Sweet Bea (11 page)

They moved inland. A low line of hills hid the sea and meadows dotted with the yellow, pink, and red of wildflowers stretched beneath the heavy sky.

Tom’s silence weighed heavier at her back. She hadn’t heard the end of the money. And Tom didn’t even know the full story.

Low, stone walls carved allotments in the landscape. The summer crops were good this year. There would be food for the winter if the harvest yielded this promise.

Those women wouldn’t starve whatever the harvest, because she’d given them instructions to Anglesea. Her mother and Nurse would see those poor souls fed. Those who wanted to stay would be welcomed.

Tom would shout the birds out of the trees if he knew. By sending the women to Anglesea, she’d almost drawn her family a map to find her.

She didn’t care, however. Those children were starving and the women nigh desperate.

It was done.

The storm Garrett spoke of gathered behind a smear of purple mountains against the horizon.

Garrett made a more interesting view. His back was much broader than Tom’s. She’d had her arms around his hard body. A tiny tendril of heat snaked through her. Garrett had held her in his lovely, strong arms. Could arms be lovely? But his chest and the march of ridges across his belly had definitely been beautiful. She’d like to see more of those. She lingered over the interesting swells of muscle beneath his tunic. Beads of perspiration formed beneath her tunic and slithered between her breasts. The air was terribly sultry and close. Nurse would pin her by the ears for her wanton thoughts. Best to think of something else. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

“Nay.” Garrett’s spine stiffened.

That was not an answer. This mystery around him irked her. “You do not speak much of family or where you came from.”

“Mayhap because I have not many happy stories to tell.”

“I beg your pardon.” Beatrice bit her tongue until she flinched. Nurse always told her to watch her tongue and here it had led her into trouble again.

“No need, sweeting.” He turned. “Mayhap it is because the last thing on my mind is talking, when you are near.”

“Oh, Garrett.” She giggled.

He grinned at her.

She did this a lot with Garrett. He appeared to enjoy making her giggle, which was partly why she did it when he was around. She didn’t usually giggle. Giggling women were annoying. Which brought another thing to mind about Garrett. He was changeable. One moment terse and angry and the very next smiling wickedly enough to make her forget all reason. And when she questioned him, he was always quick to deflect her with charm and an easy smile.

“There is a crossroads up ahead,” Tom said from behind them.

“Aye.” Garrett and Parsley plodded forward.

“I spoke to one of the oldsters last night.” Tom came up beside her.

“Indeed,” Garrett drawled. “Were you actually speaking to a thief? Good Lord, Tom, what will become of you?”

Beatrice giggled and choked off the ridiculous sound.

Tom threw her a hard look. Perspiration darkened his blond hair to brown around his face.

She shouldn’t laugh at him, but Tom needed a prod every now and then. He was solid and dependable, like pottage for breakfast.

“He said we should follow the left fork if we want to reach London.” Color stained Tom’s neck and cheeks.

Garrett stopped and turned in the saddle. He pursed his lips as if considering whether to take him up on the challenge or not.

Tom looked thunderous.

Garrett stared back at him.

The air crackled between them.

Beatrice’s belly fluttered. “Then we shall take the left fork.” They mustn’t fight. Garrett was bigger, and Tom might get hurt. She was in love with Garrett, but Tom was her best friend. And she might never get to London if they came to blows.

The men remained locked in their staring battle.

It all seemed a bit pointless to her and she clapped her hands to get their attention.

“I thought you wanted to take the other path?” Garrett raised an eyebrow at her. “The one we discussed this morning.”

“What other path?” Tom puffed up his chest.

“Garrett says there is another path, a lesser-known one. We are concerned my family might be trying to catch up with us.”

“I do not know anything of another path.” Tom perched atop Badger like a wooden post, his brow wrinkled.

“Which is why you are not leading.” Beatrice nudged Breeze forward. “Come along then.”

* * * *

A woman’s scream split the calm morning.

Garrett went cold. The skin at his nape crawled.

Beatrice rode slightly ahead of him. She gasped as she stared at something over the rise. Her hand flew to her throat.

Garrett couldn’t see from here. He needed to get closer. “God’s bones.”

