by Alexa Aston
“No,” she said thoughtfully. “But Grandfather thought the world of Sir Henry. He truly looked forward to our journey to Brookhaven and renewing their friendship. In his letters to my grandfather, Sir Henry described his grandson as a fine man. I have no reason to doubt him.”
“When is your wedding?”
She jumped, looking startled at his question. “Ah . . . the wedding is . . . in about three months’ time. No specific date has been set. Grandfather and I were simply to journey to Brookhaven when . . .” Her voice trailed off and Raynor knew she must be thinking of her grandfather’s death.
“Then we have plenty of time to go to Ashcroft first,” he declared. “I have not been home in several months. I must fulfill a few duties there, but then I’ll be happy to escort you north for your wedding. We can even send a messenger to Sir Henry to notify him that you will be delayed.”
Lady Beatrice started to speak, but it looked as if she changed her mind. He wouldn’t worry about the details now. The important thing was to get her safely to Ashcroft.
Raynor released her and then motioned to the horse that he’d rescued from the cart and loosely tied to a tree. “If you ride, you might want to sit atop a horse that you are familiar with. And if you don’t, then you may ride with me.”
“I won’t ride upon any beast! I shall walk to this . . . Ashcroft.”
Her angry outburst puzzled Raynor. “But it would be an hour or longer to do so, Lady Beatrice. By riding—”
“I said I will not ride.”
Pushing aside his frustration at her odd reaction, he tried again to convince her. “Surely, you can make an exception in such circumstances, my lady. It’s grown dark. I must see you protected behind Ashcroft’s walls.”
“Do you not have ears to hear with, Raynor Le Roux? I said that I will walk.”
For a minute, Beatrice Bordel looked like Alys de Montfort, a child who intended to have her way. Then he looked deeper and believed he saw fear in her eyes.
“What troubles you, my lady? You showed tremendous courage this evening. You wielded an ax against highwaymen, ready to defend yourself and your servant. You physically attacked a man twice your size. Yet you will not sit a horse and ease our way?”
Raynor watched fear engulf her as her breathing became ragged and her body began to quake again.
“Nay! I cannot!” she cried, wrapping her arms tightly about her, as if to ward off some unknown threat.
He stood there a moment, uncertain what to do. Part of him thought he should simply place her on Fury and be done with it, but it disturbed him to think that any trust he’d built with her might be shattered by such a thoughtless action.
Mayhap a different approach would work. “Why are you so afraid of horses, Lady Beatrice?”
Raynor watched her begin to collapse and reached out to catch her. He drew her close. Once again, he enjoyed the way she fit next to him.
She did not speak for some minutes. He left her to her thoughts, deciding she would tell him what he needed to know in good time. Finally, he released her.
Beatrice raised her eyes to his. “I have not been atop a horse since the day I turned five,” she whispered. “The day my father died.”
Chapter 6
Beatrice couldn’t believe she had confessed her greatest weakness to this man. No one knew how she felt about horses. Her invalid mother had not cared about anything beyond her sickroom, so Beatrice never confided in her. She suspected her grandfather had an inkling about it, but being a man of action and few words, he never pushed her to discuss her feelings. Tolly had cared for their lone horse—grooming and feeding it—while she’d taken care of the chickens and goat. She gave the horse a wide berth anytime she tended to the other animals. She rarely left the manor house, but on the few occasions she did, Beatrice rode in the back of the cart as she had on their journey north.
She glanced at the knight’s giant steed and shuddered at the thought of going near the beast, much less sitting atop it.
Turning back to the nobleman, Beatrice saw the concern etched upon his brow. It struck her that this handsome man really cared about her well-being. Raynor Le Roux was sincere in his intent to see her to safety.
“My father was a knight, as you are, my lord. My earliest memories are of him taking me from my mother’s arms and lifting me to sit next to him in the saddle. We would ride Blaze through the meadow while Mother cheered us on. I recall how I would cry out for him to go faster and faster. The world rushed by so fast, it became a blur.”
Beatrice paused, willing herself to keep calm. “I don’t remember exactly what happened that day, but Blaze faltered as we galloped through an empty field. Both Father and I were thrown from the saddle. I thought Blaze would trample us. I hit the ground so hard that I couldn’t breathe.” She crossed her arms protectively in front of her.
“Father . . . he . . . did not survive the fall. He broke his neck.” She pushed aside the image ingrained in her memory.
“And you haven’t gone near a horse in all these years?” the knight asked quietly.
“Nay.” The word came out a whisper.
Raynor nodded in understanding. “I can assure you that Fury is an extremely good horse.”
Her eyes flew to the beast, then back to its master. Beatrice shook her head. “I am sorry, my lord. Simply hearing the animal’s name frightens me.”
He looked fondly at his horse. “Despite his fierce name, Fury is as gentle as a lamb. I promise you I will keep him at an easy pace. You would be perfectly safe in my arms.”
A part of Beatrice longed to be in those very arms again. She’d never felt more protected than when this man had held her close. Though she had no experience with men, this gallant knight had rescued her from a fate worse than death. She could tell he was a man marked by honor and took his knightly oath seriously.
