Sweet Bea

by Sarah Hegger

  “My darling girl, I should beat you black and blue. I have been out of my mind with worry.” Lady Mary hugged Beatrice around her enormous belly.

  As Lady Mary released her, Henry got hold of her and squeezed her hard enough to crack a rib. “You are a wicked girl.” He cleared his throat.

  His eyes were damp as he held her at arm’s length to look at her. “You should be lying dead in a ditch.”

  “But I am not.”

  “Nay, you are not.” Henry pinched her cheek.

  “You are a sad romp, Bea.” Faye kissed her on the cheek. “But I am very glad to see you looking well.” Faye looked lovely and composed; the tired lines had eased.

  “What are you doing here? All of you?”

  “We came to find you.” Nurse frowned and her wimple dipped over her brows. “Quite a turn you gave us, running off like that with my son.”

  Tom choked.

  “I see you, Thomas.” Nurse jabbed her finger at him. “And who is that you are hiding?” She bustled over to them. Immediately, her face softened. “Dear Lord, where did you find this sweet little thing? Goodness me, child, come out from behind my oaf of a son and let Nurse get a good look at you.”

  Ivy shuffled into view.

  “I have not forgotten about you, Thomas,” Nurse said, as she looked Ivy over. “I will get to you presently, but first, I must see to this poor mite.”

  “Who is at Anglesea?” Beatrice’s mind raced. If her family was here, who was watching the keep?

  “I think you are the one who should be explaining.” Faye sniffed and went to greet their father. Faye seemed to float as she moved; her sister never did anything as ordinary as walk.

  “I will get to that,” her mother replied. “But let me greet my sons first. Good Lord, Arthur, what have you done to them? Have they not bathed?” Her lips pursed.

  “Aye, Mary.” Her father mumbled the rest of his reply as Lady Mary embraced William, and then Roger.

  Garrett stood to one side. He looked awful with one eye almost completely swollen shut and his puffy lip oozing blood down his chin.

  Beatrice rushed over to be with him. Her heart ached for his hurts. “I am very sorry.” She dabbed at the blood on his chin with her sleeve. “I have no idea what came over them.”

  He tried to smile and winced.

  His poor, battered face.

  “Sweeting, you have nothing to be sorry for.” He nudged her hand away. “Your brothers did no less than I deserve.”

  “Beatrice,” her mother called, “perhaps you would introduce your family to your friend.”

  Beatrice straightened her spine. Fear fluttered in her belly as she turned to look at her family.

  As one, their eyes were turned to her.

  “That is Wulfric’s bastard.” William wiped blood from his mouth with his sleeve.

  “I did not ask you, William.” Lady Mary raised her brows. “Would you please find me a place to sit? I think it is time we all had a talk.”

  Beatrice’s family had all lost their minds, sitting and chatting whilst Anglesea stood poised on the edge of disaster. The entire half hour seemed to be something out of a dream. Beatrice gave her thigh a pinch. Hard. Nay, it was real. “Mother, do we not have to return home?”

  “Aye, and we will. After we have aired a few truths. William, are you still standing there?” Lady Mary rubbed her spine.” My back feels nigh breaking, being jostled in a carriage for three days.”

  William hastened to obey. He snatched up the one unbroken bench and brought it over.

  “I told you not to go running the breadth of the kingdom.” Nurse whipped out her kerchief and wiped the bench. “Fetch me some hot water,” she snapped at Roger. “I need to brew your mother a tisane.”

  “I am Garrett, formerly of Alethorpe. Sir Wulfric was my father.” Garrett stood beside her with his shoulders squared and a fierce look on her face.

  Beatrice thrilled with pride.

  “You have the look of your mother.” Lady Mary eased her bulk onto the bench with a sigh. “Mistress Alyce, if memory serves, was the daughter of Sir William of Clarges. Do I have this right, Nurse?”

  “You do, lamb.” Nurse flanked Lady Mary. “He disowned her when she went off with Sir Wulfric.” Nurse snorted. “You can disown all you like, but blood does not change its color.”

  “Well said, Nurse.” Lady Mary stretched her legs out in front of her. “And I believe you are responsible for bringing my daughter to London?”

