by Alexa Aston
Shem, the steward who had witnessed her marriage vows, entered. If he was surprised to see her alone in the solar with the master of Brookhaven, he hid it well.
“My lord, a rider has arrived from Ashcroft. He says he has a missive for Sir Raynor. I can’t seem to locate him.”
“Bring this messenger to me at once.”
“Very good, my lord.” The steward exited the solar.
“You aren’t to utter a single word,” Edwin commanded. “I wouldn’t want a careless word from you to inflict any . . . pain . . . on Le Roux.”
The threat hung in the air. Beatrice felt faint. She gripped the bench with both hands, willing herself not to black out.
The nobleman rose and began pacing the solar. He left her to her thoughts till Shem arrived again, this time bringing the man from Ashcroft with him.
She recognized the soldier from seeing him at meals in the great hall, but she couldn’t remember his name in the fog clouding her brain.
He stepped forward and saw her. “Lady Beatrice. ’Tis a pleasure to see you again.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgement.
“I came across Timothy and Bobbit on the road as they returned to Ashcroft and I made my way here. They were full of praise for your songs that made the journey north most pleasant.”
Beatrice smiled and nodded again. She hoped the man would stop addressing her. She didn’t want to do anything to endanger Raynor.
The soldier turned to Stollers. “My lord, I have a missive for Sir Raynor Le Roux from his brother, Lord Peter. He’s to read it at once and return to Ashcroft in haste.”
Stollers reached for the parchment. “I’ll see that he receives it. Sir Raynor is in the forest hunting with some of my men at the moment. They seek a boar in order to provide meat for my wedding feast.” He looked across to Beatrice and gave her a fond smile. “The lady and I will wed tomorrow.”
The rider broke out in a wide smile. “Then congratulations are in order, my lord. I hope you have a long and happy union.” He handed over the scroll.
“See that you stop in the kitchen and receive some refreshment before you leave,” Stollers said, his manner and tone friendly. “And have Cook give you some meat and bread to see you on your return trip.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He bowed and looked to her again. “I hope you find every happiness at Brookhaven, my lady.”
Beatrice beamed at him as if she were the happiest woman in all of England.
The Ashcroft man excused himself and vacated the solar.
“You did well,” Stollers said. He took a seat across from her and broke the seal on the missive. Unrolling the parchment, he said, “Let’s see what message is so important.”
He squinted and began to read. Beatrice watched him scan the page before him, then he roared in laughter.
Stollers lifted his eyes to hers. “It seems Lord Peter Le Roux has renounced his claim upon Ashcroft. The nobleman has left to enter a monastery. And the title of baron and all the land that comes with it now belong to his younger brother—Sir Raynor Le Roux.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Raynor was now Baron of Ashcroft?
Beatrice wanted to shout to the heavens. Raynor would be the perfect lord for the estate. He cared for its people and had a fine eye for detail. The land would thrive under his leadership.
And she would be Baroness of Ashcroft and could continue the work she’d started when she briefly resided there. She would be able to renew the friendships she’s started and form new ones. They would raise their family within the castle’s walls. Why, she might start riding again now that her fear of horses had dissipated. She visualized lifting a small child and seating him atop a pony, leading him around the paddock as Raynor cheered the boy on.
But none of this could come to pass if they didn’t escape Brookhaven. Beatrice might have the help of the trio present at her wedding to aid her getaway, but how were they to free her husband? It might be best to leave Raynor behind and go for help.
But where would she ride?
Though they’d passed many places close to Brookhaven, she drew a blank. And if she didn’t flee soon, she feared finding herself standing before Father Bernard again, with Edwin Stollers as the designated bridegroom. Beatrice could predict his erupting anger when she refused to speak any vows. ’Twould be even worse when she revealed to him that she was already a married woman—and that the marriage had been consummated under his roof.
Without a doubt, Stollers would see Raynor dead upon hearing that news. Beatrice could imagine the arrogant nobleman rushing down to the dungeons and killing her husband.
