Sweet Bea (14 page)

She slumped and made a soft, snuffling noise, like a tired puppy.

Garrett glanced down.

She was asleep. Her lashes dark against the pale of her cheeks, her full mouth open in a soft pout.

Garrett wanted to laugh and howl at the same time. He edged down the wall until he made a better pillow for her. Careful not to wake her, he shifted Beatrice into a more comfortable position for sleep. It mildly concerned him he didn’t mind that she used him as her pallet.

She fit right in his arms.

It had been a whore of a day. Things had gotten murky in his head. The lack of clarity sat ill with him, like an itch beneath his skin he couldn’t reach.

Beatrice had flipped his thinking inside and out. He hadn’t, for one instant, thought she’d behave as she had done with Ivy. Truth be told, the boy’s reaction was closer to what he would’ve expected. The image of Beatrice charging down the rise on her horse taunted him. Garrett’s gut tightened. She was a danger to herself.

What was her family thinking to allow her out without a constant guardian angel to keep her clear of trouble? Ludicrous. Unfortunately, it seemed he’d volunteered for the duty, merely by being in her presence. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw that sodding whoreson reach up and pull her off her horse. His anger had been barely contained as he fought. Garrett shook his head at himself. There’d been three of them. Three
.
He needed his wooden head examined.

And Ivy.

She brought his mother clearly to mind, as if she were in the room with him. Ivy had the same bone-deep weariness that had beset his mother. It rested in the bruised depths of their eyes and carved lines of disappointment around their mouths. Once, his mother had been beautiful enough to catch the eye of the powerful lord of the demesne she lived within and alluring enough to establish her place as his only leman. She had laughed then, sang to him and told him stories of valor and glory.

Then a marauding knight called Sir Arthur of Anglesea, shouting the name of King John’s justice, had torn their world asunder as ruthlessly as he had razed the castle, their only home, to the ground. His mother had taken years to die, piece by piece. He lived to bring her justice. And what better justice than to render a whore, the daughter of the man who had torn his world apart?

Except, and here was the thing that wouldn’t rest easy within him, Beatrice would have condemned such an action had she been there. She might have even ridden to their rescue. A man didn’t have to spend more than an hour or two in her company to see what she was made of. It was right there, on the surface, written across her expressive face. Every thought she had and every emotion she experienced. There was no cruelty in her.

For the first time since he’d put his feet on the road toward revenge, Garrett was torn. The inherent rightness of his actions didn’t seem quite so certain anymore.

He was a maudlin dolt. It was right what he did. Sometimes it was mete the innocent suffer along with the guilty. Less than a day’s hard riding from London, life had handed this opportunity to him and he would be a fool not to take it. When the rain let up, he’d lead them into the night.

The boy would be too busy nursing his own self-righteous grievances to take note of their direction. Through the door, the rain lessened. He’d have a few solid hours of darkness to work with. He should wake Beatrice and tell her to get ready.

Her arm lay across his belly.

She was so trusting it made his teeth ache. There was no need to wake her right away. She was tired and Tom wasn’t back yet.

* * * *

“Beatrice.” Tom’s voice intruded on her sleep.

Beatrice lay with her cheek against a blanket, and her limbs were cold. She shivered and blinked at the hut. Then she remembered where they were. It was dark all around now, but the rain had stopped.

“Beatrice, it is time to go.” Tom shook her by the shoulder.

Beatrice sat up. The last thing she remembered was cuddling up beside Garrett. “Where is Garrett?”

“Outside with the horses. We let you sleep as long as we could.”

“Where were you?”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Walking, thinking. Sitting and more thinking.” He cleared his throat. “I was wrong, Bea. I need to beg your pardon.”

Sweet relief flooded Beatrice. This was the Tom she knew and loved. “Aye, you were.”

Tom gave her a sardonic look. “I am not sure what came over me. You were right to chastise me.”

“Garrett nearly did worse.” Beatrice turned to look for Ivy.

The other woman perched on the folded blanket Beatrice had used as a screen. Her hair was neatly braided and her skirts carefully tucked around her legs. She waited.

“Bea.” Tom helped her to her feet. “I want you to be careful with Garrett.”

