Marked By Honor (Knights of Honor Book 2)
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Synopsis
Raynor nurses a broken heart as he returns to his home. He comes upon a scene of horror in the woods and rescues a beautiful woman who stirs strong emotions within him. When he learns that Lady Beatrice travels to her betrothed and is alone in the world, the code of chivalry that guides Raynor's life compels him to escort her so that she may marry her intended.
But Beatrice has told Raynor a white lie, trying to protect herself, even as she is drawn to the handsome knight. As their growing attraction turns to love, her dishonesty stands in the way. Will Beatrice admit to her deception and tell Raynor the truth—or will this chivalrous knight turn away from the women he desires?
Join Raynor and Beatrice as they travel toward their inevitable destination of love.
Each book in the Knights of Honor series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order.
Series Order:
Book #1 Word of Honor
Book #2 Marked by Honor
Book #3 Code of Honor
Book #4 Journey to Honor
Release date: February 10, 2017
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Print pages: 211
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Marked By Honor (Knights of Honor Book 2)
Alexa Aston
CHAPTER ONE
Southern England—1363
She couldn’t wait to ride again. She pulled free of her mother’s hand and raced across the meadow. Warm summer sun caressed her back. Blaze galloped through the green grass, carrying her father. She ran in his direction as fast as her legs would carry her.
He spotted her and smiled, turning the horse toward her. She knew what to do next. Standing as still as she could, she held her arms wide. The beating hooves came her way as she held her breath. Her father scooped her up in one swift motion, seating her in front of him. The scent of leather and horse swirled in the air as his arms encircled her. She loved being close to him. He was a bear of a man who became gentle as a lamb whenever near his daughter or wife.
“Go fast,” she demanded.
As always, the horse responded to her father’s wordless commands. Blaze took off full speed. She squealed in delight as the wind whipped her hair about. From up high, she could see the castle in the distance and all their surrounding land.
They flashed past her waving mother. The world became a blur of colors as the horse went faster and faster.
Her father’s laughter came from deep within his belly, filling the air around her. She joined in, delighted to spend this special time together. As he gazed down at her with adoration and love, she knew she was his special girl. Then Blaze stumbled.
Suddenly, she was sailing through the air like a bird. Her father gripped her tightly, but his expression scared her. He managed to twist them around before they hit the ground hard. Fear rippled through her as she hovered above her father, knowing he’d intentionally cushioned her fall. She wanted to cry but couldn’t. It was too hard to suck in a full breath. When she was finally able to breathe, her father’s strong arms fell away, releasing her. She rolled to her side and curled into a ball, trembling—frightened to look at him again.
A loud shriek sounded and her mother ran toward them. Falling to her knees, her mother ripped at her hair. Did her mother blame her for the accident? She pushed herself into a sitting position and glanced over at her father. His head rested in an unnatural position, but their eyes met momentarily and she could see the panic in them. Fear spiked inside her again. Couldn’t he get up? The light in his eyes faded.
She screamed.
***
Beatrice shot up in bed and bunched the bedcovers against her mouth. The thick material muffled the small scream that erupted from deep within her.
She fell back against the pillows. Every time she awakened from a nightmare, her body was drenched with sweat. She tried to relax, but the knot in her stomach ached. She forced herself to breathe slowly. Finally, the last remnants of horror began to fade.
She pushed away the thoughts of her father and the last time they were together. It did no good to think about him. He’d been gone ten and seven years, and her life had changed drastically.
Beatrice tossed aside the covers and swung her legs to the floor. They still shook, so she didn’t trust standing just yet. Instead, she focused on the day ahead. A day which would be like yesterday. And the one that came tomorrow.
Every day blended together, from tending to her mother’s needs to mending, washing, and cooking. If it was a good day, her mother wouldn’t be ill-tempered. She would listen quietly as Beatrice played her a few songs on the lute. Hopefully, her mother would manage to eat something without vomiting it back up and then nap for the remainder of the day. Only then would Beatrice get most of the household work done.
