by Sarah Hegger
“I am not touching him.” Tom folded his arms over his chest. His top lip curled back.
“We could do something about his hair?” Beatrice suggested to Ivy, turning her back on the two men.
“Have you thought what you will do with him now?” Garrett rested his arm on Parsley’s back. His pose was relaxed but his eyes glittered at her dangerously.
“He must come with us.” It was difficult to meet his eyes when he was so angry with her.
“How?”
She opened her mouth to argue and shut it again. Her belly hollowed as she did the mental tally. They still had only three horses and, now, five people.
“I thought you were in a hurry to reach London?”
Garrett was right. She was pressed; her family needed her to reach London and too much time was already lost. Her confidence wavered. She’d acted hastily. But the boy was here now. “I don’t suppose you have anywhere to go?”
“Nay.” He gave her a cheerful grin.
“He can ride with me.” It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would do at a push. “And when we stop for the night, we will…do something with Newt. We can make him more presentable and find somewhere to leave him. A farm in need of another hand.”
“I do not think I should bathe.” Newt licked both his palms and drew them down his face. “There.”
“Sweet mother of God.” Tom pressed his fist to his mouth.
Beatrice shuddered in distaste. Newt looked more disreputable than before his tongue bath.
“And I would not do well on a farm.” Newt shook his head.
“Another sort of place, then.” Desperation closed in around Beatrice.
“If he is riding with you, with whom will Ivy ride?” Garrett was ruthless in his anger.
Beatrice’s shoulders drooped. She couldn’t ask Ivy to ride with one of the men.
To confirm her fears, Ivy paled and worried her bottom lip with her teeth.
Tom and Garrett still wore their identical smirks.
“I know.” She tried valiantly to keep her voice chirpy. It sounded high and strained. “I can walk, and Newt and Ivy can ride.”
“You are going to walk all the way to London?” Tom raised an eyebrow.
Garrett cursed, liberally.
Tom looked impressed.
Beatrice’s heart sank. She’d created a dreadful snarl. She’d only wanted to save the boy. Tears stung the back of her eyelids and she blinked them away.
“Besides which,” Garrett said. “Your act of martyrdom will ensure you are remembered here. If anyone is looking for us, we are leaving them bloody waving flags.”
It got worse. “I did not think of that.”
“Nay, you did not.” Garrett straightened; his frown deepened. “And we still do not know the way to London.”
“London? You are going to London?” Newt’s head snapped from one to the other.
“And is that not exactly like you, Beatrice.” Tom thrust his fists onto his hips. “Roger is always saying if there is a thought in your head, it must be lonely, for it lacks company.”
His words stung and Beatrice blinked faster. She would not cry. Not with Newt looking at her as if he were regretting her rescue.
“I think Roger sounds like a right horse’s ass.” Ivy touched the edge of her sleeve.
Only it made Beatrice want to cry more. Roger did say such about her, often enough for it to have become a phrase within the keep. And he was right. Tears made her sight swim, and she turned her head. She hadn’t thought any of this through and now she was here with Ivy and Newt looking to her to take care of them. Tom was furious with her and Garrett would probably never speak to her again. He’d see her for what she truly was and want nothing more to do with her. Just like her three betrothals. Her betrothed had, to a man, changed their minds once they’d gotten to know her better. The damn tears insisted on creeping down her cheeks. She pretended to push her hair back and swiped them away.
“Do not cry, my lady.” Newt slipped around her and tugged on her tunic. “I know the way to London.”
“You do?” Beatrice’s tried to control her voice, but it came out in a choked gasp.
“Of course I do.” Newt thrust his shoulders back. “I was born in London.”
“I thought you did not know where you were born?” Garrett’s voice came from much closer.
Beatrice turned her shoulder. She didn’t want to compound her error by appearing weak and silly.
“I said I did not know my mother.” Newt peered up at Beatrice, twisting his head when she tried to duck and hide her face. “But any fool knows where they were born, because they were born there.”
