by Alexa Aston
Tentatively, she reached a hand out. With trembling fingers, she stroked the horse’s velvety nose. She did it again and then reached up and scratched him between the ears. Fury closed his eyes, a look of contentment on his face. Beatrice grew bolder. She ran a hand under his chin and down his throat. He seemed to enjoy that, so she repeated the action.
Beatrice stepped back, her heart beating furiously. Fury gave a snort of protest and turned away. She let out a long breath.
She had done it. She had touched a horse.
A flood of memories assaulted her. Beatrice remembered being in her father’s arms as he held her up to Blaze. She petted the great beast gently, squealing with delight. She recalled the feel of the horse’s coat beneath her fingertips. Holding an apple out to Blaze as a treat. Laughing as she sat in her father’s lap atop the horse, the world rushing by as they raced along the fence line.
Beatrice dropped to her knees as the memories overwhelmed her. Once, she had loved horses because they had been such a huge part of her father. So many of her recollections of him were tied to horses. And now, she hoped she had conquered some of her fears.
Slowly, she rose, wondering if it was best to wait here for Raynor. He would not leave Brookhaven without his beloved horse.
Then reality banished any hope of Raynor rescuing her from the living nightmare of Edwin Stollers. Raynor was a knight of the realm, faithful to his code of honor. The entire time they had spent together, she had been dishonest with him. No matter what she shared with the knight about Edwin Stollers and the threats he made toward her, Raynor would think she had made her bed and must now lie in it.
She left the stables and returned to the keep, determined to depart immediately. She needed to don her own cotehardie, with its gold coins sewn into the hem. Beatrice returned to the bedchamber that held her things. She left on the same kirtle and smock but placed her cotehardie over them. Everything else could be abandoned as she made her escape.
Turning to leave, she noticed her lute propped against the wall. Could she make a living as a troubadour? Dare she try to earn a living in this manner? Timothy and Bobbit had liked her songs and stories, as had her family. Beatrice determined anything would be better than staying at Brookhaven. She picked up the lute and left the bedchamber. Her goal was to slip away before Edwin Stollers knew she was missing.
Mayhap she could wait somewhere outside the gates. She doubted Sir Gardeau and Lady Minnith would stay after the debacle in the great hall. They knew of her precarious position. They might even allow her to travel with them if she approached them once they left the estate. Lady Minnith, in particular, had seemed to be kind. It was worth making the effort. If they denied her petition, she would set out on her own.
Beatrice started down the corridor. Before she had traveled the length of two rooms, she heard a voice call out, “My lady!”
The Brookhaven healer hurried toward her. Beatrice remained rooted to the spot, unsure if she should ignore the woman or flee.
“Sir Henry has asked for you,” the healer said when she reached Beatrice. When Beatrice hesitated, she added, “He hasn’t long in this world, my lady. Father Bernard is with him now. He is performing the last rites.”
Though they had only spoken a single time, Beatrice felt an obligation to the nobleman. Knowing the priest had been called upon to perform extreme unction, Sir Henry’s time on earth was coming to an end. She would have a brief conversation with him, but she was still determined to leave once it ended.
She followed the healer back to the solar. Her eyes passed over the empty bed where Sir Guy had lain only yesterday. His body had been moved to the chapel to await the return of his son so that a funeral mass could be held. As she approached Sir Henry, she knew the man would soon join his son.
The priest stepped away, allowing her access to the nobleman. Beatrice gazed at the priest.
“You are Lady Beatrice?” he asked.
“I am.”
“’Twas kind of you to come, my lady. Sir Henry has made his confession and final prayers have been offered.” He paused. “I will wait in the other room. Fetch me when he is in God’s hands.”
She nodded. The priest vacated the room as Beatrice went to Sir Henry’s side.
“You came,” he said, his voice weak.
“Aye.” She took a seat in the chair next to his bed and placed her lute on the ground beside her. Taking one of his cold, wrinkled hands in hers, she told him, “I am sorry about Sir Guy’s death.”
“I am, too.” He closed his eyes a moment and then opened them again. “It’s sad that Brookhaven will pass to my grandson. He’s a sorry sort. I have nothing good to say about him.”
Beatrice tried to hide her surprise at his words, which were so unlike what he had written to her grandfather.
“I hope . . . his new bride will change him. Mayhap having children will . . . help him mature.”
She couldn’t tell the old man that the marriage was being called off as they sat here, so she agreed with him. “Aye, my lord. A bride may calm him. And taking responsibility for a great estate such as Brookhaven might be what he needs.”
Sir Henry’s free hand moved up to rest against his heart. The grimace that flashed across his face let her know he was in great pain.
“I will . . . tell him you . . . must stay.” His voice grew weaker. “Mayhap you can become as a . . . sister to him. Be a good . . . influence . . . upon him.”
Once again, Beatrice kept silent. She wouldn’t disillusion a dying man and tell him she was about to flee the castle because of his conceited, overbearing grandson.
Instead, she thought of a way to soothe him.
“Would you like me to play my lute for you, my lord? I could sing to you of adventure. Tales of glory that would appeal to your knightly nature.”
