Читать книгу Sweet Bea - Sarah Hegger - Страница 9

Beatrice would go to London.

The idea struck her midway across the bailey, and she stopped dead in her tracks. She only narrowly missed being run over by a huge laundry basket.

“I beg your pardon,” she said to the irate laundress.

She headed for the stables to find Tom.

It was a wild and improbable notion, but it stuck like a burr. Henry was wrong not to send for their father. Father would want to be here.

She rode better and lighter in the saddle than any of Henry’s men. It wouldn’t take her as long as three days to reach London. If she pressed, she could make it in two. She knew London lay roughly to the north and a bit to the side. Roger had shown it to her once on one of their father’s maps.

She would leave in secret. If her family, or Nurse, caught wind of what she planned, it would be the end of it.

She must go.

The more she thought on it, the clearer it became. Her mother would be well again when she saw her beloved husband. Calder wouldn’t dare to challenge her father and Faye and the boys would be safe. Sir Arthur would deal decisively with those ridiculous charges against him.

It would be a thrilling adventure. Her, bent over the head of her mount, riding recklessly for London—a gleam of determination kindling in her eye, a slim figure, astride her chestnut mare, stopping for naught and letting nobody stand in her way.

Excitement simmered beneath her skin.

This must be how her father felt when he was on the cusp of one of his great battles. He must feel the call to greatness gathering like a tempest within him. Beatrice raised her chin and thrust her shoulders back. Beatrice of Anglesea, daughter of the mighty Sir Arthur, heard the call and would answer.

She dodged a pile of horse dung as she entered the stables. The light was dim inside and she blinked to clear her vision. The air was heavy with the mixed smells of hay and horse. Tom worked toward the far end.

All her family had received their call and answered it. Now it was her turn. Nurse had been right all along. She would find her way. Her path spread before her, glimmering and beckoning at her to place her feet on it and run.

She nodded to a young stable boy. The folk at Anglesea would tell this around the hearth for winters to come. How, when all else had failed and the family teetered on the precipice of complete and utter doom, Beatrice strode forward. She’d be called Beatrice the Bold and minstrels would take up her tale. Or, mayhap, Beatrice the Brave. It had an excellent ring to it. She liked it. Beatrice the Brave.

“You do not know where London is.” Tom drove his pitchfork into the loose pile of feed. Streamers of hay glittered in his wake as he crossed to a feed trough and filled it.

This was important and Tom didn’t even stop his work long enough to look. He was exactly like his mother sometimes.

Beatrice wanted to box his ears. “I will ask someone. London is huge. I can’t miss it.”

Tom leaned on his pitchfork and eyed her askance from beneath his shock of wheaten hair.

It wasn’t Tom’s fault. His only ambition lay in owning land to grow things. He didn’t have the blood of warriors thundering through his veins. He didn’t hear the call.

“You cannot merely ask someone.” Tom leant the fork up against the stall and grabbed a water bucket. “These are dangerous times. You will be lucky if you reach Bath.”

“Is Bath on the way to London?” Beatrice leapt out of his way as he strode past her.

“Do not ask me. I do not know where London is either. What do you think is going to happen to a young girl, all alone, asking for directions to London?” He plunged his bucket into the water trough. His rough tunic pulled tight across his broad back.

He had a point.

Tom gave the horse water. He leant his shoulder into the horse’s and spoke softly to the animal as it moved for him.

The horse whickered and nudged him with its nose.

Tom had a way with animals. His hands were gentle as he stroked its neck.

“I shall disguise myself as a boy.” She’d heard a story to that effect. It would make her tale all the better for the telling. Beatrice the Brave, eschewing her womanly garb to see justice brought to her people. It would also make riding astride much easier.

“You are going to cut your hair?” Tom peered at her over the horse’s back. He was so tall now he stood shoulder to shoulder with one of her father’s destriers.

Beatrice touched the smooth fall of her hair. Her hair was her secret conceit, one of her few claims to beauty. Even Faye didn’t have hair quite as thick or silky as hers.

Tom’s smug expression said he knew her thoughts. He’d spoken of her hair on purpose. He grabbed his pitchfork and moved to the next stall.

“I shall dress as a boy and tuck my hair in a cap.” Beatrice followed him, raising her gown over the hay scattered on the floor.

“You are daft. And I have a good mind to tell my mother.”

“Nay.” Beatrice’s stomach dropped. Everything would be ruined.

“Forget this barmy idea.” Tom shook his head and speared the loose hay.

“It is not barmy. My family is in trouble and I am going to save them.”

“You are merely a girl.”

The blood rushed to her head in a throbbing, red haze. If she were less of lady, she would kick Tom for saying that. “I may be a girl, but I am girl enough to know when I must rise to the rescue.”

Tom ruined her speech with a snort. He filled the second trough and went for more water.

If he would just stop long enough to hear her out.

The horse snorted and sidled as Tom let himself into the stall. He disappeared behind the animal.

Beatrice stamped her foot. “If you tell your mother, I shall tell her about you going down to the village to visit Lilly.”

“Eh?” Tom’s head reappeared over the horse, his blue eyes almost starting right out of his head.

