Sweet Bea (29 page)

The guard snorted at her. “And who is he?” He motioned his head at Garrett. “The bloody king?”

“I am Lady Beatrice.” She raised her chin and stared the man down.

The guard shoved his pike toward her.

Beatrice stepped back to avoid being jostled.

Garrett stiffened.

Beatrice put out her hand to stop him. She couldn’t risk a fight at the gate. “Would you send him a message I am here?” They could at least agree to that. “I have to see my father. I will not leave until I do.”

People moved in the yard beyond the portcullis. If only she could get past the gate. Her scream of frustration welled in her throat and she forced it down.

“No camp whores in the palace.”

Camp whore? Had this man just called her a camp whore? Her mouth dropped open and she snapped it shut again.

Garrett gathered like a storm.

Well, Garrett would just have to wait his turn.

“How dare you.” She was Lady Beatrice, daughter of Sir Arthur of Anglesea. How dare this churl call her vile names? When she got to her father she’d shove his head on that blasted pike of his. “My father will have your head for this.”

The guard exchanged glances with his comrade. He shifted uneasily.

“You look nothing like a lady.” His voice wavered.

“I am in this state because I need to see my father.”
Not so sure now are you, churl?
She glared down her nose at the man. Nobody called Lady Mary’s daughter a whore.

The guard swallowed and slid a look at his fellow. “Sir Arthur will have my head if you are not who you say you are.”

“He will have your head if I am.” Beatrice was going to enjoy watching him squirm. “Send a message to one of my brothers, Sir Roger or Sir William. Let them come and tell you I am Lady Beatrice.”

He thought it over for precious seconds. “Wait here.” He stepped beneath the shadow of the gatehouse.

Whispering went on and on. Eventually, another soldier emerged from the gatehouse.

“We will send a message.” The guard placed his pike across the path. “And if you are lying—”

“I am not lying.” Beatrice turned her back, not prepared to waste one more moment on this ill-mannered oaf.

She was almost jumping out of her skin by the time the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. Beatrice leapt to her feet. A familiar figure strode across the bailey toward them, his long legs eating up the distance.

Her brothers were all tall, but Roger stood even a few inches taller than their father. He had Sir Arthur’s dark hair, but his blue eyes and carved features were all Lady Mary. He was built like his father, powerful shoulders tapered into a slim waist. Beatrice’s chest swelled with pride as her strong, handsome brother drew closer.

“Roger.” Beatrice jumped up and down and waved her arms. Everything was going to be well again. She’d made it.

Roger stopped and his head jutted forward. “Beatrice?”

Beatrice sobbed with relief. “Roger.” She beckoned her brother. See there. She tossed a haughty glance at the man at arms.

He went a little pale.

Roger jogged toward her. “It cannot be you.” He shoved past the crossed pikes and came to stand right before her. “It is you. You look a sight.”

“Oh, Roger.” Beatrice flung herself at her oldest brother.

Strong arms folded around her. His surcoat was silky beneath her cheek, wearing her father’s arms, a dragon’s head proper on Argent.

Relief brought tears to her eyes. “I have to see father right away.”

“What has happened?” Roger pulled her away from him. “Is it mother? Is she ill?”

“Nay.” Beatrice waved him to silence. “Mother is fairing well.” Beatrice desperately hoped she spoke true. “But I must speak with father. I have traveled such a long way to see him.”

“But where is Henry?” Roger frowned and looked beyond her. “And your escort? And why do you look as if you have been dragged through a hedge backwards? And what is that smell?”

“I will explain everything.” Beatrice tugged on Roger’s surcoat. “Only, tell these men to let us in.”

“Who is that?” Roger narrowed his eyes on Garrett. He tensed and put his hand on his sword.

“I will explain everything, but I have to get to father. Now, Roger. We are all in peril.”

“Peril?” Roger’s face hardened. “You had best come along then.”

She and Garrett followed behind Roger as he led them through the keep. The keep was bare of ornamentation, only the various banners of the warring barons bedecked the hall in a glorious display of heraldry. There were knights and soldiers everywhere, busy but calm and well ordered.

They mounted the stairs to the upper level and entered a large, private chamber.

Sir Arthur stood poring over a map with William.

