by Sarah Hegger
Jesu, save him from all women. Garrett had no idea what Beatrice was doing outside his door in the middle of the night, but he knew he couldn’t be caught here with Lilly. “The back.” He grabbed Lilly’s clothes from the floor and dragged her toward the rear of the hut.
One of the wall boards was loose and it came away instantly in his hands. He’d fix it in the morning. “Put this on.” He yanked Lilly’s bliaut over her head and tugged it down until her head reappeared.
“What are you about?” Lilly fought her way out of the fabric spitting like a cat.
“Garrett? Is there someone with you in there?”
“Who would be here?” he called back.
Lilly slapped his arms away. “I am here.” Lilly’s eyes narrowed.
“But you should not be.” He jostled Lilly toward the gap in the boards.
“That is not what you said earlier.”
Garrett drew a careful breath. He shouldn’t have let Lilly stay. But with his rude awakening last night by that overbred cur and his men, he’d found her warm presence by his side reassuring.
“Garrett,” Beatrice called. “I must speak with you. It is a matter of utmost urgency.”
“It sounds like Lady—”
“It sounds like nobody.” Garrett was done playing with Lilly. With his hand on the top of her head, he forced her to duck down until she was in line with the opening.
She squawked, but he shoved her rump hard enough to send her tumbling through the gap. “Go.”
“Let me find my clothes, sweeting,” he called. “Unless you would prefer—”
“Nay.” Beatrice giggled.
He found his chausses and tugged them over his hips, fastening his rope belt around the top. He picked up his tunic. Then dropped it. Let Lady Beatrice get an eyeful of what she came here for. His rod twitched at the thought. He wouldn’t have thought her this bold, but the threat of him leaving must have played on her mind. Exactly as he intended.
“Oh, hello, Lilly,” Beatrice said.
Garrett’s heart gave a great jump. He bolted the two steps to the door and wrenched it open.
Beatrice spun around. Her hair was bound in a long braid. Moonlight played lovingly over the delicate lines of her face. Her gaze dropped almost immediately to his bare chest and widened.
Over her head, Lilly made a crude gesture at him.
Garrett made it back.
“You are out late, Lady Beatrice.” Lilly tossed her head and sauntered over. Her bliaut was on backward.
Beatrice started and her shoulders tensed. “Aye.” Movement played along her long throat as she swallowed. “I came to…um…ask Garrett something?” She fidgeted with the edges of her cloak.
He prayed her mortification at being discovered by Lilly kept her from asking too many questions.
“Did you now?” Lilly’s grin was pure evil.
“How is your son?” Beatrice’s voice came high and awkward.
“Oh, he is well, Lady Beatrice.” Lilly’s expression softened. “Growing like a weed, he is.”
“I am sure.” Beatrice smiled at Lilly. “You must be sure to bring him up to the keep over Christmas.”
“I will, Lady Beatrice. Does Sir Henry know you are here?”
“Of course he does.” Beatrice’s forced laughter convinced nobody.
Garrett winced.
“He sent me to speak with Garrett.”
Lilly stared hard at Beatrice.
“Should you not be getting back to your boy?” Garrett made shooing motions with his hands.
“Oh, indeed.” Beatrice nodded. “You would not want him waking up and finding you not there.”
“I am sure you are right, my lady.” Lilly gave him one last look, turned, and ambled away, her ass twitching as she went.
Garrett breathed. That had been too damned close. He turned his smile on Beatrice. “Hello, sweeting. Somehow, I do not think your brother sent you to speak to me.”
* * * *
Beatrice’s knees nearly buckled and she grabbed at the doorframe for support. Her palm touched warm skin. She jerked her hand back, but the imprint of his chest still tingled along her arm.
“I thought I would die when I saw her here.” Her heart was still running like a startled rabbit. “I thought nobody was about.”
