by Alexa Aston
Beatrice knew all about tonight’s celebration. The servants talked about it constantly since the reaping had finished and the tying and winnowing had been completed. She heard them describe the food that Cook had prepared, the bonfire being built, and the dancing that would take place. But Beatrice had no reason to attend. She couldn’t force any food down and had no one to dance with. And if she did decide to go and saw Raynor dancing with another woman in his arms? It would be the end of her. She refused to ruin the celebration.
A trunk had been sent up earlier in the day, probably Raynor’s doing. Since she knew he would insist that she take some of his sisters’ old clothes, she sifted through them again. She selected three cotehardies of purple, blue, and gold and a few kirtles and smocks. Tomorrow would be a day to wear her own clothing. She bent and touched the hem of her garment to reassure herself that the gold coins sewn into it still remained. Her fingers also went to the pocket that hid her mother’s ruby ring.
She hoped Raynor remembered that she would refuse to ride a horse and would have a cart ready for the long journey. Beatrice glanced at the food and left it untouched. Instead, she curled up on the bed and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Raynor pulled the currycomb through Fury’s coat as he readied the horse for travel. He’d thought long and hard on whether he should venture on this trip with Beatrice but, in the end, she was his responsibility and he would see that she arrived at Brookhaven without any problems.
It puzzled him that no missive had come in return to the one he’d sent to Sir Henry Stollers. As always, he was brief when he wrote since he had no patience for letter making. He’d told the nobleman that Beatrice’s mother and grandfather had fallen ill and passed away and that he was charged to deliver her to Brookhaven in time for the wedding.
Despite no response, Raynor knew he could no longer hold her at Ashcroft. The estate was already in good shape. All the wheat had been collected, and he’d put John in charge of the sowing and milling. The women would weave their baskets and spin the wool to make clothing. Raynor had left detailed instructions with Gobert as to what tasks should be accomplished during his trip north. By the time Raynor came south again, hunting and butchering would have started and the meat would be salted, smoked, and stored.
“My lord?” Brice, the young stable boy, stood with his hands hidden behind his back. They’d spent many hours together and enjoyed each other’s company. The lad soaked up Raynor’s words about how to care for horses and a trust now existed between them. Fury also liked the boy and the horse did not freely show affection to many people.
“Since you’re leaving, I brought Fury a treat.” Brice pulled an apple from behind his back.
The horse dipped his head. The boy held the apple up to him. Fury made short work of it.
“You’ll take good care of the other horses while I’m away?” Raynor asked.
Brice nodded eagerly. “I know what to do. I won’t let you down, my lord.”
“Good. I’ll see you upon my return.”
“Will you be gone a long time? As before?”
“Nay.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “I intend to return to Ashcroft as soon as possible and plan to stay from now on.”
Brice’s face lit up. “’Tis good news indeed, my lord.” He ran off.
Raynor resumed brushing his horse and, out of habit, began speaking aloud to Fury.
“We’ve got a journey north, fellow. I’m afraid I’ll need to hold you back on the way there, but we’ll gallop to your heart’s content when we return. Lady Beatrice fears horses, so we must take our time in getting to Brookhaven.”
He grew wistful. “I wish I could change how she felt about your kind,” he told the horse, unburdening his heart. “I wish I could change many things. Especially when it comes to Beatrice.”
“So you love her?” a voice asked.
His brother stood at the entrance to the stall. Not the disheveled version he’d seen when Raynor first arrived at Ashcroft, nor the one who had shaved and dressed in his best clothes when he proclaimed he wanted to marry Beatrice. This version was somewhere in between.
“Truthfully? I do love the lady,” Raynor admitted. “I think I have from the beginning.” Finally, he’d voiced what had been in his heart—and what he could never tell Beatrice.
Peter leaned against the door. “Tell me.”
Continuing to brush Fury, he said, “I doubt she told you much about the night we met. I was riding to Ashcroft from Kinwick and came across an awful scene in the woods. A burning cart. Bodies strewn about. One was her servant that a trio of highwaymen had killed.”
“And the others?”
Raynor shook his head, still amazed after all this time. “Lady Beatrice had disposed of two of the robbers, including one who died with an ax buried in his neck. I arrived as she fended off the last thief who attempted to steal her lute.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “She dispensed with two robbers? She actually killed them? But she’s a tiny thing,” his brother protested.
Raynor nodded without providing further details. He’d wondered if Beatrice had experienced any regrets.
“At first, I admired her courage and spirit,” he continued. “I’ve grown to appreciate her kindness and intelligence, too. And there’s not a more beautiful woman in England.” He paused, knowing words would never change the hopeless situation.
“And now you must take her to her betrothed.”
The brush froze mid-stroke. “Aye. I promised I would deliver her safely to Brookhaven. We leave today.” Raynor put the brush aside. “In fact, it’s time to depart.”
“You’re a good man, Raynor, and have always been a good brother to me. You’ve cared for Ashcroft and its people when I shirked my responsibilities. I am forever in your debt.”
Peter embraced him, and Raynor could not remember the last time that had occurred. He slapped Peter good-naturedly on the back and broke away.
