The road blurred before Beatrice, and she wiped her face. Wind and rain whipped the tree branches into a dizzying dance. Garrett’s storm had hit them. A spiteful wind lashed cold rain into their faces. Travel had been slower with Beatrice and Ivy riding double. Garrett and Tom were hunched shapes to her right. Breeze plodded through the nasty weather with her head lowered.
Ivy huddled behind Beatrice, keeping her back warm, but there was no respite from the driving needles of rain in her face. Their small party sloshed on miserably until an old crofter’s hut appeared a little ways off the road.
Garrett signaled their party to stop.
Beatrice halted, fisting her hands on the reins in frustration. He was right. They had to stop. The road beneath them was slippery mud, slowing them further. They were gaining almost no distance and merely exhausting animals and riders alike. The delay was like a tight band about her throat. London was miles away still.
Tom slid from Badger, pushing rain soaked hair off his face. She couldn’t share her concerns with him, he would only lecture her and tell he’d told her so. .
The hut was old and abandoned, but it also promised some shelter from the rain.
Beatrice dismounted before turning to assist Ivy.
Ivy’s pale face gleamed stark white in the gloom. She hissed and bit her lips as Beatrice steadied her descent. Beatrice wanted to soothe the hurt, but Ivy moved away the moment her feet touched the ground.
Garrett led them inside.
The respite was immediate and Beatrice pushed back her hood. She stamped to clear the mud from her feet.
A couple of wooden stalls to one side indicated other animals had been housed here. Tom took the horses, his shirt plastered to his broad back. Steam and the smell of wet horse seeped through the hut.
The place hadn’t been lived in for a long time. There was no furniture and the thatch had worn thin in patches, letting a steady seep of water form small puddles on the earthen floor.
Opposite the door was a broad stone hearth and the floor was dry on either side. Beatrice moved farther inside and Ivy trailed her.
Nobody spoke much. Everyone was relieved to be out of the rain.
Garrett shook his head like a dog, droplets sprayed around him. “We best get dry.” His borrowed tunic, tight across his broader form, clung to the ridges of his chest and belly.
Beatrice dragged her eyes away and shrugged out of her cloak. With nowhere else to drape it, she settled for a rusted hook against the wall. Her clothing had escaped the worst of the wet, but still, she was chilled to the bone. Her plait hung in a soggy rope down her back, making her shiver.
With no cloak to shield her, Ivy’s dark hair clung wetly to her head. She sat curled around her knees beside the hearth. Bare, mud-splattered feet peeked out beneath her hem.
She must be freezing. Beatrice searched for the words to make it all seem better and came up blank. Everyone getting warm and dry would be a start. She tugged her plait forward and rung water from it.
Garrett crouched by the hearth.
A small stack of wood rested against the stones, dusty but dry. It wasn’t much, but any sort of warmth would be welcome.
Why did he not light a fire? She couldn’t remember ever feeling quite this cold or damp.
Ivy concerned her more. The girl’s teeth chattered.
“I think it is blocked.” Garrett peered up the chimney.
“How would you tell?” Beatrice crouched beside him.
“I can light a fire and we can see if we are smoked out.”
Their faces were close enough she could see the lighter flecks of brown in his eyes. His smile was like sun through the miserable day. Of all the smiles he gave her, this one she hadn’t seen. It warmed his chiseled features and invited her to join, open and guileless.
“Do you have a second idea?” She wanted him to look at her this way always. It made honey of her insides in the most wonderful way.
It disappeared and his expression grew sensuous. “Aye.” He cupped her cheek with his palm. “But I do not think Master Tom would find favor.”
The change bothered her. He went so quickly from one to the other. She searched his face for the answer. “You have many faces, Garrett.”
He dropped his hand. Tipping his head, he studied her.
“I am concerned about Ivy.” Beatrice grew uncomfortable under his gaze and she didn’t know what to make of the uneasy pinch in her chest. She needed to think on it. “I believe she is hurt.”
