Sweet Bea (22 page)

“So he is.” Garrett’s expression tightened. He turned away before she could question him further.

She’d seen him do that before and it intrigued her. “Garrett?” She tugged his sleeve until he looked at her. “Do you know my father?”

A glib smile slid over his lips.

Beatrice almost stamped her foot. She knew that expression. It meant he would try to ease his way out of an answer with charm. She fixed him with a stern look. “Tell me true, Garrett.”

The smile slid off his lips. Stark anger crossed his face.

Beatrice took a reflexive step back. His expression didn’t bode well.

“What is it?” She braced herself for the worst, not sure what it could be.

“I know your father, Beatrice, but that is a story for another day.” He turned back to Parsley.

Beatrice stared at his back. Outrageous. Did he think she would be content with such a meager scrap? His back remained to her. Aye, it was exactly what he thought. She would soon disabuse him of such a notion. “Garrett.” She put a spine of steel through her voice. “I would like an explanation.”

The muscles in his back stiffened. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I brought you to London.” A knot jumped in the side of his jaw. “I will take you to your father. You will have to be content with as much.”

Would she now? Beatrice glared at his back.

“You there.” A rude voice interrupted her swelling objection.

A priest strode toward them. His robes flapped around his ankles as he walked, making him look like a straggly crow. “You cannot leave your horses there.” The priest waved his hands about, which sent Breeze sidling. Parsley merely rolled an eye at the man.

“Aye, Father.” Garrett clasped his hands before him like a penitent. “We were not intending to leave them here. We were merely going to ask for directions.”

“Directions to where?” The priest eyed them askance.

“The Lady Beatrice is looking for her father.”

Beatrice bent her knee in deference as the priest’s head swung toward her.

His face was angular, color high on his cheekbones. Beneath the dark slash of his brows, his small, piggy eyes started at her toes and raked their way to the top of her head.

She must look a mess. Her hair tangled by the breeze, her dress dirty and stained.

“Lady Beatrice?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Aye.” Her cheeks heated. “Lady Beatrice of Anglesea.”

“Very well.” The priest sighed and tucked his hands into his habit. “If Anglesea is truly your father, then he is one of those rebel barons running amok through the town.”

Beatrice wanted to defend her father, but a warning look from Garrett stilled her tongue. They didn’t yet understand the lay of things in London. Tom would be proud of her. She was learning to think before she spoke. Dear Lord, she hoped he was recovering well.

“The lady does not know precisely.” Garrett smiled at the priest. “But she is the daughter of Sir Arthur of Anglesea. He is well known throughout the kingdom.”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. Garrett’s voice changed when he spoke of her father. An undercurrent of something like anger laced it when he spoke of Sir Arthur.

The priest rolled his eyes. “Anglesea is not in London.”

“Aye, he is,” Beatrice said.

“He is in Westminster.” The priest looked pained. “You do know where Westminster is?”

“Aye.” Garrett shifted.

The frown Garrett wore was not encouraging. Yet, Beatrice was greatly relieved not to have to admit her ignorance. This priest was nothing like Father Thomas who ministered to their needs at home.

“But you will not reach there tonight.” The priest nodded his head in dismissal. “The gates to the city will close at sunset.” He stuck his head toward them. “And do not think to sleep here this night. I will remember your faces.” He turned and started to flap across the square again.

He was a crow, Beatrice decided, and a bald one, at that. Some other crow must have plucked his feathers.

“Beatrice.” Garrett rested his forearms on Parsley’s back. “We will not reach Westminster tonight.”

“Surely the gates will not close precisely at sunset.” The sky above her was barely streaked with sunset. There must be an hour or two before the sun went down. “We can reach them and be on our way to Westminster.”

“Nay.” Garrett shook his head. “I would not want to chance it with all these soldiers in the city. The gates to Westminster will, for certain, be closed before we reach there. I would guess your father is at the palace.”

Disappointment pressed down on her chest. She’d been sure she would reach her father before this day was over.

“Do you have any coin?”

“Tom hid some from me.” Beatrice reached for her purse. “He insisted I bring it with us.”