A life without Raynor would be no life at all. Beatrice needed him by her side as much as she needed the very air she took in.
A knock startled her from her thoughts.
“Come.” Stollers pushed aside the scroll in front of him.
Once again, Shem entered the solar. His gaze avoided her as he looked to his master.
“The messenger from Ashcroft is being cared for in the kitchen. Have you need of me for anything else, my lord?”
Stollers rose. “Aye, find Father Bernard. I need him at once.”
The steward’s eyes flicked briefly to Beatrice and back to Stollers. Beatrice held her breath.
“He’s not here, my lord.” Shem did not elaborate.
An annoyed look crossed Stollers’ face. “Where the Devil did he go?” he demanded.
Shem shrugged. “Father Bernard left after the funeral mass for your father and grandfather because the bishop sent for him. The priest should return in three or four days’ time.”
Beatrice knew Shem lied—to protect her.
“Why wasn’t I informed of this unexpected trip?”
Shem had the grace to look puzzled. “Sir Henry never asked for the priest to do so, my lord. Father Bernard is required to meet with the bishop twice a year. He was past due on their appointment but put it off since Sir Henry was in such poor health. He wanted to be here to conduct his funeral mass.” Shem swallowed and continued. “And your wedding, my lord. Father wished to be present to preside at your vows. Of course, that will not happen now with Lady Minnith gone.”
“But I have a new bride that has replaced her.” Stollers glanced over at her. “Lady Beatrice has agreed to marry me. We’ll wed immediately once Father Bernard returns. Notify the guard at the gatehouse that the priest is to be brought to me upon his return, whether it’s day or night.”
“I see.” Shem grew thoughtful. “Then we should make full preparations.” He acknowledged Beatrice for the first time. “Mayhap my lady would like to meet with Cook to help plan your wedding feast? And I know the castle seamstress would be more than happy to discuss a bridal gown with you.”
Shem held out a hand as if to usher her to the door. “If you’ll follow me, my lady, I can take you—”
“No,” Stollers interrupted. “That’s not necessary. Cook can do as she pleases. She knows of my favorite dishes. Whatever she decides for the feast will suit me well.”
“But Lady Beatrice—”
“She will like what I like and eat what’s put in front of her. You’re dismissed.”
The steward inclined his head. “Very well, my lord.” He glanced to Beatrice and gave her a brief nod, an apologetic look in his eyes as he departed.
Beatrice felt trapped. Would Edwin not even let her out of his sight until Father Bernard supposedly returned from his visit with the bishop? And what if Edwin learned of Shem’s deception in the meantime from someone else?
She rose from the bench, conscious of the blue garter about her leg. She moved toward the door to see if Stollers would stop her from returning to her room. Beatrice reached for the door handle.
Before she could turn it, she was jerked back. Strong arms encircled her, pinning her own to her side.
“You aren’t going anywhere, my lady,” Stollers whispered into her ear. “Though the marriage vows may have to wait a few days, I plan to have you in my bed. Now. Yo
ur bare flesh against mine.”
His thumb and forefinger grazed her nipple and then pinched it, twisting it painfully. Beatrice gasped in shock and outrage. She squirmed, trying to escape his hold on her.
Stollers chuckled as she struggled against him. He drew his tongue along the nape of her neck. “I can’t wait to bite into your tender flesh, Beatrice.” He squeezed one of her breasts. “I think I’ll start with this plump one.”
She drew her foot up as she had practiced with Raynor and slammed her heel down onto his foot as hard as she could. Stollers yelped like a puppy that had been kicked and released her.
She needed to incapacitate him. She swung around and punched him hard in his throat. Immediately, his hands went up and clutched it as he choked.
Stollers turned a murderous eye upon her. “Bitch,” he spit out.
