Sweet Bea (4 page)

“But he is still your husband.” Henry’s voice grew louder as he paced nearer.

Beatrice stepped back from the tapestry.

“And Sir Arthur is still my father,” Faye said. “You know what the king’s court is like. Calder has become one of them. He has threatened to put me aside and take my children from me.”

Beatrice gasped, then clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. It was unthinkable, putting aside Faye and taking her boys.

“The boys are his children too, Faye.”

Beatrice wanted to rush from her hiding place and hit Henry. How could he say such a thing to Faye? Her sister adored her children.

“You would countenance a mother being separated from her children?” Faye’s voice shook, but like their mother, she never shouted. “You would stand by whilst my children are taken from me?”

“Mama,” Simon wailed.

Beatrice’s heart went out to him.

“Hush, sweeting,” Faye said. “Sir Gregory?”

“Aye, my lady,” he murmured.

Simon stilled.

“I did not say that.” Henry sounded chastised. And rightly so. “I am merely trying to point out how precarious our position is now that you are here.”

More pacing.

“I know, Henry. And you must believe I would not have come here, unless it were my last resort,” Faye said wearily.

“We understand.” Godfrey spread oil over troubled waters. “And nobody will allow your children to be taken from you. Least of all your father.”

“But Father is not here,” Faye said with a small catch in her voice.

He should be. If her father were here, he would deal with all of this. He was Sir Arthur of Anglesea, legendary knight of the realm. Not many would stand against such might.

“And our mother cannot know,” Henry said.

“How is she?” Faye asked.

“She is not faring well.” Henry spoke heavily. “This will not help.”

For once, she agreed with Henry. If there was trouble, their mother mustn’t be burdened with it.

“Then, she must not know,” Faye said. “I will make up an excuse for my presence here.”

“And what if the king forces these charges? What if he distrains our property?” Henry demanded. A boot scraped against the floor. Henry could never sit still. “We could lose everything. Father could return from London to find his land forfeit and his castle razed. Mother’s health could not withstand such a burden.”

Beatrice stopped her careful inching away from the tapestry.

“Surely, it is not that bad?” Godfrey said.

Fabric rustled, and then Henry spoke. “Nurse is very concerned.”

Faye made a soft noise of distress. Light footsteps were followed by the grate of a bench on stone.

“We will all pray for the safe delivery of her babe,” Godfrey replied. “In the meantime, we need to keep your presence here as quiet as possible. I would counsel you to do nothing. Arthur is needed in London. Men look to him for leadership. I am sure a solution will come to us.”

“What of Beatrice?” Faye asked. “We will have to tell her something.”

“We will tell Beatrice only what we want her to know,” Henry said. “She understands nothing of these matters. God knows what she would do if we trusted her with something like this.”

The tapestry moved suddenly.

Beatrice leapt back a step, but not quick enough.

Sir Gregory loomed over her.

Good Lord, he was huge. And his shoulders? They blocked out the light from the hall. Beatrice managed a wan smile.

“My lady?” He bowed over the sleeping Arthur still cradled against his chest.

As one, the others turned and stared at her.

“Beatrice.” Henry took a threatening step toward her. It was hard to see how handsome he was when Henry scowled all the time. “What are you doing?”

She could think of nothing to explain her presence. Sheepishly she waved at her glaring relatives.

“She does not know how to keep her mouth shut.” Henry ran his fingers through his hair, golden like her and Faye’s.

Beatrice wanted to yell she knew how to keep a secret.

“Nay, she will not tell,” Godfrey said. He had the look of their father, but his face was more finely sculpted. His hazel eyes were copies of Sir Arthur’s.

Beatrice gave him a grateful glance.

“She is a flighty piece, but she knows when to keep her own counsel. Don’t you, Beatrice?” His teeth flashed white in his darker beard.

“Of course I do.” Beatrice raised her chin. She didn’t like being called a flighty piece, but she had bigger concerns. “I have some questions.”

Henry glared at her, clasping his hands behind his back like a confessor.

Faye stepped around him and held her arms out. “Sweet Bea.”