Once evening came, she looked forward to the time spent with her grandfather, who would share stories of the past about his own life and England’s glory. Often, they played several games of tables or read together from the Bible before their nightly prayers.
Beatrice wondered how different life might have been if her father had lived. Or if her mother had been able to have more children—especially an heir. Instead, she grew up in her grandfather’s rented manor house with no luxuries, isolated from children her own age. As the years passed, her mother lost the will to live and gradually became bedridden. Beatrice became responsible for keeping their small household running and she’d learned to make what little they had last. Life had gone on this way for many years, but now her grandfather’s health was in question.
She pushed that thought aside, not wanting to deal with it, and dressed for the day in her smock and kirtle. Beatrice unbound the straight, dark brown hair which fell to her waist and combed through it before braiding it again in a single plait. Now ready for the day, she stirred the embers of the kitchen fire and fed more wood into it before going outside to gather eggs from their two hens. After completing those tasks, she joined her grandfather for their morning devotional. The old man already knelt in prayer, his head bowed and gnarled hands wrapped around one another. She joined in the Latin that he’d taught her, the words flowing easily after so many years of practice. As she spoke, she stole a glance at him.
Over the years, his thick thatch of hair had turned white, but these days Beatrice worried about his trembling hands. Twice this week he’d lost his balance and stumbled into the furniture. Though she’d voiced her concerns, he shrugged them off, saying that she worried too much.
Their prayers came to a close. Beatrice rose and grasped his arm in order to help him stand. She released her hold on him once he seemed steady on his feet. He rewarded her with a sweet, knowing smile. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of her mother in that smile and it tugged at her heart.
“Shall we break our fast, Granddaughter?” He offered her his arm.
She slipped her hand through the crook and led them to the kitchen, glad that he allowed her to help support him. As he took a seat at the small wooden table, she pulled out the bread she had baked yesterday afternoon and retrieved some cool ale for them to drink.
“Have we any raspberry jam?” he asked hopefully.
“For you and your sweet tooth? Always.” Bringing the crock to the table, she watched him liberally smear his bread with the fruit preserve.
They ate in companionable silence, content in one another’s company. Beatrice noticed that the tremors seemed worse this morning as he brought the pewter cup to his mouth.
He caught her eye. “We need to talk, child.”
His serious tone made her wince. She worried the discussion would involve their lack of coin.
“We talk all the time, Grandfather.”
He squeezed her hand. “And I am happy for that. You have been a blessing to me in my old age, Beatrice, though I regret the circumstances that brought you to me. I appreciate you as my blood relative, but you’ve always been an interesting companion.” He paused. “But it’s time that we speak of important matters.”
Beatrice bit her lip. Somehow, she had a feeling she wouldn’t like what he wanted to share with her.
“I know you’ve been concerned for my health. I am willing to admit that I fear my time draws near.”
She protested. “But Grandfather, I—”
“Nay. Let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “We must face reality, Beatrice. I need to see you are cared for once I am gone. I have written to my oldest friend about the situation. You’ve heard me speak of Sir Henry Stollers many times. I hope to hear from him soon.”
His words aroused her curiosity. “What might Sir Henry have to do with me, Grandfather?”
He brushed her words aside. “Not now, child. We will speak of the matter once I’ve received his reply. I only wanted you to know that I am preparing for your future.” He rose gingerly from his seat. “Tolly and I are going to hunt this morning while you care for your mother. I hope we’ll find good meat to put on our table.” He brushed cool lips against her forehead and left the room.
Beatrice pondered his words. He’d spoken of Sir Henry often over the years and how they were the two Henrys who fostered together, inseparable as brothers while they trained as pages, then squires, and, finally, as knights of the realm. Beatrice wondered if her grandfather had asked Sir Henry to make her his ward once he passed.
Because they had no money, no betrothal had been arranged for her. Without a bride price, she’d resigned herself to a life without a husband or children. At two and twenty, she already felt old beyond measure.
Wearily, she washed their mugs and wiped the crumbs from the table. She ladled out some broth that had been warming while they ate and placed it in a bowl before cutting a slice of bread from the loaf and smoothing jam on it. Placing both items on a tray, she took it to her mother’s chamber.
