by Alexa Aston
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 next to hers and said, “By the Christ! After all this time. It’s really you, Beatrice. You are the image of your mother.”
Chapter 25
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 s
houlders. 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.”
“Oh, Mother was most beautiful. I am not.”
Her uncle laughed. “Of course, you are. You’re a Lovet. We are known for our good looks.”
“But . . . I am Beatrice Bordel.”
He frowned. “Bordel was your mother’s maiden name. She was the daughter of Sir Henry Bordel. I suppose she chose to raise you under that name.”
Beatrice slowly nodded. “Aye, Sir Henry Bordel was my grandfather.”
Gilbert put an arm about her shoulder. “Your mother suffered after she lost your father—it weakened her mind. It made her withdraw. She rarely spoke. And then one day, she was gone from Lovet Castle. We didn’t know where to find you.”
“We lived with my grandfather in his manor house,” she said.
Her uncle looked at her steadily. “I can’t understand why your mother slipped away and hid you from us all these years, but I assure you that you are a Lovet. I’m afraid Lucy’s sorrow may have turned her against us.” Gilbert took her hands. “Believe me, Beatrice, when I tell you that we looked high and low for you. You had another grandfather and grandmother that were heartbroken at the loss of their son—and you. I inherited the title and estate upon my father’s death since Richard was gone. And in all these years, I’ve never stopped looking for you.”
Gilbert looked to Sir Thomas, who’d left his mount and came to stand next to them.
“Thomas is my closest friend. He knows how hard I’ve tried to locate you.”
“And then I met you by pure luck at that tavern, in the company of your husband,” Sir Thomas said. “I recognized you straight away. You are Lucy made over. When I heard your name was Beatrice, I knew I must ride in haste to tell Gilbert. I had no doubt that his niece had been found. It was why I seemed so curious as to your final destination and asked so many questions. I apologize if I seemed rude.”
Her uncle smoothed her hair. “You have family to meet, Beatrice. Though your grandfather passed away several years ago, your grandmother is still alive. Then there’s my wife and our four children—your cousins. We’d be honored to have you come to visit us. It would give us a chance to become acquainted with you again.”
Beatrice’s head swirled with all of this news. To think she had family. It bewildered her that her mother had left her husband’s kin behind without a word. It also hurt to know that she’d grown up alone and isolated when she could’ve been surrounded by all her cousins at her father’s home. She couldn’t let these thoughts overwhelm her, though, for she’d found the perfect people to help bring Raynor back to her.
Beatrice would rely on her family.
“I’m truly pleased to meet you, Uncle.” She glanced to Sir Thomas. “And I thank you, Sir Thomas, for your role in this reunion. But I must ask something of you and the knights that accompany you.”
“Ask anything, child,” Gilbert said.
“My husband, Lord Raynor Le Roux, Baron of Ashcroft, is being held in the dungeons at Brookhaven. We need to rescue him from the madman that placed him there.”
She quickly explained how Edwin Stollers had become enamored with her, glossing over the fact that he’d voided his own betrothal contract to marry her. Beatrice also kept secret that she and Raynor had been married for less than a day. Sir Thomas had met them when they pretended to be husband and wife, and she would leave him with that impression. They only needed to know that Stollers was obsessed with her and had imprisoned Raynor so he could marry her.
“This is very troubling,” Gilbert said. “To think a nobleman would act in such a despicable manner.”
“He is nothing like Sir Henry Stollers, his grandfather. He is barely a man, drunk on his new title and power since Sir Henry’s recent death. We must rescue Raynor. I can’t live without him. He is everything to me.”
“Never fear, Beatrice.” Gilbert strode toward his men. Sir Thomas followed him.
Ronald turned to her. “You have a formidable uncle, my lady. The Lovet name is well known, even in the south. You couldn’t have found a more powerful ally.”
Beatrice expelled a long sigh of relief. She offered thanks to the Blessed Virgin for watching over her and bringing her uncle and his men to her in such a time of crisis.
Ronald handed her up onto Fury. She clasped the reins firmly as her uncle and Sir Thomas also mounted their horses.
“We ride for Brookhaven!” Gilbert called.
His horse darted forward to lead his men, with Sir Thomas bringing up the rear. Beatrice and Ronald fell into place behind them. The quick pace her uncle set had them back at the gates of Brookhaven in no time.
