank you, my lord. That’s quite thoughtful of you.”
“My pleasure.” Raynor made a decision that he hoped he wouldn’t regret and waved Bobbit closer. He wanted some time alone with Beatrice.
“Since we are so close to Brookhaven, I think it best for you and Timothy to leave in the morning and return to Ashcroft. It won’t take you nearly as long riding back. Sir Lucas will be grateful for your swift return. I can hitch Fury to the cart for the last portion of the trip. I plan to stay a few days and make sure Lady Beatrice is settled, then I will return to Ashcroft myself.”
“Very good, my lord,” Timothy said. He clicked the reins and continued down the road.
They arrived at the inn as the sun set. Raynor instructed the soldiers to take Beatrice’s belongings up to the available bedchamber and then told the men to care for the horses.
As they left, he turned to her. “The inn is crowded. Only one bedchamber remained.”
She frowned at him. “But where will—”
“I told the innkeeper we are married.”
Her eyes widened at this words.
“It’s a rough sort that sups in the public room. I believe it’s best for them to think you’re spoken for and that your husband is by your side. You may sleep in the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor in front of the locked door. It never hurts to be too careful in these situations. I simply wanted you to know of my plan before we entered. Will you agree to it?”
Beatrice nodded. “If you think it’s for the best, my lord.”
“I do,” he assured her.
Timothy and Bobbit returned from the stables. Raynor gave them coin for their trip back to Ashcroft and for their meal at the inn. The four entered and immediately a man on the far side of the room shouted, “Bobbit! What brings you here?”
Bobbit went to greet him. He returned and told Timothy that they could dine with his old friend.
“We were pleased to accompany you, Lady Beatrice,” Bobbit said. “I hope you visit Ashcroft again one day.” He and Timothy gave a bow and went to sit with his friend.
Raynor had asked the innkeeper to prepare a table and food for them. The man indicated where they should sit. Raynor settled Beatrice and then seated himself beside her.
“The fire feels good,” she said, holding out her hands.
Raynor sensed that everyone was watching Beatrice. To let these men know she was taken, he reached for her hand and entwined his fingers through hers.
Pleasure rippled through him as it always did when they touched. He squeezed her fingers affectionately and brought their joined hands onto his lap, under the table.
He leaned over. “Remember, you are my wife. We need to let all know.”
Beatrice glanced about the room and nodded.
Raynor raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his lips lingering on her fingers. She blushed at the contact between them.
“Must you be so brazen?” she whispered to him.
“Every man now knows to keep his hands to himself or he will have me to answer to.”
A woman served them cups of ale and then returned with bowls of steaming stew.
They were halfway through their meal when the door to the inn opened. A tall, fair-haired knight entered, taking in the room as he removed his gloves. His gaze stopped on Raynor and Beatrice. Raynor didn’t like it. The stranger was old enough to be her father.
The knight spoke briefly to the innkeeper, who handed him a tankard of ale, and then he walked toward their table. All the other tables were occupied.
“May I join you?” the knight asked.
Chapter Seventeen
“We would be delighted, my lord,” Beatrice said.
The knight sat across from her. She found him quite handsome for his age.
“What brings you this way?” the man asked.
“We come to visit with Sir Henry Stollers at Brookhaven, a few hours north of here,” Raynor said.
Raynor’s hand tightened around hers. His tone was very formal and she guessed he did not want to reveal too much to a stranger.
“Ah, I know of Sir Henry. And you are?”
“Sir Raynor Le Roux of Ashcroft. The estate lies far south of here. And this is my wife, Beatrice.”
Beatrice swallowed hard as Raynor introduced her. She lowered her gaze to the food before her, not wanting to give away their ruse. Then she decided it would look suspicious if she did not engage in conversation with the knight, so she looked up and found him gazing at her thoughtfully.
“I’m happy to meet you. I am Sir Thomas Applegate.” He paused as the serving wench brought him his meal. Breaking off a piece of bread, he looked at Beatrice again with interest.
