by Alexa Aston
“I’m most happy to meet you, my lady. I’m sorry that I am in such poor health as I receive you.”
“Your steward said it happened suddenly, my lord.”
“Aye. One moment I was full of life. The next? I was felled by a giant pain that tore through my chest, as if a sword had been plunged into me and drawn from my belly to my heart.” Sir Henry sniffed. “Overnight, I became weak and helpless.”
She squeezed his hand. “The same happened to my grandfather. He went out to hunt in good spirits. Our servant, Tolly, told me that Grandfather felled a stag, the largest either of them had ever seen. As they placed it in the cart to bring it home, Grandfather dropped to his knees. Tolly rushed home with him, but Grandfather was lost to me after we exchanged a few words.”
Beatrice wiped away a falling tear, the hurt from that day like an open wound.
“Better that than lingering between life and death. I wonder which breath might be my last.” Sir Henry paused. “But I am happy to meet you at last, Lady Beatrice. Your grandfather was so proud of you. You have a look about your eyes of him. He said you had a calm spirit and a giving nature.”
She smiled wistfully at what her grandfather had shared about her. “I hope so, my lord.”
The nobleman suddenly grimaced. Before she could cry out for help, he went limp against the pillows.
“The pain,” he sputtered. “It comes and goes. I’m sorry. I tire easily. Mayhap we can speak more tomorrow.”
“I would like that, my lord. We’ll leave and let you rest.”
Sir Henry held on to her hand a moment longer. “I’m so glad you’re here. I want to get to know you, Beatrice, in the little time I have left. And with Henry gone, I hope you’ll choose to make your home here at Brookhaven. Now and always.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Beatrice bent and tenderly brushed her lips against the old man’s knuckles.
A heavy burden had been lifted from her. She hadn’t had to ask Sir Henry if she could stay. He offered to take her in. She should be thrilled, but as she glanced at Raynor, she noted the puzzled expression on his face.
He took her arm as they moved away from the bed, leading her to a corner of the room. “I find it curious that Sir Henry would offer you a place at Brookhaven. If you are to marry his grandson, would you not live here?”
Beatrice brushed aside his concern. “It’s only the ramblings of a dying man, Raynor.”
“He did not seem confused to me. Ill, most certainly, but not vague on what went on about him.”
“No, but we have only met him.”
“I don’t care for your future husband, Beatrice,” Raynor said, a grim look on his face. “A man shouldn’t abandon his family and responsibilities the way Edwin Stollers has. Mayhap he is not the man for you. We should look into breaking your betrothal contract.”
She could not believe he thought to attempt this. “And where would I go, Raynor? You know I lost everything I owned in the fire, save my lute. My mother and grandfather are dead. What would you have me do? Go to London and beg on the streets?” Beatrice shook her head. “I will stay at Brookhaven as Sir Henry has suggested. We won’t discuss the matter anymore.”
Beatrice moved away from him and hurried across the room to the door. Her steps slowed, though, as she saw the healer pulling the bedcovers over Sir Guy. She gave the woman a sympathetic look and crossed into the next room.
“You need to notify Master Edwin that his father has passed,” Beatrice told the steward.
*
Raynor and Beatrice sat together in the great hall. They had finished breaking their fast. He watched as the serfs and soldiers of Brookhaven filed out of the room, ready to start their day. Servants began to clear dishes from the trestle tables while others pushed the tables back against the wall.
He cursed inwardly, knowing his time with Beatrice drew to a close. All his life, Raynor had wished to find a woman that fascinated him and pushed him to be a better man. He desired one who would stand up to him—and for him. Raynor wanted a lover that he could lavish attention and love upon.
The woman next to him would have been his perfect match in every way—his soulmate—except for Edwin Stollers.
“Would you like to try and visit Sir Henry again?” he asked.
“I would. Mayhap we can bring him some comfort in the loss of his son,” she said.
They rose in order to go upstairs. At that moment, a stranger entered the great hall. Raynor took an instant dislike to him. He was fair and had wavy blond hair. He looked to be about eight and ten and acted as if he owned Brookhaven. It hit him that Edwin Stollers finally graced them with his presence.
