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B EA DIDN’T SEEM to realize what she’d done as she launched into her revelation.

“What Wenna didn’t tell you was that the villagers are watching for the Frenchman’s ship and the moment a landing party comes ashore, they plan to attack them, perhaps even kill them.

Then they’re going to scuttle the smugglers’ ship. ”

Ranulf was no longer distracted by Bea’s proximity and the fact they were alone. “By themselves?”

“They’re very angry about Gawan,” she said as if that explained it all, and perhaps it did. “There’s a cove where the Frenchmen usually come ashore, and they’re watching it day and night.”

“Where is this cove?”

Bea shook her head. “I don’t know. Once Wenna said they were going to scuttle the ship, some of the other women got a bit…

well, I gather they thought I’d already heard enough and regretted that I’d even heard that much.

” Her eyes brightened with her usual enthusiasm.

“Since I’m going to stay a little longer, maybe I can find out more. ”

Maybe she could at that, Ranulf thought, and despite his reservations. “Any information would be welcome.”

She came closer. “Wenna will be even happier than I am to hear your decision about letting me stay, Ranulf. It’s been so difficult for her.”

He knew he ought to move away, but he felt as if he’d grown roots.

“It would have been more difficult if somebody hadn’t left several coins on her table.”

Ranulf blushed like a lad and wished he wasn’t. “If that’s all you have to say, Bea, we should go back to the hall.”

“There’s one thing more,” she replied, coming mercifully to a halt a few feet away. “Do you trust Myghal?”

That was not what he expected to hear. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

“I hope not. It’s just that when I was walking with him to Wenna’s cottage, I felt…”

She shrugged her shoulders and looked at Ranulf as if expecting him to tell her what she felt.

He could certainly tell her what Myghal was likely feeling, and it wasn’t something he was pleased to consider.

The fellow seemed trustworthy enough, but he was young and young men could be fools.

“Next time you go into the village, I want you to take some soldiers for an escort—at least two. I don’t want anything to happen to you while you’re in my care. ”

Her cheeks colored, yet her expression wasn’t that of a modest, obedient maiden. She looked offended. “Surely I’m perfectly safe in your village.”

His village. Even without meaning to, she made him feel as if he’d accomplished something with his life.

“I’d like to believe that, but your safety is not something with which I care to gamble.

You’re Merrick’s ward, and I wouldn’t want to face his wrath if something were to happen to you while you were under my protection.

He nearly beat Henry to death when he only suspected Henry had put Constance in danger,” he reminded her, not indicating by word, look or tone how devastated he would be if she were hurt or killed.

She lowered her eyes and nodded. “Of course. How foolish of me to want to do anything that might reflect poorly on your command of Penterwell.”

“I’m relieved you appreciate my position, my lady,” he said with every appearance of calm as he held out his arm, steeling himself for her touch. “Shall we?”

With a nod and not another word, she laid her fingertips on his forearm and let him lead her from the solar.

A FEW DAYS LATER , Beatrice did her best to ignore the two soldiers following her as she headed for the market in the village.

Since Ranulf had agreed to let her stay until Wenna had her baby, she would abide by his decree that she take an escort when she left the castle, even though it made her feel foolish and conspicuous.

At least the weather had cleared, the rain giving way to the sun and warmth that heralded the start of a new growing season.

Lambs frolicked on the slopes nearby, and everything smelled fresh and green and new.

It was enough to put some spring in Beatrice’s step, despite her dismay over the situation with Ranulf.

Even Maloren seemed happier these days, and she didn’t seem to mind having to spend so much time in the kitchen keeping a watchful eye on the cook.

“Good morning, my lady. Don’t you look as fresh as a daisy today.”

Her ruminations interrupted, Beatrice looked up to find Hedyn smiling at her. She liked the sheriff, with his fatherly voice and friendly mien, and she gave him a smile in return. “Good day to you, too. Isn’t it lovely now that the rain has finally stopped?”

“Aye, my lady. Nearly as lovely as you.”

Beatrice laughed as he fell into step beside her. “You’ll be turning my head with such flattery, Hedyn.”

He nodded at the basket she had slung over her arm. “Going to market, are you?”

“I want to get some new threads, and Tecca tells me one of the village women makes a lovely green dye. I thought I’d get some to take home to Tregellas.”

“It’ll be a sad day here when you leave us, my lady.”

