The fierce cry sounded like a demon, or some other supernatural creature, wounded and in pain. Startled, Beatrice pulled sharply on the reins to halt Holly. As her mare sat back on her haunches, Beatrice felt her grip slipping and the next thing she knew, she'd gone head over heels onto a patch of damp, grassy ground.

For one pulse-pounding moment, she lay too stunned to move as the thundering hooves came closer. Then she saw shoulder-length red-brown hair, a familiar forest green surcoat, and the great dappled grey warhorse that belonged to Ranulf.

As she struggled to sit up, the castellan of Penterwell brought his horse to a snorting halt, threw his leg over the saddle and slipped off. He rushed toward her, his sword still clutched in his right hand as he fell on his knees beside her.

Still somewhat dizzy from her tumble, surprised by Ranulf's sudden arrival and taken aback by the obvious and sincere concern on his features, Beatrice blurted, "I hope you don't think I didn't care about Merrick making you castellan. I was delighted for you, although it's no more than you deserve. But nobody told me before the evening meal. I suppose all the servants thought I already knew, and Constance and Merrick probably expected you to tell me. Your didn't, so I didn't know you were going until you were already gone."

Ranulf sat back on his ankles, looking as dazed as if he'd tumbled from his horse, too.

Her heart thudding with a combination of excitement and dread, Beatrice decided that, since she had started, she might as well try to find out where she stood with Ranulf. She wondered if she should begin with their kiss, but couldn't bring herself to mention it. "I was afraid you were upset with me when you didn't say goodbye."

"I expected to see you in the morning," he replied with no hint of embarrassment or shame as he rose. "Unfortunately, you were still asleep and I thought you needed your rest. I would have said a better farewell when you retired from the hall if I had known it was the last I would see you before leaving Tregellas."

The last time...? It suddenly dawned on her that he might have been too drunk to remember their embrace or the words they'd said. If that was so, she should be both glad and relived. But she wasn't. She was dismayed and disappointed.

His expression inscrutable, Ranulf surveyed her from head to toe. "Are you hurt?"

She was, although not in the way he meant. It pained her to realize that what had been such a momentous occasion for her was not even a memory to him. "I fear I'm going to have a terrible bruise, and this cloak may never be free of stains, but I'm otherwise unharmed," she replied, managing not to sound as upset as she felt.

He reached down to help her to her feet, his strong, gloved hand grasping hers. Even that touch was enough to warm her blood and make her remember the heated passion of his kiss.

She must deal with the present and ignore the painful past.

Looking toward the group of soldiers drawing near, she said, "I trust those are men from your castle."

He followed her gaze and nodded. "Yes, and the undersheriff."

"Surely it isn't safe for you to get so far away from them if men of Penterwell are being murdered."

Ranulf's ruddy brows contracted. "Your own safety is something you should have considered, my lady, when you decided to ride about this unfamiliar countryside all by yourself."

"I'm not all by myself," she protested. "Two soldiers rode ahead with me."

"Unless they've become invisible, my lady," he said, still frowning, "you are most certainly alone."

Taken aback, she looked over her shoulder, expecting to see her escorts from Tregellas riding toward them.

"I wasn't alone," she amended apologetically. "Holly must be faster than their horses. I didn't realize she was so swift."

As she spoke, Ranulf's men and the undersheriff arrived and drew their horses to a halt.

Suddenly aware of how disheveled she must look, and worried that they might think she often rode about like some heedless hoyden, Beatrice blushed and stared at the rocky ground. She had so much wanted to arrive the way Constance would, as a lady of dignity and worthy of respect, the better to impress Ranulf. Instead, she'd shocked and angered him. It was obvious he was annoyed by the way he pressed his lips together, and by the appearance of that deep, vertical furrow between his brows.

"I was mistaken. The lady wasn't being chased," he announced to his men, and if she'd had any doubts that he was angry, the tone of his voice would have dispelled them.

He turned back to her. "Lady Beatrice, these are some of the men in the garrison of Penterwell. I believe you've met Myghal, the undersheriff of Penterwell."

