“Is Bath on the way to London?” Beatrice leapt out of his way as he strode past her.
“Do not ask me. I do not know where London is either. What do you think is going to happen to a young girl, all alone, asking for directions to London?” He plunged his bucket into the water trough. His rough tunic pulled tight across his broad back.
He had a point.
Tom gave the horse water. He leant his shoulder into the horse’s and spoke softly to the animal as it moved for him.
The horse whickered and nudged him with its nose.
Tom had a way with animals. His hands were gentle as he stroked its neck.
“I shall disguise myself as a boy.” She’d heard a story to that effect. It would make her tale all the better for the telling. Beatrice the Brave, eschewing her womanly garb to see justice brought to her people. It would also make riding astride much easier.
“You are going to cut your hair?” Tom peered at her over the horse’s back. He was so tall now he stood shoulder to shoulder with one of her father’s destriers.
Beatrice touched the smooth fall of her hair. Her hair was her secret conceit, one of her few claims to beauty. Even Faye didn’t have hair quite as thick or silky as hers.
Tom’s smug expression said he knew her thoughts. He’d spoken of her hair on purpose. He grabbed his pitchfork and moved to the next stall.
“I shall dress as a boy and tuck my hair in a cap.” Beatrice followed him, raising her gown over the hay scattered on the floor.
“You are daft. And I have a good mind to tell my mother.”
“Nay.” Beatrice’s stomach dropped. Everything would be ruined.
“Forget this barmy idea.” Tom shook his head and speared the loose hay.
“It is not barmy. My family is in trouble and I am going to save them.”
“You are merely a girl.”
The blood rushed to her head in a throbbing, red haze. If she were less of lady, she would kick Tom for saying that. “I may be a girl, but I am girl enough to know when I must rise to the rescue.”
Tom ruined her speech with a snort. He filled the second trough and went for more water.
If he would just stop long enough to hear her out.
The horse snorted and sidled as Tom let himself into the stall. He disappeared behind the animal.
Beatrice stamped her foot. “If you tell your mother, I shall tell her about you going down to the village to visit Lilly.”
“Eh?” Tom’s head reappeared over the horse, his blue eyes almost starting right out of his head.
She’d only been guessing. Many of the castle lads spoke of visiting Lilly. She tried to imagine Tom going there, but the idea made her head spin.
“What do you know of Lilly?” Tom ducked beneath the animal’s neck and took a threatening step toward her.
“Fornication.” Beatrice held her ground.
Tom stalked over, close enough to tower above her. “I never went there.”
“You did, too.”
“You cannot prove anything.”
“I would not have to.” She arranged her features into an innocent expression. “Nurse? Why are Tom and Lilly such good friends?”
Tom actually growled at her. He wouldn’t strike her, but he mightn’t hesitate to toss her in a rain barrel. His arms were brawny enough to do it, too.
Beatrice hopped back.
“You cannot go haring off to London on your own. You could get murdered or worse.” Tom’s expression was stony. “You can tell my mother whatever you want, but nothing you say would be worse than me letting you go to London on your own like this.” Tom let himself into the next stall and barred it behind him.
The air rushed out of Beatrice’s lungs. Alone and not knowing the way was too dangerous. Unless? Hope flared again. “Then I will not go alone.”
“What do you mean?” He spun back to her.
“I will take someone with me, someone who is able to protect me and knows the way to London.”
“I do not know the way to London and if I did—”
“I am not speaking of you.”
“Who then?” Tom planted his elbows on the top of the stall.
“Someone you do not know.” She did, indeed, know the perfect someone. This thrilling new development made her heart gallop.
“You do not know any such person.” Tom fetched his fork.
“That is how much you know.” Beatrice snapped her fingers at him. “I do, too, know someone who would be happy to take me to London.”
The more she thought on it, the more she liked the idea. Garrett would take her to London. It would be perfect. Nobody would try to accost her with Garrett by her side. Garrett was big and strong. And, more importantly, he’d traveled just about everywhere. She wasn’t precisely sure if he’d been to London, but it stood to reason someone who’d been as many places as Garret had to have been to London. Garrett and her, alone, on the way to London. She shivered with delight.
“Who is this person?” Tom loomed nearer, his pitchfork held like a spear. He had a look on his face that made Beatrice tread warily. There was only so far she could push Tom.
“Nobody you know.”
“That is it. I am telling my mother. Let her deal with you.” The fork clattered to the ground as Tom strode toward the door.
“Nay.” Beatrice jumped over the implement and caught his arm “You must not. Please, Tom.” She tugged on his sleeve until he stopped. “You must let me do this.” Her voice wobbled as she saw all her newly hatched dreams crumbling at her feet. “You know how ill my mother is. And Faye. Faye’s husband could come and take her children from her by force. Only my father can stop that. He must come. Henry does not see it, but he must come home.”
“I understand.” Tom’s expression softened. “But it is not you who must go. It is too dangerous.”
“There is nobody else. I am the only one who is ready to do this.”
Tom took her hand from his sleeve. He held it in his large, roughened palm. “Bea, you are hatching crazy notions in that head of yours.”
Beatrice bit her lip to keep from crying. He didn’t see any of it. “If I do not do this, I will never be one of them. Here is my chance to make my family proud. I can make up for all those broken engagements and all the embarrassments and everything.” She stopped because she ran out of breath.
Tom rolled his eyes and gave her hand a squeeze. “There were only three broken engagements.”
“Exactly.” Beatrice blinked against the sting at the back of her eyes. The humiliation was a bitter taste in her mouth. “This is my chance to prove to my family I am one of them.”
“Of course you are one of them. You do not need to prove yourself to them, Bea. Your family loves you.”
“I know that.” Beatrice dashed her cheeks impatiently. Treacherous tears wouldn’t stop leaking onto her cheeks. “I know they love me, but they do not take me seriously. It is always oh, Beatrice is up to her tricks again, or you know Beatrice.”
And everything else she’d said or thought dropped away. Beatrice knew this was the real reason. “I need to do this. For my mother, for all of them.”
“Ah,