Reclaimed By The Knight

‘You’ll need a tub.’

What he needed was some time to come to terms with Matilda’s pregnancy.

‘How many more are there?’ he asked.

Louve gave him a questioning glance.

Nicholas looked over Louve’s shoulder to the flat stone embedded in the wall. The stone he’d mutilated with his first dagger while waiting for his father to emerge from his empty marriage bed.

‘She’s expecting a child. How many children do they have?’

‘That’s the question you want to ask me? I thought you’d want to talk about—’

‘Just answer me, dammit,’ Nicholas interrupted.

Louve’s gaze turned assessing. ‘After six years I thought you’d be prepared.’

It had been only three years since her—their—betrayal. ‘No, you didn’t think that. That’s why you’re here now—to see what scene I’ll make.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘This is my home. I have every right to be here.’ He didn’t have to give explanations to anyone.

‘You may have a right to be here, but you have no right to ask questions of Matilda’s personal well-being.’

‘You lecture me on what I have a right to?’ He knew Louve was as guilty as the others. ‘You, Roger and Matilda owe me!’

‘Roger? You bring Roger into this? You can’t even let—’

Without a word or a message, without facing him like a man, Roger had married the only woman he’d ever loved.

‘God himself would expect his punishment.’

Louve’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t—’

‘I do.’

But Roger’s reckoning would wait until the coward met him face to face. Nicholas had no intention of sharing words with Louve on Roger’s black deeds.

‘For now, I’m simply expecting an answer to my question. How many?’

Louve’s expression turned mutinous. ‘The Nicholas I knew would have shown some mercy towards Roger...towards Matilda, given the circumstances.’

Mercy? To Roger? Never. ‘Tell me more.’

Louve’s brow deepened, then he looked away. ‘No.’

‘You walked with me up here and now you don’t want to talk?’

‘You’re not—’ Louve shook his head. ‘You’re not asking the right questions, and I refuse to believe you can be such a bastard. Come, let’s order some flagons brought up and we can share them here.’

Nicholas flexed his hands at his sides. A bath, ale, banter amongst friends... Were Matilda and Roger supposed to join them as well? Ridiculous. He had the answer to his question and these people were no longer his friends.

‘I have no patience to gossip like an old woman.’

He closed the door in Louve’s face.

* * *

‘What could possibly detain him?’ Matilda asked, not for the first time.

The meal was prepared, and most of the tenants had arrived. Many were dressed in their best clothes in honour of Nicholas’s return. Many had come tonight, and the Great Doors continued to let in icy wind and any stray animal that was fast enough to bypass the children trying to block them.

‘I left him upstairs...’ Louve shrugged.

That had been hours ago, and all day she’d found no distraction. The tenants, her friends, all were excited by Nicholas’s return. Yet she couldn’t—wouldn’t—join in their happy exclamations or murmured conversations.

Her father had been sleeping while Rohesia crushed herbs. Her home had been empty, just as she’d left it. So she had swept her clean floor as if she was attacking wasps and not her turbulent thoughts until she was exhausted. She was always tired now, and even more so when she thought of Roger and what he’d think about today.

What would he make of the joyful chatter spinning through the winding lanes? Mere months he’d been gone. Not enough for grief to be less, but somehow enough for her to feel lost.

She missed her friend...the man who’d wanted her when no one else did. No amount of sweeping would erase that. But then she’d slept long and arrived here late—only to discover the lord of the manor hadn’t shown.

‘He closed the door in your face and you let him?’

‘What would you have had me do?

What had they done in the past? She couldn’t remember. The boys had seemed to have their own mysterious ways. Their chores, their training, their missions and lessons.

‘Perhaps you could have stayed with him.’

‘The man sought rest. I had no intention of watching him bathe or sleep.’

Six years was enough to make a man grown. It had happened to Roger and to Louve. Of course it had happened to Nicholas as well.

Unbidden came thoughts of Nicholas asleep in that room, his dark brown hair curled along his shoulders and spread against the dark cover she’d chosen. His body half turned, as if waiting for her to wake him.

She closed her eyes to hide the sudden sharp emotion before Louve guessed her thoughts. ‘He’s been gone so long and is probably in want of glad tidings. That is all I meant.’

‘Why, Matilda, it sounds like you care.’

She narrowed her gaze. ‘As bailiff, it is my duty to ensure his comfort. And I am one of his oldest friends.’

Louve rolled the cup in his hand. ‘Are you still friends with him?’

‘Why would I not be?’ She had done nothing wrong. Roger would want her to let the past be the past. Roger had been her future...or as much as she had let him be.

‘I offered to share ale, if that appeases your sense of hospitality.’ Louve gestured with the cup in his hand.

That was good, except... ‘But he closed the door in your face.’

‘He didn’t stay in that room.’

‘I don’t understand...’

‘I hadn’t made it far down the stairs before I heard his additional requests. He had them move the buckets to the adjoining room. I didn’t stay to find out the reason. I know when I’m not wanted.’