A glib answer rose to her lips.

“I do not think he is as he appears to be.”

Tom’s words echoed her thoughts too closely. Beatrice squeezed his hand. Tom loved her. He only wanted to protect her.

“You are too quick to trust, and I am concerned for you.” This was her Tom sweet, caring, and hopelessly stubborn, but a good man.

She threw her arms around his neck. “I do not like to fight with you, Tom.”

“God’s wounds, Bea.” He went bright pink but gave her a rough hug.

A long ride through the night gained some of the time lost. They’d stopped a few hours before dawn to get some rest. The women cuddled together for warmth in the early hours before dawn.

Beatrice woke with Ivy stiff as a board behind her. The bright sunlight stung her eyes. She shifted and groaned. Her body was full of tired twinges and aches. Today would bring more hard traveling.

“We are lost.” Tom’s voice broke the still morning. “How, in the name of God, can we be lost?”

Beatrice sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

Behind her, Ivy did the same.

Near the horses, Tom and Garret stood and glared at each other.

Garrett looked irritated, but not murderous. A horse whinnied over his reply.

“You said you knew the way.” Tom thrust his chest forward.

Beatrice scrambled to her feet. Being lost would be an unmitigated disaster. Her family was counting on her to reach London. Assuming Henry hadn’t suffered a rush of blood to the head and decided to come after her. Henry wouldn’t do anything quite so impulsive.

“What is it, Tom?” Every one of Beatrice’s limbs ached. She was unaccustomed to riding as many hours and sleeping rough. Her steps lacked any semblance of grace as she stumbled to Garrett and Tom.

“He says we are lost.” Tom pointed at Garrett.

Garrett spread his arms wide and grimaced.

Dismay flooded through Beatrice. “We cannot be.” His sheepish expression irked her. “You know the way. You said so.”

Garrett stroked her cheek. “I am sorry, sweeting. I must have taken the wrong path in the dark.”

She jerked away from his touch. “How can you be sure we are lost then?” Beatrice tried to be sensible, but she wanted to shake him until he admitted it was all a silly misunderstanding.

“The sun.” Garrett pointed to a low line of crags on the horizon. “It rose there and if we were on the right path, it would have risen above yonder hill.”

“Nay.” Beatrice glared at the soft, green hills. Disappointment welled into her throat. She pushed it down. “Then we must simply retrace our steps and get back on the correct path.”

“Going back will take us almost half a day out of our way.” Tom stamped over to his blanket and snatched it off the ground. “We are running out of time. We had barely enough time to reach London as it was. This will cost us everything.”

“Stop it, Tom. You are not helping.” She had to make London. There was no choice. Beatrice turned on her heel, grabbed her belongings and shoved them into her satchel.

Ivy scrambled to her feet and blinked at her.

“I have not done everything I have done to be told nay now.” She struggled with the blanket. The cursed thing defied her, spilling over the edges and refusing to make itself small. Beatrice punched it into the satchel. “I will reach London. I will warn my father. And he will reach home in time to save us.”

“Beatrice?” Garrett was warm beside her. “I am truly sorry, sweeting, but we have lost too much time.”

“Nay.” Beatrice trod toward her horse. “I will not accept it.”

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

Of all the stupid questions. Beatrice nearly exploded. She hadn’t time to stand and argue with stupid men. “I am going to London.”

“You do not know the way.” Garrett’s hand on her arm burned like a brand against her skin.

Beatrice yanked her arm away. “Then I will ask someone who does.” She loaded her satchel onto Breeze. The animal sensed her mood and danced a few steps away from Beatrice. Beatrice focused on the white blaze between Breeze’s eyes. She forced herself to take a deep calming breath. This wouldn’t defeat her.

“Where are you
going?” Garrett asked.

“With her,” Ivy replied. “If she wants to go to London, I will go with her.”

“Jesu, save me from illogical women.”

His hands hard on her shoulders, Garrett spun her around to face him. “You cannot go traipsing off with no direction.”

Beatrice thrust her chin out. He could glare all he wanted. “You said it was that way.” She pointed to the hills. “Then such is the way we will go.”

“I said that is where the sun should have risen.” Garrett rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have no idea where we are.”

