Sweet Bea (28 page)

Jesu, but she’d come to him sweetly with her heart in her beautiful eyes and her entire being on offer. He hadn’t been able to resist. Like Adam, he’d reached for one sweet taste of the forbidden.

She was better off without him. She would be angry, hurt even, but she would recover and find…

Nay, he was not going to think on Beatrice and another man.

What was Godfrey’s game? What had he said in the forge? They had a common enemy in Sir Arthur.

Jesu. His skin crawled. Godfrey coveted what his brother had. This had been played out since Cane and Abel. If Beatrice stood between Godfrey and his aims, she was no longer safe. The small hut closed in about him. His heart raced.

Jesu, he was a sapskull. So intent on his own misery his brain had shriveled.

The gates were still closed. Beatrice could not be with her family. Godfrey had her. Sweat broke out over his entire body.

He had to find her, just to assure himself she was well. She need never know he was there. And if she were in peril, his path was clear.

Beatrice. He’d been skulking here, not caring whether he lived or died now that he had lost the one good thing in his life. He prayed he was not too late.

One of the guards called out.

The man spoke to a whore. He exchanged a crude jest with his mate. It sounded as if the whore had offered the right incentive because one of them moved away from his post.

He surged to his feet. Only one guard remained at the door. He liked his chances. He pounded against the frame.

“Shut up in there,” the guard yelled back at him.

“I need a piss.”

“Piss in your braies, you stupid bastard.”

Garrett banged harder. There was a
thump
as the guard drove his fist against the door.

“How much are you being paid to keep me in here?”

“Listen, you—”

A dull
thud
and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. The door rattled on its hinges and was ripped open.

Garrett leapt back and out of the way.

A tall figure stood limned by the torchlight.

“Just so you know,” Tom stepped inside, “this was not my idea.”

Garrett wanted to embrace him.

A meaty fist snapped his jaw shut and sent Garrett hurtling against the back wall of the hut. The wall creaked and listed. Garrett slid down the wall and waited for the ringing in his ears to subside. The boy threw an excellent punch.

Tom loomed over him, his hands bunched by his sides. “If it were up to me, you would rot and die for what you did to her.”

Garrett stayed where he was. Tom looked ready to hand out some more of the same.

“Tom?”

“Is Beatrice here?”

Tom turned and with a growl of disgust charged out of the hut, brushing past the figure in the doorway. “I am done.”

Garrett clambered to his feet. She was here and safe. His heart hammered, he battled to think over the clamor. There was so much he wanted to say to her, he needed to say to her, but the words wouldn’t form. He wanted to grab her and hold her to him. She’d rescued him. Beatrice had come to his aid. His chest ached with the knowledge. She believed the worst of him, and she hadn’t left him here to die.

“Are you going to stay in there?” She spoke at last.

“Beatrice.” He rushed after her and caught her arm.

Tom stood by, looking as grim as the grave.

“You should not have come. You have placed yourself in danger, again.” Jesu, he got more stupid by the minute. They were the first words that had broken clear of the confusion.

She turned to stare at him, aghast.

Garrett wanted to pound his own thick head into the ground. Of all the things he needed to say to her, he’d chosen to chastise her.

“I told her so.” Tom half raised his fist. “But she would not listen.”

Beatrice turned away from him. “You are free. Go where you will. I never want to see you again.”

She walked away from him. For one, stupid moment he’d hoped she might have remembered he’d told her he loved her. He shook his head at himself. Of course she wouldn’t remember that. He’d given her no reason to believe a word coming from his mouth.

“Are you going to stand there and let her go?” Ivy emerged beside him.

“I think it would be best.” Inside, claws raked through his innards. He’d often scoffed at idiots in love, walking about with their faces down to their knees. He understood now. It felt as if he were slowly being torn to shreds from within.

“Coward.” Ivy pinched his arm.

Garrett winced and yanked his arm out of her grasp.

“You owe her, and you know it. Now stop being such a babe and pay your debt. She goes to her father this night. It falls to you to see her safe.”

“She has Tom for that.”