“I shall be sorry to go, too, but my home is in Tregellas.”

“Pity, that is.”

Beatrice wasn’t sure what to say to that, and she was a little relieved when Hedyn halted and said, “I must be off, my lady, to the shore. Something’s washed up that might be from Gawan’s boat.”

“Are you any closer to finding out what happened to him?” she asked, for Ranulf had told her nothing more about Gawan’s death.

Hedyn shook his head. “Sadly, no, though it’s not for lack of trying. Sir Ranulf is dead keen to find out. He’s made that plain enough.”

“He takes his duties very seriously,” she agreed, thinking of the way Ranulf sat brooding and staring into the fire after the evening meal every night.

“Aye, my lady, that he does, and it’s to his credit.

He’s a fine gentleman. Impressed the fishermen and merchants, I can tell you, and that isn’t easy to do.

They were worried he’d be an arrogant…fellow,” the sheriff said, catching himself and sliding her an apologetic glance for the derogatory term he’d been about to use.

“No, my lady, we couldn’t ask for a better castellan, and I hope you’ll tell Lord Merrick so. ”

“I shall,” she readily replied.

With a nod of his head and a bow, Hedyn strode off toward his horse tied outside the tavern, while Beatrice continued toward the stalls lining the main road.

Penterwell was a very snug sort of town, clustered on the rocky shore, the cottages built with their backs against the higher, windswept ground.

There wasn’t space for any kind of green; the main road served that function, with the stalls and shops of the merchants and tradesmen lining it.

Smaller lanes led away from the main road, to the cottages or outbuildings.

The wives of the fishermen, however, set out their baskets near their husbands’ boats and the drying nettle-hemp nets on the beach.

The merchants were all happy to see Beatrice.

She laughed and joked with them, and was genuinely impressed with what they had to show her, making it difficult for her to confine her purchases to what she’d come to buy.

That was especially hard when she spotted a lovely piece of silk hanging from the post of one of the stalls.

It was an eye-catching, delicate shade of blue—almost the exact color of Constance’s eyes. It would be a perfect present for her.

“I’d be willing to give you a special price, my lady,” the brown-haired tradesman with a pug nose offered when he saw her interest. His eyes were likewise deep brown and very shrewd. “Here, let me get it down for you, and you can feel the quality. All the way from the East, that is.”

She wondered how such a piece of fabric had managed to wind up in a stall in a little village in Cornwall, but decided it was better not to ask.

“It is beautiful,” she said with a sigh as she draped it over her hand.

“Unfortunately, I brought very little money with me. I didn’t think I would find such things in Penterwell. ”

“How much?” Ranulf asked from behind her, making Beatrice start.

She had no idea he was in the village. She thought he was still in the hall, listening to the reports from the soldiers who’d been on patrol that morning.

“Five marks, my lord,” the merchant quickly answered, “and a bargain at twice that.”

“If you say so,” Ranulf replied evenly as he reached into his leather tunic, from which he produced a thin purse. “I’ll purchase it for the lady.”

“Oh, no, you mustn’t,” Beatrice said, flustered by his offer. He wasn’t a wealthy man. “Thank you, Sir Ranulf, but—”

“It’s to show my gratitude for all you’ve done at Penterwell,” he said. His tone was so firm and so final that she realized it would be useless to argue.

“It’ll suit you to perfection, my lady,” the merchant said, beaming as he folded up the cloth and handed it to Beatrice.

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of it for myself,” Beatrice quickly corrected.

To the merchant’s obvious horror, Ranulf’s fingers curled around the coins in his hand. “Who would it be for, then?” he asked, raising one questioning brow.

“I planned to give it to Constance. It’s very early to be thinking of Twelfth Night, I know, but I’ve often discovered if I don’t get a present when I see it, I never find one to compare later on,” she explained, hoping he wasn’t going to rescind his offer.

On the other hand, it really was expensive. “If you’d rather not—”

“I have another piece,” the merchant swiftly interrupted, ducking down behind the table and reaching into a wooden chest. He drew out another piece of silk, in a slightly darker shade of blue. “I could give you both for seven marks.”

“That’s not the same blue,” Ranulf noted.

“And that would really be too much,” Beatrice said as firmly as Ranulf.

The knight looked at her, his expression impassive. “The second piece is more the color of Constance’s eyes. The first matches yours. I’ll take them both.”