At The Warrior's Mercy. Denise Lynn
to once again be dry and warm, Beatrice struggled with the laces of her gown. The wet knots refused to give and she knew she’d never be able to gather the skirt and pull it over her head.
She cursed through gritted teeth, then spied the small dagger. With no one to help her, there wasn’t any choice in the matter of removing her wet clothes.
And it wasn’t as if she was ever going to wear this gown again—she wanted nothing that would remind her of Charles. Perhaps, once it was washed and dried, there would be enough decent fabric left for someone to use. If nothing else, they could pick the gems free from the embroidery. Surely that would be payment enough for the clothing the maid had brought.
Beatrice stuck the tip of the blade through the neck edge of the gown and cringed. She’d spent a goodly amount of time on not just the sewing of the gown, but on the trim work, too. With a determined stroke, she sliced the gown down to her waist.
It took some doing, but after slitting the shoulders and tops of the sleeves, she managed to pull her arms free of the wet, clingy fabric and let the gown fall to the floor at her feet.
However, she wasn’t as willing to destroy the fine pleated chemise. It was her best one and she wasn’t leaving it behind for someone to salvage. Gathering the long skirt in her hands, she leaned over and peeled it from her body. It was thin enough that it would dry quickly by the brazier.
While drying herself off, she kept glancing towards the door. Other than her name she’d said nothing that could account for the swift change of Gregor’s mood. What was it about her name that had put him off so quickly?
As one of King David’s men, he had to recognise the name Warehaven, since King David and her grandfather King Henry were brothers by marriage and King Henry had never hidden her father’s identity as one of his natural-born sons.
King David was also Matilda’s uncle and the Empress, her father’s half-sister, had recently been demanding more ships from Warehaven. Demands that Beatrice knew her father had ignored. It was highly likely that David thought to defend his niece by sending his own demands to Warehaven, using Gregor as the messenger.
Perhaps once King David learned the reason for her father’s refusal he would understand Warehaven’s reluctance. Matilda and her husband Geoffrey’s ill use of the ships and men had resulted in the loss of three vessels along with the souls of all the men aboard. A horrible blunder that her father hadn’t taken lightly, one he refused to chance repeating. Those men had had families. Wives and children for whom he now felt responsible. Besides, he had worked too hard for what he had and wasn’t about to hand it all over to Matilda for her ongoing fight to wrest the throne from King Stephen.
If Gregor was acting as a messenger for King David, it would explain why he was travelling without an armed escort, since he would travel faster on his own.
Beatrice slipped into the dry clothing and then sat down on the bed with a soft gasp of exasperation. All of this was only speculation on her part, but if he was headed to Warehaven it was going to be difficult to slip away from him. She was not going to risk showing up at Warehaven’s gate in the company of a man not related to her.
He might consider that a minor obstacle easily overcome with words, but she knew better. Her parents wouldn’t care who he was, or why he was there. They wouldn’t listen to his explanation. The only thing they would see was that their daughter had been alone with him, unprotected, unguarded for days.
By the time her father finished blustering and her mother ceased harping, she and Gregor would find themselves together in their marriage bed trying to determine how they got there.
A flush warmed her cheeks. Just the thought of being in any bed with Gregor made her dizzy. She couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d do if it were to ever happen.
Beatrice patted the mattress beneath her. It was soft, not too lumpy and the covers appeared to be clean. She glanced out of the narrow window. The sun wouldn’t rise for a couple of hours yet and she had no desire to head off in the dark again.
She slid further back on the bed to stretch out and froze. King David wouldn’t squander his Wolf on simply delivering a message. If Gregor was headed to Warehaven, and from his reaction upon hearing her name she was convinced that was his destination, it was to deliver more than a message.
Perhaps his presence was meant to ensure that whatever request, or demand, made was met.
And what would happen if it wasn’t?
Her stomach knotted. She knew how badly her aunt the Empress wanted those ships. How far would King David go to ensure their delivery?
If her father once again declined to supply them, would Gregor simply try to take them?
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