Ivy made a rude noise. “Tom is as much an innocent on these streets as she is. Now stop standing there with your heart in your eyes and prove yourself worthy.”

Could he?

“You could start by telling her you love her.” Another sharp pinch from Ivy made him yelp.

Garrett put some distance between her fingers and his arm. “I have already told her.”

“With your braies on?” Ivy gave him a hard look.

Garrett’s dropped his chin onto his chest. The girl made an excellent point.

“I did not think so.” Ivy sauntered after Tom and Beatrice.

“Wait.” Garrett moved before the thought had fully formed.

“What do you want?” Tom was suddenly between him and Beatrice.

Beatrice’s face was cold, unreachable.

Garrett had put the ice there. It fell to him to take it away. Because, behind her mask, flickering in the back of her eyes, was the hurt his Beatrice was unable to conceal. “I swear before God, Tom, if you do not get out of my way, I will end you.”

“She does not want to speak with you.”

Tom was a brave idiot, Garrett would give him that much. “Then she can listen, but Tom, I am going to speak with Beatrice. If it kills both of us to do it.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Beatrice pushed between them. “I do not have time for this. I need to get to my father.”

“Good.” Garrett grabbed her firmly by the elbow. “I will talk as we move.”

“You are not coming with me.” Beatrice tried to pull her arm from him.

“Aye, Beatrice, I am.” She had him until he knew she was safe. She might not like it, but he was taking her to safety. “I said I would see you safe to your father, and I will do so.”

“Why do you care?” The words came in soft pants as he quickened their pace toward the docks.

Any moment, Godfrey could send another of his other men to check on the prisoner. “I told you before, Beatrice, I love you. Somebody needs to take care of that huge heart of yours, because you do not.”

“I do not believe you.” She sobbed, softly.

It tore through him and Garrett swung her toward him. “This is not time for declarations, sweeting.”

“Do not listen to him, Beatrice.” Tom stepped closer.

“Trust your heart. Just one more time, Beatrice, trust what your heart is telling you to be true.”

Her eyes searched his. “I am not sure I can.”

Garrett allowed her to see all of him. Everything. The man he’d been, the man he was now, and the man he would dearly like to be.

“You hurt me,” she whispered.

“I know.” Garrett cupped her face between his palms. He wanted to weep with gratitude. He had his hands on her again. He’d believed his chance to touch her again was gone. “And I am terribly sorry. I love you, Beatrice,” he said. “I love everything about you and it does not matter if you cannot forgive me and love me back. It only matters you believe that much.”

“I do not believe this,” Tom muttered.

“I do not care what you believe.” Garrett cared only about the beautiful girl in front of him. “It is what Beatrice believes that matters.”

Tom thrust his chest forward. “If you love her as much as you say you do, you will keep your little confessions until we get her to her father. Beatrice neglected to tell you her uncle Godfrey is trying to kill her.”

He’d known it. There was a grim sort of satisfaction in being right. Now was not the time to revel in it, however. “And you stopped to rescue me?”

Beatrice lifted her stubborn chin and nodded.

She’d done it again. Gone and tossed herself right into the middle of danger. God’s bones, but she would be the death of him. Her uncle was trying to kill her and what did Beatrice do? Did she run for her life? Did she hie herself off to her father’s protection as fast as her pretty ass could sway? Nay. Beatrice took the time to rescue a sorry sod like him.

“We will speak of this.” He grabbed her hand and set off at a trot. “After we have found your father.”

In the hours before dawn, London was a strange place, filled with sinister shadows. The taverns had fallen silent and many of torches burned out. Newt led them through the dark toward the river.

As she traveled, Beatrice was glad of her small party surrounding her. People loomed out of the dark, the desperate and the destitute.

Garrett moved by her side, alert and intent as they hurried onwards.

He loved her and her stupid heart thrilled. She needed answers, but later, when the danger passed.

The boat Newt found looked none too safe. Newt spoke to the figure hunched in the boat before motioning her forward. “He says he will do it, but there is only room for two.”

Garrett climbed aboard the boat and tugged her after him.