“Get on the horse.” Garrett grabbed him by the back of his tunic. “And if you so much as breathe on me, I will wring your neck like a chicken.”
Newt scampered away.
“And if you steal the misbegotten beast I will hunt you down and use your guts for garters.” His large hand cupped her chin, turning her face up to him.
Beatrice tried to evade his grasp, but his fingers tightened.
His fixed look bored into her. His lips were drawn in a tight line.
More tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
“No tears.” He rubbed moisture away with the calloused pads of his thumbs. “You began this, Lady Beatrice, and you must finish it.” Garrett dropped her chin and strode over to his horse. There was a short altercation as he positioned Newt before him, ensuring the boy barely brushed against him.
“Come on, my lady.” Ivy gave the sleeve of her tunic a tug. “Who will rescue us, if our champion is weeping into her kerchief?”
“Buck up now, Bea.” Tom swung onto Badger’s back. “He is no worse than the three-legged cat you found, the one that now only has one eye. I can always trap us a rabbit or two.”
“And I know which greens we can eat.” Ivy stepped a bit closer. “Your man will get over his pet in a mile or two.”
“He’s not my man.” Saying the words aloud threatened to open the floodgates.
Ivy snorted. “He is your man, all right. Or I do not know men. And I do know men.”
Chapter 16
Beatrice was relieved when the rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Newt rode with Garrett and pointed the right direction. Either the boy was an accomplished liar, or he did know the way to London. Beatrice stayed silent. She’d drawn enough fire down on her head for one day.
As the afternoon bled into evening, Garrett’s anger remained unrelenting. He kept his back firmly to her as he rode.
She hadn’t noticed before how many times in a day he would turn and smile at her, or say something outrageous when Tom couldn’t hear. His continued anger chipped at her, and she teetered on the brink of a dejected slump throughout the afternoon.
The evening stayed clear and the travelers kept moving. Nobody suggested a stop for the night yet. Yesterday’s rain had drained away and the road was good. The horses managed a slow but steady pace.
She’d almost reached London and her father. It should’ve made her feel better. It didn’t. Instead, her eyes kept straying to Garrett’s stiff back.
* * * *
The boy stank. Garrett breathed through his mouth. He must’ve smelled as rank when he was a youngster, before he was introduced to lye soap and water. Forcibly. He’d fought like the very devil, but One-eyed Bets had an arm stronger than any blacksmith and a determination to match it. Too old and scarred to make her living on her back anymore, Bets had eked out an existence caring for the children of the other whores in exchange for a meal and a place to sleep.
She’d taken a shine to him.
He might have smiled at the memory had he not been so livid.
The boy wriggled. “My ass is getting sore, and I am still hungry.”
“Shut your cake hole, or I will shut it for you.”
Newt was a smart lad and knew when to keep his tongue between his teeth.<
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Garrett was done with this. Tonight he’d leave. Newt knew the way. Beatrice had her guide to London. She had Tom to protect her and Ivy to keep her out of trouble. He’d reached his limit.
And he’d been so close. Frustration seared his guts. He’d been within a meeting or two of tossing up her skirts and burying himself between her lady-white thighs. If they’d remained at Anglesea, he would be on his way by now, Beatrice deflowered and his revenge a sweet aftertaste.
Where was he instead? Plodding down the road to London sharing a carthorse with a reeking gutter brat. This idiocy was actually taking him further from his goal. He now had not only a glowering boy chaperone, but a whore and a baseborn brat firmly entrenched between him and Beatrice’s virginity. There had to be another way to bring Sir Arthur down. If it took the rest of his days, he would find it. But trailing along in this caravan of fools wasn’t the way.
Tonight then. Once the others were asleep, he would disappear. He gripped the pouch around his neck. It almost alleviated the tugging within his chest.
* * * *
Garrett still hadn’t spoken to her. He’d helped set up their camp for the night in a small clearing beside the road. The distances between woodland lengthened as they traveled. It had taken some time to find a good place to rest for the night.
