Sweet Bea. Sarah Hegger

tensed.

      “What are you two doing?” Beatrice hurried between them. “Did you not hear me? We need to cover a large distance before it is discovered we are gone.”

      “You forgot to mention your friend.”

      “Did I?”

      “You know you did.”

      “Aye, well—” She dragged in a quick breath, ready to come up with more lies and half-truths.

      “If he goes, I go.” Tom spoke to Beatrice, but glared at Garrett.

      “Fine,” Garrett said. “Go without me.”

      “Nay.” Beatrice whirled toward him. “We cannot go without you. Tom does not know the way.”

      “What is he doing here, then?”

      “Protecting Beatrice.” Tom locked eyes with him. Not as stupid as he looked.

      “I can protect Beatrice.”

      Tom stepped toward him, his chest squared, arms braced. “Who will protect her from—”

      “There is no time for this.” Beatrice shoved at Tom’s chest. “You can both protect me. I will be doubly safe.”

      Garrett weighed his options. A heaven-sent opportunity on the one hand, a zealous boy on the other. The boy would be trouble. Garrett would lay his life on it. But at the first sign of an approaching army, Beatrice would be locked up in Anglesea and out of his reach. He motioned Beatrice to precede him. “After you, my lady.”

      “Right.” Beatrice clapped her hands. “Let us go before we are found here in the morning, still arguing amongst ourselves. Come along.”

      Garrett grit his teeth. He was going to rid her of her habit of leading him around like a trained bear.

      Beatrice approached a leggy, chestnut mare with a white blaze on her nose. “Mount up.”

      Garrett froze. A hulking brute stood beside two other horses. One leg was cocked and its head hung, as if it might expire from boredom at any moment.

      Beatrice lithely pulled herself onto her mount.

      “Ah, Beatrice.” He grabbed hold of his belt and twisted. “I think it would be better if we went by foot.”

      Her soft laughter floated toward him. “Why should we walk, when we can ride?”

      “Do you not ride?” Tom looked down on him from atop a large horse, more plough beast than anything else.

      “I ride.” He would be damned before he admitted his weakness before these two. “Only, I have not had much opportunity to do so.”

      “Oh,” Beatrice gasped. “I did not think.” She sounded genuinely distressed. She swung her leg over the saddle, and slipped to the ground.

      Garrett’s chest burned as she walked toward him. He should know how to ride. He should have his own horse. It was his birthright. His mother had said so since he was old enough to understand. But serfs couldn’t afford horses, could they?

      He owed Sir Arthur for this, as well. When he’d approached his local baron for sponsorship, the man had seemed amenable. Garrett was, bastard or not, the son of a knight. Until Sir Arthur poured his poison in the man’s ear. Then, he’d become a joke to them.

      “I beg your pardon, Garrett.” Beatrice touched his arm.

      A fine tremor racked him as he fought the urge to shake her off.

      “I have been most thoughtless,” she said. “Tom, you must ride Badger. You are more accustomed to riding and you know him. Let Garrett take Parsley.”

      Parsley? It shook Garrett out of his bitterness. Parsley?

      Tom snorted. The smug dog crossed his arms over his saddle and smirked down at Garrett.

      Garrett bunched his fists. He wanted to smash Tom’s face. “Nay.” Garrett would rot in hell before he had them take pity on him and put him on a horse called Parsley. “This one will suit me well.”

      Beatrice’s teeth flashed as she smiled at him. “His name is Badger.” She stroked her hand down the horse’s forelock. “And he is a sweet boy. Aren’t you?”

      Garrett didn’t mind horses. He’d shooed his fair share of them, but he’d never ridden in his life.

      Beatrice remounted.

      Garrett studied how it was done. He would hack off his arm before he let either of them know he couldn’t ride. He approached the horse.

      It stared down its long nose at him.

      “Hello, Badger.” He put one foot in the stirrup.

      Badger shifted away.

      Garrett was forced to hop after it.

      Badger shook his head and whickered softly, as if the bloody thing was chuckling at him.

      Beatrice and the boy were looking at him. They were laughing at him.