“Poor lass.” Garrett looked past her to the other woman. “The hurts done her will take a long time to heal.” He cleared his throat and stood. “She will want to bathe. I will fetch some water and Tom and I will make ourselves scarce.”
“I will help her.” Beatrice rose to stand shoulder to shoulder with him.
Together, they looked at the huddle of flesh and bone that was Ivy.
Beatrice got the uneasy sense Ivy wasn’t really with them. Bodily, for certain, but her tightly closed expression was as effective as miles of distance. “If she will let me,” Beatrice said, more to herself than Garrett.
“She will need time. And a gentle hand to help her put back what they took from her.” He strode over to Tom.
The depth of his empathy surprised her. He shifted and changed like a free streaming storm and left her befuddled in his wake.
Garrett conferred with Tom in low tones. His spine snapped straight suddenly.
Tom glowered and shook his head.
Oh, dear, trouble brewed again. Could they not see now was not the time for one of their disagreements?
Garrett straightened his shoulders, seeming to swell in size. The frightening stranger from the fight was back.
This appeared a mite more serious and Beatrice’s shoulders tensed.
Garrett spoke again, thrusting his hand toward the door.
Tom’s jaw tightened; he narrowed his eyes and stuck out his chest.
Garrett stepped into Tom.
Beatrice hurried closer to them. The gathering violence prickled over her skin.
“It is pouring,” Tom said.
“We leave, now.” Garrett’s voice was implacable.
“I will turn my back.”
“Nay.” Garrett snapped. “Stand beneath a big tree.”
“We can take shelter right here. I am not going out in that storm for a—” Tom caught Beatrice’s gaze and dropped his head.
“For shame, Tom.” Anger rose up, swift and strong. “Look at her. Look what they did to her. I only ask you to give her a private moment to clean those men from her skin.”
He took a step back at her vehemence. “I already fought for her. How much more do you want?”
Beatrice followed him, struggling to keep her voice down. “You have no idea what she has suffered.”
“She is a whore, Beatrice. There is not enough water to clean all the men off her.”
It was like a blow to her middle.
Tom’s eyes widened. Color flooded his neck and crept onto his cheeks.
“You dare to say such a thing.” The air rushed out of her lungs.
“Get out.” Garrett’s eyes were dead, his face frozen, his expression pure menace.
The air snapped tight between the two men.
Tom took a reflexive step back.
The rage throbbed from Garrett’s rigid body.
Fear swept away her anger, and Beatrice leapt between them. Her heart thundered in her ears.
“You did not mean that, Tom.” Her voice shook. Garrett looked ready to kill. “I know you could not have meant to sound heartless.”
Garrett’s menace pulsed against her back.
“Move, Beatrice.” He went to step around her.
Beatrice whirled and blocked his path. “Go, Tom. Return when you are more yourself.”
Tom paled. He clenched his fists by his sides as he glared over her head at Garrett, taunting.
Garrett nudged her shoulder to pass her.
“Now, Tom.” Beatrice stepped in front of Garrett.
He kept coming.
Desperately, she grabbed both of his arms. Her hands couldn’t encircle the breadth, but she dug in her fingers and clung. “Leave, now.” She hoped to God Tom listened because she couldn’t hold Garrett much longer.
For a heart stopping moment, Tom hesitated. Then, he spun on his heel and stalked outside.
Beatrice kept her grasp on Garrett. He could chase down Tom and pound him into the mud. “He does not mean it.” Beatrice dared not look at him. The anger pulsed through his clenched muscles. She aimed her words at his chest. “He is not himself. I have known him all my life, and I know he does not mean what he said.”
“You can let go now.” Garrett’s arms flexed beneath her fingers.
Beatrice dug deeper. Her fingers ached from the effort to contain the power clenched beneath them. “I think not. If I let you go, you will go after Tom.”
“He deserves no less.”
“Aye.” Prickly heat broke out over her body. “You are right, but I still cannot let you go.”
“And you intend to hold me here and stop me?”
“Aye.”
He twisted and his arms came free. Snatching her around the elbows, he hauled her up onto her toes. His face was stone.
