Reclaimed By The Knight

He didn’t want this.

Nicholas held his horse steady as Louve settled his. Neither man lowered his gaze. When Louve dismounted, so did he. For just that time Nicholas let Louve gawk at his injury.

He studied Louve as well, and noticed minor changes. His dark hair was longer, and he had more strength to him. But the irreverent look in his eyes, the way he held himself as if the world was a joke—that was painfully familiar.

Another moment passed and then Louve’s lips pursed and he whistled low. ‘You dumb bastard. You’ve returned but you’ve forgotten your eye.’

Nicholas was a liar. He was damned glad to see Louve—but that didn’t mean he liked it. Whatever friendship they had once shared had been battered away.

But what to do about it? Strike him down? Shove a sword through his guts? Nothing. He would do nothing right now. The disquiet coursing through him over coming here was gone, only to be replaced by a burning frustration at the injustice of liars and thieves.

‘Well, I can’t go back for it,’ Nicholas said, gauging this man’s reactions. Louve wasn’t Roger, or Matilda, but still he’d played his part. Something would have to be done.

‘I suppose we’ll have to take you as you are?’ Louve asked.

And there was the crux. He was the lord of this manor, and he’d been sending coin to make Mei Solis prosperous again. But he’d given the control of his home to two men and a woman. Despite the law, this man did have a say as to whether he could return. Which was one of the reasons why Nicholas had not written to inform anyone of his intended homecoming.

When Nicholas shrugged, Louve took the steps necessary to pound his aching back and shake him—briefly and far too roughly.

Unexpected. Unwanted. Nicholas stepped away from his touch.

Louve’s easy manner fell, and he gathered his horse’s reins.

Refusing to ease Louve’s feelings, Nicholas grabbed his horse’s reins and stepped in beside him.

‘Could you look any worse?’

A joke. Did Louve think to make light talk, as if six years didn’t separate them? What was his game?

‘I asked the bastard to take the other eye, but he couldn’t because I’d killed him.’

Louve raised one brow. ‘So you decided to wear some pauper’s unwashed clothes to finish the look instead?’

Wearing a rich man’s clothes would get him killed. ‘I’ve travelled far.’

‘Alone?’ Louve eyed the other tethered horses, which carried large satchels.

Nicholas knew Louve would guess there was coin in there, and he was right.

‘Just since London. Are we walking to the manor?’ It was miles yet, and he’d ridden hard since London.

‘If we ride we’ll be there in a few minutes. Walking gives us time to talk.’

A conversation amongst friends?

A part of him wanted to toss Louve to the ground and demand to know why he hadn’t stopped Matilda’s marriage. Why he hadn’t at least written to him, warn him. No, it was too soon. He would make them reveal their game first, before he revealed his.

‘I’ve written you letters almost every month for the last six years.’

‘True, but I notice the lack of any letter informing us of your return. We’ll probably never hear the end of it from Cook. But I have to admit the coin you sent was convenient.’

‘Was it?’

He was too far away to see the village or his home. Mei Solis was an open field manor. In the centre of his land was the manor itself, with a small courtyard and some buildings for his own private use, such as his stables. A simple gate kept his property separate from the village and from the tenants that encircled the manor for their own protection. Surrounding everything were fields for livestock and crops. All he could see so far was this road, which was narrow and rough, and useless fallow fields.

It stung to return here and be so brutally reminded of his failed past. He might have lost his eye, but while he’d been gone he’d gained balance, and a sense of worth as a mercenary. He’d gained friends—and wealth as well. And yet he was not even a furrow’s length on his land and the weight of his past burdens cloaked him again.

‘Your coin was quite handy. I’d be pleased to show you how,’ Louve said. ‘You are staying, I presume?’

Was Louve’s game to pretend to be friends? Maybe he thought to put Nicholas at ease so he would return to his mercenary life and leave them alone.

A dark, insidious thought came. Matilda had married Roger, but maybe she’d had Louve as well. What did he know? He’d thought she was true to him, as he had been to her. But her marrying Roger had proved she was as faithless as his stepmother had been. And Roger’s and Louve’s lack of correspondence depicted men without honour. All were without honour.