“Gatekeeper!” roared her uncle.
Gilbert Lovet was no longer the sweet, affectionate man who’d spoken softly to her upon their meeting. Beatrice now saw the warrior coming out in him. This was a man who would let nothing stand in their way. Raynor was as good as freed.
“My lord?” the gatekeeper called, his eyes skimming over the group that numbered a dozen men with her uncle.
“The Earl of Lovet wishes to see the lord in charge of Brookhaven. Open the gates now,” he commanded.
Beatrice hadn’t known Uncle Gilbert was an earl. She realized he was far more powerful than Edwin Stollers, in both title and riches. His good character, too, was obvious. Stollers would never be the man her uncle was.
She grinned. Raynor was going to love her new family.
They rode through the gates and crossed the outer and inner baileys at a brisk pace. Gilbert brought their horses directly to the steps of the keep. He and Sir Thomas dismounted while his ten knights remained in the saddle. Ronald helped her from Fury’s back, and the four of them climbed the stairs and entered the keep unannounced.
“I left Stollers in his solar,” Beatrice explained. Before she could continue, the quiet inside the keep was broken with a single word shouted for all to hear.
“Whore!”
She glanced up and saw Stollers racing down the stairs, madness in his eyes. His swollen nose dominated his face. Dried blood remained on his chin and ran down the front of his cotehardie.
Before she could react, he reached her, his fist raised to strike. Gilbert stepped between them.
“Do you know who I am?” her uncle asked, his voice low and deadly.
Stollers blinked several times and stepped back, as if he only now saw that others stood with her. “I . . . do. My lord, what brings you to Brookhaven?”
Gilbert took a menacing step forward and Stollers shrank back. “Do you know that Lady Beatrice, the woman you just called a whore, is my niece?”
Instant fear filled Stollers’ eyes.
“Nay, I did not. Forgive me, my lord.” He glanced to Beatrice. “I apologize, my lady. ’Twas a misunderstanding on my part.”
She glared at him. “I do not accept your apology.” Beatrice raised her chin a notch and looked to her uncle.
“Do you, Edwin Stollers, Baron of Brookhaven, hold my niece’s husband, the Baron of Ashcroft, in your dungeons?”
“Her . . . husband?” Fear quickly replaced shock on the nobleman’s face. He visibly quaked.
Beatrice did not suppress the smile that came as she looked on with interest.
“I’ll see that he’s brought to you at once, my lord.”
Gilbert looked down at Stollers in disgust. “You’re a sniveling coward, Stollers, not fit to lick the boots of your
grandfather.” His eyes narrowed as his face came close to his enemy’s. “Watch your step. If anything you do displeases me, I’ll be sure the king hears of it and strips you of everything. I am Edward’s man, and I have his ear. And I never make idle threats.”
Stollers merely bobbed his head and fled.
Beatrice stepped next to her uncle and laid a hand on his sleeve. “You were magnificent, Uncle. I am proud to call you family.”
He threw an arm about her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I look forward to meeting this husband of yours. Anyone smart enough to marry my niece is a man to be reckoned with.”
*
Raynor sat on the damp, chilled ground, his forearms resting on his knees. He’d nearly gone out of his mind at what might be happening above stairs. Beatrice was so small and needed his protection. He worried what Stollers might be capable of. Trying to bribe the guards had come to no avail. They hadn’t spoken to him since.
How could he escape this dungeon cell and rescue his wife?
He heard a shuffling noise and came to his feet. Edwin Stollers ventured into his line of sight. He murmured something to the guard closest to him. The soldier retrieved the keys hanging on the wall and slid one into the lock of the cell door. The man turned it and pulled open the door. Raynor stepped out, and the guard slammed it behind him.
Stollers looked a mess. His nose sat crooked on his face and was twice its normal size. Raynor fought the smile that threatened to break out. It seemed his lessons with Beatrice had come to fruition.
“My most profound apology, my lord,” Stollers stammered. “I’m sorry for any miscommunication that came between us. You’re free to go.”
“Did Lady Beatrice break your nose?”
“She did, my lord,” he sputtered.
“And did she cause you any other pain?”
Stollers merely nodded.
“Good,” Raynor said.
“Your wife . . . she is waiting for you. Upstairs. With her uncle. You’re to join them at once.”
Wife? Stollers knew they had married. And . . . her uncle?