“Which brings us to what you are doing here?” Garrett’s hair was rumpled and his chin shadowed with growth. She’d only seen him clean-shaven, not sporting a beard like many other men. He was near naked, save for a small pouch about his neck, alone with her in the midst of the night. Mere steps from where he slept.
Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips.
“Beatrice?” A small smile played across his mouth. His eyes gleamed down at her in a way that made her stomach clench. Wicked, wonderful smile.
“I need you.”
Garrett’s mouth softened and the heat in his eyes reached out as sure as a touch.
She knew that look. Her blood warmed in response.
“Sweeting.” He slid his hands beneath her cloak and caged her hips. Firmly, he tugged her toward him.
Beatrice wanted him to pull her into the dim hut behind them. Fortunately, she remembered Tom waiting for her outside the village. She didn’t think Tom could see, but she didn’t want to take a chance. She pulled away from Garrett. “I need your help.”
Garrett stopped, but kept his hands on her, warming her right through her clothing. “Anything for you.” A small frown creased his brows. He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her tunic.
Beatrice had trouble remembering why she’d come.
“My family.” Her breath grew short. If she rose onto her toes, she could reach his mouth. She could forget everything under the enchantment of his kiss.
“Your family?” His lips twitched as if he read her every thought. He traced the top of her braies, brushing the bare skin of her waist.
“Aye.” Beatrice reached for her scattered thoughts and rounded them up. The future of her family depended on her. Beatrice the Brave would remain steadfast in her quest, even if she wanted to trace the sulky fullness of his bottom lip with her tongue. “There is trouble. I need help.”
His frown deepened. He roamed further, slipped his hands from beneath her tunic and tugged apart the sides of her cloak. He dropped his hands.
Beatrice shivered in the sudden chill.
“What are you about, Beatrice? And dressed like that.” His jaw hardened.
Beatrice struggled to put the words in the right order. “I need to go to London. Tonight. I need to get my father. You could take me.”
“Stop.” He propped his elbow against the lintel. Dark hair tangled beneath his arm. It seemed such an intimate detail.
A hot shiver spread over her.
“Start again.” Muscle rippled across his chest and belly. A trial of hair disappeared beneath the low-slung band of his chausses.
Beatrice drew a shuddering breath. She was making a mess of this, but it was hard to think when he stood there virtually unclothed. “My sister came to the castle yesterday.”
“Your sister?”
The door creaked and she jumped. Anybody could be about. “Aye, Faye, she is escaping from her husband.”
Garrett raised a brow.
“Calder is conspiring with the king to bring charges against my father. They say he has stolen money, but it is not true.” Beatrice reached for him, to impress on him the truth of her words. Her hands touched bare chest.
His muscle jumped beneath her palm.
She lost track of her purpose for a fascinated moment.
“Beatrice?”
“Aye.” Her story. She had come to get Garrett’s help. “My father would never steal from the king. I know he would not. But my father is in London.” His skin was warm and firm, like iron sheathed in silk. Part of her wanted to linger there and let her fingers explore.
“And?”
�
�And Faye’s husband will attack Anglesea because Henry does not have enough men.”
“What does this have to do with you being here?” His long fingers fastened about the strange, little pouch at his neck.
“My mother is ill, and she must not be worried by any of this. Godfrey says the country needs my father. But we need him too, Garret. Henry will do nothing. So I need to get to my father and tell him what has happened, before it is too late.”
“Beatrice, this is not making any sense.” Garrett clasped her hands and frowned. “I do not understand it all.”
She hadn’t prepared for Garrett’s refusal. He’d always said he’d do anything for her. However, if Garrett refused to take her, it would all be for naught. From the far side of the forge a voice rose in question, another answered. She best make haste before some well-meaning soul discovered her and sent her home. “I heard my uncle and my brother, Henry, talking with my sister. She has come to Anglesea with her boys because her husband is in league with the king. They are accusing my father of having used his position as sheriff to steal money from the king.
“Did he?” His finger tightened on the pouch.
“Of course not. He would never do such a thing.”
