Hers to Desire. Margaret Moore
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quite prepared to beg, for Ranulf’s sake, as her gaze flew from Constance to Merrick and back again. “Please, let me do this!”
A grim-faced Merrick shook his head. “No.”
Constance had once said her husband found it difficult to refuse a woman’s pleas, but he seemed to be finding it very easy at the moment. “That’s a fine way to repay your friend, letting him suffer when there’s someone at hand who can help him,” Beatrice declared as she scrambled to her feet.
Despite both her petitions and defiance, the expression on the face of the lord of Tregellas remained unchanged. “You cannot go to Penterwell. You’re neither married nor betrothed. It wouldn’t be proper, and as your guardian—”
“No one would dare to say anything if you sent me.”
“Not to us,” Merrick replied. “But it might turn away some men who would consider marrying you.”
“If any man thinks so little of me, I wouldn’t want him anyway,” she retorted. “Besides, everyone knows Ranulf is an honorable knight, or he wouldn’t be your friend or castellan. Surely you don’t think I need fear for my honor if I go to his aid? That he’ll suddenly go mad and forget your friendship and the oath of loyalty he swore to you and attack me?”
“Beatrice,” Constance said soothingly as her son suckled at her breast. “Merrick’s only thinking of your reputation.”
“My father has already destroyed my family’s name,” Beatrice returned. “As for Ranulf’s reputation, anyone who knows him knows he would never abuse your trust, or me.”
“This isn’t a matter of trust, Beatrice,” Constance said softly. “Of course we trust him, and you.”
Calmer in the face of Constance’s placating tone and gentle eyes, Beatrice spread her hands wide. “Then why not let me go?”
Constance looked at her husband. “I agree the situation must be dire, or Ranulf wouldn’t say anything about it. And I certainly cannot go. Neither can you.”
“Who else could you send to set the household to rights?” Beatrice pressed, beginning to hope Constance was coming around to her point of view. “Demelza? Another of the servants? How much authority would they wield over the servants of Penterwell?”
“We could always send Maloren with Beatrice, along with the masons, as he asks,” Constance mused aloud. “Ranulf can tell the masons what needs to be done as well as you, my love, and God knows he’s not extravagant.
“Beatrice is also right about the servants. It will likely take a lady to get them back in order.
“As for any possible scandal, Ranulf is an honorable knight and the trusted friend of the lord of Tregellas. Any person of intelligence would realize that Ranulf would risk your enmity by taking advantage of your ward, and Ranulf is certainly no fool.” She regarded her husband gravely. “Besides, I don’t see any alternative, do you?”
Merrick shifted again and didn’t answer. Beatrice was about to state her case once more when he abruptly held up his hand to silence her. “Oh, very well. You may go with the masons—for three days, and no more. And Maloren must go with you.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Beatrice cried, flinging her arms around the lord of Tregellas’s neck for a brief but fervent hug before she ran to the door. “I’ll go and tell Maloren. She hates traveling and she’s likely going to complain the whole time, but I don’t care. We simply must save Ranulf!”
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