Tom had only managed to bag one rabbit. All in all it had been a miserable meal, with a handful of greens to accompany the rabbit and only water to wash it down. This could be laid at her feet, too. They’d ridden late into the night to try to make up for their slower pace. There’d not been time to lay more traps for dinner.
They all sought their blankets shortly thereafter.
Garrett was a dim shape at the edge of the woods. The low flicker of the fire bathed him in long shadows. He was just at the edge of their camp, but the distance yawned wider and wider.
The sky above her was clear and littered with stars. The chirp of crickets rose and fell as sleep evaded her.
Ivy lay at her back, so still Beatrice thought she slept. Then, she would turn and see Ivy’s eyes wide open, staring at nothing. Ivy didn’t invite sympathy, and Beatrice pretended not to notice.
Across from them, the pale flames of the small fire illuminating his features, was Tom and a little farther on, Newt slept.
Garrett had offered to stand guard. They were getting closer to London and the road had been busier than before.
She should’ve been sleeping. They would reach London tomorrow and she’d need to find her father and impress upon him the urgency of returning home. He wouldn’t be happy about her secret journey. Roger would be unhappier, and Roger didn’t have their father’s years to mellow his responses. William would probably find the entire thing greatly amusing.
Tomorrow she would reach the end of her journey. What would happen with Garrett then? Judging by his manner toward her now, he would drop her in her father’s lap and leave. And thank the Lord for his deliverance from her. The thought was like a noose about her neck.
Beatrice gave up on sleeping.
Garrett’s stiff posture bade everyone to stay away.
Yet, she had to speak with him. She couldn’t rest until this matter between them was settled.
Ivy’s eyes were closed and her face slack.
Beatrice inched away.
Tom snored softly from the other side of the fire.
Beatrice slipped past.
Newt opened his eyes with the alacrity of one who sleeps light, but saw her and closed them again.
“What is it?”
“I have wanted to speak with you all day.” Beatrice slipped between the trees until a large trunk shielded her from view. Now she stood here, Beatrice couldn’t find the right words. This was harder than she’d thought.
Garrett stared forward, his back propped against a tree, his long legs stretched before him.
Beatrice wondered whether to sit or to stand. She crouched beside him.
“Go back to sleep, my lady.”
Her courage faltered. His voice was chilly enough to freeze her where she crouched and he was back to calling her “my lady” with that hateful sneer. The craven part of her wanted to take her dismissal and leave. She straightened her shoulders. Any daughter of Lady Mary’s did not shirk when something unpleasant needed attending. “I cannot sleep until I beg your pardon.”
He went still, like a hind scenting trouble.
“So.” She rubbed her damp palms against her thighs. “I do beg your pardon.”
He stared into the night.
Mayhap she should return to her spot beside Ivy. Except, she’d not done what she’d come here to do. The dull ache in her chest wouldn’t go away. She needed to reach across the distance he’d placed between them somehow. “I did not think today when I saw Newt in the stocks. I should have spoken to you first, before I acted.”
Still the unnerving silence.
“I do not always think.” That was only the half of it. “Indeed, I rarely think if you ask my family. But I did not mean to embroil you in any of this.” She thought only of the thrill of being alone with him. “I only wanted to go to London. I suppose I should have waited and spoken to my brother, Henry. Or my uncle. Tom has been saying as much since I first went to him.”
It wrenched inside to admit any of this, but it weighed on her and he deserved her honesty. “I wanted to do something, for once, which made me special. Every member of my family is known for something. Me?” A small laugh escaped her and she hushed it. “I am known for three failed betrothals and a slew of unfortunate incidents. I know it was silly of me, but, just this once, I wanted not to be Oh, Beatrice!” She imitated her mother.
He shifted and stilled.
Beatrice plunged forward. “We are taught pride goes before destruction and I should know that by now. Except, this time, I have dragged you and Tom and Ivy and Newt with me. And I have no idea how to fix it.”
