Sweet Bea (24 page)

Then, his mouth was on her and she cried out. His tongue was hot and silky on her.

“Garrett.” She bucked against his mouth. It was beyond anything he’d done before. Sweet Lord, but she would surely come apart if he kept doing that.

He purred as he continued to lave.

Beatrice gripped his hair, an anchor in her careening world. He sucked on the place his fingers had found and Beatrice shattered. She went rigid and arched hard against his mouth before collapsing, spent, against the wool.

He crawled up her pliant body until he hovered above her. “Now, you are ready for me.” He kissed her.

She tasted her woman’s taste against his lips. It was strange, but not unpleasant.

His shaft was rigid on her thigh. He slid over her slowly.

Beatrice’s body awoke to this new possibility.

He reached down and guided himself inside her.

Beatrice stiffened at the invasion. The haze of pleasure surrounding her faded. She didn’t think she could stretch to accommodate him.

“Trust me,” he whispered against her mouth, pressing forward.

“I am not sure.” Beatrice blinked up at him, she did trust him, but he was large against her.

“This will hurt at first.” He thrust his hips forward.

It did hurt and Beatrice tensed. “I do not think I like this.”

He stilled, framing her face with his hands. “Look at me, Beatrice.” He placed a soft kiss against her lips.

Beatrice looked at him.

“I love you.” He dropped gentle kisses to her lips and jaw, the tip of her nose.

The burning sensation between her legs eased slightly and some of the tension left her.

“Just like that. Be easy and trust me.” He inched farther inside her.

It hurt. “Stop.”

Garrett stopped and placed his forehead against hers and screwed his eyes shut. His mouth was moving.

“Are you praying?”

“Aye, I am praying for the strength to live through this.”

“Does it hurt you, too?”

He laughed, shaking against her. “Only you.” He kissed her. “Only you could make me laugh at a time like this.”

Beatrice experienced the tremor of his laughter all the way to the place where he joined with her. A much more pleasant sensation took the place of the uncomfortable stretching. Yet, it felt incomplete.

“Garrett?”

“Mmm?”

“It does not hurt anymore.”

With a soft moan he flexed his hips.

Beatrice noticed a brief smarting as her maidenhead gave way, but it was over quickly and he was sheathed inside her.

Garrett stilled.

Her body cleaved to his and she grew accustomed to the feel of him within her. Still, she felt slightly cheated. She moved her legs and discovered if she raised her knees it brought him deeper inside her.

He caught his breath.

“Garrett?”

He raised his head to look at her.

“I feel sure there is more to it than this.”

His eyes smoldered down at her. Perspiration beaded his forehead. The hunger in his expression called to something within her, a craving only he could appease.

There was much more to it and Garrett showed her, moving slowly at first, letting Beatrice set the pace, then faster as need took over.

She met his thrusts, tilting her hips to take him deeper. A sensation started where they were joined and spread through her middle. It built until Beatrice couldn’t contain it any longer. Harsh gasps and pants broke from her lips as she blindly sought her fulfillment. The end came fast and tossed her straight into a glorious release.

In the aftermath, Beatrice lay sated and replete beneath him. She listened to the sound of their breathing as it returned to normal, felt to the slow pulse of his heart against her as it grew calmer.

He eased away from her.

Beatrice shivered without the warmth of his body.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her tight against him.

Her head found a perfect hollow against his shoulder and her legs twined with his.

“Beatrice?”

“Aye.”

“I love you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Whatever occurs in the days to come, remember I love you.”

“Wake up.”

Garrett’s tensed. A man’s voice woke him, smooth and refined. Beatrice was curled at his side, so vulnerable and trusting.

“Get up, or I will cut you from gut to gullet.”

A stinging pain pierced his neck and he opened his eyes. A length of steel rested against his throat. He traced it to the gauntlet, over the mailed arm, and looked into those eyes. Light eyes, some shade between brown and green. The man titled his head and smirked, his teeth white in his dark beard.

God’s wounds. The whoreson had caught him unawares, for a second time.

Beatrice murmured in her sleep.

The sod’s gaze drifted to her and went frigid.

Fear tasted like steel in his mouth. Garrett would die before he let the sod lay a hand on her.