Beatrice careened down the road toward the scream, her braid streaming behind her like a blasted war banner.

Breeze responded instantly to her demand for speed. The ground blurred beneath her as they shot down the rise. The woman’s scream came from a huddle of people near the bottom. The sound still rattled around her brain.

Two men were shouting and waving at a third, on the ground, his chausses about his knees, his buttocks pumping.

The woman flailed beneath the man.

Beatrice’s heart was racing faster than Breeze’s hooves. Her heart in her mouth. She was almost upon them.

The man on the ground stilled. He got to his feet, grinning. Smug, ugly, triumphant.

Pigs.

They scattered like pins as she bore down of them. The rutting sod tripped over his loose chausses, grabbed them with one hand, and stumbled back.

“Get away from her.” She hauled Breeze to a stop.

The mare squealed. Her hind legs slid on the road before she gained purchase. Breeze fought for control, tossing her head and rearing.

“You get away from her, you whoresons,” Beatrice screamed. She wheeled Breeze in a circle before the horse would relinquish control. The mare lunged against the bit.

Keeping well away from Breeze’s flashing hooves, the men spread out, advancing on her from three directions. “What are you doing here, girl?”

She struggled to catch her breath. “Get back.” Beatrice tried to keep them all in sight, jerking on Breeze’s reins.

The one in the middle was the biggest. His face split in an ugly leer. “Do you want some of the same?” His arms were great cudgels, raised to grab her. “Get her.”

Beatrice spun Breeze.

He laughed and leapt out of the path of the horse’s hind legs.

She had no weapon. “Get away” she yelled.

The man lunged.

Breeze sidestepped suddenly and Beatrice slipped in the saddle. The mare was panicked, sensing the ugly swirl of emotion.

A blur of black and Badger was there.

Tom leapt from his back, bearing the big man to the ground.

Beatrice’s hands went limp on the reins. Her breath sawed through her lungs in small pants.

A hand grabbed the bridle and Breeze squealed.

Beatrice froze. The leering face swirled and swayed before her. Beatrice kicked at him, but he dodged the blow.

Garrett came out of nowhere.

The man spun, swinging his fist.

Garrett ducked the blow and stepped in.

Breeze scrambled away from the grappling men. She plunged and bucked, the whites of her eyes showing.

Beatrice clung onto her mane desperately.

“Get off that bloody horse.” Rough hands grabbed her tunic, hauling her to the ground.

“Garrett,” she screamed, fighting to stay in the saddle.

Garrett’s head whipped toward her. His eyes were wild, feverish.

A body dove at him. He went down.

Breeze bucked and Beatrice hit the ground. The impact knocked the breath from her body. Breeze’s hooves flashed above and Beatrice threw up her arms to shield her head.

Pain exploded across her scalp. Her hair wrenched at the roots.

Garrett had his assailant in a headlock. They writhed and twisted together.

Tom rolled, fist flying.

They couldn’t help her. Terror choked her. She fought and lashed out with her legs, each movement sending more pain through the grip on her hair. Her nails raked the hand in her hair.

“Bitch.” He yanked her hair.

Agony seared across her scalp, like her hair was coming out at the roots.

Boot appeared in her vision, kicking up dust that choked her. Suddenly, she was free. She collapsed onto her hands. Her chest heaved.

Garrett.

His lips curled in a feral snarl Garrett seized her attacker by the neck, jamming his head down into his rising fist. Blood sprayed, spattering her face.

Beatrice jerked back. Her stomached heaved. Desperately she wiped the sticky warmth from her face.

The body dropped at her feet.

Beatrice scrabbled backwards. Small stones dug into her palms.

The man tried to stem the flow of blood from his face with a hand. Steamers of blood and saliva dribbled down his chin. He hawked and spat. The gory remains of a couple of teeth hit the road near her feet.

Beatrice retched.

Garrett and the big man circled each other. The one with the bloodied face clambered back to his feet. He threw himself at Garrett from behind as Garrett lunged.

Garrett stumbled to his knees.

The ground shuddered beneath her.

Garrett disappeared beneath a tangle of limbs.

“Are you all right?” Tom’s face was in front of her, red and sweaty. Blood streaked his cheeks; spittle flecked his lips.