She’d only been guessing. Many of the castle lads spoke of visiting Lilly. She tried to imagine Tom going there, but the idea made her head spin.

“What do you know of Lilly?” Tom ducked beneath the animal’s neck and took a threatening step toward her.

“Fornication.” Beatrice held her ground.

Tom stalked over, close enough to tower above her. “I never went there.”

“You did, too.”

“You cannot prove anything.”

“I would not have to.” She arranged her features into an innocent expression. “Nurse? Why are Tom and Lilly such good friends?”

Tom actually growled at her. He wouldn’t strike her, but he mightn’t hesitate to toss her in a rain barrel. His arms were brawny enough to do it, too.

Beatrice hopped back.

“You cannot go haring off to London on your own. You could get murdered or worse.” Tom’s expression was stony. “You can tell my mother whatever you want, but nothing you say would be worse than me letting you go to London on your own like this.” Tom let himself into the next stall and barred it behind him.

The air rushed out of Beatrice’s lungs. Alone and not knowing the way was too dangerous. Unless? Hope flared again. “Then I will not go alone.”

“What do you mean?” He spun back to her.

“I will take someone with me, someone who is able to protect me and knows the way to London.”

“I do not know the way to London and if I did—”

“I am not speaking of you.”

“Who then?” Tom planted his elbows on the top of the stall.

“Someone you do not know.” She did, indeed, know the perfect someone. This thrilling new development made her heart gallop.

“You do not know any such person.” Tom fetched his fork.

“That is how much you know.” Beatrice snapped her fingers at him. “I do, too, know someone who would be happy to take me to London.”

The more she thought on it, the more she liked the idea. Garrett would take her to London. It would be perfect. Nobody would try to accost her with Garrett by her side. Garrett was big and strong. And, more importantly, he’d traveled just about everywhere. She wasn’t precisely sure if he’d been to London, but it stood to reason someone who’d been as many places as Garret had to have been to London. Garrett and her, alone, on the way to London. She shivered with delight.

“Who is this person?” Tom loomed nearer, his pitchfork held like a spear. He had a look on his face that made Beatrice tread warily. There was only so far she could push Tom.

“Nobody you know.”

“That is it. I am telling my mother. Let her deal with you.” The fork clattered to the ground as Tom strode toward the door.

“Nay.” Beatrice jumped over the implement and caught his arm “You must not. Please, Tom.” She tugged on his sleeve until he stopped. “You must let me do this.” Her voice wobbled as she saw all her newly hatched dreams crumbling at her feet. “You know how ill my mother is. And Faye. Faye’s husband could come and take her children from her by force. Only my father can stop that. He must come. Henry does not see it, but he must come home.”

“I understand.” Tom’s expression softened. “But it is not you who must go. It is too dangerous.”

“There is nobody else. I am the only one who is ready to do this.”

Tom took her hand from his sleeve. He held it in his large, roughened palm. “Bea, you are hatching crazy notions in that head of yours.”

Beatrice bit her lip to keep from crying. He didn’t see any of it. “If I do not do this, I will never be one of them. Here is my chance to make my family proud. I can make up for all those broken engagements and all the embarrassments and everything.” She stopped because she ran out of breath.

Tom rolled his eyes and gave her hand a squeeze. “There were only three broken engagements.”

“Exactly.” Beatrice blinked against the sting at the back of her eyes. The humiliation was a bitter taste in her mouth. “This is my chance to prove to my family I am one of them.”

“Of course you are one of them. You do not need to prove yourself to them, Bea. Your family loves you.”

“I know that.” Beatrice dashed her cheeks impatiently. Treacherous tears wouldn’t stop leaking onto her cheeks. “I know they love me, but they do not take me seriously. It is always oh, Beatrice is up to her tricks again, or you know Beatrice.”

And everything else she’d said or thought dropped away. Beatrice knew this was the real reason. “I need to do this. For my mother, for all of them.”

“Ah, Bea, it is all in your head.” He released her hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “You think you need to measure up to your family because your father is this big legend and your mother was known everywhere. They are people, like you and me.”

Beatrice wasn’t going to argue the point with him. There were two sorts of people. Some were made in the image of God and others were nearly Him. “I am going to do this, Tom,” she said. “All you have to decide is whether you are going to stand in my way or help me.”

Broad face impassive, Tom stilled and searched her eyes.

Beatrice held her breath.

“I must be mad.” Tom looked past her at the twilight spilling into the stable and sighed. “My mother, for sure, is going to flay me alive for this. And I would not blame her.” He threw up his hands. “Of course I am going to help you, Bea.”

“Oh, Tom.” Beatrice finally breathed. Victory. She flung her arms around his neck. There was nowhere a better man than Tom and he was her best friend.

He wheezed as she tightened her grip.

“But—” He unwrapped her from his neck. “You are not going alone, because I will go with you.”

Beatrice didn’t want Tom along. She wanted Garrett. She chewed the inside of her cheek. Tom wouldn’t approve of Garrett and he might be difficult. Then again, it was better than Tom putting a stop to the entire scheme. If he came with her, he would have no opportunity to tell tales on her. “I love you, Tom.”

Tom bent and grabbed his pitchfork. “Remember you do when my mother gets hold of me.”