“I said, get up.”

“Move your sword.”

The sword eased enough for Garrett to move. He turned to Beatrice and arranged her cloak over her nakedness.

The intruder had brought company again. He tucked Beatrice’s leg away from view. A pair of ruffians flanked the door. Garrett recognized the same two as the last time.

Jesu. What were they doing here? And what in the name of God could they want?

He reached for his chausses and tugged them on. This time, he wouldn’t face them with his tackle hanging out.

The stranger watched him, his sword far enough from Garrett to allow movement.

His face was pretty as a girl, but he held the sword like he knew what to do with it. The idea of that sharp steel anywhere near Beatrice terrified him. His hands shook as he tied his chausses.

“Over there.” The stranger jerked his head.

Not on your sodding life
. He wouldn’t leave Beatrice within reach. His only chance of protecting Beatrice was to stand between her and the sword. “I will remain by my wife.”

She stirred and her eyes fluttered open.

“We both know she is not your wife.” The stranger’s lip curled contemptuously.

“Godfrey?” Beatrice’s voice was rough with sleep. Confusion and horror crossed her face as she blinked at the stranger.

Had she called him by name?

“Beatrice.” The stranger clucked his tongue. “What would your mother say?” He shook his head at her.

Beatrice paled and dropped her eyes away from the stranger. Her hands tightened against the fabric of her cloak as she tried to hide her nakedness.

Garrett moved to shield her with his body.

The sword hissed through the air and stopped at his neck. “Do not touch her.” The stranger’s voice dripped with menace. “Or should I say, do not touch her again?”

“Nay, Godfrey.” Beatrice scrambled to her knees.

Garrett studied the man’s features. Christ on the cross. He saw it now, the similarity in the shape and of their eyes. The same clean construction of their faces.

“Who is he?” He dropped his eyes to Beatrice.

“My uncle.” Her head hung and her hair concealed her face from him, but he heard the misery in her tone.

Her shame cut through him far keener than any blade. “Beatrice is not at fault.”

“I am aware of that,” her uncle said. “Get dressed, Beatrice.”

Beatrice’s raised her head.

Garrett was glad to see her stubborn little chin come up. That’s my girl, sweet to the core with a backbone of hardened steel.

“Not before them.” She indicated the hulking figures by the door. “Make them leave.”

“Modesty, Beatrice?” Godfrey raised one brow. “At this time?”

* * * *

Shame hardened to anger within her. As if her uncle was without sin. She knew such not to be the case. His face had always made him a favorite with the women of Anglesea when he visited.

“Do not be an ass, Godfrey.” Her uncle still held his sword to Garrett’s throat. She glared at the men by the door. “Wait outside.”

The men shifted.

“Do it,” Godfrey called over his shoulder.

The men slipped out the door and shut it behind them. The
thump
resounded in the silence within.

“And you.” Beatrice motioned her uncle to turn his back. “Drop your sword.”

“You have grown a spine, niece.” He rubbed his cheek with a long, elegant finger. “What a pity you had not grown some sense with it.”

The insult stung. “I—”

“Spare me.” Godfrey motioned Garrett with his sword. “I will not make the mistake of turning my back on you. Over there.”

Godfrey gave her his back. He kept the tip of the sword pressed to Garrett’s neck. Blast. She would have to sneak across the length of the shed to surprise him.

“I underestimated you before.” Godfrey spoke to Garrett.

Godfrey knew Garrett? She frowned over this as she wriggled into her chainse. Snatching up her bliaut, she pulled it over her head and began lacing it at the sides. Her heart thundered in her chest. There was no need to protest her innocence. Thank God, it was not one of her brother’s that had discovered them. Godfrey was a reasonable man. Once she explained, he would let Garrett go. “There is no need for this.”

Decently attired she approached the men. Her hair was a snarled mess from where Garrett had run his hands through it. She didn’t care, though. At this moment, it was more important to get Godfrey’s blade from Garrett’s neck. It was very well for Godfrey to be defending her virtue, but they were all aware the horse had already bolted.

“I am sorry to be disobliging, Beatrice.” Godfrey smiled down the length of his blade at Garrett.