As such, if he did nothing else he would put no one at ease and tell nothing of his intentions. ‘Since I can barely feel my legs, I will stay until they can carry me again.’

Louve shot his gaze over to him, but Nicholas pretended not to see it.

‘I suppose that’s more information than we’ve had in the past,’ Louve said, after several more moments.

‘Not good enough?’ Nicholas said.

‘You’re as surly as a wolf in winter, but I understand why.’

So he should, thought Nicholas.

‘She’s out in the fields now,’ Louve remarked.

She. Matilda. It was late harvest time, and he could envisage her there. Her red-gold hair shining brighter than any crop. Her hazel eyes lit with more colours than a field of green. Matilda—who at one point in his life had meant everything to him, who had been his very soul.

Then she had broken her promise to him and betrayed him in the cruellest of manners. He’d returned to Mei Solis to fix his past. He intended to meet it head-on and bury it.

But he kept his head turned away from Louve, though he could feel his former friend’s gaze. ‘Let’s take the horses to the manor,’ Nicholas said.

* * *

Matilda should have heard their voices or the extra commotion in the yard. She should have heard his voice. But she couldn’t seem to hear anything through the roaring in her head. Not even her own thoughts were clear to her.

She realised that Bess, who walked beside her, hadn’t been as affected as her. Bess had understood that Nicholas was within a few paces on their path and hadn’t steered them in another direction.

But it was too late for her, because Nicholas was suddenly there before her. Already handing his reins to a boy, with whom he shared a few words.

He faced away from her, and his back afforded her a few moments to watch him while he exchanged greetings and soothed one of his horses, who stamped his hooves as the satchels were removed.

Nicholas. How had she forgotten how formidable he was? His brown hair was much longer, and tied back in a queue which emphasised his shoulders, so much broader than when he’d left six years ago. From being a mercenary; from swinging his sword and killing.

Such a dangerous and unscrupulous profession had given him the strength she saw in his arms, in the tapering of his waist to the defined legs that had walked the many lands he’d once written to her about.

The horses he’d chosen were huge, but they didn’t disguise what a giant of a man he was. How had she forgotten the immensity of him?

Bess went still at her side, neither pushing her forward nor turning her away, while others offered shouts and greetings. Not all the voices held joy. There was a tenor of dismay that she couldn’t understand.

Surely sounds of distress had no meaning when the prodigal lord of the manor had returned. Now was a time for joy and much celebration. If Nicholas had returned, it meant he’d fulfilled his vow to his people. It meant he had enough funds to make Mei Solis all he’d envisaged and promised.

Or perhaps he had simply returned without coin. How was she to know? He had once been so honourable in his vows...and then he had broken the vow he’d made to her. To make her his wife.

He turned then, deliberately, as if her accusations had struck his back. When he fully faced her, even Bess’s hand at her elbow didn’t steady her.

She swallowed a gasp as she noticed his left eye was covered by a brown leather patch. But otherwise, how could she have forgotten how he looked? The angles of his jaw softened only by the fullness of his lower lip. The broadness of the nose he’d boasted no one could ever break? How his steady brown gaze had riveted her?

She remembered their kisses. The way he’d smelled and felt when he’d held her. And his gaze...the way he’d looked at her. But she’d forgotten the feeling of breathlessness from just his look. It was this that had captured her when they’d been only friends. It was his gaze that had made him see into her soul and she into his as they fell in love.

What did he see in her right now? Almost eight months pregnant, her skirts saturated with mud, wheat stuck in her hair. Shock in her eyes, trembling in her limbs, and her breath coming short.

Shorter yet as she comprehended why her heart pounded so desperately until her breath wouldn’t come. Why her nerves jarred her inside as if trying to wake her.

Nicholas had a scar across his face. A thin slice that went from his left temple across his left eye, and down his cheek. Then there was a gap at his neck, before a broader gash revealed itself on his collarbone and disappeared under his loose tunic. He’d tried to cover his eye with brown leather, but she could see it. As if in a nightmare, she could see all of it.