Her pride demanded that she act as composed as Constance, or Ranulf himself, so she forced herself to smile at the slightly plump man she guessed was in his early twenties. "Yes, I have. Good day, Myghal."

The undersheriff nodded and mumbled a greeting.

"Myghal, Lady Beatrice is apparently going to be visiting Penterwell, along with Lord Merrick."

Beatrice shifted uneasily, wondering if she should tell Ranulf here and now that Merrick had not come with her party -- except that would surely only upset him more.

She was spared mentioning Merrick when Ranulf went on before she could speak. "Continue the patrol. You should check that cove again."

Myghal nodded, but his eyes were not on his overlord. They were on Beatrice. All the other men in the patrol were watching her, too.

This was not the first time men had looked at her, and while she told herself it must be because of her unkempt appearance, in her heart Beatrice knew their attention had another cause, even though she wasn't as beautiful and graceful as Constance. That sort of masculine scrutiny always made her uncomfortable, and so she did what she always did in such circumstances. She started to talk.

"I was so sorry to hear about Sir Frioc. I never met him, but he sounds a most genial sort of fellow, and the fact that Lord Merrick approved of him says much about his character. And I'm very sorry if I caused Sir Ranulf, or you, Myghal, or you other men any alarm. I assure you, I didn't mean to. I rode away from my party because I simply couldn't bear my maidservant's complaints another moment. You'd think I was dragging her on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. She ought to be quite comfortable in the cart on a veritable mound of cushions I prepared for her, and warm with all the blankets and shawls, as cozy as Cleopatra on her barge. But no, Maloren must moan and groan until I thought I'd go mad. So I said to Aeden, the sergeant-at-arms, that I was going to let Holly have a good gallop over the open moor. You haven't met Maloren or I dare say you'd understand. I love her dearly, but she can be most exasperating."

In spire of her heartfelt explanation, Ranulf looked more than a little exasperated himself. "My lady, I regret I must interrupt this charming justification for your astonishing behavior. However, these men have work to do."

Beatrice blushed and smiled again. "Of course they do. Please, don't let me detain you."

"It's been a pleasure to see you again, my lady," Myghal murmured as he tugged his forelock before he turned his horse and led the patrol toward the shore.

Ranulf watched his men leave, and as he did, he tried not to grind his teeth or otherwise betray his annoyance. But was the devil was Merrick thinking, bringing Beatrice along with him and then letting her get so far from their cortege?

Likely that was as she said: she'd ridden ahead of the guards Merrick had assigned her -- although why wasn't Merrick himself watching her? Surely as her guardian, he should be taking more care...unless he was as tired of her cheerful chatter as she'd been of Maloren's complaints.

Even so, that wouldn't explain why Merrick had brought her to Penterwell in the first place, especially when there was the mystery of Gawan's murder to solve. She could be of no help there, and they certainly didn't need the distraction of Bea's bubbly, inquisitive presence when they were trying to find answers from the recalcitrant villagers.

As for the reaction of Myghal and his men, he shouldn't be the least surprised by the attention Bea received. She was a beautiful young woman, even more beautiful and graceful and charming than her cousin, and certainly more vivacious. Myghal was a young, unmarried man -- a young, unmarried commoner who should harbor no hopes of anything from Bea save a polite smile, no matter how friendly she was. She was friendly to everyone, rich and poor alike. A smile from her didn't necessarily mean anything significant --

"I really am sorry for causing any distress to you or your men," Bea said. "You know Maloren, though. I thought I'd go mad if I had to listen to her for the rest of the journey."

She smiled apologetically, looking up at Ranulf with the innocence of a novice. "You came riding to my rescue just like Lancelot."

God help him, why did she have to look at him like that? Why couldn't he stay angry with her? Then he might be able to ignore his wayward desire.

"I saw a woman riding as if her life was in danger, so naturally I came to her aid," he replied, doing his best to control his tumultuous emtions as he marched to her mare and grabbed the dangling reins.

"Naturally," she said, following him like an eager puppy. "You are a most chivalrous knight."

"Whether these lands are safe or not, it wasn't wise to get so far ahead of your party. I'm surprised Merrick was so remiss."

