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free, he would show him anger. Vengeance. Christ the cur didn’t know vengeance.
    “Do not make me call my men in. They are not the brightest and I am loath to start our partnership on such a painful note. Painful for you, that is.” A small smile played around his mouth. He was laughing at him.
    The smile near drove Garrett from his mind. He forced himself to still. He was doing naught but scraping his wrists raw and tearing his muscles. One day, he’d take great pleasure in wiping the smirk off the dog’s face. He could wait. Sir Arthur had taught him as much.
    “Good.” The stranger nodded. “You are mine now, Garrett. Because if not—” He took a step closer, within striking distance.
    Garrett breathed deeply.
    “I will bring the wrath of the goodly Sir Arthur on your head, once again. You barely survived the first time. You will not live through Arthur’s response to your filthy hands on his little girl.”
    Garrett clenched his teeth together. He would squeeze until his pretty face turned black and his eyes started from his head.
    “Now, we have that unpleasantness aside, I have a small task for you.”
    He would ram this one’s small task down his wrung throat.
    “Aye, I can guess what you would like to say, but this task will benefit both of us. You see, boy, I care nothing about your plans for Lady Beatrice. I will help you achieve your vengeance and you will help me regain what is mine.” He tucked his hands behind his back.
    He didn’t trust the man, but Garrett listened.
    “In a day or two the Lady Beatrice will come to you for help. You will aid her.” He shrugged. “You see, no big matter. All you need do is come to the aid of a lady. It will set you in excellent standing with Lady Beatrice. I am not an unreasonable man. I am giving you what you need to push your victim right into your ready arms.”
    “And if I choose to refuse your gift?”
    “You will not.” The man nodded and spun on his heel. “You would be stupid to do so.” He swung open the door.
    Cool night air rushed in. Garrett sucked it into his lungs.
    “Send someone to cut him down,” he said to his men. “But not yet. Let him hang there for a time. It might take some of the fire out of him.”
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    Beatrice would go to London.
    The idea struck her midway across the bailey, and she stopped dead in her tracks. She only narrowly missed being run over by a huge laundry basket.
    “I beg your pardon,” she said to the irate laundress.
    She headed for the stables to find Tom.
    It was a wild and improbable notion, but it stuck like a burr. Henry was wrong not to send for their father. Father would want to be here.
    She rode better and lighter in the saddle than any of Henry’s men. It wouldn’t take her as long as three days to reach London. If she pressed, she could make it in two. She knew London lay roughly to the north and a bit to the side. Roger had shown it to her once on one of their father’s maps.
    She would leave in secret. If her family, or Nurse, caught wind of what she planned, it would be the end of it.
    She must go.
    The more she thought on it, the clearer it became. Her mother would be well again when she saw her beloved husband. Calder wouldn’t dare to challenge her father and Faye and the boys would be safe. Sir Arthur would deal decisively with those ridiculous charges against him.
    It would be a thrilling adventure. Her, bent over the head of her mount, riding recklessly for London—a gleam of determination kindling in her eye, a slim figure, astride her chestnut mare, stopping for naught and letting nobody stand in her way.
    Excitement simmered beneath her skin.
    This must be how her father felt when he was on the cusp of one of his great battles. He must feel the call to greatness gathering like a tempest within him. Beatrice raised her chin and thrust her shoulders back. Beatrice of Anglesea, daughter of the mighty Sir Arthur, heard the call and would answer.
    She dodged a pile