All these years she’d imagined the swing of a sword gutting him. Imagined him spilling his life’s blood in a field too far away for her to reach him. He was here—alive—but he had lost his eye. What he must have suffered...

And she hadn’t known. He’d never told her. Hot rage roared through her, until her first and only instinct was to hit and rail at him and never stop. How could he have done this to himself? How could he have done this to her?

His brows drew in and his mouth grew fierce. His gaze, as open as hers must have been, grew cold. What did he see in her eyes?

Too much. She had purposely forgotten how he could see too much. How he knew her. And she’d thought she’d known him. Until the day he’d left Mei Solis. Until the moment he’d stopped writing to her and forgotten her completely.

She’d held on until her mother’s death, when she had realised how fleeting life was and that she should not wait a moment longer. So she’d agreed to marry Roger, and now she carried their baby. A daughter who was now more important than ever.

She briefly closed her eyes to Nicholas. Heard the horses being led away and Louve’s chatter regarding the weather. She focused on Bess’s clenching grip on her elbow, on the calls of children and animals, the smell of freshly cut wheat.

She was here on Mei Solis, the home that had remained her home because she had stayed, and she drew strength from it.

Nicholas was standing, waiting. It seemed the whole courtyard was waiting.

For her to throw something at him? To yell? To burst into hysterics or give a cutting remark because she was a woman scorned?

In their youth she had been mischievous and he reckless. They’d appeared a perfect match in every way. They’d shown no caution in their courtship because they’d seen no need to. And then he’d left because of his restlessness and his ideas of grandeur, even as she had begged for him to stay.

Six years. And now not only her but the entire courtyard held its breath for this reunion.

But she wouldn’t rail or hit out—though that had been her first response. Between that breath and now she had found strength from her home. She had purposely changed herself over these last few years and was no longer the woman he had left. No longer the girl he’d grown up with, when they had been friends.

Friends. They had been friends first—before they’d held hands, kissed and promised to marry each other. Before she’d given him her heart and almost her body. Before he’d left and broken her trust.

Friends since childhood. And he had meant the world to her as they’d run and raced and jumped and laughed.

If that boy stood before her now, what would she do?

Striding over, she lifted herself on her toes and gave him a brief embrace before stepping back beside Bess. ‘Welcome home, Nicholas,’ she said, pleased that her voice did not break on his name. That her gaze stayed steady with his. ‘Are you hungry?’

He stood as still as the manor behind him, while she placed her hands on her belly as if to comfort her baby. Only she knew the truth of who truly needed comfort.

His gaze took in her movement and held there for only a moment. Her gown was heavy, and hid most of her pregnancy, but the protective cupping of her hands and their weight against her gown showed to anyone how far along she was.

‘It’s wonderful to be here again,’ he said, just as evenly. ‘And I am famished. But even I know this isn’t the time for food, and I don’t wish to inconvenience anyone.’

She only just held back the shudder that went through her. Maybe it wasn’t his gaze that had made her fall for him, but the deep roundness of his voice. The rich tone was fitting for a man of his stature, but somehow it had always made him seem more of a giant among men.

But the sound of his voice was something he had no control over. What he said, however, he did. Cold. Formal. As if they were strangers and he was merely visiting.

A slice of anger scored through her at the injustice of his carefully crafted words. Did he think he was putting her in her place? That she was merely someone from his past...perhaps only a servant?

She was more than angered now, but she kept it in check. She wasn’t the same Matilda he had so carelessly thrown away.

Rising above her emotions, she said, ‘You’ve returned to your home. It’s more than time for food—it’s time for a feast.’

Chapter Three

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hear or see. Whatever words he’d uttered had come from somewhere else, because he couldn’t recall what he’d said.

Matilda was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. The autumn light played warmly against the havoc of gold in her hair. The sun’s glow gleamed a beam across her eyes so that they showed more green than brown, and made shadows of her lashes across her reddened cheeks.