Beatrice pushed open the door and brought the tray to the bed. Her mother grew thinner by the day and would probably eat only a few spoonsful of the broth, much less try any of the bread. Beatrice wished now that she hadn’t put the jam on it. The bread would only grow soggy—and she knew it would need to be eaten later. Nothing went to waste these days.
“Good morning, Mother.” She set the tray down and helped her mother from the bed and to the chamber pot. Arms and legs as thin as twigs poked out from her mother’s dressing gown. Beatrice tried not to dwell on her mother’s sad appearance as she got her back into the bed.
“I am so tired.”
At least Beatrice heard no bitterness in her mother’s voice and took that as a good sign. She plumped the pillows and brought her mother to a sitting position.
“Let me feed you some of this broth. I hope you’ll try to eat a few bites of the bread, too. Grandfather was especially fond of the jam this morning.”
Her mother glanced at the food with disinterest. “I’m not hungry.” She closed her eyes.
Should she insist that her mother eat? Beatrice knew it would cause cross words between them if she did, but how was her mother supposed to stay alive when she continually refused every meal?
Before an argument started, her mother started to cough violently. She gasped and wheezed as Beatrice thumped her on the back. As the hacking finally eased, Beatrice was able to feed her mother some of the broth, hoping it might help. Her mother fell back against her pillows in exhaustion.
Beatrice studied the shell of a woman before her. She remembered how breathtakingly beautiful her mother had once been when she was married to her father. Beatrice wished she possessed half of her mother’s beauty from the old days. She tenderly stroked her mother’s hand as memories flooded her.
“I miss your father.”
Startled by her words, Beatrice met her mother’s eyes. “I do, too.” Her throat constricted. Anytime she thought about him, those last few moments unfolded. He’d sacrificed himself to keep her safe. She could still see her mother drop to her knees next to his still body, weeping as if she would fill the seas with her tears.
“We loved each other so much. I . . . never . . . wanted to look at . . . another.”
Had suitors courted her mother after she became a young widow? Beatrice couldn’t remember that far into the past since she’d only turned five the day of his death.
She gently squeezed her mother’s hand. “I remember that he was a good man.” Tears stung her eyes as guilt laced her heart. She always believed she’d caused her father’s death and wished it had been she who had died instead. Then her mother would have lived in better health with the man she worshiped by her side. Mayhap they would have had other children—though her mother had lost two babes after Beatrice’s birth.
“Oh!” Her mother’s eyes widened as she looked across the room, then a smile graced her lips. “I am ready, my love,” she said softly.
Beatrice looked over her shoulder, wondering who her mother spoke to.
“Do you see him?” her mother rasped.
Before Beatrice could answer, her mother’s fingers tightened painfully around her hand. Then the pressure lessened and her mother’s hand fell to the bed as she sighed, not in pain—but in relief. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. The corners of her mouth turned up in a small, secret smile.
Beatrice placed her palm against her mother’s cheek. The life had gone from her body. She glanced around the room.
Had her mother actually seen the ghost of her husband?
At least she had been happy at the end. That was what mattered.
Though Beatrice believed that she’d prepared herself for the day her mother would finally pass away, hot tears still poured down her cheeks. She wept as she held her mother’s hand for some time, appreciating these last moments together. Sadly, her grandfather had lost his only child, and she had now lost both of her parents. All the death around her made her feel weary.
She heard a noise outside. Going to the small window, she saw Tolly approaching in the distance, driving the cart home from the morning’s hunt. She caught sight of a large stag in the back as the servant headed up the pathway. She returned to the bedside and kissed her mother’s cheek before she drew the covers over her.
Beatrice went to greet her grandfather, thinking about how to break the sad news to him. When she opened the front door to the manor house, he was nowhere in sight. She stepped out into the sunny day, shielding her eyes with her hand, and saw Tolly scrambling down from the driver’s seat.
