Page 21

And if she reacted as he feared and turned away in horror? If she said she could never love him now?

He must, of course, accept her judgment. It would be no more than he deserved, because of what he’d done.

Having reached the gates of the castle, he ordered one of the guards to go ahead and open the door to the hall for him. Carrying Bea inside, he assured the servants who rushed forward that she was merely tired and asleep.

He continued to carry her up the steps to her bedchamber. Once there, he gently set her on the bed. She should probably be disrobed, but not by him. Not now. Not today. One day, perhaps, if he was blessed to call her wife.

Or never, if she came to hate him.

He did give in to one temptation. He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers in a gentle kiss. “Tomorrow, Bea,” he vowed in a whisper. “Tomorrow I will tell you all about Ranulf of Beauvieux.”

D AMN THE DRIFTING FOG , Myghal thought as his horse trotted down the rutted road leading away from Penterwell. And damn Pierre. Damn Wenna, too, for refusing him and making him do terrible things.

No, it wasn’t Wenna’s fault. She was innocent of any wrongdoing. He was the sinner. A cowardly sinner, fleeing the mess he’d made.

“Where are you going, Myghal?” a French-accented voice called out, as if a ghost were on his trail.

A ghost who sounded like Pierre.

Myghal punched his spurred heels into his horse’s sides, sending his mount into a gallop.

He didn’t realize men from the smuggler’s crew had him trapped until he was surrounded. His horse shied and snorted, but there was no escape unless Myghal wanted to try to run them down.

Pierre, on foot, pushed his way through the wall of horses and men. “So, Myghal, you wish to flee?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle and his expression oddly mild.

Until he reached up and dragged Myghal to the ground.

When Myghal tried to get up, the fiercely scowling Pierre shoved him down with his foot and held him there.

“Fool,” he snarled, his lip curling with scorn. “Do you take me for one, too? Do you think I don’t know you are a coward? Who else but a coward hires someone else to do his killing? I knew I couldn’t trust you, so my men have watched you night and day.”

He bent down and, grabbing Myghal’s tunic, hauled the terrified man to his feet. “What…what are you going to do?” Myghal stammered, his features as gray as the fog around them.

“Remind you of your bargain,” Pierre said, pushing him back. “No wonder that woman didn’t want you. You run instead of claiming her.”

“I don’t want any more people to be hurt because of me.”

“Brave words, but you are still a coward. You could have had the woman you want and freedom forever when you brought Lady Beatrice to Wenna’s cottage. It would have been the perfect chance to let us take her.”

“I didn’t think you’d be close by, because of the fog,” Myghal lied. In truth, he’d thought of abducting Lady Beatrice then, but Wenna had needed her. And as the young noblewoman had walked beside him, talking happily, he had found turning her over to Pierre impossible.

“Where else would we be? Out at sea?” Pierre scoffed. “We are where we’ve been for days, waiting for you to fulfill your part of our bargain until my ship returns.”

“You’re right,” Myghal agreed. “It would have been a good chance. I’m not likely to get another, so I think your plan is hopeless. You should give it up.”

“Oh, you do, do you? You presume to tell me what to do?” Pierre drew his sword and pressed it against Myghal’s heaving chest. “The only reason you’re not dead right now is that you haven’t betrayed us to Sir Ranulf, and you can still be useful. Otherwise…”

“What’s to prevent you from killing me even if I do what you want?” Myghal demanded.

“Why, nothing, except that I am a man of my word,” the smuggler replied.

“I kept my word when I killed your friend. I could have taken your money and sailed away, leaving him alive. But non , I did what I said I’d do, the way I expect you to.

Yet instead, what do I find? You are trying to betray me and run away. ”

“I can’t do what you want!” Myghal cried. “I can’t help you steal Lady Beatrice. It’d be death to me, same as it will be to you if you try it.”

“And I said that was a risk I was willing to take,” Pierre retorted.

His sword blade flicked upward, nearly cutting into Myghal’s stubbled chin.

“I fear, mon ami , it is a risk you must take, or I will kill you where you stand, because you will be of no more use to me. So, my young friend, what is it to be?”

Y AWNING AND STRETCHING , Beatrice opened her eyes. She was alone in her chamber at Penterwell and Ranulf had carried her home.

That’s what he’d called it, too. He’d been speaking of Penterwell Castle and he’d called it home.

Of course, he might only have meant his home, so she’d been afraid to call his attention to the word he’d used in case he gave her one of his wry looks and replied with some droll mockery. But still, he’d said home.

Pushing herself up to a sitting position, Beatrice looked around the room. Maloren must still be with Wenna.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, relieved breath. It hadn’t been easy turning the child and she’d been afraid things were going horribly wrong. Poor Wenna had been so brave, wanting to have her dead husband’s child so badly.

And then—oh, blessed, thankful moment, after the pain and the tears, the cries and finally screams, the silent and not-so-silent fervent prayers to a merciful God—little Gawan had come into the world, well and whole, crying almost at once.

Not as lustily as little Peder, perhaps, but certainly well enough, judging by the relieved looks on the other women’s faces.

Little Gawan might have arrived safe and sound without her, Beatrice realized, but she was proud and pleased nonetheless, especially when she remembered the respect and approval in Ranulf’s eyes.

There had been a tenderness in his hazel eyes, too, that had filled her with joy and made her heart beat quicker.

That look alone would have been enough, but then he’d carried her home in his strong arms and laid her on this very bed and kissed her. Softly. Gently. On the lips. He’d said he was going to tell her something.

If only she hadn’t been so tired, she would have questioned him then and there, but by the time she’d roused enough to speak, he was already out the door and closing it behind him.

Surely, though, this was a hopeful sign that he’d changed his mind and she didn’t have to go back to Tregellas. Perhaps he was even going to admit that he did care for her. Maybe she could have some hope that he loved her.

She clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a delighted giggle, even though she was alone. Until she was certain just what was in Ranulf’s mind, she shouldn’t let herself get overly excited.

As her stomach growled with hunger, she got up and washed her face, despite the frigid water in the ewer.

She removed her woolen gown and shift stained with perspiration.

Laying her discarded clothes on the bed, she put on her best shift, which was made of very thin and soft white linen.

Ranulf wouldn’t see it, but she always felt like a queen when she wore it, and she wanted to feel like a queen today.

She pulled on a gown of blue wool with red cuffs that laced at the sides so she needed no help, and then a supple red leather girdle.

She donned clean stockings and soft slippers, and combed her hair a hundred strokes before twisting it into a long coil and tying it at the bottom with a red ribbon.

Thus attired, excited, happy and rested, she hurried to the hall. Not only did she need something to eat, she wanted to see Ranulf and hear what he had to say.

Upon entering the large chamber, she immediately saw Ranulf standing on the dais with his back to her.

A woman was facing him, giving him the kiss of greeting.

A beautiful woman, tall and dark and slender as a reed, with almond-shaped brown eyes below arching brows. Her cheeks were round and had the merest hint of color, like the blush on an apple. She wore a cloak with an ermine collar and jewels sparkled at her shell-like ears, as well as at her neck.

She was looking at Ranulf as if she’d like to swallow him whole, while he stood with his back as straight as a mill’s spindle, his shoulders tense, his feet planted.

Beatrice started to tremble, a sudden sick feeling of dread in her stomach. It wasn’t just that the woman was beautiful. It was the way she looked at Ranulf and the way he stood, as if he’d been knocked off balance and only just recovered.

He knew this woman, knew her well. And she knew him.

Just as suddenly, Beatrice realized who she must be. This was the woman who’d broken Ranulf’s heart.