Beatrice’s mouth went dry.
“What did I tell you about putting yourself in the path of danger?”
Images of Garrett battling Ivy’s attackers flashed through her mind. “Tom does not always mean the things he says.”
“Then he should not say them.”
“You are right. Of course, you are right. But he is angry with me. He is upset by all of this. Tom is not an unkind person. When I found this puppy left behind the keep near the midden heap, I could not get to it and Tom, he was kind, because he is kind, and he took off his boots—”
“Hush.” He gave her a small shake.
Beatrice hushed.
He released her elbows.
Her feet sank back onto the floor. Beatrice peeked up at him.
His face was still set but not as rigid.
Her legs went limp. Angry but not murderous was a definite improvement.
He shook his head and stalked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Beatrice scrambled after him.
“Nay.” He whirled around and she slid to a halt. “I am going to fetch water.”
“Water?”
“For Ivy.”
“Oh.”
“Go and see what you can do for Ivy. I will bring her some water.” He dropped his head forward. When he looked up again, the awful grimness had receded from his expression. In truth, the tiniest of smiles threatened to take possession of his face.
Thank God, the immediate danger had passed. She wanted to sit on the floor and cry. This was not, however, the time for indulging. She raised her shoulders and lifted her chin “Beatrice the Brave,” she muttered.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
His mouth definitely softened before he slipped into the wet evening.
Beatrice approached Ivy carefully. “Garrett will fetch some water for you to bathe.”
Ivy shivered.
“We are afraid to light a fire for fear it will smoke us out. So, I am sorry to say, the water will be cold.”
Ivy gave a stiff nod.
“Come.” Beatrice held out her hand to the other woman. “Let us get you tended.”
Ivy used the wall to push herself up. She swayed and recovered her balance.
They must be close in age, but Ivy looked no more than a defenseless, broken child. Beatrice trusted her instinct. “Tom and Garrett will remain outside until you are settled.”
Ivy stared at the doorway and bit her bottom lip.
Tom and Garrett were nowhere in sight. The trees outside strained in the direction of the wind.
One of the horses stamped and whickered.
The door had long since rotted and caved in. Slanting rain stretched across the opening and splashed up from the ground.
Of course, how could she not have seen it? Ivy was worried about the exposed doorway. “I will stretch one of our blankets over the beams here. See.” Beatrice pointed to a row of nails, which had probably held household implements. “I will string it between those and you will be quite snug within.”
“He is right,” Ivy said. “The flaxen-haired one. I am a whore, and I deserve no more than what happened to me.”
Beatrice was halfway toward where Tom had stacked their belongings, but she jolted to a stop. If Tom were here, she would strangle him. She took the time to calm herself before she turned. “Nay.” She wanted to yell the words, but Ivy looked as if the force of her anger would blow her out of the room. “Tom could not be more wrong. No woman deserves to be so ill-used.”
Ivy uttered a strange, guttural cry, as if a sob caught in her throat. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth worked. Moisture flooded her eyes and Ivy blinked rapidly.
Beatrice stepped toward her. She ached to comfort the other woman.
“Nay.” Ivy held up a shaking hand. “I cannot.” Ivy’s jaw clenched, her chest heaved. “You must not.”
“I cannot imagine how you must feel.”
“Nay, you cannot.”
Suddenly, Beatrice understood. Ivy didn’t want compassion. Compassion would weaken her. So she forced herself to remain where she was while Ivy fought for composure.
Thunder rumbled overhead. A heartbeat later, lightning flickered. The horses whickered nervously.
Ivy’s face stiffened into hard and bitter lines. Her eyes went dead as the tears disappeared.
Beatrice fetched the blanket and secured it to the hooks. Tears would’ve been better than Ivy’s unnatural stillness. Nurse would’ve known what to say to Ivy. Mother or Faye would be better than she at this. None of them were here, however. Ivy had her. She would have to do.
Garrett had found some old buckets behind the hut. Most were broken and useless, but two were in fair enough condition to contain some water.