“Oh, my lady. ‘Tis awful.” He ran to her, his red eyes brimming with tears. “Sir Henry felled the stag and was so proud. We dragged it to the cart. And then . . . he cried out. Grabbed at his chest and collapsed. I hurried home as fast as the horse would come. You’ve got to help him, my lady.”
Panic filled Beatrice as she raced to the back of the cart. Her grandfather was stretched out next to the stag. His ashen face made her think that he’d already died. She scrambled into the cart. Relived to feel a weak pulse in his neck, she closed her eyes for a moment.
The sound of her grandfather moving made her open them. He gave her a feeble smile. Beatrice decided not to tell him his daughter had passed. She saw no need to cause senseless heartache when he had so little time left.
“Wait for . . . Henry’s . . . reply. I . . . want . . . marry . . . not worry . . .”
“Hush,” she told him, stroking his wrinkled cheek. “Save your strength.” Beatrice pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Grandfather.” Tears rolled down her face.
“Strongbox . . .”
She rested her forehead against his, waiting for the dreaded moment he’d take his last breath. Just as she feared . . .
Beatrice raised her head. Her mother and grandfather had died within minutes of each other. It was more than she could take. She collapsed against his chest, sobs racking her body as grief swallowed her whole.
CHAPTER TWO
“My lady?”
Beatrice wearily looked up and saw Tolly standing in the doorway. She had just finished washing and dressing both bodies for burial while Tolly dug two side-by-side graves.
“Has the priest come?”
“No, my lady. He should be here soon. But a rider has arrived.”
“A rider? What does he want?” They rarely received guests, though they occasionally offered shelter to the few travelers that came their way. Since the manor house was set far from the main road, most passed by, not knowing it was there.
“The man has brought a missive from Sir Henry Stollers.” Tolly handed over a rolled parchment with a wax seal.
Sir Henry?
The conversation she’d had with her grandfather only this morning came to mind. This must be the message that he’d anticipated from his friend.
“Ask him to stay in case I need to send a reply. Give him something to eat and drink, Tolly. You know where everything is.”
“Aye, my lady. I’ll offer him our hospitality and see that his horse is watered and fed.”
“Thank you.”
Beatrice found her legs suddenly unsteady and took a seat in the wooden chair next to the bed where her grandfather’s body lay. She stared at the parchment resting in her lap, not wanting to open it. Too much had already changed in her life today. The contents of this missive could bring even further heartache and transformation.
She broke the seal and unrolled the scroll.
Henry–
I was delighted to hear from you. You’ve always been the brother of my heart. It has been far too many years since we have seen one another. I can shut my eyes and think back to our younger days, full of swordplay and flirting with pretty young maidens as we walked boldly through life, never backing down from any challenge. I think of you often, my friend, and those times we shared before our lives took such different directions.
Now, as we’ve grown old, I’ve missed you even more than I thought possible. Your suggestion of a visit would be a soothing balm to my weary bones. I look forward to meeting this beautiful, intelligent granddaughter of yours and hearing her sing and play the lute. It reminds me of when the two of us thought we could write poetry and set it to song, trying to entice willing women to share kisses with us in darkened alcoves. How I wish we were young again and could live those days over again.
I have a grandson, the only child of Guy, my remaining son. As I write this, Guy is in poor health. It’s hard to think that my last surviving child might pass before I do. But my grandson, Edwin, is fine company, handsome and well-spoken, though a bit arrogant at times. I find it one thing to be confident but quite another to be an overconfident braggart. Edwin is only ten and eight, so I hope he will mature before I see my last days since everything will be entrusted to him to continue the Stollers’ family legacy.
Edwin is to be married in a few months’ time. ‘Twould do my heart good to have you and Beatrice come for an extended stay at Brookhaven. You could help us welcome Edwin’s bride to our family and celebrate their marriage.
I hope you’ll make good on your promise and come to Brookhaven, Henry. I don’t think either of us will survive many more summers. I would consider it a pleasure to spend time with my oldest, dearest friend. Please come and stay as long as you can, for you and your granddaughter will always be welcome in my home.
I remain, as always, your loyal and faithful friend.