Her foot had already drawn back and sailed toward him. She realized that he knew what was coming but couldn’t act fast enough to prevent contact. Beatrice kicked his groin with everything she had. Stollers cried out pitifully and doubled over. It still wasn’t enough. The bastard would be determined to chase her down once he recovered. Using what her husband had taught her to do, she slammed into his nose with her forehead. Blood spurted as he cursed at her. He bent again, one hand cradling his broken nose and the other his bruised manhood.
Beatrice shoved the nobleman away. As he fell back, he struck his head against the corner of the table. He collapsed on the floor and didn’t move.
A flash of the dead highwaymen surrounding her cart in the forest brought her to a standstill. Her body began to tremble as she worried she might have killed the nobleman. Beatrice forced herself to push that thought aside. She must be strong for Raynor. Reaching her husband was what was important now.
Still, she knelt beside Stollers’ body and held her fingers under his nose. A warm bit of air tickled them. Relief swept through her, knowing he was still alive.
Beatrice hurried to the door and left the chamber. She didn’t care who saw her as she ran down the corridor to the staircase. At the bottom, she saw Shem passing and called out to him. He paused, surprise flitting across his face as he hurried to meet her.
“I struck Lord Edwin,” she said as she sucked in quick, short breaths of air.
“You must flee, Lady Beatrice, while you can,” the steward warned.
“I can’t leave without my husband,” she said. “Show me where the dungeons are.”
He shook his head. “I’ve already checked. Sir Raynor is being guarded by three men. We won’t be able to free him.”
“I won’t leave without him.”
“You must,” Shem told her. “I promise I won’t let him be hurt.”
Beatrice bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears. “But Stollers will be so angry. He would kill Raynor to spite me.”
“I won’t allow it,” the steward assured her once more. “I can convince him that Sir Raynor is his bargaining tool, something to lure you back. I’ll make him understand that you must see Sir Raynor alive and well.”
Beatrice knew time was short and that what Shem said was true.
“Quickly!” he hissed, taking her elbow and leading her outside the keep. He rushed her along to the stables.
“Where’s his horse?” Shem asked when they arrived.
Beatrice led him to Fury’s stall. The steward went in and saddled the beast for her to ride. Though she thought she’d conquered her fear when she stroked Fury’s nose, could she ride the large horse? Alone?
She didn’t know if she could do it.
As Shem finished readying the horse, Beatrice moved to Fury. She touched him gently and whispered, “I have need of you, Fury. Raynor depends on us. I’m putting my trust in you. You must take me away from here so we can bring help.”
The horse nickered back to her, as if reassuring her they were a team. She dropped a kiss onto his nose and gave him a final pat.
“Are you ready, my lady?”
Beatrice nodded and allowed Shem to help her into the saddle. She offered a prayer to the Virgin Mary to watch over her as the steward led her from the stall and out of the stable.
Once they cleared the structure, he gave her a quick nod and hurried away. She turned Fury and rode to the gate, her heart pounding the entire way.
Slowing the horse, Beatrice called up to the gatekeeper. “Did the rider from Ashcroft already leave Brookhaven?”
“He did a few minutes ago, my lady.”
“Then open the gates. I have a missive that he neglected to retrieve upon his departure. It’s important that it make its way back with him.”
The gates swung open without question. Beatrice dug in her heels and Fury took off. They raced down the road, past the harvested land she’d seen only a few days before. As the horse galloped, she began to feel as one with him. Relief, then exhilaration, filled her as they rushed down the open lane.
Within a few minutes, she spied the Ashcroft soldier up ahead. She would ride till she reached him—and hoped he would know where to turn for aid.
Beatrice shouted as she closed in on the rider. She waved frantically. He turned his horse and stopped in the middle of the road to wait for her.
“My lady?” he said as she brought Fury to a halt next to his horse. “What’s wrong? Why are you riding Sir Raynor’s horse?”
She took a moment to catch her breath. He patiently waited until she could speak.
“Please remind me of your name,” she asked.
“I am Ronald, my lady.”
Beatrice nodded at him. “Ronald, Sir Raynor is in trouble and needs our help.”
“Did he fall during the hunt?” Ronald’s brow creased with concern. “Or does something else ail him?”