Beatrice drew a big breath as she hugged her sister. Even travel stained, Faye smelled sweet as a lady should. “It is good to see you.” Faye drew back and looked at Beatrice.

“What is all of this about?” It seemed pointless to pretend she hadn’t heard the entire conversation.

Faye glanced at Henry.

Henry clamped his lips tightly together.

“What?” Beatrice asked. Why would they not tell her? This is why she was reduced to skulking behind tapestries.

“We will have a cozy chat later, Bea.” With a tired smile, Faye grasped her hands. “For now, could you please see to young Simon and little Arthur? The boys are quite worn out with travel, and I did not bring their nurse with me.”

“I heard everything.” Beatrice looked from one to the other.

Blank stares greeted her.

“Take the boys, Beatrice,” Henry snapped. “We will speak of your appalling habit later.”

Beatrice’s hated when Henry used that tone on her. “You are not Father.” Henry was only a year her senior. He needn’t think he had the right to check her behavior.

“Father placed me in charge.”

“Aye, but that does not give you the right to lord it over the rest of us.”

“Please take care of them, Bea.” Faye touched her arm. There were lines of tension around Faye’s mouth that hadn’t been there before. Shadows lined the skin beneath her blue eyes. Beatrice wanted to soothe them away from the perfect oval of her sister’s face.

“Of course.” Beatrice had not the heart to keep arguing.

Godfrey gave her a nod.

“I must speak with Henry and Godfrey.” Faye pressed her smooth cheek against Beatrice’s.

Beatrice kept her voice low. “Will you not tell me?”

“Not now, Sweet Bea,” Faye replied.

Beatrice swallowed the questions frothing in her mind. They never told her anything. It was as if she wasn’t even a part of this keep. She wouldn’t even know this much if she’d not listened.

Little Arthur still slept in Sir Gregory’s arms. Simon watched her approach with big brown eyes. His arm tightened around the knight’s thigh.

“See now, young Simon. Here is your aunt, the Lady Beatrice, to find you a bed for the night.” He had a deep, rough voice, as if he didn’t use it much.

She fancied she could feel his dark eyes watching her every move, weighing her up. “Hello, Simon.” Beatrice crouched eye level with her nephew. “Have you no greeting for me?”

Simon shrank closer to Sir Gregory and fear flitted across his pale face.

Her heart twisted as she looked to Sir Gregory.

“It has been a difficult night,” he said. “If you lead the way, I will bring them.”

Beatrice gave a stiff nod and rose. “I can carry Arthur, if you like.”

“My thanks, my lady, but he is fast asleep and I hate to wake him.” Sir Gregory smiled and his severe expression dissolved into the most startlingly handsome lines.

Beatrice grew breathless under the impact of such a smile. “I will see your tunic cleaned then. I see he has drooled all over it.”

“It matters not,” he murmured. “Come along, Simon.”

Simon grasped a handful of the knight’s tunic as they walked.

Sir Gregory climbed the stairs behind her.

There was a lot more to this than met the eye.

She led Sir Gregory and the boys to a small chamber beside her own. It had been used as a sewing room. Now, it would serve as a good place for them. “I assume you know all about the difficulty with Calder and King John?”

Sir Gregory gave her an inscrutable look. “It is not my place to say.”

Beatrice wanted to scream, but she doubted it would do any good with Sir Gregory.

“Can you tell me anything?” She tried to modify her tone, but it still sounded petulant.

Sir Gregory gently disentangled Simon’s fingers from his tunic.

Beatrice hoped he would answer.

He cradled Arthur against his shoulder, his hand spanning the babe’s back. “I can tell you the danger is real. Calder conspires with the king against your father,” Sir Gregory said. “Your father should be here.”

“That is what I say.” Relief surged through her. At last, someone had some good sense.

“But it does not matter what you or I say.” Sir Gregory calmly dashed her hopes. He shrugged. “Neither of us will make the decision.”

Beatrice clamped her lips together.

Sir Gregory inclined his head toward the sleeping infant. “Let us see to the boys.”

Settling her nephews, Beatrice kept her patience, but all the while, she wondered what was happening with Faye and Henry. She had the serfs find two pallets and make them up. Beatrice also arranged for some warm water. With Sir Gregory’s help, she washed the boys’ faces and stripped their outer tunics, boots, and chausses. When the children were comfortable, he helped Beatrice get them onto their pallets.