“Forgive me for staring at you, my lady. You strongly favor a woman I knew in my youth.” Applegate chewed on the bread thoughtfully. “Are you from these parts?”
“Nay, my lord,” she said. “I have lived in the south all of my life.”
“And you’ve never been north. Interesting.” He took a sip of the ale and then turned to Raynor. “My lord, where did you foster?”
“In the south, with Sir Lovel. Do you know him?”
“Ah. Lovel. I met him once. He’s a fine soldier and a good man.”
Beatrice reached for her cup and drank the last of her ale. She liked Sir Thomas’ gray eyes and gentle manner, but she found his interest in her a bit disconcerting.
He and Raynor continued to speak, discussing men they knew and places they’d been. Beatrice tried to follow their conversation, but the nearby fire and the stew warming her belly made her yawn.
“I see we are boring your wife,” Sir Thomas noted. “May I ask why you have come so far?”
“For a wedding,” she answered truthfully. “Sir Henry’s grandson Edwin is to be wed soon.”
“I doubt his bride could be half as beautiful as you, my lady,” Sir Thomas said graciously. He cocked his head and studied her a moment. “I can see you in pearls. They would look lovely against your throat.”
Raynor’s fingers tightened painfully on hers at this forward remark. She frowned at him and the pressure subsided. But Sir Thomas’ mention of pearls caused her eyes to mist over.
“My dear, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” the nobleman apologized, picking up on the change in her. “I meant no harm by my words.”
“It’s quite all right, Sir Thomas,” Beatrice said, wiping away a tear with her free hand. “My mother owned a beautiful set of pearls given to her by my father.” She smiled at the memory. “Mother said he always told her that they looked lovely against her creamy skin.”
“Do you favor her much?” he asked gently.
“Oh, my mother was most beautiful. More so than I ever could be,” she shared. “I only wish I had her pearls to remember her by.”
“I do not know of these pearls,” Raynor said. “What became of them?”
Beatrice turned and gazed up at him. “I didn’t mention it to you, my lord. ’Twas after my mother passed,” she explained. “I had to use them to settle some outstanding debts.”
She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. “I find I am tired,” she announced. “It’s been a long journey from our home.” She looked to her pretend husband. “Mayhap we could go upstairs now?”
“If you’ll excuse us,” Raynor told their companion. He rose and helped Beatrice from her seat.
“It was nice meeting you, my lord,” she said.
“And I will not forget meeting you, Lady Beatrice.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Good luck to you upon the remainder of your journey. I hope you enjoy the wedding. Give my best to Sir Henry.”
Raynor signaled to the innkeeper and led her from the public room. The owner escorted them up a small staircase and down a hallway, then bid them good evening.
They entered the small bedchamber. Beatrice spied her trunk in the corner and her lute perched on top of it. She walked over and brushed her fingers lightly against the strings as she heard Raynor lock the door. She concentrated on the lute, remembering the many times she had played the instrument for her mother. Sweet memories overcame her and Beatrice began to weep.
Raynor came to her and wrapped his strong arms around her from behind. She leaned into the warmth of his chest and drew comfort from the contact that she had sorely missed. His arms snaked about her waist, holding her firmly. She gripped his forearms. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head.
They remained together for some minutes, neither moving. Gradually, her tears subsided. Raynor turned her gently in his arms but kept them about her, making her feel safe. She noticed the frown on his face.
“Tell me again of these pearls, Beatrice.”
“Why?”
“Humor me. I want to hear of them and the debts you owed.”
She shrugged. “Once Tolly and I buried my mother and grandfather, I went to look through Grandfather’s strongbox. My mother had been ill for some time and hadn’t worn the pearls in many years. I figured they were safely stored there and I was right.” She smoothed her palms against his gypon. “I placed them about my neck, wanting to be close to her again.”
Beatrice laid her hands on his chest. “Moments later, Amfrid arrived.”
“Who is this Amfrid?”
“He collected the rents in our neighborhood and claimed my grandfather owed him quite a bit of money.” She dropped her head. “He . . . he demanded the necklace in payment of the debt.”