“Raynor is being held in the dungeon at Brookhaven. He was not out hunting as Edwin Stollers would have you believe. And I am Sir Raynor’s wife. We were married late last night and planned to leave for Ashcroft a few hours ago.” She paused. “Until we were detained by the baron.”
Ronald rubbed his chin. “So you’re not marrying Lord Edwin? Why would he lie about this? And why imprison my Lord Raynor? For he is Baron of Ashcroft now, my lady. This was the news I brought in the missive.” He thought a moment. “That makes you our baroness.”
“I already know of this, Ronald. Lord Edwin broke the seal and read the missive. He wishes to marry me.”
“But if you are already married—”
“He doesn’t know this yet,” Beatrice shared. “I fear if he did, he would have Raynor killed and make me a widow, eligible to marry him.”
Ronald looked perplexed. “Then how are you here? We must go back and fetch Lord Raynor before harm comes to him.”
“I escaped Brookhaven by striking Lord Edwin. Guards watch my husband, so I wasn’t able to set him free. I rode after you, Ronald, hoping you’d know what to do.”
He sighed. “I’m a good soldier, my lady. I take orders and am well trained with sword and pike alike. I would take an arrow for you or my lord. Die for you if I must.” He shook his head in sorrow. “But I’m only one man. It will take many more to rescue Lord Raynor.”
“Then we must ride in haste,” she urged him. “We’re much too close to Brookhaven and the soldiers that can be sent to hunt me down. We must find a place of safety and figure out what to do.”
Beatrice spurred Fury on. Ronald fell in behind her. They had ridden a good two leagues to the south when she saw a group of men approaching from the opposite direction on horseback. She slowed her horse and Ronald did the same.
As he pulled alongside her, she said, “Let’s see who these men are and if they can help free Raynor.”
She tugged on Fury’s reins and allowed the horse to trot toward the men. As they came closer, she recognized Sir Thomas Applegate among them. Before she could call out a greeting to him, a man broke away from the pack and hurried toward them. Beatrice got an odd feeling. Somehow, this rider looked familiar to her.
He brought his horse nex
t to hers and said, “By the Christ! After all this time. It’s really you, Beatrice. You are the image of your mother.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
His words shook her to her core. Beatrice studied the handsome stranger’s face, which didn’t seem strange at all. Somewhere, from long ago, she had once known this man.
And loved him.
“Who are you?” she asked, studying his dark hair and brown eyes, fighting to remember him from her past.
He leapt from his horse and crossed to her. Beatrice found his hands about her waist, pulling her to the ground. The man engulfed her in his arms and murmured, “Thank God Almighty and the Blessed Virgin. We have finally found you.”
Beatrice watched as Ronald dismounted, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The soldier didn’t draw it, though, as this man didn’t seem to be a threat to her.
The stranger pulled away, resting his hands on her shoulders. Beatrice noticed tears staining his cheek, even as he smiled at her.
“You don’t remember me?” he asked gently.
She bit her lip in thought. “I feel I knew you once. Long ago. Your voice sounds familiar to me. I also know your smile.”
“I am your uncle, Beatrice. Gilbert Lovet. I am your father’s younger brother.”
Her hands flew to her mouth. The dreams of her father came to mind. In them, he strongly resembled the man standing before her. Then memories exploded within her. She pictured this man tickling her. Swinging her. Placing her on his shoulders. She saw her father chasing them, her uncle swearing she was his as he ran away. Beatrice giggled atop him, one hand threaded in his hair and the other waving at her father.
“Uncle?” she said softly, shaking her head in wonder.
“Aye, Beatrice. Uncle Gilbert.” He embraced her again and kissed her cheek. “I thought I might never see you again.”
“I . . . I . . . didn’t know . . . that I had . . . family. Mother never mentioned you.”
Gilbert’s large hands stroked her hair. “Lucy was very distraught when Richard died. Do you know, for a moment, I thought you were her? You look exactly as she did at your age.”