Stunned at seeing her, though it was ridiculous to be so surprised, his only response was to stare like a fool and helplessly track the fluttering movement of the hands that had landed on the swell of her belly she so lovingly caressed.

Matilda carried a child not their own.

Whatever agony he’d experienced before was nothing to this. Nothing.

And it was made more cruel as Matilda embraced him as if they were long-lost friends. He could feel the weight of her against his chest, smell the scent she carried of fresh-cut wheat. No matter the year, she’d always smelled that way to him—like the promise of abundance.

Pain. Too much. And he wanted to draw his sword against it.

Enough. How much more could she take away from him? He had thought she’d taken it all and left him only the coldness that he’d honed until he was the most lethal of mercenaries.

And yet a mere heartbeat, a glance at her swollen curves, mocked this belief. He wanted to howl against the pain—but an audience surrounded them and she stared expectantly at him.

Did she expect an offer of friendship? Surely everyone here wouldn’t expect it? After all, he’d left here as her betrothed, and had toiled for years to make a home worthy of her. When she had decided she’d had enough waiting, she’d married his closest friend and written him a letter.

But he’d kept to his bargain and continued to send coin, so she could keep herself in the manner to which she had become accustomed...just like his stepmother.

He should count himself lucky that he hadn’t married Matilda after all. The coldness of her heart would never curse him as Helena’s had his father. And Matilda’s heart was cold—of that he now had evidence.

Nicholas’s wound wasn’t new to him, but it was to her. What he’d suffered...how he’d survived. So much pain... And yet she stood calmly before him, asking about his stomach instead of his eye.

If she wished for cold formality, he would treat her in kind. ‘I need no feast, nor any warm welcomes,’ he said. ‘I would not wish to cause you any more burden than that you already carry. I merely need a place to unpack my satchels and to change these clothes. My rooms are still available, are they not?’

There was a crack in her friendly demeanour, a tightening of her clasped hands. ‘They have been meticulously maintained.’

He relished seeing her mask slip. Until he knew how to exact his revenge it was best that she knew her place in his life—she was his bailiff, who managed his manor. ‘Then you have done your duties well. Good day.’

He turned, intending to stride away, only to be stopped by others. Greeted. Slowed in making his escape.

Louve was cracking smiles and talking to the tenants who waited to speak with him. In the past he had done much the same. Joked, answered questions, fielded enquiries from the tenants when they had pressured Nicholas too much. When the coin hadn’t enough for their demands Louve had learned to distract them so Nicholas could get away.

He wanted to get away now. He could feel Matilda’s gaze at his back. He broadened his steps and stormed closer to the manor, his fists clenching, ready for a fight. It took every effort to keep his shoulders and his breath even. To appear as if nothing was the matter when in actuality a sword had been sunk into his heart.

Did it look to her as if he was retreating? Let her think what she wanted. He didn’t care.

* * *

Matilda kept her chin high and her eyes on everyone who had observed Nicholas turning his back on her. Shaming her in front of the tenants...again.

‘Steady...’ Bess whispered by her side.

Humiliated, Matilda didn’t want Bess’s comfort. Keeping her hand on her belly, she walked in the opposite direction from Nicholas. The thick crowds parted easily. Because of her pregnancy or her disgrace?

Damn him for making her think these thoughts. She’d done her duty to the Lord of Mei Solis in greeting—and, more, she’d done her duty to Roger’s memory by keeping her composure as he would have done.

But she hadn’t wanted to. Not when she had first seen Nicholas, and certainly not after he’d spoken.

She had been cordial. He had not. What right did he have to treat her like a servant? As if all that mattered to him was that she did her duties here.

He had broken their betrothal and her heart when he had left Mei Solis, when he’d stopped his letters. He had no right to be aggrieved. But she was satisfied that the new Matilda had kept her calm. She’d changed herself, and today was testament that it was for the better. She just needed to distract herself a bit longer...