Joy rushed through her and brought tears to her eyes at the sight of them. Her father was so like Roger, only thicker around the waist and shoulders and his dark hair was flecked with gray. William was as beautiful as ever with the aquiline perfection of his features, crowned by a pair of brilliant blue eyes, his hair so dark as to be almost black.

Her father snapped up straight. “Beatrice. Merciful God, what has happened to you?”

She ran toward him.

He hauled her into his arms for a huge hug.

Beatrice inhaled the familiar smell of horses and leather she associated with her father. With her father’s strong arms about her, she was completely safe. She’d done it. She’d reached her father. Sir Arthur would fix everything. In her entire life, she’d never encountered a thing her powerful, gruff-voiced father couldn’t put to rights. She was passed from her father to William.

Garrett stood just within the door, stiff and tense, his hands clenched by his side. His face appeared to be carved from rock.

Beatrice sent him a reassuring smile.

His face remained frozen.

“Now.” Her father tugged her out of William’s embrace. “You had best start telling.”

Her father sat and listened. His face grew sterner as the story continued.

Roger paced the room, swearing quietly.

William sipped his wine, his eyes drifting to Garrett and back to her.

“Did you not speak with your mother before you left?” Her father rose to his feet.

She thought she had explained why mother could not be worried. “I could not worry her.” Sir Arthur, of all people, should understand that. “She is not well.”

“For the love of God, girl!” Her father frowned mightily. “Why did you not take this to your mother?”

“I told you…”

“Beatrice, think.” He punched his palm. “Why would I leave your mother unguarded?”

“Henry said he did not have enough men.” This was not going at all as she thought it would. “Should we not be leaving for Anglesea?”

“Calder had not reached Anglesea?” Sir Arthur paced the length of the table and back again.

“Nay, not before I left, but both Faye and Henry feared he could not be far behind.”

“Jesu.” Roger threw himself onto the bench. “I told you Henry would make a dog’s ballocks of this.”

Beatrice’s head whirled. Nobody reacted as she expected. Secrets on top of secrets until she wanted to scream.

“Do not use that language in front of your sister,” Sir Arthur said. “We can only hope Henry was sensible enough to go to your mother after Beatrice disappeared.”

“What of Godfrey?” Roger slammed the table. “Jesu the lying whore…knave.”

William caught his goblet before it fell and raised it to his lips. “Before I was banished from court, Godfrey was often in the company of the king and Calder. It is not a stretch to believe he has grown ambitious and the king is always one to use such men to his advantage.”

“We grew up with him.” Roger stalked over to the casement. “Godfrey put me on my first horse.”

William shrugged one elegant shoulder. Even wearing his hauberk, William managed to look like a courtier. “Mayhap he grew tired of living in the shadow of the great Sir Arthur.”

“What, in the name of hell, do you mean?” Roger bore down on his younger brother.

“It means simply”—William studied his wine—“Godfrey is a much younger brother. The only property he holds is through father. With the three of us standing to inherit before him, there is no chance of ever increasing his holdings.”

Roger loomed over William.

William sipped his wine.

Beatrice grew tired of their posturing. Roger and William were always at each other’s throats. She turned back to her father. “I think it is more important to ascertain what you are going to do now.”

“Quite right, Sweet Bea.” William grinned.

She’d seen him reduce ladies to a swoon with that smile of his. He needn’t think it would work on her.

“Do?” Sir Arthur resumed his pacing. “I need to get to Anglesea and sort out this snarl. Roger, call up the men. We ride within the hour.”

At last. Relief swept through Beatrice. Her knees weakened, and she caught the edge of the table.

Garrett’s strong arms caught her.

“Do I know you?” William tilted his head and studied Garrett.

Blast!
Beatrice froze.

“Nay.” Garrett met William’s gaze, his eyes blazing.

“I think I do.” William swirled his wine.

“By the rood, Will,” Roger snapped. “Get off your idle ass. We ride within the hour.”

“In a moment.” William waved a languid hand. “I know you from the village.”

William had the sharpest eyes. Beatrice cursed, one of the new words she’d learned from Garrett.

Garrett thrust his shoulders back and raised his chin.

“What of it?” She made light of the moment. “There are plenty of people in the village.”

Garrett’s stance shrieked outright challenge.