  “Aye.” Garrett stiffened but kept his face blank.

  Beatrice eyed her mother. What was Lady Mary about?

  Roger arrived with her cup of hot water.

  Nurse took out a small pouch of herbs and dropped it into the water. A sharp smell rose from the cup.

  Lady Mary wrinkled her nose as she watched Nurse.

  All other eyes watched Lady Mary.

  “You always know exactly what I need, Nurse.” Lady Mary and the other woman exchanged a secret smile. “I am assuming from the antics when I arrived that you did more than merely guide her to London?” Lady Mary blew on her cup.

  Sweet Lord, her mother was as sharp as a blade. Beatrice reached for Garrett’s hand. She drew strength from the warm pressure of his fingers entwined with hers.

  “Aye, my lady,” he said.

  Her mother sipped at her tisane. “Then, I think the time for plain speaking has come. What do you intend to do about it?”

  “We should string the bastard up by his balls.” Roger cracked his fist into his palm.

  Sir Arthur belted his oldest son about the head. “I will not tell you again about that mouth of yours.”

  “It is not like there are any virgins here.” Roger shook his head. “Any more.”

  “Roger.” Lady Mary pressed her lips together.

  Roger averted his gaze, his face reddening. “Sorry, Mother.”

  “Now, back to the matter at hand. You were about to explain yourself, Master Garrett.” Lady Mary handed her cup to Nurse.

  “I will not give him up.” Determination gave her courage. Beatrice stepped forward, her hand still held tightly in Garrett’s,

  “Beatrice.” Garrett’s tone was grave. “We spoke of this.”

  “Aye, Garrett, but I cannot give you up.” His eyes were dark and somber and she wanted to shake that look out of them. She had not come this far to meekly turn about and live her life without him.

  “There is no future for us.” He stroked her cheek. The skin of his hands was broken and bleeding and she cradled one between hers. “I knew this, and I should not have taken what was not mine.”

  “Is my daughter no longer good enough for you, Garrett of Alethorpe?” Sir Arthur cracked his knuckles together.

  “I think it is the other way around.” Garrett eyes lingered on her face, touching as sweetly as a caress. “I am not good enough for her.”

  “Damn right you are not.”

  “He is good enough.” Beatrice whirled to face her family. Her blood surged hot through her veins. This was the greatest fight of her life. One she would win. “Garrett and I will be married.”

  Garrett jerked.

  Beatrice gripped his hand, hard, as she turned to look at him. “You do want to marry me, Garrett, do you not?”

  “With everything in me, if I thought I was worthy.” He grimaced and dipped his chin. “I am little more than a beggar, sweeting. You are the Lady Beatrice, and I am the son of a whore and a traitor.”

  Beatrice flinched at his words. She hated when he demeaned himself thus. It didn’t matter where he came from. What mattered was the man she saw now. And her Garrett was gentle, kind, courageous, loyal and beautiful.

  “No daughter of mine will marry Wulfric’s get.” Sir Arthur braced his legs apart. “The sire was a cruel, traitorous churl, little more than an animal. He could be just the same.”

  “I do not care.” Beatrice glared at her father. Her heart leapt ab
out in her chest. She had never spoke to her father thus. “I love him and that is all that matters.”

  “What do you know of love?” Her father’s face creased in a ferocious frown.

  Lady Mary touched Sir Arthur on the arm.

  He shut his mouth, but his face lost none of the fury.

  Beatrice turned her back on her family. She took Garrett’s face between her hands. His lip was torn, and she dabbed a speck of blood away. “I love you, Garrett. I do not want to be cut off from my family. It will tear me asunder. But it will kill me, for certain, if I no longer have you.”

  “Beatrice,” he protested, but his arms moved to hold her against him. “I have nothing.”

  “You have me.” Now and always. “I am not nothing.”

  “Nay, you are not nothing.” A half smile titled the corner of his mouth not bloodied. “I do not deserve you, Beatrice.”

  “What nonsense.” Certainty flooded her being. “If every one of us sat about waiting to be worthy of love, nobody would ever find a mate. You are deserving of my love, simply, by loving me back. And you do love me, do you not Garret?”