‘We’ll need to notify Cook of a feast—’

Bess’s hand on her elbow stopped her. ‘Be easy. Everyone knows of his return. Cook will already be preparing something special to add to the evening meal. You need to—’

She wouldn’t be ‘easy’ if Bess held her here. ‘Then I’ll see my father.’ She turned sharply to her right and Bess let her go. ‘He’ll need to know.’

Bess opened her mouth, closed it.

Matilda ignored Bess’s enquiring eye. She needed something to do between now and dinner. Something to occupy her hands, if not her thoughts.

She had always known this day would come, but she hadn’t been prepared for Nicholas’s injury. His patch hid most of the damage to his eye, but a scrap of leather couldn’t hide the fact that he’d suffered. The fact he’d never see the world as he had when they were children, when they’d first held hands...

There came the sting of tears, and she stumbled in her walk. She refused to think of Nicholas now. If she gave in to her weakness for him she’d never make it through this first night. He deserved no pity. Six years gone, and his friend dead, and he hadn’t even enquired about him.

‘My father will need to be prepared, and it’s best done by me. You know how he’ll feel about this.’

Her father had believed Nicholas would return to Mei Solis and to his daughter. Then her mother had died, and her father...her father hadn’t been the same.

‘He may not remember. It may be a bad day,’ Bess said.

Her mother and father had been very old when she was born, and she didn’t know now if it was his age or if losing her mother had caused the gaps in his memory. But he was a proud man, and he needed care, though all the while they made it appear as if they weren’t caring for him.

‘Regardless, it’s best I check.’

‘You’re doing too much,’ Bess said, her voice low. ‘You should sit. Maybe rest before dinner.’

That was the last thing she needed to do. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Just a few more steps and they’d be beyond the courtyard’s shadow and most of the prying eyes.

Bess sighed. ‘There’s no screeching coming from his home...that is a good sign.’

‘Or Rohesia has bashed his head in with a cauldron.’

‘True...’

There were days when Matilda and her father were more enemies than friends, but even if this was one of her father’s bad days, she’d gain distraction.

Curse Nicholas for returning. Why now? He’d never acknowledged the letter Roger had sent before they’d married, nor hers which she’d written with such meticulous care after they’d said their vows. The days she’d spent on each word...

Matilda shook herself. She’d put the past behind her and changed her ways. She’d put the Nicholas who was here now at Mei Solis behind her as well.

* * *

Too soon, Louve and Nicholas reached the threshold of a room he’d only ever intended to enter again as Matilda’s husband, and Louve gazed at him expectantly.

He had no expectations. The tomblike manor, Matilda’s cold formality...the fact that Roger hadn’t greeted him. He wasn’t welcome here.

Matilda was pregnant.

Again he was blindsided. Again betrayed. The blade swiftly planted between his ribs before he had even seen the glint of steel.

How he’d longed for a family with her. How he’d toiled to provide for his future children so they wouldn’t have to bear the burdens he had. And now Matilda was pregnant with another man’s child.

Boys carrying his personal supplies scampered past him in a race to reach his rooms before he did. But he didn’t need them to remember his way to the rooms that had once been his father’s.

All it took was the achingly familiar shape of the corridors that neither time nor distance could erase from his memory. As a boy, he too had scampered down this corridor. As a man, he had closed the door when he’d left for the last time.

He needed to get out of here. Never to have agreed to this fool’s errand. Never to have believed for a moment that he could have what Rhain had found with Helissent if he simply repaired his past.

There was no fixing this. He’d faced battles and men with rage in their eyes. He’d thought he could face this. Face her and hear her explanation. Hear Roger’s. Even Louve owed him something for not warning him.

Could he stay here just for revenge? He doubted he could stay here for apologies—not after seeing Matilda cradle her belly. Time had passed, and he shouldn’t feel the betrayal all over again like in some minstrel’s song. But she had stood before him and she hadn’t cared that he’d lost his eye. Hadn’t flinched at his return.

‘I need to change my clothing,’ he said, instead of voicing the thoughts roiling through him.

‘I’ll have water brought up.’

Nicholas pointed to some boys who were carrying pails into the room. ‘There are some buckets here.’