“Of course he wouldn’t.” Was that anger in Garrett’s voice? Beatrice peered into his face.
Garrett straightened and shoved his hands into his rope belt. “So Calder?”
“Aye.” She must have imagined it. “Calder used to be a good husband, but Faye says he has changed. He threatened to take her children away from her. So she came to Anglesea. To warn us and to keep her boy’s safe. But now that she is there, Henry says Calder has the perfect excuse to lay siege. The king will support Calder, because he fears my father.”
“The king fears your father?” His lip curled.
There was the anger again, in the sharpness of his tone and the cold, dark of his eyes. “Garrett?”
“Beatrice, the king.”
“Indeed.” The wind carried the stench of burnt metal from the forge. The trees rustled, startling her. “My father has become too powerful and the other barons listen to him. Unless we pay or my father answers the charges, we could lose everything. Everything, Garrett.” She leaned forward to stress her point. “And my mother is ill. We do not want her bothered with any of this. Henry will not go to London because my father is needed there, but I think he is needed here more. So, that is why I must go. Only, I do not know the way to London. But you do, which is when I thought of you.”
“Does your family know what you plan?”
“Nay.” Beatrice shook her head so hard her braid knocked against her back. “If anyone knew, they would try to stop me.”
* * * *
Garrett almost laughed aloud. He couldn’t have dreamed up such an ideal situation had he tried. The sod from last night had known this would happen. Garrett had made up his mind no force on earth would get him to conspire with the whoreson. But this. He had her.
Sir Arthur could rot for all he cared. And he would. The justice of it flowed hot and sweet through him. Arthur rendered nothing, with no castle and no fortune. Betrayed by the king whom he’d served so well. His family ruined. Let noble, bloody Sir Arthur see how quickly the other barons turned their backs on one in trouble. He fingered the pouch about his neck. He would see his mother avenged.
Beatrice stared at him, her eyes large and imploring.
Garrett wanted to throw back his head and crow his triumph to the moon. His blood surged. It was pitifully easy. “Beatrice.” He knew better than to mistake her innocence for stupidity. “London is a long way away. And it is a dangerous journey. You cannot ask me to knowingly put you in harm’s way. I would die first.”
“I know.” She fidgeted, shifting her weight. “But you are the only one who can help us…me.”
“What if your brother comes after you?” He pretended to give the matter grave thought. “He would run me through for being within a hair of you.”
“We can travel fast,” she assured him. “No one will discover I am gone until after the keep breaks its fast. By that time, we can have put a lot of distance between them and us.”
He let the silence draw out long and tense between them.
A dog barked and she jumped. “I am not sure Henry will stop me. My father left him with only enough men for defense. Henry cannot risk being short of swords if Calder should come and he is sure Calder will come.”
He heaved a sigh and let her ferment.
“Please, Garrett.” She moved closer to him. “There is nobody else to whom I can turn.”
“You ask much, sweeting.”
“I know.” She pressed her hands against his chest.
Lower. His skin prickled beneath her hand.
“What would you have of me in return?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” he declared valiantly. He almost made his gut churn with his performance. “You need only ask.”
“Oh, Garrett.” Moisture glistened in the depths of her huge eyes.
A heaping of gratitude was all he needed to serve her up to him. “Beatrice”—he stroked her cheek—“you know I can deny you nothing.”
“You will do it?”
“I will do it.”
She released a long breath. Her smile near blinded him. “Thank you, Garrett. You will not regret this.”
Nay. Garrett turned to dress. He would not regret this one jot.
“Make haste,” Beatrice said. “I will meet you at the edge of the village.”
Garrett hurried to meet Beatrice.
A tall form emerged from the dark.
Garrett stilled. The cur was back. He balanced on the balls of his feet. He wouldn’t find it as easy to take Garrett this time. People had mocked him when he wanted to train as a knight, but there were other ways of fighting. Garrett made it his business to be good at those.
