At The Warrior's Mercy. Denise LynnЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘A mangy cur who needs to be put down.’ Beatrice closed her eyes. What was happening to her? Why did this man’s nearness make her feel safe enough to speak her mind? He was a stranger and from his rugged looks more warrior than simple man.
‘Your husband?’
She swung her head to look up at him. ‘God be praised, no.’
His soft laugh made her smile. Clearly he’d heard the overwhelming relief in her breathless tone and found it amusing, not off-putting.
‘I sense a tale worth telling.’ He nodded downstream. ‘There is an inn in the village. You can hide there while sitting near the fire to dry and tell me your story. In the meantime, I can decide what to do with you.’
While he might think his plan sensible, Beatrice thought otherwise. ‘I can’t walk into an inn with you. We are not related, nor wed. You know what people will think.’
He slung a large, muscular arm about her shoulders, turned her towards the village and started walking, giving her little choice but to walk beside him. His thigh brushed her hip and she tried to sidestep, hoping that putting a little distance between them would ease the restless fluttering of her heart. Unfortunately, the small space was far too little.
‘Do you know the people in this village?’
Beatrice shrugged. ‘I am not even certain what village this is, so it’s doubtful if I’ll know anyone.’
‘Then what do you care what they might think?’
‘I have a reputation to think of and I already look quite dreadful.’
‘Ah, a rich heiress, no doubt.’
In truth she was. But she wasn’t about to admit something that could possibly put her in even more danger. It would be an easy task for him to take her hostage and then bleed her father of gold in exchange for her return. ‘Heiress or not, I still have to protect my reputation and future.’
He shook his head and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chortle of disbelief. ‘Which is why you are running about at night alone.’
She bristled at his chastising tone and tried to pull away, but he only tightened his fingers over her shoulder, keeping her in place. She frowned at the warmth seeping into her at his touch before stating, ‘You are neither my father nor my brother and thus have no right to remind me of my shortcomings.’
He stared down at her. ‘You put your life and your precious reputation at great risk and you call that nothing more than a shortcoming? You need count yourself lucky I am not your father or brother, for if I were, I would use more than simple words to remind you of your place.’
She knew exactly what he meant, but little did he know that it wasn’t her brother or father who would be tempted to take a switch to her backside if they found out what she’d done. It was her mother who would be sore pressed not to do so. Beatrice knew that regardless of whether any punishment was meted out or not, her parents would be unable to trust her and, short of locking her in a cell, their only other choice would be to marry her off to the first man who showed up at their walls.
A fate she could have avoided had she acted with more caution, like her sister Isabella would have done, instead of being so impulsive. It was imperative that she learn to think things through before dashing off to follow her heart’s desire.
‘I know full well the foolishness of the risk I took. I’ve no need to be reminded of it.’
‘If you knew it was foolhardy, what made you take such a risk?’
Beatrice sighed. ‘I thought I did so for love.’
To her amazement, he didn’t laugh at her childish notion. Instead he simply shook his head, then said, ‘Since this shouldn’t be too difficult a mystery to solve, let me guess. Once alone he decided to take what he thought was his whether you agreed or not.’
She nodded in reply.
‘Did no one ever warn you about the wicked ways of men?’
‘Of course they did.’
‘But you thought he was different.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted.
‘Then perhaps you learned a hard lesson. All men are the same.’
‘Even though this wastrel proved to be a beast, I would say you are wrong. While I did learn a lesson that I’ll not likely forget, not all men are the same. Neither my father nor brother are vile animals.’
‘They are related to you, so of course they do not act like fools in your presence.’
Beatrice smiled at his statement. Sometimes her brother acted like the worst of fools, but she knew what this stranger meant. Still, what about him? ‘I disagree. You have not offered me harm when you could have easily done so.’
‘You do not fear me?’
‘Do I act afraid?’ Although, by all rights she should be afraid. Terrified, in fact, and she didn’t understand why she wasn’t. Her lack of fear confused her—it made no sense. She was alone in the company of what appeared to her to be a seasoned warrior.
The only explanation she had was that all of her fear was directed at Charles and his companions, leaving none for this man. Perhaps once her senses cleared and she regained the ability to do more than worry about those chasing her, she would find herself beset with the proper amount of fear.
‘Perhaps you should be afraid.’
‘And perhaps once I am safe and dry I will be afraid.’
‘How can you be so certain I am leading you to safety?’
‘I cannot. But if I am to die I would much rather it be at the hands of someone I know not, instead of one I thought I knew well.’
She felt his questioning stare and hoped he didn’t ask her to explain what probably seemed like a strange notion. She wasn’t certain she could find the right words to tell him that being harmed by a near stranger would only hurt physically and while it might take time to heal, she eventually would. Whereas any harm Charles inflicted would also linger in her heart, preventing her from ever healing fully.
‘There are worse things that could happen to you than being killed.’
Beatrice shivered harder, knowing he was right. ‘Is that your intention? To do things worse than death to me?’
He withdrew his arm from about her shoulders, pulled her dagger from behind his sword belt, then grasped her wrist, pressing his thumb into the soft flesh until she spread her fingers open, and then he slapped the grip of the weapon into her hand. ‘The only plan I have for you is to see you safely delivered to your home and family.’
The angry frown etched on his face seemed to hide something else. She parted her lips to apologise, but before she could utter a single word he marched off towards the village, leaving her to follow or not.
Beatrice hesitated, uncertain what to do. She had her dagger in hand and could head for Warehaven as she’d originally planned—on her own. A shiver of cold raced down her spine beneath the dripping clothing. Or she could accept his offer of a warm fire to sit beside while she decided what to do next.
Either option was a better choice than having remained with Charles.
While the noisy, smoke-filled inn had been an unexpected find, Gregor of Roul had been glad for the warmth and shelter it had provided him earlier when he’d sought to escape the company of his men for a few hours of time alone and had no aversion to being once again beneath its thatched roof.
He raised his cup, only to find it empty, and signalled one of the maids over to his rough-hewn table in the far corner near