“What have we here?” His voice boomed through the large room. The man sounded arrogant and condescending at the same time. Approaching them, his eyes suggestively took in Beatrice from head-to-toe, appraising her.
Raynor wanted to strike down the young fool.
“Greetings, my lord,” Beatrice said.
He smirked. “So you finally arrived. You must be my intended bride. I am Edwin Stollers.” He studied her again. “I must say, you are quite fair of face. Much more than I was led to believe. I will enjoy bedding you, my lady.” He called out to a passing serving wench. “Ale! Now.” He sat at the table they had just vacated. “Come. Sit by me. I would get to know you.”
Raynor’s anger grew. Edwin Stollers, despite his good breeding, lacked manners. Not only did he treat Beatrice disrespectfully, but the young nobleman ignored him completely. Edwin Stollers was worse than Raynor had imagined he could be.
Beatrice took a few steps in Stollers’ direction and then turned, raising her hand back toward Raynor. “My lord, I would like to introduce you to Sir Raynor Le Roux, who was kind enough to escort me to Brookhaven.”
“Hmm. I thought your father was supposed to bring you here.”
“Do you mean her grandfather?” Raynor decided to join their conversation, invited or not. “She lost him recently—as you have lost your own father. My condolences, my lord.”
Stollers flipped a hand carelessly in the air. “My father died long ago. That shell of a man who hovered between life and death upstairs was no father to me.” He turned back to Beatrice. In honeyed tones, he said, “But come, my sweet. I want to talk with you.”
Raynor watched Beatrice hesitate a moment. She looked from Edwin to him and back again.
Stollers saw what she did and glared at Raynor. “You may go, Le Roux,” he said dismissively.
“Where would you have me go?”
Stollers shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve done your duty and delivered my bride to me. Unless,” he said thoughtfully, “you’re the one designated to hand over her dowry. If her father—or grandfather—made you her guardian. In that case, you can meet with Shem, our steward. He will handle all the financial arrangements. Then you can be on your way. Neither I nor the lady have further need of you.”
Beatrice turned pale at the flippant way Stollers spoke. Raynor had no wish to tamp down his fury.
“You, sir, should be more respectful of the lady since she has suffered her loss so recently. I would think that the dowry had been arranged in advance, according to the contracts. Most of all, I hope you’ll take the time to acknowledge your own grandfather, who lies dying as we speak, and try to honor your father, who can be buried now that you’ve finally returned after abandoning him and shirking your duties.”
Stollers leapt to his feet. “How dare you speak to me with such insolence!” He glared at Beatrice. “Where did you find such an uncouth escort?” He clasped her upper arm and jerked her close. “I am to be lord of Brookhaven, as soon as my grandfather can put both feet into his grave. I won’t be spoken to in such a manner, especially by a retainer of my bride-to-be.”
Raynor watched the pain and fear cross her face. “You go too far, my lord,” he warned, his voice low and even, as he strode to where the couple stood. Stollers let go of Beatrice’s arm and took a step back.
“Who do you think you are?” Stollers cried, his jaw dropping open. “Attacking me in my own home?”
And then the young nobleman began to laugh. “Ah, I see.” He glanced from Raynor to Beatrice. “You have feelings for the lady.” He cocked his head as he studied Raynor. “Did you know her from the cradle? Pine for her from afar as one of her father’s knights? Or did you fall in love with her as you journeyed here, wishing you could run away with her instead of delivering her into my welcoming arms?”
Stollers shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I see on your face what she means to you.” He gave Raynor a triumphant smile. “But she’s mine, Le Roux. Mine to wed. Mine to bed. I will find joy when I think of how jealous you are every time I dip my wick into her soft folds.”
He looked to Beatrice. “My, the lady does look distressed.” He brushed a finger down her cheek. “Mayhap you also have feelings for this knight who so gallantly springs to your defense?” He paused. “But you are mine, Minnith. The contracts are signed. We are as good as wed.”
“Minnith?” Raynor asked, confused. He looked at Beatrice. “Is this another name you go by, Beatrice?”