Garrett grinned. “Tom knows you well.” He took the purse from her. “We will need to see the horses safely kept before we go to Westminster in the morning. The quickest way to reach there is by the river and we cannot take them with us.”

Beatrice reached up to stroke Breeze’s neck. She wasn’t happy with the thought of leaving her mare with strangers. Still, it wouldn’t be for long. Tomorrow she’d reach her father and soon after, they’d be riding for home.

Garrett peered inside the purse. “Well.” He tightened the strings again. “We will not sleep rich tonight, but we should have enough to see us sheltered.”

* * * *

Beatrice’s head ached. Garrett’s words turned out to be optimistic. The city was full to the brim with soldiers taking up all the room. They struggled through the crowds as inn after inn turned them away. Full dark had fallen by the time they’d been turned away from yet another establishment. The gates to the city were closed and with them any chance of sleeping without the city walls.

Beatrice tried to stay cheerful, but the last woman had turned them away rudely.

Around them, the city settled for the night. Shadows crept along the narrow streets, only dimly lit by flickering torches. With the night, a new population peopled the city. They slid out of the shadows to weave drunkenly in her path. Beatrice swore their eyes were on her. She almost ran into Garrett’s back she walked so closely behind him.

He turned to look at her. “I have an idea.” He winked.

Beatrice sincerely hoped so. She was footsore and dispirited as she trailed him.

“Oi, my fine laddie.” A raucous voice cut the air.

Beatrice whirled around to look.

A woman whistled through her teeth, her eyes on Garrett. “Look what I have for you.” The woman tugged down her dress and jiggled her breasts.

Sweet Lord. Beatrice tripped over her own feet.

Garrett caught her. “Are you all right?”

“Aye.” Beatrice craned her neck to stare at the woman. The woman had her breasts on display again, but she was looking at a different man. This one paid no more attention to her than Garrett.

“Not long now.” Garrett wrapped her hand in his.

Beatrice drew reassurance from his warm fingers entwined with hers.

The river glittered ahead of them. Garrett wound their way through the tangle of streets toward the waterfront. The expanse of water, silver in the moonlight, looked much better when she couldn’t see the unmentionable things drifting along in the current. A stiff breeze tugged at her skirts and brought with it a welcome breath of fresh air.

She followed Garrett, trusting he knew where he was going. The river was right before them and yet the streets forced them to wind and turn before they reached it. Taverns clustered together as they drew closer. The oily tang of fatty meat and tapers hung in the air. Bursts of laughter and shouts came from behind the lighted windows. The reedy whistle of a pipe wound through the loud buzz of conversation as they walked past, yet another, tavern. Peering through the window, Beatrice didn’t think it looked too bad. Rough men filled the tables, but there were women amongst them. Her belly was hollow with hunger and she spied coarse loaves of bread on the table beside wooden bowls.

Garrett tugged her forward.

Even Breeze’s head hung when Garrett, finally, stopped before a large wooden shed.

Garrett tried the door. It was locked.

Her shoulders drooped. This was his grand idea? Breeze blew softly in her ear. Beatrice understood how the mare felt. She wrapped her arm beneath Breeze’s jaw and leaned.

Garrett scrutinized the flickering dark.

“What are you doing?”

He went first one way, stopped and listened, and then turned. “Looking for a night guard.” He peered around the side of the shed. “Or a water bailiff.”

“What is a water bailiff?”

“Not someone we want to meet now.” He grinned at her. “But the fact there is not one here, is good news for us.”

He handed her Parsley’s reins.

“What is this place?”

“This is the wool district.” He approached the door again. A stout chain and lock were wrapped around the latch. “These warehouses are kept full of wool waiting to be loaded onto barges.”

“Garrett?”

He fiddled with the chain on the door. Light flashed off his dagger as he levered it inside the padlock.

“What are you doing?” Nerves fluttered in her belly.

“Finding my lady a bed for the night.” With a flourish, he loosened the chain and stepped back. He caught it before it hit the ground. “We shall have to keep quiet, but I can think of no better place to rest than a nice, warm bed of wool.”