Beatrice nodded.

Tom whirled and grabbed one of the men on Garrett.

Grunts of pain, fists and feet flying, it all blurred in a grizzly spectacle.

Beatrice stumbled to her feet. Her legs shook so badly she could barely stand.

The fight was an ugly, brutal affair, of hands, feet, even teeth used to exact the most damage. A thin spray of blood arced through the air.

Beatrice stumbled back as it nearly touched her. She’d seen men fight before, but those men had been knights. It wasn’t this scrabbling, grunting, bloody scramble for supremacy. Her stomach heaved as another teeth jarring crunch sounded her.

The third man lay on the ground, unmoving, as Tom and Garrett battled on.

His eyes were open and staring.

Beatrice jerked away. A flash of white caught her eye. Her heart leapt into her throat.
Please God, not another one.

Not much bigger than a girl, the woman crouched beneath a small hedge, her arms around her raised knees. Her eyes, large and staring, were fixed on the fight as if she was somehow separate from all that was happening. Her dress was torn, her breasts pressed to her thighs.

Beatrice blushed for her.

The woman’s eyes flickered up to Beatrice and away again. Wounded eyes.

A feral desire to inflict pain rocked through Beatrice. She turned, but it was over.

Two men stumbled back down the road.

“I’ll find you, you bitch.” The big one yelled, dragging his friend with him. “Do you hear me, Ivy, I’ll find you.”

The woman flinched and tightened her grip on her knees.

Garrett’s breathing cut hard through the air.

Tom leaned over with his hands on his knees. His chest heaved as he sucked in air.

The man in the road hadn’t moved.

“Is he dead?” Beatrice’s legs buckled as she went to them. Were Tom and Garrett harmed?

Garrett shrugged and spat blood. Gore and perspiration streaked his face. His lip was split and there was a deep red mark beneath his eye. Other than that and the damage to his clothing, he seemed fine.

Tom staggered beside him, his fist bloodied and his tunic torn.

They were well. She stood and sucked air into her tight chest.

Garrett stooped to the body. He dug around in his clothing, jostling the inert form from one side to the other like a macabre poppet as he searched.

It was horrible. Beatrice wrapped her arms about her waist. “What are you doing?”

Garrett came away with a pouch. His knuckles were split and bleeding, so he struggled with the ties of the purse.

“You are taking his money?” Grave robbers did this at battles. Her father had told her. Awful, desperate people who picked over the bodies of the dead. Beatrice was cold to her core.

Garrett calmly shook the contents of the purse onto his palm. Coins glittered as he poured them back into the purse.

“He does not need it,” the woman said.

Her nerves on edge, Beatrice jumped.

The woman’s dark hair was snarled and ragged. Ugly patches of red mottled her skin and an angry scratch dissected her cheek.

“Here.” Garrett threw the money pouch at Tom. “Now you can stop whining about lost coin.”

He strode over to Beatrice and tugged her close.

Beatrice stumbled before she regained her footing.

Garrett’s eyes were ferocious, still scorching with the heat of the fight.

He was a frightening stranger to her. “Do not, ever, do something that bloody stupid again.”

“I—” Beatrice tried to step back from him.

“Ever.” He held her fast.

He shook her, hard enough to make her teeth rattle. His hands dropped away from her.

Her legs sagged. Beatrice took a deep breath and tried to steady herself.

Garrett crouched down in front of the woman.

The woman drew back, away from him.

Garrett waited until she grew still, and then said, “It is over.”

“Aye.” The woman looked at the fallen man with her face devoid of expression. “They are gone?”

“Aye.” Garrett pulled off his tunic and handed it to her.

She tugged it over her head and got slowly to her feet.

“They knew you.” Beatrice reached out to aid her.

The woman jerked away. “Aye.” She turned from the body and pulled her hair free of the neck of the tunic.

Beatrice expected tears.

Instead, the woman carefully rearranged her hair.

A fine tremor shook Beatrice as reaction set in. She had witnessed this poor woman being brutalized and yet, the victim appeared to be carved from stone.

“Who were those men?” Tom stood at Beatrice’s back.