He watched her eyes well with tears. “Raynor,” she choked out.
“My lord?” Raynor recognized Shem’s voice and turned, seeing the steward standing in the doorway.
As Shem made his way toward them, Raynor spied a plain young woman and older man accompanying the servant. My lord. Lady Minnith and Sir Gardeau have arrived.”
Stollers made an exasperated sound. “This creature is Lady Minnith?” He turned to Beatrice. “By the Christ, woman. Who are you?”
*
The moment Beatrice had dreaded arrived in a whirlwind beyond her control.
She stood still as all eyes fell upon her. The young bride-to-be and her father. The steward. Edwin Stollers.
And Raynor.
The ruse had played its course. She found the courage to speak. “I am Lady Beatrice Bordel, granddaughter of Sir Henry Bordel. Sir Henry Stollers invited Grandfather and me to Brookhaven for an extended visit. He looked forward to renewing his friendship with my grandfather and hoped we’d be present in time to attend the marriage of his grandson.” She deliberately kept her eyes off Raynor as she spoke.
“So . . . you are not my intended,” Edwin said, a thoughtful look upon his face.
“Nay, my lord,” she answered. “You assumed as much when you entered the great hall a few moments ago.”
Edwin glared at her. “And you did nothing to apprise me of my mistake.”
Beatrice wrung her hands. “I did not, my lord.”
“Excuse me,” Raynor said. He strode from the room without a backward glance.
Her heart cried out for him to stop, but Beatrice remained silent. She turned back to Edwin Stollers.
“I had hoped I could find a place at Brookhaven with my grandfather’s passing,” she explained. “I am handy with a needle. I also cook and play the lute. When I visited with Sir Henry yesterday, he expressed his wish for me to remain at Brookhaven since I am alone in the world. I hope when you become lord here that you will allow me to stay, as well.” Beatrice dropped her gaze to the ground.
“You are far too pretty to cook or clean,” Edwin declared. “I would have you remain, though.”
She looked up at him. “Thank you, my lord. I am grateful for your hospitality.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think of you as a guest,” he said, a sly look on his face. “You can serve as my whore.”
Both Edwin’s bride-to-be and her father gasped. Beatrice froze at the cruel words. She raised her eyes to stare at the man who uttered such filth.
“I’m sure there’ll be times my wife is indisposed with her courses. Or her belly swollen with child. I have needs that must be met.” He gave Beatrice an evil smile. “You’ll do nicely for satisfying those urges, my lady.”
“Look here,” began Sir Gardeau.
“You’ll have no say regarding your daughter, Sir Gardeau,” Edwin interrupted. “She will be my wife. My property. I will do as I see fit since I will rule Brookhaven.”
Lady Minnith visibly trembled. She latched on to her father’s arm for support. “Father, must I marry him?” she cried.
“No, my child.” Gardeau turned back to Edwin. “I wish to terminate the betrothal contract. I won’t have my daughter submit to such a coarse man.”
Edwin stared boldly at the nobleman. “If you want to break the contract, you will have to pay to do so, good sir.”
“Name your price.”
Edwin did.
“Done,” said Sir Gardeau. “Let us void the contracts. Now.”
“Follow me,” Edwin said and moved to leave the room. He stopped in front of Minnith. “It’s better for both of us that we end our association, my lady,” he told the shaking noblewoman. “I fancy Lady Beatrice’s looks more than yours. You are too plain by far for me to take you to wife.”
Beatrice’s temper exploded at his cruel words. “How dare you speak so crudely! You are a rude, insensitive oaf. I hope that no woman ever chooses to wed you.”
Edwin marched back to her and dug his fingers into her upper arms. She knew they would be bruised come morning.
“I did this for us,” he hissed softly. “I want to wed you, Beatrice. I had to do or say whatever was necessary in order to force Gardeau to void the contract. Now stay here like a good girl and let me attend to business.”
Before she could reply, his mouth covered hers in a punishing kiss. She tried to pull away, but his hands held her in place. Beatrice did the only thing she could think of.
She bit into his lower lip as hard as she could.