At Anglesea she had a big, linen-lined tub. It took three men to fill it with water. Nurse would’ve put soothing herbs in the hot water. As it was, Ivy would have to make do.
Beatrice took the buckets behind the blanket.
Ivy hadn’t moved. She allowed Beatrice to help her remove Garrett’s tunic.
Beatrice dragged her eyes away from dark, angry bruises against Ivy’s smooth skin.
“You should not see this.” Ivy looked down at her body. “A young lady like yourself.”
Beatrice couldn’t speak. Her throat was so tight and her chest so full of conflicting feelings even drawing breath was hard. She motioned Ivy to turn around. Dull, russet streaks ran the inside of Ivy’s thighs. Blood. Those evil men had done this. The horror of the morning nearly overwhelmed her. Beatrice’s hand shook as she dipped a rag in the water and handed it to the other woman.
Beatrice slipped to the other side of her makeshift hanging, giving Ivy her privacy. She needed to do something, anything, or she would burst with the welter of emotion within. She scooped up the remains of Ivy’s dress. The bliaut was ripped beyond repair and blood stained the fabric brown in spots. It made her shudder just to hold the bliaut, a visceral reminder of what Ivy had suffered.
Beatrice had two dresses within her belongings. Ivy was a much smaller woman, but she could tighten the laces.
Garrett huddled beneath the eaves, trying to keep out of the rain.
Beatrice handed the bliaut to Garrett. “She cannot wear this.”
He nodded and jogged out into the rain.
Outside, the storm turned the ground to mud.
Water swished from the other side of the blanket. Beatrice pushed her dress and a chainse around the barrier. The noises stopped.
“I cannot wear these.” Ivy’s voice held the tiniest bit of animation.
“The gown will certainly be too long,” Beatrice said. “And you look to have more bosom than I, but the clothes are clean and warm.”
“My lady, these are too fine.”
Fine? Beatrice’s heart twisted. It was a plain wool gown she’d passed to Ivy. She’d brought it because it was the simplest of her gowns and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself with the fineness of her raiment. Her life was leagues removed from the people she’d met. Not two full days travelling and she was in an entirely different world. “I am more comfortable riding in my chausses,” she said. “And you cannot wear your old gown.”
Behind the blanket, the gentle swish of water began again.
Beatrice lost count of the buckets of water she passed between Garrett and Ivy. Garrett steadfastly replaced the used water with fresh.
Finally, Ivy emerged dressed, with the gown trailing about her feet. Her skin was reddened from scrubbing and her hair hung wet down her back.
Beatrice found a comb and handed it to her.
Ivy got to work on her long, dark hair.
Beatrice tried not to stare.
With her delicate face scrubbed clean, Ivy was still pale and a large bruise marred her cheek. Her hair was near black and her eyes a deep, mossy green. She was beautiful enough to rival Faye. Faye’s beauty had earned her a powerful husband. Ivy’s had led her to a different sort of fate altogether. The result had been vastly different, but their path hadn’t been dissimilar—Faye’s and Ivy’s. Both were lovely women whose beauty had been traded like coin.
Of course, Faye had been given some choice in the matter by an indulgent father. But Beatrice knew many girls, of noble birth like herself, who’d been given in marriage without their opinion being sought. For the first time, Beatrice was glad for her three failed betrothals. She’d accepted the notion of marriage to each of the three men, but hadn’t sought it or welcomed it. One of those men could’ve been a brute like the one who had attacked Ivy. Brutishness didn’t confine itself to serfs and the poor.
With her hair neatly braided, Ivy turned to her. “The others can come in now.”
* * * *
Beatrice peered at the darkening day. All she saw was rain and more rain. There was still no sign of Tom. He’d been gone for hours.
“He will be back.” Garrett sat on the other side of the hearth from Ivy with his back against the wall.
Ivy had retreated behind the blanket. When Beatrice last checked, her eyes were closed and she’d appeared to be sleeping.
“What if he is not?” Beatrice willed the darkness to form the shape of Tom.
“You are here,” Garrett said.