“Nay. Sing of love,” he said. “’Tis what matters most. I am at the end of my life. I once knew love.” His watery eyes focused on hers. “I hope you will, too, my dear. Mayhap with that young knight you brought. He seems . . . a good man.”
Beatrice reached for her lute, too emotional to respond to his words. She let her fingers pick out a melody as she regained control of her emotions. She knew exactly what to sing to bring him pleasure.
Her song was one Odysseus sang to Penelope after all the Suitors had been vanquished. He sang of the twenty years they’d been apart and how he’d longed for her. How he missed not only their life together but also ached by not seeing his son grow to manhood. Odysseus sang of their great love and how it had lasted in his heart across time and space. How happy he was to return and lose himself in Penelope’s arms and in her kiss.
Beatrice finished playing and looked at Sir Henry. She found his eyes closed, a contented smile on his lips. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead before rising with her lute in hand.
As she turned, she saw Raynor standing a few feet away. She had been so lost in her song that she hadn’t noticed his presence.
“I love you,” he said, his voice whisper-soft. “I always have. I always will. I don’t know why you did what you did or said what you said. It’s not important now.”
He closed the short distance between them and lifted the lute from her hands. He placed it on the chair and then cupped her face with his calloused hands as his lips touched hers.
The tender kiss told her that, despite everything, all would be right between them.
Beatrice broke the kiss and asked, “Can you forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Raynor told her.
But she owed him an explanation. “I was so frightened when you came upon me that night in the forest. You were a large, powerful stranger, and I didn’t know if I could trust you. I’d already told Amfrid I was betrothed and that my intended would make good on Grandfather’s debts. I lied to him because I didn’t want him to sell Mother’s pearl necklace.
“Telling you I was betrothed seemed a way to protect myself. If you believed I belonged to another
man and upheld your knightly code, I would stay safe.”
“Knights are honorable. Or should be,” he amended.
“I know you refer to Edwin. He is not even old enough to be a knight and should never become one. He is pure evil, Raynor. We must make our way from this place with haste.”
He stroked a loving hand through her hair. “We will return to Ashcroft.”
“Nay. I can’t.”
Raynor frowned at her words. “Why not? I want us to wed, Beatrice. I want to spend a lifetime loving you. I won’t be complete without you in my life.”
She reminded him, “But Peter desires me, too. It would be impossible for us to live there because of that.”
“We can go elsewhere,” he said, his green eyes intense. “I could be happy in a humble cottage if I lived there with you.”
Raynor’s mouth came down on hers. Beatrice yielded to him, opening to his kiss. His arms enfolded her, bringing her against his hard chest. She wrapped her own arms around him, stroking his back, happy to think he would finally be hers. Hungrily, his tongue mated with hers in passion, causing her to cling to him as her bones seemed to fade away.
He broke the kiss and told her, “I will love you and honor you all of my days, Beatrice.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “And I shall love you and pledge to be truthful with you always. No matter what.”
Raynor kissed her again, a sweet, rich kiss, full of promise for what was to come between them. In that moment, Beatrice knew all would be well.
He released her. “We should leave Sir Henry to rest and make plans to leave Brookhaven at once.”
Beatrice glanced back at the bed. Sir Henry slumped against the pillows, his eyes now open and vacant. She leaned over and closed them.
“He’s gone,” she said. “I need to tell the priest.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Edwin Stollers insisted Beatrice and Raynor attend the funeral mass that afternoon for Sir Henry and Sir Guy. Raynor had wanted to leave Brookhaven immediately, but he believed in some way Sir Henry reminded Beatrice of her own grandfather. The nobleman had been kind to her. Although it would prolong their stay for a few hours, Raynor knew she wanted to honor their former host by seeing him laid to rest.
They now sat together in the small chapel as Father Bernard chanted in Latin. Raynor took Beatrice’s hand. He leaned to her ear and whispered, “All will be well. I promise.” He squeezed her hand in reassurance.
Just holding it brought him a peace he had never known. This woman, who had come out of nowhere, had taken over his every waking thought. He looked forward to the life they would build together.
The mass ended. Serfs, servants, and soldiers from Brookhaven began to file out of the chapel.
Raynor said quietly, “We should go to the stables immediately, though it means leaving your lute and clothing behind.”
“They can be replaced,” Beatrice assured him. “I agree that it’s time to depart. I don’t trust Edwin Stollers.”
“First, I need to find where they placed the cart after we arrived.”
“No,” she said firmly. “The cart will only slow us down. I’ll ride on Fury with you.”
Her words shocked him since he knew how frightened she was of horses. “Are you certain?”
Beatrice nodded. “When I looked for you after . . . after you learned of my deception, I went to the stables. I touched Fury.”
“And?” he said encouragingly.
She smiled, her dimple calling out to him. “He was gentle when I stroked him. Petting him brought back childhood memories of my father. We shared a love of horses. I remembered the good times and not the day I lost him. Touching Fury seemed to be my first step in beginning to heal.”
Raynor helped her to her feet. They moved toward the door, falling in among those exiting the chapel. “I am relieved to hear this. Not that Stollers has the power to stop us, but horseback will be far quicker than driving a cart. I want to be as far from Brookhaven as soon as possible.”
