Читать книгу Sweet Bea - Sarah Hegger - Страница 8

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.

The pressure on his arms was unbearable. Icy water dripped down his chin onto his bare chest. Sweet Christ, he was naked, stark-bollock naked. He got his feet beneath him and tried to stand. His legs were weak as wet linen, but he forced them to take some of his weight. The relief on his arms made his eyes water. It must be late, the great fires were banked to the coals. Lyman would be asleep.

“I thought we might speak.” The stranger sounded like a bloody lord.

Who was the cur? Darkness concealed most of his face, clean lines with a patch of a neatly trimmed beard. A man of fashion, then.

“Who are you?” Garrett licked his lips and tasted the bitter iron of dried blood. His stomach roiled.

“It is better for you not to know.” The stranger wiped his hands on a kerchief and tossed it into the hearth. Flames leapt around it and subsided.

Sod that. He tried to think, but his head was fuzzy. Did he owe the dog money? A wife. Had he tupped this one’s wife?

“We are not acquainted.” The stranger rose and gave a curt wave.

Three men materialized out of the shadows.

Garrett went cold. He hadn’t seen them before, and he should have. Growing up rough left few gaps for mistakes.

The men moved to the door and out.

Alone with the overdressed cur meant no aid, but also no witnesses. It was either a very good thing or a very, very bad thing.

He tested the ropes. The knots pulled tight.

“There is no need to be concerned.” The stranger dusted the seat of his tunic.

Garrett nearly laughed in his face. He was strung up like a slaughtered pig with his wedding tackle dangling. There was every bloody reason for concern.

The man had light hair with eyes either brown or green.

He took keen note of the face. If he got out of this situation, it was a face he’d be sure not to see again. And if he did, he would grind those pretty features beneath his boot and laugh while the whoreson squirmed.

“I have been watching you for a time now.” The stranger stepped carefully, avoiding the filth on the floor. “And I thought it was time we had a talk.”

“So talk.” Garrett’s head pounded in time with his pulse. He hoped like hell he wasn’t going to spew in front of this cur. “You have my attention.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Wit?” He cocked his head and contemplated Garrett. “At a time like this? Do you think it apt?”

“You tell me.”

The man came closer and studied Garrett from head to toe. He might be one of those who liked other men.

Jesu, if the sod put his hands on him, Garrett would tear the roof down about their heads.

“Oh, cease.” The man waved at him. “I am only here to have a mannerly conversation.”

It surprised a laugh out of Garrett. Jesu. If this was mannerly he was a pig’s ass.

“At first, I was confused by your obvious interest in the Lady Beatrice.” The man leaned down and peered at a lump of steel.

Garret went still. Was this Beatrice’s brother, the one not in London? The stranger looked too old, somewhere in his middle years. Garrett waited.

“No hot denials?” He sauntered about the forge, lifting Lyman’s apron and peering into the pouch.

“Would there be any purpose?” Garrett’s legs firmed and he stood. The man was shorter than he and slighter. If it weren’t for the three feet of steel at the whoreson’s side, Garrett was sure he could take him. Experience had taught him not to underestimate the speed or accuracy of that steel. It was all useless speculation whilst he hung here.

“I was intrigued by you.” The stranger ran his hand over Lyman’s hammer. “Intrigued enough to do a bit of checking on you, young master Garrett. When I discovered you were, in fact, Wulfric’s bastard, the entire thing began to make sense. Let me take a guess as to your intent.” He hefted the weight of the hammer.

Garrett’s neck prickled.

“You are going to seduce Lady Beatrice as a sort of revenge on her father. Am I right?” He flicked his fingers. “I know I am right. Your mother became a whore and you make Beatrice one. It is a disappointingly unimaginative plan, but effective in its simplicity.”

“What do you want from me?” Garrett snarled. The man was clever, he’d give him that much.

“Nothing too onerous.” The stranger tucked his hands behind his back. “My purpose here is twofold. Firstly, I wanted you to know I see you, Garrett, son of a traitor and a whore. And secondly, to inform you we share a purpose. Neither of us holds any love for Sir Arthur. We could be of benefit to each other.”

“Sod off.”

The man’s eyes widened. “You really are your father’s son, are you not? You have the same innate charm.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I met your father, you know? It was not an experience I choose to repeat. And yet, here I am.”

“I am not my father.” Hate boiled in his gut for the rutting pig who’d sired him.

“You favor him. But you also have your mother’s features. You should thank God for that. She was a beautiful woman.” He waved. “Before the pox and the scars got to her, that is.”

Hot rage seared through Garrett. He wanted to get his hands around this cur’s neck and squeeze. He heaved against the restraints. The man talked of his mother as if she were nothing. Garrett remembered every excruciating moment of his mother’s illness.

“I see I have hit a raw spot.” The man strolled over to him.

Garrett strained to get to him. The ropes cut into his wrists. He wanted to kill this sod.

“You should keep your vengeance and your anger apart. The one makes the other much harder to achieve. Anger will not aid you. Neither will pulling on those restraints. I tied them myself.”

Garrett lunged for him. Jesu, he needed to reach the sod and break him. Break every bone inside that prissy clothing. The cunt would choke on his own words with Garrett’s hands at this throat. No blade, but bare hands tightening the life from the sod.

The man stepped back.

Aye, the rutting whoreson should be afeared, when Garret got free, he would show him anger. Vengeance. Christ the cur didn’t know vengeance.

“Do not make me call my men in. They are not the brightest and I am loath to start our partnership on such a painful note. Painful for you, that is.” A small smile played around his mouth. He was laughing at him.

The smile near drove Garrett from his mind. He forced himself to still. He was doing naught but scraping his wrists raw and tearing his muscles. One day, he’d take great pleasure in wiping the smirk off the dog’s face. He could wait. Sir Arthur had taught him as much.

“Good.” The stranger nodded. “You are mine now, Garrett. Because if not—” He took a step closer, within striking distance.

Garrett breathed deeply.

“I will bring the wrath of the goodly Sir Arthur on your head, once again. You barely survived the first time. You will not live through Arthur’s response to your filthy hands on his little girl.”

Garrett clenched his teeth together. He would squeeze until his pretty face turned black and his eyes started from his head.

“Now, we have that unpleasantness aside, I have a small task for you.”

He would ram this one’s small task down his wrung throat.

“Aye, I can guess what you would like to say, but this task will benefit both of us. You see, boy, I care nothing about your plans for Lady Beatrice. I will help you achieve your vengeance and you will help me regain what is mine.” He tucked his hands behind his back.

He didn’t trust the man, but Garrett listened.

“In a day or two the Lady Beatrice will come to you for help. You will aid her.” He shrugged. “You see, no big matter. All you need do is come to the aid of a lady. It will set you in excellent standing with Lady Beatrice. I am not an unreasonable man. I am giving you what you need to push your victim right into your ready arms.”

“And if I choose to refuse your gift?”

“You will not.” The man nodded and spun on his heel. “You would be stupid to do so.” He swung open the door.

Cool night air rushed in. Garrett sucked it into his lungs.

“Send someone to cut him down,” he said to his men. “But not yet. Let him hang there for a time. It might take some of the fire out of him.”