Henry
Beatrice read the message a second time. She smiled as she finished it, wishing that she and her grandfather could have traveled to Brookhaven together and spent time with Sir Henry.
And then she thought, Why not?
She believed that her grandfather had planned to ask Sir Henry to take her on as his ward. It would be impossible to remain at the manor house for long since she hadn’t the coin to pay rent. She could travel to Brookhaven and meet with her grandfather’s old friend. If he did become her guardian, Beatrice would repay him in many ways. She was quick with a needle and thread and cooked equally well. She could even entertain his guests with her lute playing. If Sir Henry provided her with a home, her worries could be laid to rest.
It concerned her that her grandfather would not be present to act as a bridge between them. If Sir Henry learned of his friend’s death, he might rescind his kind invitation. Beatrice knew if he did, she would have nowhere else to go.
Quickly, she pulled out parchment and ink to compose a reply to Sir Henry. She told him that she wrote on her grandfather’s behalf, as his hand had a troubling tremor. Since her grandfather had already sent a recent missive to the nobleman, Sir Henry wouldn’t be surprised by her words. Promising they would come to Brookhaven in the near future, she left their arrival date open and wrote that they would be there in time to attend the nuptial mass of Edwin Stollers and his bride. Beatrice gambled that once she arrived alone, Sir Henry would prove to be a gracious man and not turn her away.
After the ink had dried, she rolled the small parchment and melted wax to join the ends together before slipping her grandfather’s signet ring from his hand in order to seal the missive. She replaced the ring and left the room, making sure to close the door. She didn’t want the rider to see inside.
Beatrice hurried to the small kitchen where a lean man with kind eyes greeted her. As she expected, Tolly was nowhere in sight. The shy servant rarely spoke, so she knew he wouldn’t have lingered in the kitchen to gossip.
“I am Lady Beatrice Bordel. I hope Tolly saw to your needs?” she asked.
“He did, my lady, and he left to see my horse was taken care of, as well.”
She handed him the missive, which he tucked inside his cotehardie. “This is from my grandfather. He is resting now, but he asked that I be sure you were treated well before you returned to Sir Henry. May I pack any fresh bread or cheese for you as you make your way home?”
The man nodded. “I would appreciate that, my lady. I have a long ride ahead of me.”
His words caused her to ask, “Exactly how long does it take to reach Brookhaven? I’m curious because Sir Henry has asked Grandfather and me to come for an extended visit. He mentioned that we would see his grandson married if we arrived in time.”
“I managed to reach here in just over four days’ time, but that was by myself and on horseback, setting a brisk pace.”
Beatrice drew in a quick breath. Her heart fluttered nervously. “Oh, I can’t ride a horse. We’ll need to travel to the Stollers’ estate by cart.”
The courier thought a moment. “It will probably take you almost triple the time, my lady. Mayhap a bit more. The wedding is to take place in about three months, I believe, around the middle of November. I am sure it would please Sir Henry if you could manage to journey to Brookhaven by then. You could stay on through the Christmas holidays.” He laughed. “And probably longer. Brookhaven is far to the north and has much harsher weather than your fair southern clime. I’d advise that you stay on till spring to avoid returning on treacherous roads.”
“Thank you, sir. I will share this information with my grandfather.”
She heard the front door open and Tolly appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Your horse is ready.” He turned and left them.
“A man of few words,” the messenger noted.
“That describes Tolly quite well,” Beatrice said. “Give me a few minutes to gather things for you.”
“I’ll await you in the stable,” he replied.
She wrapped a chunk of cheese, a loaf of bread, and an entire roasted chicken that had been meant for the next few days’ meals. With the stag from this morning’s hunt, they would not be in need of meat for a while, so she could afford to be generous.
Beatrice took the food outside and wished the rider a safe journey before she returned to the house. It was time to open the strongbox and see exactly what they had for coin so she could decide her future. Before she reached the door, someone called out from the woods. Turning, she saw the priest making his way toward her.
She would see to her loved ones’ burial first—and then find out the state of her grandfather’s affairs.