“Follow when you can,” he called to Tom. Tom and Ivy stood beside the river. Tom so much taller, standing guard over the tiny Ivy. “And watch out for Godfrey. The moment he finds her missing, he will know where she has gone. He will, for certain, be watching the gates. Travel by river, it is quicker than the road.”

The boat listed beneath her feet. Beatrice sat quickly. The water glittered at her. The sky had grown lighter. King William’s great tower, square and impregnable, it’s four turret’s standing proud, was outlined to the east.

Urgency thrummed through her blood. It would be light before their boat reached Westminster.

“Get to the Black Friars, west of here,” Garrett called as the boatman pushed away from the bank. “The friars have a barge that travels to Westminster.”

Tom nodded and raised his hand. He touched Ivy on the arm, and she turned to follow him between the buildings.

Beatrice waved until he and Ivy were no longer visible. She sent a quick prayer of protection after them. Newt had already disappeared, his part of the bargain over. Beatrice prayed things would go well for him, too.

“Keep it down.” The boatman’s hood was drawn up over his features. He hunched like the harbinger of death in the bow. His voice emerged from the dark of his cloak as he poled the boat into the middle of the river. “Sodding water bailiffs are everywhere.”

Beatrice huddled in the bottom of the boat. A chill wind whipped off the river and she tucked her arms about herself.

Garrett squeezed in beside her. “Beatrice, I—”

“Shut it,” the cloak snarled.

Garrett clamped his lips together. “We will speak later.” His breath was warm on her ear. He lifted his arm and put it about her.

Beatrice snuggled against his warmth.

The boatman grunted as he turned the boat against the tide. “You, big ’un.” A finger emerged from the cloak. “Grab the sodding spare oar and row. We work against this whore.” He aimed a stream of spit over the side and heaved against his oar.

Garrett let go of her reluctantly. He grabbed the other oar and made his way precariously to the stern.

The boat hung motionless against the current. The men strained against the oars.

“Heave,” the boatman grunted.

The boat inched forward, slowly at first, gathering speed as the oars caught the water.

Other than the swish of the water, the trip up the river was eerily quiet. Torches lined the riverbank, but didn’t illuminate them gliding over the dark water.

The silence chafed at her nerves. She kept her eyes fixed on the steeples of London, receding painfully slowly as the two men rowed. A haze hung over the city.

Sweat beaded on Garrett’s brow and slithered down his cheek.

She prayed for speed. She prayed she wasn’t too late to reach her father.

The sky blushed pink by the time the turrets of Westminster palace soared up ahead. Torches lost the battle against the day, flickering from the battlements, creating weak shadows against the walls. Her father was in there. As they drew closer, she heard the guards calling the hour.

Godfrey must have discovered she was gone by now.

The boatman drifted past the palace and pulled toward shore in its shadows. He raised his oars and motioned them to silence. They waited with the occasional drip of water from the locked oars the only sound.

She was ready to scream by the time the boatman dipped one oar and guided them to the shore. They barely made a ripple on the water.

The wet mud sucked at her slippers as Beatrice stepped out of the boat. She raised her skirts and tramped on, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

The boatman slipped back into the current like a ghost.

Westminster stood heavily guarded. Men at arms were everywhere, tense and alert, as they peered into the growing day.

Beatrice led the way.

Behind her, Garrett was a solid presence.

The time for stealth was past, and she marched straight for the gatehouse.

A pair of pikes crashed in front of her, bringing her to an abrupt halt.

“I am the Lady Beatrice.” The guard wore a lion, rampant on vert across his chest. The colors were unknown to her. “It is urgent I see my father, Sir Arthur of Anglesea.”

The pikes stayed.

“Get away from here, girl.” The guard’s gaze flickered over her from either side of his metal nasal.

Beatrice knew how she must look to the guard, with her gown filthy from her night running through London, and the stink of the river still on her.

“It is imperative you send a message to Sir Arthur.” She straightened her shoulders, trying to maintain her dignity despite her disreputable appearance. “I am his daughter and he needs to see me.”