Sweet Bea (12 page)

His familiar, solid presence gladdened her. She grabbed his hand. Tom’s sweaty fingers gave her a brief squeeze and let go.

“Does it matter?” Garrett methodically cleaned his hands against his chausses. His face was cold, distant. Bruises marred his chest and arms.

Beatrice offered him her water skin.

Garrett took it with a nod of thanks. He swilled the water around his mouth and spat.

“Your lip is cut.” She touched her finger to his mouth.

Garrett jerked away.

Her hands were shaking and she clasped them together.

Tom stepped over to Badger and rummaged through the bags. He handed a spare tunic to Garrett. “I asked who they were, because I want to know if they will be back.”

“He will be.” The woman looked tiny beside Tom and Garrett. “He thinks he owns me.”

“Is he your husband?” There’d been a man at Anglesea who’d beaten his wife. Father had seen to him.

The woman gave a rough snort, completely at odds with her delicate appearance. “Men do not marry the likes of me. They rut on me and go their way.”

Beatrice’s gaped. The woman was a—

Beside her, Tom reeled. “You are a—”

“A whore.” The woman glanced at Beatrice. “You rescued a whore, my lady.”

All eyes turned to Beatrice and she couldn’t gather her thoughts into coherent speech.

Tom looked thunderous, the woman resigned and Garrett—

Garrett’s arms were crossed, his face wore a mixture of outright challenge and contempt.

She didn’t know what to make of it.

“You cannot stay here,” she said. “Can we escort you to somewhere safer?”

“I lived with him.” She nodded toward the two men who had disappeared.

“Well, you cannot go there.” Beatrice shuddered at the idea. “Is there anywhere else? Anybody able to protect you?”

“Nay.” The woman clutched her arms as if she were chilled.

“Beatrice.” Tom beckoned with his head.

She waved him away. He’d have to wait until they found somewhere for this poor soul. “You have no family, then?”

“Nay.” The woman winced and tucked Garrett’s tunic about her.

They needed to get her to safety, where she could heal. But where? The road stretched in either direction, empty. No village or even small cottage interrupted the green expanse beside it. There was only one thing Beatrice could think to do. “Can you ride?”

“If I must.”

“Beatrice?” Tom jostled her shoulder with his. “I must speak with you.”

“Not now, Tom.”

“Aye, Beatrice, now.” Tom’s face was set.

Beatrice stumbled after him. Her trembling legs wouldn’t cease. Tom would only create a commotion if she didn’t hear him out.

He gripped her arm and tugged her farther away from the other two.

Garrett ripped a section of his tunic, doused it with water, and handed it to the woman. He kept a careful distance from her.

“Beatrice, get that idea right out of your silly head.” Tom spun her around to face him. He drew his shoulders back and stared down at her. His blue eyes blazed angrily.

“I have no idea of what you speak, Tom.”

“Aye, you do.” Tom jabbed a finger at her. “You are thinking of taking that…that woman with us.”

“We cannot leave her here for those men to find again. You saw what they did to her.” Beatrice knocked his hand away.

“She is a whore.” Tom jerked straight. “It is what she does.”

Beatrice clenched her fingers so hard, her nails dug into her palms. She wanted to smack Tom until his teeth rattled. “I do not think her being a—I don’t think that has anything to do with what happened to her.”

“Of course it does.” Tom paced to the side and back again. “You have no understanding of these things. Your father would be horrified if he knew what sort of low person you were—”

“My father,” Beatrice glared back at him, “would never, ever, ever leave a woman here, alone and in danger.”

“He would a trull.” Tom’s lip curled over the word.

“Nay, he would not.” Beatrice was sure, and if her father had contemplated such a thing, her mother would have set him a-rights immediately.

“It is my duty to protect you.” Tom’s drew himself up taller. “And that means protecting you from your own innocence.”

“I have never disliked you more in our lives.” Beatrice stepped nose to nose with Tom. Except, he had grown quite a bit and it was more nose to chin. “I am going to help her and you will not stop me.” She couldn’t keep the quiver out of her voice. If she stared at Tom much longer, she might box his ears. Or cry. Beatrice stalked away. She didn’t care what Tom said.

The poor woman had been raped. Whores fornicated for coin, but many of them did so out of pure necessity. Her mother had explained it to her once when she asked about Lilly. What had happened here today was wrong even if it happened to a woman who sold her body. Those men had taken something the woman hadn’t wanted to give.

Garrett held Breeze. The mare still quivered, her nostrils slightly flared.

Garrett spoke to the horse, running his hand over her neck. “What now?” The terrible anger had receded and he appeared calm.

“We ride.” Beatrice turned to the woman. “I am Beatrice.”

The other woman tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Ivy.”

“Will you come with us?”

“Aye.” Garrett’s tunic hung to her knees.

“Garrett?” Beatrice took Breeze’s reins from him.

“Aye, my lady?” His fingers brushed her hand.

“Would you help Ivy onto my horse? She is hurt.”

“Aye, my lady.” This time, he used her title with no mockery. He approved of her actions, his smile told her. It warmed her from deep, deep within.

“I have to put my hands on you, lass.” Garrett approached Ivy slowly.

Ivy nodded, and then he moved toward her.

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.”