Beatrice glared at him. She didn’t want to hear it.

“We could ask someone.” Ivy slipped to her side.

Of course. Hope flared. It was the most sensible thing to do.

“There is nobody here.” Garrett stuffed his fingers through his hair.

“I see smoke.” Ivy nudged her and jerked her chin. “And where there is smoke, there is bound to be a person tending it.”

Above the tree line, a thin wisp of smoke rose before disappearing into the cloudless sky.

It was a blessed sign. Beatrice loved Ivy in that moment. People nearby meant help.

“It could be anyone.” Garrett moved to take the saddle from her, but Beatrice fought him. He was stronger than she. She tugged harder at the saddle, not caring how undignified the tussle. “Remember what happened last time you tangled with strangers?”

“Let go.”

“Nay, I cannot allow you to go tumbling into trouble again,” he said with infuriating calm.

“He is right.” Tom spoke.

The knife twisted in Beatrice’s chest. Of all the people she had thought to side with her, Tom was foremost. She lanced him with a look shrieking his betrayal. She gave up the saddle so abruptly Garrett had to catch his balance.

Bareback it was, then. She snatched up Breeze’s bridle and tugged. Breeze sensed she was past discussing the issue and quietly fell into step behind her.

“Beatrice?” Garrett called.

She kept walking, searching for a likely stump or rock to help her mount. Rapid footsteps came after her. Beatrice quickened her pace, but his legs were longer and he got in front of her.

“All right.” He held up his hands. “We will ride toward the smoke and ask directions. Get on the damn horse.”

Her pride demanded she tell him to go to the devil. She looked at Ivy.

Ivy shrugged.

It was her decision to make. Beatrice spun, clasping her dignity about her, and pulled Breeze’s saddle out of his hands.

* * * *

Garrett should have been livid. Outflanked by a stubborn girl and her henchwoman. He stared at Parsley’s neck and fought the grin threatening to spread across his face. By God, she had spirit. He could still see her, marching around their camp with her hair flying behind her head and her jaw locked tight. Why he found this amusing remained a mystery, but he did. At best, his attempt had bought him half a day. He should be galled it hadn’t gained him more time.

* * * *

Beatrice stared down at the scurrying figures. The smoke had materialized into a small village resting in the crook of a river. A squat stone steeple marked the end of the village. It was no more than a handful of whitewashed cottages around a green, but the green bustled with activity.

“It must be a market day.” Tom drew rein beside her.

Ivy stiffened against her back.

Markets meant lots of people and lots of people with wagging tongues. Beatrice understood Ivy’s reticence. However, people meant knowledge. Someone in that throng must be able to set them on the right path. Even knowing the name of the river would help.

“I shall go down and see what I can find.” The road meandered through some planted fields and into the center of the village. “Ivy needs to stay here and you can keep her company.” Her glance encompassed both men.

“Nay,” said Garrett and Tom, a hairbreadth behind him.

Beatrice gaped at them.

Male jaws hardened and, as one, they shook their heads.

“Nay.” Garrett didn’t shout, but authority ringed his voice.

Beatrice’s hackles rose. It was all very well for him to be puffing up his chest like a bantam rooster, but he’d got them into this pickle in the first place. Needs must. She raised her chin and braced for a fight. Men could be so illogical at times.

“We are lost.” She kept her tone civil. “We do not have time to wander around the countryside, hoping we find our way onto the right road. Ivy cannot be expected to go amongst a group of people. That lout could be looking for her.”

“He will be looking,” Ivy added.

“There.” Beatrice patted Ivy’s hand. “And she cannot be left here on her own.” She suppressed an eye roll as Tom and Garrett’s expressions didn’t change. In fact, they looked more resistant.

“Beatrice.” Tom fixed a stare on her. All Tom needed was the wimple and he would be his mother.

She narrowed her eyes at him. He needn’t think it would work on her.

“You cannot go into a village on your own and ask the way to London. For a start, you are a woman travelling on your own and those folk will make any manner of assumptions about you and secondly…”

The self-righteous ass was back to carping on the Ivy incident. Tom’s first point, however, had enough validity to warrant some thought.