Her brothers wouldn’t hesitate to take him up on it. She rubbed her damp palms on her bliaut. “The danger is at Anglesea, I came all this way to warn you. You must act.”

“And we will, Sweet Bea.” William leaned his elbows on the table. “But I would like a few questions answered first.”

“What is it William?” Sir Arthur’s eyes narrowed on Garrett.

“There is no time for this.” Beatrice pulled at the shoulder of William’s hauberk.

“You travelled from Anglesea without an escort?” William crossed his ankles as if he were settling in for the rest of the day. “With only him for company.”

“And Tom,” Beatrice said.

Roger and her father studied Garrett with the same intensity as William.

Bloody, blasted William. The damage was done. “I told you, Tom was with us. And we gathered some people along the way, but that is a tale for another day. The important thing is I am here now and father must go home. He is sorely needed at Anglesea.”

“Your brother raises a good question.” Her father’s chest swelled, and he balled his fists.

Beatrice stepped in front of Garrett. “I told you, his name is Garrett and he helped me to get here.”

“Why?” drawled William into his wine.

“I am also sure I know you.” Sir Arthur firmly, but gently, pushed her to the side.

“Aye, you know me,” Garrett said.

* * * *

Garrett stared at the face he’d conjured in his mind for all these years. Sir Arthur had aged well. He looked craggier around the edges and his hair was laced with white, but he still possessed the same strong features, and hard eyes that stared back at him. He waited for the hate to thicken his blood.

* * * *

“God be praised!” Godfrey charged through the door. “Thank God, I found you before you left, brother.”

Beatrice’s heart leapt into her throat. She grabbed her father’s arm.

“Godfrey?” Sir Arthur swung around.

“Get away from him.” Godfrey pointed at Garrett. “He is here to kill you.”

“It is not true.” Fury surged through Beatrice.

“Look at him, brother. Do you not recognize Wulfric’s bastard? He is here for vengeance.” Godfrey’s sword cleared his scabbard with a loud hiss. He sprang for Garrett.

“He is lying, Father.” Beatrice blocked Godfrey’s path.

Garrett pushed her. “Get her safe.”

Beatrice stumbled toward her father, her head snapped back on her neck.

Sir Arthur shoved her behind him.

Godfrey advanced and Garrett dropped to the floor and rolled clear.

She clawed the back of her father’s hauberk. She had to save Garrett. Black spots danced in front her eyes.

Unarmed, Garrett rolled to his feet, gaze locked on the blade.

Godfrey closed on him and swung.

Beatrice screamed.

Garrett staggered back. A red stain bloomed on his sleeve.

Dear Lord, he was hurt. Beatrice ducked under her father’s arm and ran for Garrett.

Roger caught her waist and hauled her back.

“Nay.” She flailed against her brother’s hold. Godfrey would kill Garrett for sure. She had to stop it.

“Do not be stupid,” Roger said. “Do you want to be killed?”

Roger’s arm around her waist almost cut off her breathing as she thrashed to get free. She didn’t care, she had to save Garrett. “You must stop it. Garrett is not armed and Godfrey wants to kill him. You must stop it. Please.”

Godfrey thrust.

Beatrice’s heart stopped.

Garrett danced out of the way. He ducked beneath the sword and rolled toward the table.

Godfrey’s sword sheared through the wood and he tugged it free.

Garrett came up on the other side of the table.

Godfrey leapt onto the table.

“Stop him, Father, stop him. Garrett saved me. Godfrey tried to kill me.” Didn’t they see what was happening? Terror turned her blood to ice as Godfrey’s sword arced toward Garrett.

“Enough.” Sir Arthur’s bellow shook the rafters.

Godfrey’s sword stopped for a breath, and then continued.

Her father sprang forward, his sword raised. Metal met metal in a ringing
clang.
Sparks flew as her father twisted his wrists, trapped Godfrey’s blade with his, and pinned it to the table.

“What in hell is Beatrice shrieking about?” Her father’s voice cut through the heavy air.

Godfrey licked his lip. His hand shook as he strained against Sir Arthur’s lock on his sword. “She is bewitched by him.” Godfrey panted, sweat streaming down his face. “He has seduced her into believing he cares for her, but he is only using her to get to you. I hurried here to save you, Arthur. He wants revenge for his father’s death.”