***
Beatrice lifted the strongbox from its place in the corner of the room and carried it to the oak table. It was quite heavy, but she’d grown strong from hard work. Her hands lingered above the box. Hesitation would not change what she found inside it, so she inserted the key into the lock. Her grandfather had worn it on a chain around his neck and she had removed it before his burial yesterday.
She pulled out a few bits of parchment, probably letters that had meant something to him. One piece caught her eye when she saw two familiar names. Beatrice skimmed the contents of the page, which turned out to be the betrothal contract between her parents. She gasped at the bride price her grandfather had paid, a vast section of land. Vaguely, she remembered her mother mentioning once that the land had been sold by her father-in-law shortly after the wedding. The sale had added quite a bit of gold to the family coffers.
Setting the contract aside, she counted out twelve pieces of gold nestled at the bottom and stacked them on the table. It was more than she had expected. The money would give her a way to travel to Brookhaven in comfort and not arrive looking destitute. She found her mother’s pearl necklace and removed it with care. Beatrice held it up to the light and admired the sheen and size of each pearl. This has been her father’s wedding gift to her mother. She kissed the pearls reverently.
Beatrice remembered her parents laughing and dancing, embracing one another with deep love. The clarity of the memories hit her hard. She hadn’t known such happy memories existed. Though she appreciated them returning after seeing the necklace, it brought a bitter ache to her soul. Her parents had loved one another so completely.
Something she would never experience.
With trembling fingers, Beatrice opened the clasp and donned the jewelry. She would wear this piece always, in memory of them both. Though the necklace could be sold, she wouldn’t part with it for any sum. It was the last link to her parents and the past.
Beatrice glanced about the room and spied their few precious books on a shelf. She could take these with her on the journey to Brookhaven and hopefully find a place to sell them along the way. The furniture all belonged to the manor house. Beyond her few personal possessions, everything else—including the dishes, silver candlesticks, tapestries, and rugs—had come with the rental of the property. Everything she owned would easily fit into a small trunk for her trip north.
Her attention returned to the strongbox. She ran her fingers along the bottom and found the final item, a ruby ring. Tears welled in her eyes. This had been her mother’s wedding ring. Beatrice closed her eyes and could picture it on her mother’s hand. She opened her eyes and admired the rich color of the jewel set in gold. Her mother must have put it aside after her husband’s death, for Beatrice had not seen it in many years. Mayhap the ring had been too painful a reminder of the man her mother had loved and lost.
A sudden movement outside the window caught her eye. Beatrice raced to see who had arrived. It was as she feared.
Amfrid.
Quickly, she pocketed the ring and hurried to the table. She swept all but two of the gold coins from the table and placed them in her deep pocket, along with the key. Beatrice returned two coins and the papers to the chest and quickly took it to its place in the corner under a table. She folded the cloth that rested atop the table back over it, hiding the strongbox from view.
Amfrid knocked at the front door. She answered it since Tolly had gathered their remaining chickens and the goat to take to market to sell as they prepared to leave.
Beatrice took a calming breath and opened the door.
“Good afternoon—”
“I heard of Sir Henry’s death.” Amfrid pushed past her and strode into the room she had just vacated, having trouble fitting through the narrow doorway.
“Yes, both he and—”
“I am here to collect the rent due.” His piggish eyes swept across the room, assessing things.
“I know that Grandfather—”
“Where is the strongbox?” he demanded. “I need my monies immediately.”
She fought the bile rising in her throat. Beatrice had never been comfortable in this man’s presence, but her grandfather had always acted as a shield whenever Amfrid called upon them.
“I’ll fetch it.” Her legs felt like lead as she crossed the room and knelt where the strongbox sat. She lifted the cloth.
Amfrid hovered behind her. “I’ll get it.” He nudged her aside with a booted foot and dragged the strongbox from its place and carried it to the table.
She watched him lick his thick lips greedily as he stared at the strongbox.
“The key. You have it?”
“I do.” She eased it from her pocket because she didn’t want any of the hidden coins to jingle in her pocket. She handed it to Amfrid and he inserted it into the lock.