How she wished her life had been different and that her father had lived. Beatrice knew he would have showered her with affection and attention. Her father also would have found a just nobleman to be her wedded husband and ensure her future was secure. But none of that had come to pass, and she was alone in the world. Why couldn’t she find a good man such as Raynor Le Roux, one she could share her life with, laugh with, and love long and well? She would give anything to be the wife of a knight as noble as Sir Raynor.
But his reverent tone when he spoke of Ashcroft led her to believe that the place must be a huge estate. Besides, the man was well over a score—so surely he had a wife and children waiting for him at home. Even if he didn’t, Beatrice had led him to believe she was promised to Edwin Stollers. Though she had never directly referred to him as her betrothed, she had mentioned her wedding. Because of that, this chivalrous knight would never foster any personal feelings for her. Beatrice determined to put aside such wishes and dreams, for they could never occur.
“Thank you, Sir Raynor, but I can’t. Call it childish fear, but nothing could ever entice me to ride on a horse.” She bowed her head. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
“I understand, my lady.”
Beatrice gazed into his eyes and believed he truly did.
The conversation over, Raynor lifted Tolly’s body and placed him face down on their horse. After carefully securing the body, he led the horse to Fury and fastened the animal behind his.
“Let us set out, my lady. We have a good way to walk and no time to waste.”
She reclaimed her lute and faced him. “Just because I choose to walk doesn’t mean you have to do the same. You may ride, my lord.”
“And leave a lady on the ground to trail after me?” He shook his head. “Heaven forbid that I would be so callous. ’Twould go against all I stand for.”
“Then I’ll follow you and the horses.”
Raynor approached Fury and stroked the horse fondly, murmuring words too low for her to catch. Then he pulled an apple from his pocket and placed it in his palm. The horse eagerly took the offered treat.
He took the reins. “Do no
t fall too far behind me, Lady Beatrice,” he warned. “It grows dark. I would have you close by.” He pulled on the reins and both horses started after him as he led the way, leaving the dead highwaymen behind without a backward glance.
Beatrice fell into step. She knew he wasn’t pleased at the distance she put between her and the animals because he kept turning around to check where she was.
“You must come closer, my lady,” he finally called out.
She did as he asked, catching up with him. “You can walk beside me,” he said patiently. “Away from the horses. The reins are long enough that we can be in front of Fury and not cause you any discomfort.”
They walked for several minutes, taking care where they trod, but the toe of her shoe hit a rock. Her foot slipped out from underneath her.
Raynor dropped the reins and grabbed her by her elbows before she fell.
She could have stared at his beautiful face forever as he steadied her.
*
“I am sorry for my clumsiness,” Beatrice said.
“You have nothing to apologize for, my lady,” Raynor assured her. “It’s grown quite dark. Anyone—man or woman—could have stumbled easily. Why don’t you take hold of me in order to steady yourself?” He offered her the crook of his arm so she could slide her hand through it.
“Thank you, my lord.” Beatrice shifted her lute to her left arm and then took his hand.
Never had Raynor experienced such a jolt of excitement from a woman’s touch. He glanced down at their joined hands and thought how right it seemed. It surprised him. At the moment, Lady Beatrice was filthy and disheveled, her clothing singed and reeking from the smoke of the fire. Yet, his pulse quickened and his skin prickled as if the time to ride into battle neared.
He pushed aside the odd feeling and bent to retrieve Fury’s reins. “Come, my lady.” Raynor squeezed her hand gently. “We’ll arrive at Ashcroft in no time.”
They began walking hand-in-hand. Deliberately ignoring the feelings that churned within him, he decided to tell her something about where they journeyed.
Anything to occupy his mind.
“Ashcroft is my brother’s estate. It has a small keep when compared to most, with only forty families farming the land and tending to the livestock. Peter became the baron upon my father’s death, which happened just after my twin sisters wed, about eight years ago.”
“You have a brother and twin sisters?” she marveled. “Oh, I always wished for siblings. Growing up without any was a true hardship.”
Raynor laughed. “I was close to my brother since we are only a year apart. But my sisters? They were four years younger, always playing with dolls and talking about clothes. I love them dearly, as any brother would, but both are pretty girls with empty heads.”
“My lord!” Beatrice chastised and he heard the indignation in her voice. “I feel I must stand up for these women. Surely, they must have more substance than you claim. Especially now,” she mused, “for they would be grown women, married and with children, I suppose.”
“They are indeed. Both have two children each. I hate to disappoint you, my lady, but they remain women who talk about nothing but . . . womanly things.”
She chuckled. “And what would you have them speak of?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure.” He thought a moment. “What do you like to discuss? Or do?”
She gave him a warm smile. “I enjoy my music.” She nodded at her lute. “I sing and play most every day. I even compose my own songs.”
“Now that is far more interesting than talk of the colors to dye a cotehardie or what caul should be worn during the Easter season. Do you write lyrics about clothes or womanly chores?” he teased.