“He is unstable.”
“I agree.” Raynor knew Stollers had been taken with Beatrice, so much that he had broken his betrothal contract in order to pursue her. Because of that, Raynor planned to marry Beatrice on the way back to Ashcroft at the first opportunity. He wanted to ensure that no man could steal her from him—especially Edwin Stollers.
They blended in with the last of the workers leaving and then turned toward the stables. When they reached Fury’s stall, Beatrice greeted the horse. Raynor saw the animal’s ears prick up.
“I’ll saddle him,” he told her. “Stay outside the stall since the space is small.” He entered and gave Fury an affectionate pat on the rump.
“Ah, there you are, my lady.”
Raynor watched Beatrice turn. He recognized Stollers’ voice.
“I wondered where you’d gone off to.”
“I came to see Fury.” Though her tone was even, Raynor watched the pulse jump in her throat. He knew Stollers scared her even more than horses did.
Fury poked out his head and Beatrice stroked the animal calmly. Pride swelled within him as he saw how she’d begun to conquer her fear.
“My father passed along his love of horses to me,” Beatrice said.
“And your lute?” Stollers asked.
“My mother taught me to play when I was young.”
The new lord of Brookhaven stepped into view and took hold of Beatrice’s arm. “I long to hear you play. Come, my lady.” He started to lead her away.
“Stop!” Raynor called out, stepping from the shadows of the stall to join them.
“Le Roux. I wondered where you were.” The nobleman glanced inside the stall and frowned. “I hope you weren’t leaving so soon. I expect you to attend the banquet tonight in honor of my father and grandfather.”
Their host’s fingers tightened on Beatrice’s arm. Raynor fought the urge to smash his fist into the man’s face.
“I found the missives between our grandfathers, my lady,” Stollers said easily. “I was touched by their friendship and my grandfather’s offer for you to visit us at Brookhaven.” He smiled at her. “I’m glad you brought the old man some solace in the end. And I insist that you grace us with your presence tonight since the meal will be in his memory. You can sing and play your lute for us. I know Grandfather would have wanted you there to celebrate his life.”
Beatrice looked at Raynor. He nodded his consent because alienating Stollers at this point would be unwise.
“Sir Raynor and I would be happy to attend the banquet, but we must leave first thing tomorrow.”
“So soon?” Stollers shrugged. “Then I’ll make the most of your company tonight.” He pulled on her arm possessively. “Come, my lady. Return with me to the keep. I look forward to hearing you play, for I am very fond of music.”
Beatrice glanced back uncertainly in Raynor’s direction.
“Go ahead, my lady,” he said affably. “I must tend to Fury.”
Raynor waited a few minutes since he wanted his next errand to be hidden from Edwin Stollers. He took his time brushing Fury and promised the horse that they would be far from Brookhaven by sunset tomorrow.
Leaving the stables, he returned to the chapel to seek out the priest who’d performed the funeral mass. Raynor hoped the man would agree to his request. As he entered the chapel, a group of men bore the coffins carrying the remains of Sir Henry and Sir Guy past him. Father Bernard walked slowly behind them.
“Father? May I have a word with you before you go to the burial site?”
“What may I do for you, my son?”
“I am Sir Raynor Le Roux of Ashcroft. I escorted Lady Beatrice Bordel to Brookhaven.”
The priest nodded. “I’ve met the lady. And I saw you enter Sir Henry’s bedchamber shortly before his death this morning.”
“I have something important to ask of you before we return south tomorrow. We wish to be married before we set out on our journey.”
Father Bernard gave h
im a knowing look. “I suppose this might have something to do with the young lord voiding his betrothal contract this morning.”
Raynor decided silence was best in this case.
The man shrugged. “You’d be surprised what a priest hears. What he sees when no one is looking. What others tell him even beyond the confessional.”
“Then I’ll be blunt, Father. I fear for Lady Beatrice. I am sworn to protect her.” He paused. “And that includes keeping her safe from men such as Lord Edwin Stollers.”
“Do you love her?” the priest asked.
Raynor couldn’t hide his smile. “I do love her, Father, with all my heart. I would move mountains for her if she asked me to do so.”
“Then I have some advice for you, Sir Raynor. Remember that it’s the small things that touch a woman’s heart. Pick wildflowers for her when she least expects it. Massage her sore feet when her belly is swollen with your child. Talk with her—not at her. And never take her for granted.”
The man of God paused before continuing his counsel. “Most important of all, tell her you love her each day. Show your love, for all to see. Though many believe it turns a man weak, they are wrong. Love strengthens a man.”
“I can say that I’m a better man for knowing her, Father. I will take your words to heart.”
“Then I’ll be happy to bless your union. When do you wish to take your vows?”
“We’ve been invited to stay for tonight’s feast in honor of the old lord. Could we meet you at midnight? We plan to leave Brookhaven at first light.”
“I’ll wait for you outside the chapel, my son,” Father Bernard assured him. A twinkle came into his eyes. “And I can provide two discreet witnesses to your union.”
Raynor took the priest’s hand and grasped it in friendship. “Thank you, Father.”