“At last.” Beatrice waved Garrett forward. “I want to be far away from Anglesea before first light.”
This big brute was not from last night. “Who is he?”
“Tom.” Beatrice dropped her head. “He is helping me. As you are.”
She’d lied to him. Garrett balled his fists by his sides. Tom was tall, but Garrett liked his chances against him. Garrett felt the weight of the other man’s stare. He lifted a brow in challenge.
Tom tensed.
“What are you two doing?” Beatrice hurried between them. “Did you not hear me? We need to cover a large distance before it is discovered we are gone.”
“You forgot to mention your friend.”
“Did I?”
“You know you did.”
“Aye, well—” She dragged in a quick breath, ready to come up with more lies and half-truths.
“If he goes, I go.” Tom spoke to Beatrice, but glared at Garrett.
“Fine,” Garrett said. “Go without me.”
“Nay.” Beatrice whirled toward him. “We cannot go without you. Tom does not know the way.”
“What is he doing here, then?”
“Protecting Beatrice.” Tom locked eyes with him. Not as stupid as he looked.
“I can protect Beatrice.”
Tom stepped toward him, his chest squared, arms braced. “Who will protect her from—”
“There is no time for this.” Beatrice shoved at Tom’s chest. “You can both protect me. I will be doubly safe.”
Garrett weighed his options. A heaven-sent opportunity on the one hand, a zealous boy on the other. The boy would be trouble. Garrett would lay his life on it. But at the first sign of an approaching army, Beatrice would be locked up in Anglesea and out of his reach. He motioned Beatrice to precede him. “After you, my lady.”
“Right.” Beatrice clapped her hands. “Let us go before we are found here in the morning, still arguing amongst ourselves. Come along.”
Garrett grit his teeth. He was going to rid her of her habit of leading him around like a trained
bear.
Beatrice approached a leggy, chestnut mare with a white blaze on her nose. “Mount up.”
Garrett froze. A hulking brute stood beside two other horses. One leg was cocked and its head hung, as if it might expire from boredom at any moment.
Beatrice lithely pulled herself onto her mount.
“Ah, Beatrice.” He grabbed hold of his belt and twisted. “I think it would be better if we went by foot.”
Her soft laughter floated toward him. “Why should we walk, when we can ride?”
“Do you not ride?” Tom looked down on him from atop a large horse, more plough beast than anything else.
“I ride.” He would be damned before he admitted his weakness before these two. “Only, I have not had much opportunity to do so.”
“Oh,” Beatrice gasped. “I did not think.” She sounded genuinely distressed. She swung her leg over the saddle, and slipped to the ground.
Garrett’s chest burned as she walked toward him. He should know how to ride. He should have his own horse. It was his birthright. His mother had said so since he was old enough to understand. But serfs couldn’t afford horses, could they?
He owed Sir Arthur for this, as well. When he’d approached his local baron for sponsorship, the man had seemed amenable. Garrett was, bastard or not, the son of a knight. Until Sir Arthur poured his poison in the man’s ear. Then, he’d become a joke to them.
“I beg your pardon, Garrett.” Beatrice touched his arm.
A fine tremor racked him as he fought the urge to shake her off.
“I have been most thoughtless,” she said. “Tom, you must ride Badger. You are more accustomed to riding and you know him. Let Garrett take Parsley.”
Parsley? It shook Garrett out of his bitterness. Parsley?
Tom snorted. The smug dog crossed his arms over his saddle and smirked down at Garrett.
Garrett bunched his fists. He wanted to smash Tom’s face. “Nay.” Garrett would rot in hell before he had them take pity on him and put him on a horse called Parsley. “This one will suit me well.”
Beatrice’s teeth flashed as she smiled at him. “His name is Badger.” She stroked her hand down the horse’s forelock. “And he is a sweet boy. Aren’t you?”
Garrett didn’t mind horses. He’d shooed his fair share of them, but he’d never ridden in his life.