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it was time we had a talk.”
    “So talk.” Garrett’s head pounded in time with his pulse. He hoped like hell he wasn’t going to spew in front of this cur. “You have my attention.”
    The man’s eyes widened. “Wit?” He cocked his head and contemplated Garrett. “At a time like this? Do you think it apt?”
    “You tell me.”
    The man came closer and studied Garrett from head to toe. He might be one of those who liked other men.
    Jesu, if the sod put his hands on him, Garrett would tear the roof down about their heads.
    “Oh, cease.” The man waved at him. “I am only here to have a mannerly conversation.”
    It surprised a laugh out of Garrett. Jesu. If this was mannerly he was a pig’s ass.
    “At first, I was confused by your obvious interest in the Lady Beatrice.” The man leaned down and peered at a lump of steel.
    Garret went still. Was this Beatrice’s brother, the one not in London? The stranger looked too old, somewhere in his middle years. Garrett waited.
    “No hot denials?” He sauntered about the forge, lifting Lyman’s apron and peering into the pouch.
    “Would there be any purpose?” Garrett’s legs firmed and he stood. The man was shorter than he and slighter. If it weren’t for the three feet of steel at the whoreson’s side, Garrett was sure he could take him. Experience had taught him not to underestimate the speed or accuracy of that steel. It was all useless speculation whilst he hung here.
    “I was intrigued by you.” The stranger ran his hand over Lyman’s hammer. “Intrigued enough to do a bit of checking on you, young master Garrett. When I discovered you were, in fact, Wulfric’s bastard, the entire thing began to make sense. Let me take a guess as to your intent.” He hefted the weight of the hammer.
    Garrett’s neck prickled.
    “You are going to seduce Lady Beatrice as a sort of revenge on her father. Am I right?” He flicked his fingers. “I know I am right. Your mother became a whore and you make Beatrice one. It is a disappointingly unimaginative plan, but effective in its simplicity.”
    “What do you want from me?” Garrett snarled. The man was clever, he’d give him that much.
    “Nothing too onerous.” The stranger tucked his hands behind his back. “My purpose here is twofold. Firstly, I wanted you to know I see you, Garrett, son of a traitor and a whore. And secondly, to inform you we share a purpose. Neither of us holds any love for Sir Arthur. We could be of benefit to each other.”
    “Sod off.”
    The man’s eyes widened. “You really are your father’s son, are you not? You have the same innate charm.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I met your father, you know? It was not an experience I choose to repeat. And yet, here I am.”
    “I am not my father.” Hate boiled in his gut for the rutting pig who’d sired him.
    “You favor him. But you also have your mother’s features. You should thank God for that. She was a beautiful woman.” He waved. “Before the pox and the scars got to her, that is.”
    Hot rage seared through Garrett. He wanted to get his hands around this cur’s neck and squeeze. He heaved against the restraints. The man talked of his mother as if she were nothing. Garrett remembered every excruciating moment of his mother’s illness.
    “I see I have hit a raw spot.” The man strolled over to him.
    Garrett strained to get to him. The ropes cut into his wrists. He wanted to kill this sod.
    “You should keep your vengeance and your anger apart. The one makes the other much harder to achieve. Anger will not aid you. Neither will pulling on those restraints. I tied them myself.”
    Garrett lunged for him. Jesu, he needed to reach the sod and break him. Break every bone inside that prissy clothing. The cunt would choke on his own words with Garrett’s hands at this throat. No blade, but bare hands tightening the life from the sod.
    The man stepped back.
    Aye, the rutting whoreson should be afeared, when Garret got