Beatrice went down to the kitchen and warmed milk for the boys. Returning, she heard the deep rumble of Sir Gregory’s voice before she entered the room.

Sitting on the floor beside the pallet, the knight spun an unlikely tale to delight any boy’s heart. Dragons, lions, and lots of thwacking with swords made up the largest part of the adventure.

Simon’s eyes drifted shut and stayed closed. His little face slackened in sleep. Such a tiny boy to be so afeared.

“I will see you settled.” Beatrice walked through the door.

“I will stay here.” Sir Gregory shifted on the stones.

“On the floor?”

Back against the wall, long legs stretched before him, he rewarded her with another smile, as startling as the first. “It is not so hard. And I do not want them to wake and be frightened.”

Beatrice’s heart melted. “I will send some blankets to make you more comfortable.”

“As you will, my lady.”

Beatrice closed the door behind her. She’d been longer settling the boys than she would have liked. The keep was silent as she walked to her chamber.

“Blast.” Her father and brothers didn’t discuss politics before her, but she knew her father was at odds with the king. The king had sent her brother, William, home from court. It was an insult and a sign to all Sir Arthur had lost favor.

She perched on the edge of her bed. Long shadows stretched from the clothes tree and inched along the ground. Dust motes glittered in the air like faeries. She’d been too caught up in her secret romance to give any thought to the world all about her. Her father had committed treason, openly and decisively. The king would act.

The gravity of the situation settled like a dull weight in her middle. Her father had left enough men to defend the castle. What if the king were to bring an army to bear? He had any army, because he was always asking for taxes to pay for it. If her father had thought it fitting to speak of politics more in her presence, she would’ve understood more.

She dug her fingers into the silk of her bed covering. Her mother might have explained, but she couldn’t ask her.

Henry would only give her a superior look down his perfect nose and tell her women should not involve themselves in men’s affairs.

Beatrice didn’t see how women could avoid being involved in men’s affairs, since every decision some man made affected some poor woman, somewhere.

Beatrice got to her feet. Beyond her casement, the beautiful day drew to an end with the sinking sun gilding the river. The breeze carried the ocean’s tang and the plaintive cries of roosting gulls echoed her mood.

Just this morning she’d been free as one of those birds. She’d been selfish.

Intent on Garrett, she’d ignored the signs that all was not well within Anglesea.

On the river, a fisherman poled his boat back to the village for the night. The same village Garrett called home. For now.

She had no business thinking of Garrett when her family was threatened from all sides.

Below her, Tom crossed the bailey toward the stables.

She hadn’t seen as much of Tom since Garrett had appeared in her life. They’d been friends since both of them could toddle off without their mothers. Tom was Nurse’s son and he had his mother’s pragmatic nature, without her bite. He’d grown much taller of late, towering a full head above her. His shoulders cast a broad shadow before him.

Soon, Tom would be courting. Suddenly, she ached to be with her old friend. Tom had a way of looking at the world that made sense to her. He didn’t judge her or laugh at her. Tom listened, and then put matters to rights in her head.

Garrett woke with a start. His head thudded like someone kept putting the boot to it. His arms screamed the agony of stretched sinews. He tried to move them. They were held fast, wrenched from the socket and suspended above his head like a crucifixion. Searing pain spread down his arms from the bindings constricting his wrists.

Alarm shot through his blood. He forced his eyes open. Everything swam and he closed them again. It took a long moment for his head to stop the cursed whirling.

He needed to remember. His belly heaved. Breath sawed through his nose as he clenched his jaws shut. It came to him in fits. Finishing in the forge, sweaty but too tired to bother with washing. Thinking of Beatrice. Falling asleep. Then, waking up with the dread someone was in the hut.

They’d clobbered him. He forced his eyes open. Instinct to fight surged through his muscles. Icy water hit his face and he gasped. Nothing would be gained by striking out blindly.

“Welcome back,” a man drawled. In the dimly lit forge, he sat atop a water barrel, looking strangely out of place with his fine tunic and clean boots.