Edwin jerked back. For a moment, Beatrice thought he might slap her. Instead, he smiled. “I like to play rough, Beatrice. I cannot wait to wed you. Have you naked in my bed. I will show you what rough is.” He slowly licked the blood along his lip and walked away.
Beatrice watched Edwin Stollers leave the great hall, Sir Gardeau and Shem trailing after him. Lady Minnith gave her a sympathetic look, as if she knew what had passed between them.
More than anything, Beatrice needed to find Raynor—before he left her in the hands of this monster.
Chapter Twenty
Raynor paced the open space in front of the keep. Anger rolled off him in waves.
Beatrice was not betrothed.
She was free to marry.
Everything he’d longed for could come to pass.
How could he trust a woman who had misled him from the very moment they’d met? One who had continued to deceive him every day and even lied to his brother regarding her availability.
Why would he wish to spend the rest of his life with a woman such as that?
And yet, his heart soared with joy. She wasn’t betrothed to that arrogant bastard, Edwin Stollers.
Beatrice could be his.
Raynor thought of her elegant beauty, her compassionate nature, her intelligence, and endless talents. Beatrice Bordel was his ideal woman, the one he wanted to spend a lifetime with. He remembered their shared kisses. Now, he would be the man to introduce her to the ways of love. She would be his in every way imaginable.
Need for her burned within him, overwhelming the anger that had been his first reaction. Beatrice must have had a very good reason for spinning such tales.
He must learn why.
Raynor reentered the keep and went directly to the great hall. It surprised him that only a lone figure stood in the middle of the room—the true bride of Edwin Stollers.
“Lady Minnith?” he called out.
She turned, her arms crossed protectively in front of her.
Raynor went to her. “Where did the others go? Stollers? And Beatrice?” he demanded.
Her mouth trembled. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if trying to ward off something evil.
He realized he needed to gentle his tone. “Are you all right, my lady?”
She nodded. “I will be. Father has gone with tha
t fiend to void the contract. Thank the Blessed Virgin.” Minnith made the sign of the cross.
“And Lady Beatrice?”
The young woman’s eyes welled with tears. “I feel so sorry for her. To have to wed that man.”
“Wed?” Raynor could not believe what he heard. “What do you mean?”
“At first, he told her she could remain at Brookhaven.” Her eyes grew large. “As his . . . whore.”
Raynor’s fists clenched. He held his temper, though, in order to find out what he could from this girl. “What did Beatrice say?” He could only imagine her reaction.
“My father said I could not marry Edwin Stollers and that the betrothal contract must be canceled immediately. The new lord . . . he demanded payment in order to do so. Father agreed. Then Stollers . . . he . . . he grabbed the lady and kissed her, right in front of all of us.” She gave him a sorrowful look. “’Twas not a kiss of affection, my lord. He wanted to hurt her. He whispered, but I could hear him. He said . . . awful things to her. She fled, my lord. I don’t know where she went.”
Raynor gently took her hand and placed a kiss upon it. “I am glad your father discovered Stollers’ true nature before you wed him. Excuse me, my lady, but I must find Lady Beatrice.”
“Please do,” Minnith said. “Get her far away from here. If you don’t, I fear for her safety.”
Raynor hurried from the room.
*
Beatrice knocked upon the closed door, but no one answered. She opened the latch and entered.
Empty.
She had felt certain that Raynor meant to depart Brookhaven at once, so great was his anger. He might have politely excused himself, but she could see he held back the rage in his taut body. Yet, he hadn’t claimed his possessions from his bedchamber. Had he hastened to the stables and ridden out immediately?
Beatrice rushed down the stairs, her skirts held high. She left the keep and ran the entire way, hoping to catch him before he rode away. She pushed past a groom and made it several feet inside the stable before the smell of horses overwhelmed her. She stopped. Terror trickled through her.
She forced it away. Finding Raynor was more important than some petty childhood fear. She lifted her skirts again and continued through the stables. A boy walked by her, but no other person appeared. Beatrice took her time and searched each stall. Finally, she came upon the one holding Fury. The horse nickered to her softly, as if he recognized her. He ambled over and poked his head toward her.