"Oh, but he wasn't," Beatrice hastened to reply. "Merrick had nothing to do with it."

Ranulf made no secret of his confusion. "What do you mean? As leader of your party and your guardian --"

"He's not. Well, he's still my guardian," she amended, "but Merrick isn't with the cortege. He can't leave Tregellas. Indeed, he can't ride at all, or even walk because of what happened the night little Peder was born."

Ranulf stared at her as if she'd just spoken in tongues. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. "Merrick merely sprained his ankle."

"I know Merrick didn't think he'd done anything serious, but the apothecary discovered that he'd broken his leg, so its a good thing Constance insisted on sending for someone more learned, isn't it? Fortunately, it's a clean break, so it shouldn't leave Merrick crippled, provided he stays off it for several more days, or so the apothecary says, and he seems a wise fellow, so I think we can take comfort in his opinion."

Ranulf felt the need to sit, but as there was no chair, bench or stool nearby, he didn't. "Who is in charge of your party, then?"

She beamed a smile. "Well, I suppose I am, although Aeden's in command of the soldiers, and I can hardly tell the masons what to do. That's for you to decide."

"I don't believe it," Ranulf muttered.

Bea's smile died. "I wouldn't lie about a thing like that. In fact, I don't generally lie about anything, unless it's how a gown looks or something unimportant." She crossed her arms beneath her perfect breasts. "I must say I'm offended you would accuse me of making up a story like that."

She certainly sounded offended, so what she'd said was almost certainly true. Merrick had broken his leg and wasn't coming. But she had, and without a proper chaperon or escort, just some soldiers and two masons, all of considerably lower rank.

Had Merrick lost his mind? What, in the name of the saints, was Bea supposed to do at Penterwell, except aggravate and distract him?

And tempt you, too, a lustful little voice prompted in the back of his mind.

"That doesn't explain why Merrick sent you here," Ranulf said brusquely, his anger now partly directed at himself.

"Well, naturally when Merrick received your letter, he was concerned – and Constance, too – about the conditions at Penterwell. So was I, so I've come to oversee your household the way the masons will oversee the repairs to the walls. It sounds as if you could use some assistance with the servants, at the very least. And I've brought food and wine, too."

Ranulf drew his broadsword and took a moment to calm himself by swinging it from side to side, as if decapitating the grass.

"I know the news about Merrick must come as a shock," Bea went on, "but I thought you might be a little glad to see me."

"Coming here without Merrick or any other relative was not wise and I'm surprised Merrick and Constance allowed it," he said as he sheathed his sword.

Bea's bright blue eyes sparkled with what looked remarkably like defiance. "Surely you're not telling me I need to be protected from you?" she asked. "Are you implying you would forswear your oath of loyalty and friendship to my cousin's husband and ravish me? Or are you suggesting I'll throw myself into your arms because you're irresistible?"

He tried to ignore the wondrous vision of Bea rushing into his open arms. "No, of course not," he growled.

"Then why should I not come here when you need help, and the sort a woman can best provide?"

Had she no idea how that sounded? The notions it gave a man, especially a lonely one, and even if he didn't think her the most beautiful woman he'd ever met? "Because other people will talk and make assumptions that could call your honor into question."

She drew herself up to her full height, which was about even with his nose. "I appreciate your concern for my reputation, Sir Ranulf, but I point out, I have little honor to lose. My father was a traitor, and executed." Her eyes flashed with a stern determination that surprised him, for Bea was usually the most gentle and softhearted of women. "If other people wish to see a sin where none exists, they are not worthy of my acquaintance."

"How you intend to get a husband if--?"

"If a man thinks me a loose woman, why would I care if he wants to marry me or not?" she demanded. "And surely if neither Constance or Merrick object to my coming here, you shouldn't. They are legally obligated to protect me, not you."

"Which is why they never should have let you come here as you have."

Her eyes grew cold, like blue ice, and her tone just as frosty. "Very well, Sir Ranulf, as you see fit to question my guardians' decision and wish to decline my assistance, I shall gladly return to Tregellas."