At The Warrior's Mercy. Denise Lynn

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      ‘Earlier outside with nothing but the moon as a witness you were not afraid. But here, with an inn full of people who would hear any scream for help, you are suddenly overcome with fear? Where is the sense in that?’

      Beatrice shrugged a shoulder. How was she supposed to make enough sense of her emotions to be able to explain them to him when she could barely understand them herself? So much had happened this day that her thoughts and senses were all awhirl with confusion.

      Finally, knowing he waited for an answer, she nodded towards the barred door. ‘Outside I had somewhere to run if needed. In here I am trapped by solid walls and a door I could not unbar no matter how hard I tried.’

      She then patted the lumpy mattress beneath her. ‘And it is obvious that the place to do the deed if you chose is at hand.’

      His bark of laughter surprised her. To her relief he remained seated on the small bench.

      ‘You truly are an innocent. Trust me when I tell you that while a bed might be more comfortable for you, I could just as easily make do with the ground.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Or press your back against a tree, lift your gown and do the deed, as you call it, standing up.’

      His eyes shimmered and a crooked half-smile curved his lips as if the thought of doing just what he’d described pleased him.

      Unable to swallow or catch her breath, Beatrice tore her gaze from his and again stared down at her lap. The tremors racing along her spine now had nothing to do with fear or cold and her imaginative thoughts were making her much warmer than had the heavy cloak.

      His deep, soft chuckle before he fell blessedly silent didn’t help at all. It only made her bite her lower lip to hold back a gasp at the heat now burning her cheeks.

      It took more than a few moments, but finally her breathing returned to normal and she noticed the voices below filtering up through the floor. Charles was still below, his voice was loud enough to be heard clearly as he demanded she come out of hiding. A demand that would go unmet.

      ‘Why is he so intent on finding you?’

      She jumped at the sudden break in the quiet of this room. Uncertain how to respond, she remained silent.

      ‘You didn’t lie to me, did you? You aren’t a runaway wife?’

      ‘No, I did not lie. Thankfully, I am not his wife. But I could have been.’

      Beatrice frowned. Why had she added that last bit? Maybe the gentleness of the stranger’s gravelly voice had lulled her into giving away information best left unspoken.

      ‘Perhaps now is the time to discover your story. How is it you could have been, but aren’t? Is he your betrothed?’

      She shifted on the bed, so she could look at him, then shook her head. ‘My parents wouldn’t permit it.’

      ‘Mayhap they had their reasons?’

      ‘I am certain now that they did.’ She wished that they had shared their reasons with her, instead of just insisting he was not suitable.

      ‘Ah, but yet here you are without any chaperon at hand, being chased by him. Did he kidnap you and somehow you escaped?’

      ‘It was no kidnapping.’

      ‘So you went with him willingly and when he tried to take what was not his, you ran.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Obviously you’d known this man for a while.’

      ‘Nearly three years.’

      ‘I suppose you thought that having conversed with him in the company of others made you believe you could trust him in private.’

      She felt the flush rush up her neck to cover her face.

      His soft laugh drew her attention, prompting her to ask, ‘What do you find so amusing?’

      ‘You,’ he answered simply.

      ‘Why me?’ As far as Beatrice was aware, she’d done nothing anyone could consider amusing in the least. Nothing about this day had been amusing.

      ‘I trust you do not gamble, for if you did, your face would give you away.’

      What an odd thing to say. ‘How so?’

      ‘Your flushed cheeks tell me plainly that you and your would-be suitor were not always chaperoned.’

      To her horror, her cheeks flamed again. ‘That is none of your concern.’

      ‘Concern is not my intent. I thought only to point out your inability to lie.’

      ‘Since I was not raised to do so, then perhaps my lack of skill is a good thing.’

      ‘Certainly. At least until you find the need to do so.’

      ‘Hopefully, I will never find myself in dire enough straits where I need to lie.’

      He nodded, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch in what she assumed would be another laugh at her expense.

      However, he didn’t laugh, or even smile, instead he said, ‘I would guess it is now your intention to return to the safety of your family.’

      Since he was basically stating the obvious, she only nodded in reply.

      ‘And when they ask where you’ve been without the oversight and guidance of your lady’s maid or at the very least a guard, you’ll tell them what? That you slipped away under the cover of darkness with your lover?’

      Beatrice closed her eyes. He had a point. Since everything had gone awry so suddenly, leaving her more worried about her safety, she’d given no thought to tomorrow or the days after, let alone the day she’d arrive at Warehaven.

      She most certainly wasn’t going to tell her parents that she’d run away from Montreau with Charles. With her luck they would force the two of them to wed just to save her reputation. She’d rather die than become Charles’s wife.

      When she didn’t respond, he suggested, ‘You will lie to save face.’

      She twisted the edges of her once-fine sleeve in her hand. ‘Yes, you are correct. I will lie to them. But not to save face.’

      ‘Oh? Then why? Surely not to save the man who so obviously caused you such distress that you ran away in the middle of the night.’

      ‘No!’ she nearly shouted. She swallowed, hoping to soften her tone before adding, ‘He can rot in Hades for all I care.’

      At that comment, the man did laugh and, to her amazement, Beatrice found that she rather liked the sound of his mirth. It was deep and full, an honest laugh that seemed unforced.

      ‘Well, at least you hold no misguided hope that he’ll change his underhanded ways.’

      ‘That is not likely to happen.’

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