His plan had changed and that was all that mattered. Beatrice rode hard on his tail as he led the way to London. And he was going to London. Straight to London with no more delays along the way. He would take Beatrice to her father. The man whose life he’d sworn to destroy. How would it feel to look on Sir Arthur again, after all these years? His recollection of the man was that of a small boy. Sir Arthur had seemed huge and terrible astride his great destrier as he shouted the orders for the castle to be set to the torch. Garrett could recall the play of the flames across his features as Sir Arthur watched it burn. Beatrice resembled her father. The strong, sharp lines of her face were barely softened by her mother’s beauty. Beatrice had a beauty of her own, both fierce and gentle at the same time. She didn’t deserve to pay for Sir Arthur’s sins. Sweet Jesu. He was in trouble so deep, he couldn’t see the end of it.