  “Ridiculously so.” Slowly, the graveness faded from his eyes.

  A glimmer of hope took root. “I am strong.” Beatrice increased the pressure around his waist until he gave a grunt of pain. “You are strong. We will build a life together.”

  “I could learn to farm?” He tugged on his ear.

  Beatrice laughed. Garrett tilling the soil was a picture, even she, couldn’t conjure. “Nay, Garret, you have not the temperament of a farmer. Mayhap an inn?”

  Aye, that was a far better idea. “We could build a small inn along the road to London. God knows, there are not enough decent places for a body to rest along the way.” An inn. It was the perfect thing. Beatrice would rule over her busy kitchen, her hair neatly bound by a kerchief, her arms covered with a dusting of flour, the smell of delicious pies heavy in the air. Garrett would come up behind her and put his arms around her. He would smile over her shoulder at their five, nay six—a good round number—children.

  “Beatrice?” Garrett tipped her chin to face him. “We have not the coin to build an inn.”

  That could present a problem. Then again, had they not overcome one obstacle after another to get to this point. “We will get the coin. We will work as farm laborers until we have the coin. I can work in a bakery and—”

  “Good God, Bea,” Faye said. “Are you building castles in the air again?”

  “Nay.” Garrett kissed Beatrice on the forehead. “An inn. She is building an inn in the air.”

  “God’s bones, would somebody end this torment.” William looked ill.

  “This is your plan, then?” Lady Mary spoke.

  Beatrice turned within the circle of Garrett’s arms to face her family. She loved each one of them. Beautiful Faye, stalwart Roger and irreverent William. She even loved pious Henry. But her choice was made.

  And she adored her mother and father. A piece of her heart broke away from the whole and embedded sharply behind her ribs. There could come a time when she was big with child, like her mother was now, and Lady Mary wouldn’t be there. When her father was no longer about to haul her into his huge arms and hug her.

  Tears pricked the back of her eyelids. She would miss them.

  “Look what such a choice would cost you, Beatrice.” Garrett’s arms tightened about her. “You talk of letting them go, but you would not know how much the cost until you lost them.” He leaned his cheek against her head. “I have never had such a wondrous thing as this. Your people love you, Beatrice. For all you are and all you could be. Such a thing should not be thrown away.”

  “But what of our love?” Inside she felt torn asunder.

  “Is our love more valuable than the love I see here?”

  “Aye.” Beatrice’s throat clogged. Her family, her strength, and her roots. What would life be like without them? The years yawned before her without Roger’s fire, William’s nonsense, or Henry’s moralizing. She mourned already, but she would give it all up if it meant she could be with Garrett.

  “And so we are decided.” Lady Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “I could not live a day without my Sweet Bea.”

  A tiny flicker of hope burned through the sadness.

  “You are not suggesting she marries him?” Roger gaped at his mother.

  “Never.” Sir Arthur’s stance exactly mirrored his oldest son. Both of them legs braced apart and arms folded over their chests.

  The hope died. Beatrice tightened her resolve. So be it.

  “Do not make me angry, Arthur.” Lady Mary placed her palm on her belly. “Of course Garrett and Beatrice must marry.”

  Beatrice’s belly fluttered. Her mother’s support was sweetly welcome but shocking.

  Lady Mary raised her delicate chin, her eyes kindled.

  “But he’s—”

  Garrett stiffened as her father pointed a finger at him, spluttering for the right words.

  “The son of Wulfric of Alethorpe and Mistress Alyce,” Lady Mary continued. “Whatever their end, they were both of noble blood.”

  “Noble blood? You know what Wulfric was?” Arthur blinked at his wife. His color was high. “He was nothing more than a savage beast. He deserved to have his title stripped and his lands razed. You heard the stories; you know what he did.”

  “Really, Arthur?” Lady Mary sighed. “I think Garrett has already demonstrated his resemblance to his father is no more than skin deep.”

  “Not to me he has not,” Sir Arthur said.

  Lady Mary grimaced and shifted on the bench. “This child lies heavy within me.”

