Sweet Bea (33 page)

“I never liked him.” Nurse straightened and folded her arms over her chest. “It is those eyes.” She jabbed two fingers at her eyes. “Do you remember, lamb? When we first came to Anglesea, I said he had those eyes.” Nurse squinted. “Like a fox.”

“Aye, Nurse.” Lady Mary winked at Beatrice.

“And I went racing to London, when all I needed to do was come to you.” Beatrice was no fonder of confession now than she had been with Garrett in the wood.

“Indeed.” Her mother gave her a tight smile. “But then, I think there was more driving your decision than merely your family.”

Beatrice blushed.

“Not that I can blame her,” Faye added. “A girl can do worse than arrange a little trip around the back roads with a big strong man.”

Beatrice choked. This from Faye? Virtuous, perfect, fairest Faye?

“I am not blind, Beatrice.” Faye pursed her lips. “Your man is comely enough to get under anyone’s skirts.”

“Do not be vulgar, Faye.” Lady Mary gave Faye a haughty look, then ruined it by laughing.

Nurse wheezed a chuckle from beside them.

All the tension rushed out of Beatrice and she laughed.

Even Ivy smiled and nudged a glowering Tom.

Behind Faye, Sir Gregory went so red Beatrice thought his face would burst into flame. She threw back her head and laughed harder.

It was the perfect day for love. Beatrice lifted her face to enjoy the morning sun on her skin. Already the breeze carried the coming cold. Leaves twirled and dipped in their dance with the wind. An arrow of birds winged their way to warmer climes in the clear arc of blue above. The summer blooms had disappeared. There were not many fine days left before the autumn would draw in.

This year, however, she looked forward to a long winter confined to the keep with very little to do.

Such a picture to make a girl burn. Logs roaring in the great hearths, warming where they touched naked skin. A woman lay amongst the furs, her hair spread over the pillows like a wanton. A man lay beside her, his strong hands caressing the limbs gilded by firelight.

Aye, it would be a good winter. She hoped her father would return before the cold set in.

Sir Arthur had been called to London to swear fealty to the boy King Henry. Many whispered John’s passing was not entirely natural, but Sir Arthur waved those rumors aside. There was a new king to protect and one barely old enough to be let out of leading strings.

Sir Arthur predicted more difficult times to come. But here at Anglesea, they had a brief respite.

Lady Mary had been safely delivered of a boy. There was some sadness as it became clear young Mathew was not as quick as the other children had been. He’d recently passed his first year and the difference between Mathew and the other children of the keep became more marked. Still, he was a loving child and a special favorite of Nurse’s.

Simon, Faye’s oldest, was much taken with Mathew and hovered over the boy like a guardian angel.

Tom had been granted his land and was much less to be seen.

Beatrice rode over to visit when she could. She missed her friend, but she had Garrett now. And Tom was busy turning his allotment into a farm good enough to support a family.

And Ivy.

Nurse had taken to Ivy. Beatrice didn’t know how much Ivy told Nurse, but Nurse treated Ivy as the daughter she’d never had. The two were often found with their heads together over a basket of herbs. As the months passed, Ivy blossomed. The men of the keep swarmed about her, but she showed no interest in any of her suitors. William had tried his best and failed to raise so much as a smile out of Ivy.

A soft whistle cut the air.

Beatrice grinned.

There he stood, by the thicket.

One shoulder propped against the trunk of a tree, arms folded across his broad chest. The breeze ruffled his dark hair.

He jerked his head.

She really must work harder to rid him of that habit.

“I thought you were at arms training,” she said.

“I am in training.” He grinned as he tugged her into his arms. He walked her backward.

Heat unfurled in Beatrice’s middle. She knew that look in his eye. Her spine hit the hard bark of a tree.

He kept coming until he was pressed fully against her. “I thought of something better to do with my day.” He nipped at her ear before trailing hot kisses down her neck. His good idea pushed at the apex of her thighs.

She needed the tree for support as her knees melted beneath her. “And what idea was that?”

“I am rescuing Parsley,” he murmured against her mouth. “He has disgraced himself.”

Parsley calmly cropped the grass at the edge of the wood. He appeared rather sanguine about his fall from grace.

It was difficult to care about aught but the wicked play of Garrett’s mouth over hers. “What did he do?” Her mouth opened beneath his, inviting his kiss.

He toyed with her a moment, letting his mouth hang just a hairbreadth away from hers.

Beatrice slipped her arms around his neck and tugged him closer.

“He bit William.” Garrett grinned against her mouth.

“You should get a proper destrier.”

“Parsley and I understand each other.” He moved his lips over hers.

“Kiss me,” Beatrice whispered.

“You know where that leads, my lady wife.” He nipped at her bottom lip.

“Aye, Garrett, I most certainly do. You will be in trouble if William or my father catch you.”

He pulled her deeper within the concealment of the trees. “It will be worth it.”

Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble.

Mimicking her globe trotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother.

She currently lives in Draper, Utah, with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.

Website: http://sarahhegger.com

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Lyrical Press books are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2014 Sarah Hegger

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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First Electronic Edition: September 2014

ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-612-4