Raynor’s fingers lifted her chin until their eyes met. “And you do not believe this was the case.”
“No.” The word came out a whisper. Tears filled her eyes again. “I felt so helpless. So alone. I told him . . . I told him . . . that I was betrothed. That once I married, my husband would gladly pay off the debt Grandfather owed. But . . . but Amfrid . . . he told me he would keep the necklace until the debt could be paid in gold. I begged him not to sell it . . .”
Beatrice hated the feelings of helplessness the memory brought. She never wanted to be in that position again and remembered her vow to one day reclaim the necklace.
Her tears flowed freely, knowing the lie had begun that day with Amfrid. She had told him she was betrothed. She had continued spreading the falsehood when she met Raynor in the forest days later. Then, she continued the story with Peter at Ashcroft when he expressed interest in wedding her himself. Now here she repeated it again, to the man she loved. Once, Beatrice had wanted to share with Raynor that she was free, but the web of deceit tightened about her like a noose around a condemned man’s neck.
Raynor pulled her face into his chest and stroked her back in comfort. Beatrice knew it was the last time he would embrace her in such a tender way. By this time tomorrow, they would be at Brookhaven. Her lies would already be exposed. Raynor, being an honorable man, would never find it in his heart to forgive her for such dishonesty.
Raynor lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Placing her gently upon it, he softly said, “Sleep, my lady,” as he stroked her hair.
Beatrice closed her eyes and blocked out the world.
*
Raynor didn’t get much sleep. He didn’t want to. Why sleep when he could gaze upon Beatrice?
She had slept through the knock at the door last night. He answered it and found the innkeeper’s wife on the other side. She asked when the hot water should be fetched for the lady’s bath. He explained how tired his wife was and asked that it be sent up first thing in the morning. The woman looked over his shoulder and saw Beatrice fast asleep. She agreed and said it would be brought upstairs shortly after dawn broke.
He’d returned to the bed, sitting next to Beatrice as he tenderly caressed her cheek while she slept. He held her hand until the candle burned low. Finally, he extinguished it and reluctantly parted from her, retreating across the room. Sitting on the floor with his back resting against the door, he dozed fitfully—until he heard someone moan. He came to, alert and listening for what had awakene
d him.
Beatrice tossed and turned in bed, whimpering in her sleep. Raynor moved to the side of the bed. She murmured words he could not understand. Her breathing was quick and shallow as if she was in distress.
Her moans turned into a scream. Not wanting the entire inn awakened by the noise, he covered her mouth with his hand.
He held her down as she thrashed about and fought to sit up.
“You’re safe,” he said over and over. Finally, she stilled, and he released her.
“Was it a bad dream?” he asked quietly as he sat next to her.
“Aye. The nightmares . . . they come . . . every night.”
Suddenly, he knew what haunted her. “Do you dream of the highwaymen?” he asked.
“Aye. They chase me. I always search for the ax. I know I need it to protect myself.”
He touched her cheek and felt the wetness of her tears. It hurt his soul that she awoke from such nightmares each night.
“You know how to protect yourself, Beatrice,” he assured her. “I taught you myself. You took those lessons to heart. Tell yourself as you fall asleep each night that nothing can harm you. Eventually, your body and your mind will believe your words. The bad dreams will end in time.”
“I can only hope so.”
He heard the doubt in her voice. “Trust me.”
He started to stand, but she caught his hand. “Stay. Just a few minutes. At least until I fall asleep again.”
“All right.” Raynor remained until her breathing evened out. He slipped his hand from hers and returned to his post at the door. But sleep eluded him. Today was the day he would hand the woman he loved over to her betrothed.
After another hour, he heard footsteps mounting the stairs and stood. He unlocked the door and opened it so the innkeeper’s wife and her servant could bring the hot water in.
They poured four buckets of steaming water into the tub they’d brought up the previous evening.
“We’ll be back with more water and a bath wrap,” the servant said, eying him appreciatively.
Raynor moved to the windows and opened the shutters, letting in the dim light. Beatrice stirred, mumbling something.
