Sweet Bea (13 page)

“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.