“Godspeed.” His brother turned and left him with Fury.
Raynor saddled his horse and then braced himself for seeing Beatrice again.
*
Beatrice had not spotted Raynor at mass that morning. She feared the rift between them had grown so wide that he would charge others with seeing her safely to Brookhaven. Mass ended and she never found him, though he usually stood in the back and slipped away the moment the service ended.
She returned to the great hall to break her fast, wanting to see the grand room one last time. It buzzed with conversations and she assumed most of the discussion centered on last night’s harvest celebration. It warmed her heart that Raynor had brought back an Ashcroft tradition. Hilda told her they’d not held one in several years and that everyone had been thrilled to see the old custom revived.
Glancing to her left at the trestle tables filled with soldiers, it was easy to notice the difference in the group from the first time she had laid eyes upon them. The men sat taller than before and their new captain kept a watchful eye upon them. Beatrice could see the physical transformation in many of them, muscles honed by hours of training in the yard. If Ashcroft fell under attack for any reason, these men would successfully protect it from harm—all thanks to their time under Raynor’s instruction.
By listening to those around her, she’d gleaned that he also spent part of each day in the fields, supervising the hands involved in the harvest, as well as burying himself in bookkeeping with Gobert. It filled Beatrice with pride to see his efforts recognized and she knew that Ashcroft was in good hands, despite the fact that he couldn’t claim to be its baron.
It saddened her that he’d refused to spend time with her during her stay in his home. Beatrice felt it a wasted opportunity. She would have enjoyed Raynor’s company even in the spirit of friendship, but she understood why he had broken ties between them. His absence should have prepared her for the day she would no longer see him, but Beatrice only felt the pain of a broken heart.
Lifting her cup, she
swallowed the last bit of her ale and stood to leave. As she did, two of the soldiers left their group and came toward her.
A stout one with a blond beard spoke first. “Lady Beatrice, I am Timothy.” He indicated his companion. “This is Bobbit. We have been chosen to accompany you to Brookhaven.”
“’Twill be a pleasure to see you to your destination, my lady,” Bobbit added. He had dark eyes that looked as mischievous as a naughty child’s might.
Both men had a competent manner about them, but they also seemed friendly, much as everyone she had met during her stay at Ashcroft. She would be comfortable in their company.
“I have a small trunk in my bedchamber that will need to accompany me.”
“Lead the way, my lady. We’ll retrieve it and secure it in the cart,” Timothy said.
Beatrice took them upstairs, pleased to hear about the cart. She shouldn’t have doubted Raynor’s memory regarding her fear of horses.
They reached her room. She indicated the trunk that was going with them while she claimed her lute.
“You play the lute?” Bobbit asked.
“Aye. I haven’t played it for a while, but it’s very dear to me. I used to entertain my mother and grandfather with it, but they passed away recently.” Beatrice blinked away the tears that formed in her eyes.
“I’m sorry for your loss, my lady,” Timothy said. “We are also sorry to see you go. I hope you have enjoyed your stay at Ashcroft. You have certainly transformed the keep.”
“It was my small way of trying to repay Sir Raynor.”
Bobbit smiled. “He’s a good man. I’m sorry he’s not the master.” He looked around guiltily. “I know I shouldn’t be saying so. It’s just that Lord Peter’s an odd one.”
“Sir Raynor truly cares for Ashcroft and its people,” Timothy agreed. “As do you, my lady.”
Beatrice willed herself not to cry. She despaired leaving the estate behind as she headed to a place that might not embrace her so warmly.
“You’ll have to return again and visit someday, my lady,” Bobbit said. “Sir Raynor continues to better the place each day. You can come and see all of the new improvements he makes.”
“I would like that,” she said softly, but Beatrice knew once she passed through the gates of Ashcroft, she would never return.
She led them back downstairs, and they went outside with her trunk. Beatrice turned and saw all the servants from inside the keep lined up, Hilda at one end and Cook at the other. Hugging each of them goodbye, it was easy to thank them for their hard work and friendship. She reminded Hilda of what tasks should be finished next, and then Cook took her aside, handing her a basket.
“I’ve already given Bobbit some food, but here are a few special treats for you to eat along the way.”
“Thank you, Cook. I appreciate your kindness to me.” Beatrice hugged the woman again and slipped the basket over her arm.
For the final time, she walked through the doors of the keep and descended the stairs to the bailey. Bobbit sat atop a chestnut horse, next to the cart that awaited her. Timothy rose from the driver’s seat and reached out a hand to her.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer riding in the back so that I may stretch out my legs.”
Timothy jumped down. “Of course, my lady.” He climbed into the back of the cart and took her lute. Placing it on the blanket next to her trunk, he secured the basket she gave him. Then Timothy handed her up and made sure she was settled, giving her another blanket to drape over her.
Beatrice turned and waved goodbye to those who had gathered to see her off. She kept a smile on her face, though her insides ached with unhappiness because Raynor wasn’t there to see her go.
