Denise Lynn - At The Warrior's Mercy

Her father would see him dead first.

An icy finger of dread skipped down her spine. That was a fight she didn’t want to happen. She didn’t want to witness her father risk his life to defy his half-sister. This war between King Stephen and Matilda had been going on for nearly ten years without an end in sight. Her father would rather set sail to parts unknown before taking sides. He’d come of age with Stephen at Henry’s court and Matilda was family. As the old King’s son, even a natural-born one, he was able to make such a choice that another lord would not be permitted.

She loved her father dearly, but she didn’t want to see anything happen to Gregor either. He had been kind and he’d stood up to Charles for her when he didn’t have to do so. Outside of her family, Gregor had been the only man who’d ever shown her the meaning of honour. He was honourable—to a fault. He’d sworn to see her safely home whether she wanted him to or not.

She needed to make haste for home—preferably arriving before Gregor. Beatrice swung her legs around to sit on the side of the bed. How was she going to accomplish that feat?

According to the last missive her father had sent to Jared at Montreau her parents weren’t back at Warehaven yet—but they would be soon. She needed to warn them about the possible visit from King David’s Wolf.

Sneaking away from her unwanted escort wouldn’t be easy. Nor would it be wise. As much as she hated to admit it, he was correct. Travelling by herself was dangerous, not to mention foolhardy, especially since she wasn’t certain what Charles’s next move might be.

Earlier she’d told Gregor that she could hire an escort. Could she find someone else willing to escort her to Warehaven? There might be someone below she could bribe. Beatrice glanced down at her gown and smiled. While flawed, surely the numerous gems sewn on to her gown still had some value. There were enough to leave some for the maid and hopefully to pay a willing escort.

She picked up the gown from the floor, rose to get her knife from the table and then took a seat near the brazier. By the time she finished slicing through the thread work on the edges of the neck, sleeves and hem, she had enough stones to fill both of her hands, but nothing to carry them in safely. With a sigh of regret, she cut a square from the bottom of her chemise large enough to hold the gems securely. Now, to find someone who appeared trustworthy enough to act as her guard for the journey, but with Gregor below it would be impossible to do so.

She rose to look out of the narrow window opening. The moon was high in the night sky. The sight made her yawn as she realised she’d had no sleep yet this night—a lack that would leave her dull-witted on the morrow.

A glance towards the bed was enough to convince her to head in that direction. She lay upon the bed and stared up at the ceiling, wishing she’d never left Montreau in the first place.

* * *

Gregor pushed his half-full cup across the table and waved the owner of this establishment away when the man thought to bring him more ale. His earlier idea of drinking until he could stand no more had quickly evaporated at the thought of riding with an aching head.

There were only a couple of men left in the inn besides him and he kept them at bay with a hard scowl. The last thing he wanted was company of any sort. He’d taken a seat at the far table to be away from those still gathered so he could reason out what to do.

Another draught of cool, damp night air raced across him and he turned to look at the newcomer who’d just entered. He groaned. Of course Simon would find him. The man was like a dog on the trail of a hare. A nod in Simon’s direction brought him to his table.

‘This is the last place I expected to find you.’

Gregor glanced up at his captain. ‘The role of nursemaid doesn’t suit you.’

‘I think I would make quite a handy nursemaid.’ Simon took a seat across the table. ‘Especially for charges who think to slip away unnoticed.’

‘If this is the last place you thought to find me, why are you here?’ Gregor motioned the owner to pour another cup of ale that Simon retrieved, then brought back to the table.

‘Because it was the only place we hadn’t looked.’

‘We?’

Simon took a long drink of the ale, before explaining, ‘I have two of the men out scouring the countryside for word of their lord.’

‘Ah, well, here I am, safe and sound. You can gather the others and go back to camp now.’

‘Safe and sound for now, perhaps. But I hear tell from the three battered men who passed through our camp earlier you are breathing your last.’

Gregor snorted. ‘You believed them?’

‘No, but I couldn’t wait to hear this tale so I came looking for you.’

That made more sense since Simon, like the rest of his guard, loved nothing more than a good tale. Especially one they could embellish and then share with others. Gregor’s reputation was partly owed to their retelling of tales. A fact he’d discovered too late to do anything about.

‘There isn’t much to tell. I rescued the woman those three men had thought to abuse.’

Simon’s eyebrows rose. ‘Do tell.’

‘I just did.’

His man looked around the inn. ‘Where is she?’

‘Above, in a chamber.’

‘And you are down here?’ Simon leaned forward, to ask in a near whisper, ‘Did you let the Wolf frighten her so quickly?’

‘Quite the opposite. The maiden above is Beatrice of Warehaven.’

Simon’s cup hit the table. It teetered, then fell, letting the remaining contents spill across the wooden plank. ‘You are jesting.’

Gregor waited until the owner finished cleaning up the mess Simon had made. Once he replaced his man’s drink with another and left, Gregor said, ‘I wish I were.’

‘Which Warehaven lass would this be?’

‘The young, as yet unmarried one.’

‘Dear Lord above. How did this happen?’ Before Gregor could respond, Simon raised his hand. ‘Never mind. Only you could have such ill-fated luck.’

Not able to disagree with the obvious, Gregor shrugged. ‘I know. Sometimes it is truly amazing.’

‘Does she know?’

‘Well, of course upon discovering who she was the first thing I did was to tell her that right after I kill her father and take command of his keep and ships, she is going to become my wife.’

‘So, you left the chamber without saying anything?’

‘Yes.’ There was no need to lie about it, not to Simon. The older man had been his father’s captain-at-arms and his older brother’s captain until Elrik decided he could no longer deal with the man’s tendency to play nursemaid. The man might be old, he might also be a frightening-looking nursemaid, but he had been with the Roul family since before Gregor could walk and there was no one more worthy of his trust.

‘This one is going to make a fine retelling.’

‘The only retelling that is going to happen is that you are going to go back to camp and tell the men to keep their mouths shut about this entire mission. I am escorting her to Warehaven and I don’t want her to discover what is going to happen ahead of time.’

‘And how are you going to handle that?’

‘I don’t know as yet. But I have until the sun rises to make a plan.’

‘Well, then, you’d best hurry, because—’

‘Yes, I know.’ Gregor cut him off. ‘The night is half over.’

Simon stared down into his ale. His forehead creased, his eyebrows pulled together making a long grey caterpillar above his eyes.

Gregor sighed. ‘I recognise that look well. What are you wondering about?’

‘What is she like, this Beatrice of Warehaven?’

The memory of her laughter ran through Gregor, leaving him warm and wanting. Finally, he admitted, ‘Someone who would probably make a fine wife for someone in want of one.’