  “I told you, the trip was not good for the child.” Nurse dug around in her apron and produced another sachet.

  “Aye, Nurse.” Lady Mary smiled at Beatrice. “But does the child in my belly take precedence over all my other children?”

  Beatrice’s chest glowed. Her mother’s love was like a balm that took away the heartache.

  “Mary.” Sir Arthur gentled his tone. “He was going to use Beatrice to exact revenge against me. To callously seduce her and toss her aside.”

  “But he did not.” Beatrice drew strength from her mother.

  “Exactly so.” Lady Mary gave her beautiful smile. “Instead, he stands here, before her entire family, having taken a beating from her brothers. Does he urge her to leave with him? Nay, he reminds her of her love for her family. I have heard all I need to hear. He loves her, Arthur, and that is good enough for me.”

  “He did manage to keep her in one piece, more or less, all the way to London.” Faye crossed the room to her mother’s side.

  Sir Gregory followed on her heels.

  “And does he not have reason to be wroth?” Lady Mary asked.

  * * * *

  Everything within Garrett stilled. He tightened his grip around Beatrice, ignoring the pain to his damaged ribs. She was his hold on reality.

  Sir Arthur swung angry eyes in his direction.

  Garrett met his stare.

  “Aye.” Sir Arthur dropped his gaze.

  Garrett’s chest tightened. Sir Arthur acknowledging his right to anger made his head spin.

  Lady Mary took her husband’s hand. “I know you are not proud of what happened that day. I was there, Arthur. I remember your remorse once the bloodlust had cooled.”

  And the blows kept coming. In all his wild imaginings, this had not formed part of it.

  “I do not regret the death of your father.” Sir Arthur squared his shoulders. “Wulfric was naught more than a beast, raising his fist to anyone weaker.” Sir Arthur’s face was still fierce but doubt flickered in the depths of his eyes. “I tried to find you, once it was over.”

  “You could not have tried very hard.” Garrett’s anger was old and constant and it snarled from within him. It was bad enough he must walk away from his long-fermented vengeance. There was no forgiveness for an a
ction that had cost him and his mother everything.

  As if she sensed his thoughts, Beatrice took his hand. The warmth of her touch flowed upward and soothed his pain. His anger retreated grudgingly.

  “Aye, I have regrets.” Arthur flung the words at him like a challenge. “But it does not mean I will let him have my daughter as an act of atonement. I was acting under command of the king.”

  “Nobody is suggesting you toss Beatrice on the pyre as the sacrificial lamb.” Lady Mary gave a soft tinkle of laugher.

  The hair on the back of Garrett’s neck stood on end. He wasn’t a fanciful sort, and he didn’t believe in witchcraft, but these women…

  Sir Arthur shifted.

  Lady Mary lay her hand on his arm. “Beatrice will marry Garrett for the simple reason she loves him.” Lady Mary’s smile was beatific. She let it caress every face in the room in turn. “And he loves her enough to drag her out of any number of scrapes, which he gladly lets her lead him into.”

  Sir Arthur opened his mouth to argue. He frowned and snapped it shut again.

  Garrett thanked God the woman in his arms had not inherited this trait for witchery. Had she? He peeked down at Beatrice. He wasn’t a bit reassured by the smile resting on her lips. It looked alarmingly like the one her mother and sister wore.

  “I cannot like it.” Sir Arthur ran rough fingers through his hair. “She could look as high as she likes for a bridegroom.”

  “Indeed she can. And we are all well aware of how those searches went. Really, Arthur, you cannot say that you have chosen well for your daughter thus far. That last betrothal.” Lady Mary shuddered.

  Sir Arthur’s shoulders slumped.

  “I think she has chosen well.” Lady Mary turned her lovely smile on him.

  The hope Garrett had dared not entertain sprung forth like sunlight through the clouds and infused the cracks of his being, until he feared he would burst with it. He did not deserve any of this, but he would take it.

  Beatrice turned and laid her head against his chest. “I think I have chosen perfectly.”

  “Sweet mother of God.” William shuddered. “If the cur is going to be part of the family, we, at least, need to teach him to fight like a knight. This biting and ball kicking is shameful.