It shouldn’t surprise her. After all, he was fulfilling his promise to see that she was escorted to Brookhaven. It didn’t mean that he would personally perform the task when he had trusted soldiers that could do so on his behalf. She realized it was too soon for him to leave. He wouldn’t want things to fall back into the previous state—yet disappointment covered her more heavily than the wool blanket that sat in her lap.
Beatrice would never see him again. She’d been given no chance to say goodbye.
But she would always remember his kiss.
Timothy flicked the reins and the horse trotted off. As they went through the baileys, Beatrice saw activity everywhere. They passed Donaldus, the carpenter, who gave a shout and jaunty wave to her.
Soldiers on duty appeared on the wall-walk. They, too, waved down at her and she returned the gesture as she looked back at the keep. Though she’d only spent a little over two months living within its walls, Ashcroft seemed more a home to her than the manor house in which she had been brought up. Beatrice brushed a tear aside.
As they approached the gate, she steeled herself for the moment they would drive through it. Her stomach turned as she glanced beyond it and spied Raynor sitting atop Fury.
Waiting for her.
Chapter Sixteen
They had been on the road almost a sennight, and each day unfolded much in the same way. Raynor rode ahead of the cart carrying Beatrice and her meager belongings in order to scout the way. Timothy drove the cart, while she watched the passing scenery. Bobbit brought up the rear, keeping his eyes open for anyone that might follow them.
Their party stopped briefly at midday to stretch their limbs and partake in a simple meal before they continued north. By twilight, Raynor would have found a place to make camp.
He hated that time worst of all, being in camp with Beatrice. He always volunteered to hunt for their supper, leaving Timothy and Bobbit to build the fire and gather water. Raynor would return with some small game, cook the meat and listen to the others talk.
The two soldiers spoke of their lives before coming to Ashcroft. Both were fairly new to the barracks, but Raynor had found the two men skilled in the yard during their training sessions. He believed himself a good judge of character and thought each man trustworthy. He had only brought two soldiers with him, thinking Sir Lucas could not spare any more.
More than anything, he avoided meeting Beatrice’s eyes as the four of them gathered around the fire for their evening meal. While polite to her and respectful of her station, Raynor observed both soldiers had grown increasingly enamored with her and he couldn’t blame them. What man would not be drawn to her?
Beatrice shared small bits of her childhood with them, nothing too specific. She never spoke of her fear of horses, and neither Timothy nor Bobbit asked her about it. Mostly, she listened to their tales—until their third night on the road. Bobbit asked if she would play her lute for them. It surprised Raynor when Beatrice agreed to do so although it took both Timothy and Bobbit urging her on.
Her voice was low and throaty, much as her speaking voice. The words she sang wove a spell as her fingers strummed the strings of the instrument. If he hadn’t already been in love with her, Raynor would have toppled deep into the abyss of love after hearing her perform.
From then on, his men begged for her song. She seemed pleased that they did so and obliged them every evening once they had supped. Raynor sometimes could feel her eyes on him as she sang, but he chose to stare off into the distance. Yet, her voice touched his heart each time she sang. Actually, she tore it in two. For as much as he hated being near her as they journeyed north, he lived for each minute in her presence. These were the last precious days he would ever have in her company. Each league they traveled brought her closer to her new life.
Raynor wondered what kind of man Edwin Stollers was. Would her husband care for Beatrice as much as he did? Would he appreciate not only her beauty but enjoy her sweet spirit? Would the nobleman enjoy her intelligence and conversation, and value her kindness and compassion?
He tamped down the jealousy that rose within him, jealousy of a man he’d yet to lay eyes upon and one that he would dislike on first sight. Would he resent this faceless man till the end of time? For ’twould be this nobleman who claimed Beatrice Bordel as his b
ride. Stollers would give her his name and a home. He would be the man that would take Beatrice to his bed and make sweet love to her. Stollers would be the father of the children she bore.
And in an ironic twist of fate, Raynor would be the fool to deliver Lady Beatrice to the nobleman.
This must stop, he told himself. Misery already filled him. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like once he rode away from Brookhaven. Raynor pushed aside the gloomy thoughts in order to listen to Beatrice’s song and relish the little time he had left with her. If ever there had been a time to live in the moment, it was now.
“What will you sing tonight?” Timothy asked eagerly.
“I want to hear more about Odysseus,” Bobbit proclaimed. “I like the man.”
“You like hearing about war,” Timothy teased, punching his companion in the arm. He looked back to Beatrice. “But what of his home? Odysseus fought for ten years. You’ve sung tales of war and glory, yet I can’t help but think about what Odysseus missed while he was away.”
“You are right,” she said. “Half a score is a long time to be gone, and it’s another ten years before he returns after the fall of Troy.”
“Why did it take him so long to make his way home?” Bobbit demanded. “I would think he would be impatient to return.”
Beatrice laughed. “Because he had to have many more adventures. Homer let it take Odysseus another decade to arrive back at his starting point so he would have more to write about.”
“Well, we arrive at Brookhaven soon,” complained Timothy. “We won’t have time to hear about all of those adventures. Tell of him coming home, my lady. I want to know he arrived safely and that he had loved ones waiting for him.”
She sat her lute aside. “Then instead of song, I shall merely tell you some of his story.”
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.
