The Rogue. Ana Seymour

up to it.”

      Beatrice pulled her hand away and averted her eyes. “Mayhap as he grows he’ll lose the resemblance.”

      Phillip shook his head in exasperation. “Aye, and mayhap the ground will open and swallow Nicholas Hendry up, but ’tis not likely.”

      Beatrice looked directly across at her father. “I’ve decided to take him away.”

      Phillip pushed back his bench, startled. “Away?”

      “I’ll go back to live with Aunt Mildred.” At her father’s pained expression, she amended. “We’ll all go.”

      “And leave the inn?” Phillip gestured to the empty room.

      Beatrice knew that her father had worked hard to make his way from brewmaster to proprietor of the Gilded Boar. “You could sell this place and start a new one in York.”

      Phillip merely shook his head. “Owen belongs here, Beatrice. ’Tis where his mother and grandmother are buried. This is our home.” He stood. “Come, let’s go to bed. You’ll feel better on the morrow.”

      Beatrice turned her head and stared at the fire, making no move to rise. She’d been happy living in Hendry, and she knew that Owen loved his grandfather very much. If she took the boy away, her father would grieve. But if Nicholas Hendry found out about his son, both she and her father might lose him. She saw no other solution. She had to make plans to get away.

      Nicholas awoke with a start and sat up on his pallet. He could see nothing in the darkness, and it took him a moment to remember that he was back in England in his own bedchamber at Hendry Hall. In his dreams he’d been back in Galilee, wet and cold in a miserable winter rain.

      Nicholas lay back on his cot and shuddered, as if he could still feel the bone-chilling drizzle of that long winter. He’d almost died. If it hadn’t been for Gervase’s healing powers and Bernard’s devoted, if untrained, nursing, his leg wound would have finished him.

      Perhaps that would have been for the best, he thought with a wave of self-pity. His mother would have shed a tear, but then she would no longer be troubled by worry over him.

      Well, that much he could still give her. Once he left Hendry, she could move on with her life without concern for his feelings. It would be best for everyone. He no longer had a place here. No one would mourn his departure. Harold was busy with his new young family. The maidens he’d courted had found new lovers. Flora’s sister and father would no doubt be pleased to have him out of the territory.

      He winced in the darkness as he remembered Beatrice’s unremitting hostility. She’d appeared to be relenting slightly as they talked in front of the Fletchers’ cottage, but when she’d run off so suddenly, he decided that he might have been mistaken. As he stared into the darkness of his bedchamber, he could still see her stormy, accusing eyes.

      It was the one piece of business he hated to leave unfinished. He wished he could have convinced her that he would never have hurt Flora. Mayhap ’twas not too late. He’d like Phillip to know, too. For the first time since he’d heard Baron Hawse’s departing words, Nicholas felt a sense of purpose.

      There was time before he left England to put this thing right. Tomorrow he’d pay a visit to the Gilded Boar. Whether or not the Thibaults wanted to hear his explanation, he’d at least have the satisfaction of giving it before he left home, this time for good.

      When Nicholas had been wooing Flora, Phillip was the town brewer, but had not yet built the Gilded Boar. He and his daughter had lived in a modest house on a hill just beyond the village, far enough away to keep the yeasty smell of the brewery from wafting out over the town.