His eyes lit with anticipation when he threw back the lid. Beatrice thanked Christ Almighty that she’d had time to conceal most of the coins. If not, the landlord would’ve taken everything in the box and left her with nothing.
Amfrid tossed the papers aside, scattering them to the floor. He shoved both hands inside and felt around. A deep frown creased his brow. He removed the two gold coins she had placed inside the strongbox.
“This is everything?” he said in dismay. “Surely, he had more.”
Beatrice shook her head. “I cannot say. Grandfather never shared his business affairs with me. He only instructed me to be very careful with our household expenses.”
He held up a coin in each hand. “I can’t believe this is all that Sir Henry had to his name. It barely covers the rent that he owed.” Amfrid slipped the coins into his pocket and narrowed his eyes as he studied her. Then his face lit up. “Actually, now that I think upon it, Sir Henry owed me much more than the value of these gold coins.”
Suddenly, Beatrice knew what he looked at.
The pearl necklace.
Wild thoughts raced through her head. She would do or say anything to keep this link to her parents.
“I am in the process of closing things up at the manor house. Before his death, Grandfather was going to take me north. To Brookhaven. To . . . to . . . my betrothed,” she sputtered. The lie came out before it had fully formed in her thoughts.
Beatrice saw the greedy landlord mull over her words.
She rushed to assure him. “I am sure that if Grandfather left any outstanding debts, my betrothed will make good on them. Let me know how much should be rendered and I’ll make sure that you receive payment.”
Amfrid took a step toward her and placed his meaty hands upon her shoulders. His fingers tightened till Beatrice almost gasped in pain, but she remained perfectly still.
He brought his face close to hers. His rank breath made her want to flinch, but she stood strong.
“Tell your betrothed that I am owed forty, no, fifty pieces of gold.”
Her eyes widened. “Surely, you must be mistaken. That amount would cover years of rent.”
He glared at her. “I keep careful records. I am never mistaken when it comes to money. I’ll expect your intended to pay me. In full.” His eyes gleamed. “Until then, I will keep this lovely bit of jewelry to guarantee I receive my payment.” He fingered the pearls, the back of his hand resting upon the curve of her breast.
“Please,” she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears. “This necklace is the only thing of value that I possess. My father gave it to my mother and she passed it along to me. It has great sentimental value.”
Amfrid’s fingers returned to her shoulders and dug into her tender flesh. “Take the necklace off,” he ordered. He left no room for protest.
She did as he asked, reaching behind her neck and undoing the clasp. As she lowered the necklace, he snatched it from her. He inspected the pearls, looking quite pleased.
Seeing the prized possession in Amfrid’s hands caused something to break inside Beatrice. Without fear of the consequences, she plucked the necklace from his fingers.
“You can’t have this,” she boldly told the landlord. “I told you, my betrothed will make good on any of Grandfather’s debts.” She held the pearls close to her chest, unwilling to part with the only link she had to her mother.
Shock filled the man’s face. His gaze turned threatening. “Woman, give me those pearls now,” he warned, “or I’ll take them from you.”
Beatrice knew he would make good on his threat. There was nothing she could do. Reluctantly, she handed the necklace over to him. She crossed her arms protectively in front of her and took a step back. “Be sure you do not sell them,” she said, her tone icy. “I plan to pass these pearls along to my daughter one day.”
He snorted. “I won’t—as long as I receive payment from your husband-to-be.”
She had no way of ever retrieving the necklace. Even if she did, it was far more valuable than what he asked. She realized that, sooner or later, he would sell the necklace for a large profit. Especially when he did not receive word from her.
Amfrid pocketed the jewelry. “I bid you good day.” He crossed the room and exited the manor house.
Beatrice slumped to the floor. Angry tears spilled down her cheeks. She brushed them aside, hating that she was a weak woman. A man would never have stood for such behavior. He would have called Amfrid out for his lies, challenging him to fight.
She vowed that she would learn to fight. And somehow, some way, she would acquire the money Amfrid demanded. Beatrice would see that pearl necklace around her neck once more.
Even if it was her last act upon earth.
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