Unease prickled across her nape. Something was amiss with this situation, other than the three feet of steel threatening Garrett’s life. That was her first priority.

Garrett was rigid, his face a cold mask.

“There is every need, I am afraid,” Godfrey said. “As you have, no doubt guessed, your friend and I have met before.”

“Garrett?” Beatrice frowned from her uncle to Garrett.

“I did not know he was your uncle.” Garrett’s hands clenched and unclenched by his sides.

The air between the two men tasted thick with secrets.

“Put the sword down, Godfrey.” Always secrets and veiled truths and she’d had enough.

Godfrey smirked at Garrett. “I did not think you would manage it.”

“Manage what?” It was as if they were having cake and ales together, her uncle sounded so normal.

“That is not how it is.” Garrett shifted.

The sword pressed closer.

He stilled.

“For the love of God, you will cut him.” Had Godfrey lost his mind? There was no need for this.

“I would do worse than that.” The skin of Garrett’s neck pressed inwards under the steady pressure of the steel. “Stay back, Beatrice. My hand could slip, and then where would your lover be?”

“Godfrey!” The unease blossomed into alarm.

Godfrey grinned, as if he enjoyed himself.

This was not the uncle she knew. His usual, easy demeanor seemed darker and more dangerous.

“He deserves no less.” Godfrey’s sword arm tensed. The blade pressed. “Shall I tell you who you allowed to rut on you, niece?”

“Do not listen to him, Beatrice.” Garrett threw her a desperate glance.

“Allow me to introduce you to Garrett of Alethorpe.” Godfrey waved his free hand. “Of course the name will be meaningless to you, because you, dear niece, pay little enough attention to anything.”

The insult was a pinprick beside the larger concern. “Garrett?”

“Remember, Beatrice.”

Remember what? “Why should the name mean something to me?” Dear, God. Her mind executed a quick jump. “Is it aught to do with my father?”

“Beatrice, you surprise me. It appears you are not as heedless as we thought.” Godfrey chuckled.

The sound chilled her to the core. “You said you knew my father.” Beatrice stepped closer to Garrett. “Is that what this is about?”

“Stay where you are, Beatrice.” Godfrey twitched his sword, light glinted off the blade.

She froze. Those blades were wickedly sharp.

Godfrey whistled and the door opened admitting the two men.

They were of similar heights, roughly dressed in homespun tunics. One dark and the other’s head closely cropped, they were both broad, although the shaved one leaned more to fat than muscle. Their faces were cold and merciless. The dark one had a vicious scar, cutting through his beard from his hairline to his chin.

Beatrice had never seen them with her uncle before.

Godfrey motioned toward Garrett. The two men moved swiftly. The dark one grabbed Garrett’s hands and jerked them behind his back.

“What are you doing?” Beatrice’s belly clenched in fear.

Garrett tried to wrench his arms free. The sword pressed closer. A thin trickle of blood snaked down Garrett’s throat.

Beatrice couldn’t drag her eyes from it. It was spiraling out of control. She had to stop it.

They forced him to his knees.

“Get your filthy hands off him.” Beatrice had never been so angry. Not even when Rudd had attacked Ivy. She rushed to Garrett.

Godfrey grabbed her by the arm.

Beatrice jarred to a stop. She stared at his hand on her arm. Why?

“Tie him,” Godfrey said. “The bastard is too handy with his fists.”

One of the men lashed out and caught Garrett a glancing blow to the side of the head.

“Nay.” Rage surged through Beatrice. “Stop it.” She yanked at her arm.

Godfrey’s grip tightened. His sword slipped into the scabbard with a hiss.

“Turn me loose.” Beatrice pulled against his painful clasp.

“In a moment.” Godfrey gripped her with both hands and hauled her toward him.

Her head snapped back on her neck.

“Let me tell you a story first.”

“You lying sod.” Garrett snarled.

The man behind him pressed his knee to his back, forcing Garrett’s head down. He was on his knees, his hands bound behind him.

“Shall I tell her a story, as well?” Garrett’s voice was muffled.

“Gag him,” Godfrey snapped.

“Do not touch him.” Beatrice couldn’t free her arms. Tears of frustration clouded her vision. She had to get to Garrett.