“Is the chain not to keep people out?” Beatrice tried to look shocked. But the idea of a bed and an end to this endless walking was too tempting.

“Only if such people were going to steal the wool.” Garrett eased the door open with a slight creak. “As it is, we are only going to sleep on it.”

“I suppose that is acceptable.” Beatrice led Breeze inside. The shed was tall and stretched right over the water. A barge could be loaded from inside through a portal on the river. And, as promised, there was wool everywhere.

Garrett shut the heavy door to seal them in.

The inside of the shed smelled musty and dank. Beatrice wrinkled her nose and waited for her eyes to grow accustomed to the lack of light.

“We can stay here for the night. I will have to get some water and we can get settled,” Garrett said.

Beatrice looked toward the river. She shuddered in distaste. The water would kill her faster than the thirst.

“Not from there.” He laughed.

She heard Garrett open the door again. “Where are you going?”

“To get some water.”

“And leave me here alone?” Beatrice glanced around the hut and shivered.

Garrett crossed the floor toward her. “Only for a few moments, sweeting.” He gave her a quick hug. “I shall be back before you know it. Otherwise, let Parsley protect you. He is a real beast.”

Beatrice giggled. It sounded too loud and she slapped her hands across her mouth. Noises filtered through the walls from the city outside. She stood where Garrett had left her and gathered up her courage. She was letting her fears get the better of her. “I will settle the horses,” she said to the empty hut. Breeze stamped and blew through her nose as if to tell her to get on with it.

“You will have to eat light tonight.” She slipped the nearly empty nosebag over the mare’s head. “But tomorrow we will find father and you will have enough grain to fill your bellies five times over.” She did the same for Parsley. The horses’ eyes glowed in the dim light. Their smell floated above that of the wool and Beatrice breathed it in. It was the smell of the stables at Anglesea, and she drew comfort from it.

True to his promise, Garrett returned a few moments later. He carried some water for the horses and another skin for them.

She and Garrett didn’t speak much as they dealt with the business of getting ready for the night. The bread had grown a bit stale, but Beatrice ate her half. Some cheese and apples and her belly was appeased.

“We dare not risk a fire.” Garrett took a seat beside her.

It seemed an age since she’d enjoyed the comfort of a cheerful blaze. At Anglesea, even though it was summer, the great hearths would be lit and folk would gather about them. Conversation would fill the hall lit by the sweet scented beeswax candles her mother insisted on. In their hut, the night closed in, the silence broken only by the slap of water against the dock. One of the horses whickered and the other answered.

Garrett sat beside her, still as a stag scenting for danger.

“It grows late. We should sleep.” Garrett spoke suddenly, startling her. His voice sounded odd. “We should be up before sunrise and get to the gates.”

Beatrice nodded, realized he couldn’t see her and said, “Aye.”

He shifted beside her and cleared his throat. “I will get the blankets.”

He stood up and Beatrice heard him moving in the dark. There were endless sounds of shuffling around before he returned.

“The wool stinks, but at least it’s soft.” He spread their blankets on the wool.

“I am becoming accustomed.” Beatrice stood to give him room to work. “The river smells worse.”

“Aye.”

“I can do that.” She stood feeling awkward, like she should do something to help him.

“I have it done.” He settled onto his blanket and they sat.

It was warm in the hut. The air absolutely still. From the city beyond the watch called the hour.

“It is because of what people throw in it,” Garrett said.

“What?”

“The river. It stinks because of what people throw in it.”

“Ah.” It made sense. Beatrice raised her knees and wrapped her arms about them. If she stared hard enough, she could discern dim shapes on the other side of the warehouse. A horse slurped water noisily. “How did you know about these places?” She shifted her weight and froze. Every move she made clattered in the silence.

“I lived in London for a time.” Rustling as Garrett changed position beside her.

“Ah.” Beatrice tightened her arms and kept her eyes locked on the other side of the hut. She’d never been this ill at ease with Garrett before. Mayhap because she’d never been entirely alone with him. The thought caused her belly to tighten. Even at their secret meetings, there had always been people within hailing distance. There was nobody about now.