Sadness weighed at her. She loved Tom dearly, but the Tom she’d witnessed this day left her shaken and unsure.
“You must not condemn him on a few moments of poor judgment.” Garrett correctly interpreted her thoughts. “It has been a difficult day for all of us. Tom is merely reacting to it in his way.”
“Earlier you looked like you might rip his head off his shoulders.”
“And you stopped me.” He grinned. “You have more courage than good sense.”
That was closer to the truth than he knew. Beatrice pulled a face. “My brothers will tell you I have no sense.” It had been a long day, and the weather matched her mood.
“I would not go that far.” He chuckled. “But I would suggest you stop throwing yourself in front of men with violence on their minds. Come.” Garrett patted the ground beside him. “It is a miserable night, with no fire.”
She didn’t need him to ask her twice. Beatrice crossed the space and sat beside him. His body heat drew her like a lodestone. She wanted to wriggle closer to him and wondered if she dared to be that bold. Things were altered between them. Uncertainty corroded the edges of what she understood about Garrett. Just when she saw the glimmering of an understanding, he shifted and revealed something more. The charming, passionate lover made up only one portion of the man. And yet, at Anglesea, she’d nearly given her virtue to that man. Her head was crowded with the new things she had to fit into place. Her heavy limbs, however, wanted to close the tiny distance between them. None of it made much sense to her.
Garrett dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
The strong column of his exposed throat was dark from working in the sun. The dull purple of a bruise shadowed the harsh line of his jaw.
She traced the mark with her finger. He’d got it in defense of her.
His eyes popped open at her touch.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not much.” He lowered his head. The charmer lurked in the depths of his eyes. “You could kiss it better, if you had a fancy to.”
Beatrice was not of a mind to be charmed. She pushed her shoulder against his.
“Did you suffer any other hurts today?”
“Nothing to speak of.” Garrett shrugged. “Who is Beatrice the Brave?”
Heat rushed up to her hairline.
Garrett laughed.
“Nobody.”
“Tell me.”
His laughter disarmed her. “I am.” She shifted against the hard pack of the floor. “At least, it is how I imagine I should be.” She waved a hand, mortified to be admitting such a thing. “This journey is about Beatrice the Brave.”
Garrett raised his arm and encircled her shoulders. He drew her, unresisting, against his side.
Beatrice immediately felt better. He was a solid, warm presence beside her.
“Was that Beatrice the Brave today? Riding to save Ivy?”
“Nay. Today was me.”
“Were you hurt?” His arm tightened until her entire side pressed against him.
It was a lovely feeling. Beatrice sat absolutely still and enjoyed it. “Nay, you were there before he could do me much harm.”
“Do not do that again.”
“Aye, Garrett.” She lay her head against his shoulder. He was wondrous warm. She curved toward him and fidgeted to get comfortable. “I wish this rain would stop.” Right now, the rain wasn’t bothering her one whit, but the need to get to London pressed against the back of her mind.
“We will leave when it does.” Garrett’s voice rumbled against her ear. “We will try to regain the time we have lost.”
The thump of his heart was steady beneath her ear. The Garrett smell surrounded her. Things did not seem so impossible anymore. Ivy would go with them. She would rather send Ivy back to Anglesea, but after today, she couldn’t ask Tom to take her. Leaving Ivy alone wasn’t to be thought of. Beatrice’s head fit perfectly into the hollow beneath Garrett’s collarbone.
His hand dropped from her shoulder to her hip and pulled her closer.
The small pouch around his neck rested near the tip of her nose. She wanted to ask, but weariness dragged her eyelids down.
* * * *
Her body cleaved to his and Garrett smiled. Tom’s petulance had given him the opportunity he needed to press his case. Of course, with Ivy here, he’d be limited in what he could do. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to stroke the fire in Beatrice a bit higher.
He inhaled the scent of her hair. Wildflowers. He’d give it few moments more, until she was perfectly relaxed.
She sighed.
He enjoyed her weight resting against him, trusting and warm. His.
She moved and his shaft gave lazy stir. Her breath sent warm puffs of air down his neck.
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.