This time she laughed aloud. “Nay. I write of the stories my grandfather told me. He could read in English and Latin. In fact, my name comes from Latin. Beatrice means she who brings happiness. My songs are about the exploits of Odysseus and Beowulf. Or sometimes I sing of things in nature, such as a lark’s song or a summer storm.”
“I look forward to hearing you sing and play. Mayhap you would grace us with your songs during your brief stay at Ashcroft.”
“I would be happy to do so, my lord. I can even sing for you now if you wish. It has always brought me comfort. I know it would help me forget my sorrow.”
Beatrice began to hum softly, a sweet melody that echoed the wistful longing within him. As they continued down the road, she began to put words to her song. Raynor became entranced with her voice. It could fall low, as a hushed whisper, before it soared to clear heights.
She continued to entertain him until they reached Ashcroft lands. He wished that they arrived in daylight so she could see the estate better. He was happy that she seemed to have forgotten about the horses that traipsed after them. Raynor determined that he would help her conquer her fear of them before they set out for Brookhaven. It was the least he could do to help her as she moved on to her new life in the north.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I thought you said Ashcroft was a small place.”
Raynor studied the high gate as they approached. Neither it nor the keep seemed large to him. He and Geoffrey had fostered at Sir Lovel’s vast estate, spending their formative years there, and it was the largest he’d known. Kinwick, Geoffrey’s home, also was a huge property. Raynor supposed he judged Ashcroft against those places, but he had a fondness for Ashcroft because it was home.
They approached the gate and he shouted up, “Gatekeeper. ’Tis I, Raynor Le Roux. Open at once!”
No one answered him. The gate remained fastened. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
“Gatekeeper! Are you there?” he called again. “Open up, I say!”
He heard a faint scraping and then saw a face peering down at them, though he could not make out who sat guard.
“Are things well at Ashcroft?” he demanded. “Let me in so that I may see for myself.”
“Give me a minute, my lord,” a voice told him. Raynor believed the man had been asleep at his station. If so, a strong punishment would be in store for this lapse in duty.
They waited in silence some minutes. His concern grew as he noticed no one patrolled the wall-walk above. Finally, the gate drew wide. The same man—no, a boy—had opened the gates, leaving his post above to do so.
Raynor released Beatrice’s hand and marched toward the lad. “Why has a mere child been left to mind the gate? And where are the men that should have opened it to me, much less those who should patrol the wall-walk at night?”
“I am Neal, my lord. You have been gone many months. Ashcroft has changed in that time.”
“How so?”
The boy shrugged. “You will have to talk to the steward about this.” His lip curled. “Or your brother. Not that we see hide nor hair of him these days.”
Raynor’s gut clenched. He thought Gobert’s missive had exaggerated. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Close and lock the gates and get back to your post,” he ordered. “And Neal?” He waited till the boy looked him in the eye. “I’m sure I would never catch you sleeping while on duty.” His tone made it clear what would happen if he did.
The boy dropped his head, as guilty as a small child who had been caught stealing sweets. “Aye, my lord.”
Raynor waited till the gates were secured and Neal had scurried off.
He turned to Beatrice, who wore a guarded expression. “We’ll walk the horses to the stables. They need to be rubbed down and fed.”
She nodded, and Raynor took her hand. “It’s dark still and you are unfamiliar with Ashcroft,” he gave as an excuse to touch her again. As before, her hand in his seemed the most natural thing in the world.
No one stirred as they cut through the outer and inner baileys. It did not surprise him since the hour grew late. They arrived at the stable and found another boy sleeping just inside the doors. Raynor woke him.
“Where is Old Sam, our head groom?” he asked.
“Gone,�
�� the boy informed him.
“Gone where?”
“He be dead and gone.”
Raynor was sorry to hear the news. Old Sam had passed along much of his knowledge regarding horses to Raynor. In turn, Raynor had done the same when he fostered with Sir Lovel, helping Michael Devereux, a chubby lad who feared horses. Raynor had spent hours with the frightened page, teaching him to understand the creatures and be a proficient rider. Old Sam would have been proud that his advice had helped Devereux to conquer his fears. The lessons regarding horses had changed the boy’s life. Raynor was happy to have been a part of Michael Devereux’s maturing and idly wondered where the young knight might be now.
He turned his thoughts back to the present. “Who minds the stables now?”
“My father and I. Old Sam was my grandfather.”
“Ah, you are Brice then.”
The boy frowned. “You know me?”
“I know everyone at Ashcroft,” Raynor assured him. “Or at least those who remain.”
Brice nodded eagerly. “Lots of soldiers left. Everyone talks how Master has let things fall into . . .” His voice trailed off as the boy realized who he was speaking to.
“We’ll have a good talk tomorrow, Brice. For now, my horse, Fury, and the other need looking after. Are you up to the task?”
“I suppose.” Brice looked unsure at this request.
Raynor realized the child hadn’t the height to remove the saddle, much less reach high enough to curry the horses properly.
“What if I help you this time? Caring for horses may be one of my favorite tasks in the world,” he told the lad.
“Thank you!”
He looked to Beatrice. “My lady, would you care to wait here? We shall be a few minutes, then I will escort you into the keep.”