She wobbled and put her hands on the ground for balance. “You have been so good to me.” After all Garrett had done for her, she’d repaid him with heaping a greater load on his shoulders. “I asked and you dropped everything and agreed to lead me to London. Tom has not been fair to you, but you have not allowed him to provoke you. I am grateful for that, too. When I rushed in to help Ivy, you saved both of us and you were tender with her. And today when you were ready to ring my neck, you rescued Newt and did not, once, threaten to box my ears.”
Garrett tightened his jaw.
Her chest ached. She’d only made him angrier. “You are a good man, Garrett, and I do not deserve any of the kindness you have shown me.”
She’d said what needed to be said, but it was cold comfort. With Garrett still sitting as if he’d been carved from the tree. Nurse always said doing the right thing was its own reward. Nurse was wrong. Her misery was like a dull blade sawing through the center of her. “I am done. I wanted to thank you for your kindness and beg your pardon for causing you all this trouble.”
She shifted away.
“Stay.”
* * * *
Garrett was speechless. What had she bloody done? He was done for. Nobody had demanded an apology of her. Yet Beatrice had come and thrown herself on his mercy. Jesu. Her sweetness ran right the way through to the bone. It tied him in tighter and tighter knots. He’d made the mistake of thinking her lack of guile worked to his advantage. And it had. Up to a point. It also completely disarmed him.
You are a good man, Garrett, and I do not deserve any of the kindness you have shown me.
He ground his teeth together until his jaw ached. Nay, I am not. I am a bastard and a whoreson. I am a conniving churl, looking to use you to exact my revenge.
You are a good man, Garrett, and I do not deserve any of the kindness you have shown me.
And as she’d said those words, he’d known it—for one moment—the sharp need to be that man. What was he to make of any of this?
He latched his hand behind
her neck and tugged her forward. Her face inches from his, he could read her eyes. All she was, right there for him to see in its purity. He soiled her merely by touching her, and yet his hand wouldn’t uncurl from her nape and release her. She ran like a fever through his blood.
“Beatrice, what am I to do with you?” He hadn’t intended to speak.
“I am not sure.”
Garrett bit off a short bark of surprised laughter.
“I think, mayhap, you should leave me here to my own devices and go back to your life. I did not want you to leave me in anger though.”
Garrett’s groan rose from the deepest part of him. Where was his anger now? She said the very thing he’d been brooding on. God’s bones, but she invited him to go. Perversely, it made him reject the notion.
“And what would happen to you if I left you here?”
“I should get along.” She gave her chin a valiant lift, but the pillowy softness of her lips trembled “I might not reach London, but I should get along.”
“Beatrice the Brave.” Christ, she was killing him. She had such courage, just no understanding of where her true strength lay.
She dropped her gaze to the ground.
He couldn’t see in this light, but Garrett was willing to bet his right arm her cheeks were flushed with color.
Garrett marveled at her; at the same moment he wanted to shake some sense into her. She had no weapons to ward off predators. She was like a hedgehog without its prickles or a rose without its thorns. It wasn’t his job to be her protector, his mind screamed at him, but the rest of him wasn’t listening. It was looking, at the clear lines of her face. There was no artifice to Beatrice. She concealed nothing.
She’d known he was angry with her. Instead of puffing up with feminine outrage, she’d slunk over here and offered him the sweetest apology he’d ever heard. Not because of it being lyrically worded, but more because she made no excuses for herself. How did one fight someone who kept scattering flowers in your path?
“Beatrice.” He’d never been as she. Not even when he was a small child. “You give away pieces of yourself too easily.”
Look at how she was with him. Never once had she questioned his intent. She refused to take note of Tom, her best friend. She’d opened herself to him like a flower before the sun. It had made her an easy target for such as he. A nasty shock sparked through him. What would happen when he was gone? Would she be as vulnerable to the next sod with murky intentions? And suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought. Or worse, the idea Beatrice would grow bitter and hard. That she would lose the wondrous, openhearted embrace with which she viewed the world.