Sweet Bea by Sarah Hegger Read Free Book Online

of horse dung as she entered the stables. The light was dim inside and she blinked to clear her vision. The air was heavy with the mixed smells of hay and horse. Tom worked toward the far end.
    All her family had received their call and answered it. Now it was her turn. Nurse had been right all along. She would find her way. Her path spread before her, glimmering and beckoning at her to place her feet on it and run.
    She nodded to a young stable boy. The folk at Anglesea would tell this around the hearth for winters to come. How, when all else had failed and the family teetered on the precipice of complete and utter doom, Beatrice strode forward. She’d be called Beatrice the Bold and minstrels would take up her tale. Or, mayhap, Beatrice the Brave. It had an excellent ring to it. She liked it. Beatrice the Brave.
    “You do not know where London is.” Tom drove his pitchfork into the loose pile of feed. Streamers of hay glittered in his wake as he crossed to a feed trough and filled it.
    This was important and Tom didn’t even stop his work long enough to look. He was exactly like his mother sometimes.
    Beatrice wanted to box his ears. “I will ask someone. London is huge. I can’t miss it.”
    Tom leaned on his pitchfork and eyed her askance from beneath his shock of wheaten hair.
    It wasn’t Tom’s fault. His only ambition lay in owning land to grow things. He didn’t have the blood of warriors thundering through his veins. He didn’t hear the call.
    “You cannot merely ask someone.” Tom leant the fork up against the stall and grabbed a water bucket. “These are dangerous times. You will be lucky if you reach Bath.”
    “Is Bath on the way to London?” Beatrice leapt out of his way as he strode past her.
    “Do not ask me. I do not know where London is either. What do you think is going to happen to a young girl, all alone, asking for directions to London?” He plunged his bucket into the water trough. His rough tunic pulled tight across his broad back.
    He had a point.
    Tom gave the horse water. He leant his shoulder into the horse’s and spoke softly to the animal as it moved for him.
    The horse whickered and nudged him with its nose.
    Tom had a way with animals. His hands were gentle as he stroked its neck.
    “I shall disguise myself as a boy.” She’d heard a story to that effect. It would make her tale all the better for the telling. Beatrice the Brave, eschewing her womanly garb to see justice brought to her people. It would also make riding astride much easier.
    “You are going to cut your hair?” Tom peered at her over the horse’s back. He was so tall now he stood shoulder to shoulder with one of her father’s destriers.
    Beatrice touched the smooth fall of her hair. Her hair was her secret conceit, one of her few claims to beauty. Even Faye didn’t have hair quite as thick or silky as hers.
    Tom’s smug expression said he knew her thoughts. He’d spoken of her hair on purpose. He grabbed his pitchfork and moved to the next stall.
    “I shall dress as a boy and tuck my hair in a cap.” Beatrice followed him, raising her gown over the hay scattered on the floor.
    “You are daft. And I have a good mind to tell my mother.”
    “Nay.” Beatrice’s stomach dropped. Everything would be ruined.
    “Forget this barmy idea.” Tom shook his head and speared the loose hay.
    “It is not barmy. My family is in trouble and I am going to save them.”
    “You are merely a girl.”
    The blood rushed to her head in a throbbing, red haze. If she were less of lady, she would kick Tom for saying that. “I may be a girl, but I am girl enough to know when I must rise to the rescue.”
    Tom ruined her speech with a snort. He filled the second trough and went for more water.
    If he would just stop long enough to hear her out.
    The horse snorted and sidled as Tom let himself into the stall. He disappeared behind the animal.
    Beatrice stamped her foot. “If you tell your mother, I shall tell her about you