So did she—and she knew what had happened even if Louve had not guessed. Nicholas had rejected that room just as he’d rejected her. She’d spent coin, time...part of her heart...preparing the room for when he returned, for when he claimed his bride.

He’d taken one look at it and desired the adjoining room. Fuming, Matilda tapped her foot. Worse, it showed that the great lord of the manor expected wasteful comforts. He’d make more work for the household...for her as bailiff.

He had been rude to her, rude to Louve. Maybe she went too far in offering him any hospitality, despite the fact this was his home and Roger would have wanted her to.

‘What did he say about Roger?’

‘Nothing.’

She quickly brushed the chill away from her arms. It did little to warm her, and she knew the coldness came from inside her. Because she was failing to hold back her grief. To show charity and patience as Roger would have wanted. As her daughter deserved.

Perhaps Nicholas was too tired...perhaps he wanted the smaller rooms for household ease.

‘Were his condolences sincere?’ she asked, trying to imagine the conversation.

Louve levelled his eyes at her. ‘He said nothing of Roger.’

‘Roger would—’

Louve’s words registered. Matilda unwound her arms and clenched her hands. There was no imagining this. To be that cruel. That cold. Maybe to her, but never to Roger. When Nicholas had left she’d seethed, but Roger had mourned the loss of their friendship. To know that Nicholas didn’t feel anything. Had not offered some words of kindness...

‘He said nothing of your marriage either,’ Louve added.

Something hot seared through her. ‘He has no right to talk of my marriage. No right to talk about me or—’

‘He did mention—’ Louve stopped.

‘What did he mention?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Servants swept by with great platters and they sidestepped to give them room. ‘You should know better than to ignore me,’ Matilda said, lowering her voice.

‘You’re slower than you used to be.’ Louve looked pointedly at the swell in her belly. ‘I may be able to get away with it.’ At her warning look, he caved. ‘He asked about your babe.’

Her baby. Nicholas had already acknowledged her pregnancy when he’d described her child as a burden. ‘He has no right to talk of her. I hope you set him right.’

Louve’s puzzled expression changed to one of reflection as he eyed her.

She looked away, which was probably telling enough that she didn’t need to add bitter words. But she refused to feel this sense of wrongness. ‘He should never have returned here.’

‘It is his home, Matilda.’

‘It’s never been his home. All his life he talked of exploring other lands, and eventually he did. There is no reason for him to return.’ She had been his only reason to return, and eventually she hadn’t been enough.

‘You may love this crumbling manor and the crooked lanes surrounding it, but it’s his inheritance.’

‘One he never wanted. He earned more coin as a mercenary. You’ll see—one winter here will remind him, and off he’ll go again.’

‘Ready to be rid of me so soon?’ Nicholas said, from directly behind her.

Louve was quick to turn, but she held her posture that bit longer, to show her displeasure. Sneaking up behind them meant Nicholas had come from the servants’ entrance. They’d thought him asleep and sequestered upstairs. He was already proving difficult—and that had been before he overheard their conversation.

Carefully, she turned, taking in the fine weave of his green tunic, stretched wide against the mounds of his chest, the thick weight of his breeches just skimming the strength in his legs.

The clothes weren’t new, but they were a wealthy man’s clothing. Tailored for him with a weave so fine that the green almost reflected in the hall’s candlelight.

Mei Solis’s seamstress had never been able to get the cut of his clothes large enough for him to move properly. But these clothes fitted him so well, it didn’t take much to see the man beneath. A glance was all it took to see Nicholas in ways she never had before. Always tall, but never this broad. Never this...lethal.

She raised her eyes and took in more of the man. His thick hair was damp and waving loose around his shoulders. His face was now shaven, revealing the cut of his jaw, the sensual slash of his lips, but if he had slept, she did not see it in the strain of his brow, nor in the dark shadows underneath his eyes.

She took a brief moment to acknowledge that vulnerability before her eyes met his gaze. And then all she saw was the calculating brown, the victory gleam he disguised in his expression, but not in the lit depths.

He was pleased to surprise them—and to overhear a conversation never meant for him. But it was too early for any victories.

‘I’m merely stating facts, Nicholas. Your need for adventure is no secret here. In fact, you made it very public when you left on one and never came back.’

‘But my arriving now proves that I have returned.’

‘It only proves that you’re checking up on us. Isn’t that why you were in the kitchens?’

‘I was in the kitchens to see old and dear friends.’

‘I think I see Mary,’ Louve interjected.

She placed her hand on Louve’s arm to hold him back. Under no circumstances would she let him escape. When he glanced at her he got the hint.

Turning to Nicholas, Louve asked, ‘The kitchens, huh? How did Cook react?’

Nicholas glanced at her hand on Louve’s arm. She’d meant to withdraw it, but in some small measure she took comfort at the simple contact, and she didn’t want to withdraw it merely because Nicholas’s gaze had suddenly darkened.

‘As she always has.’ Nicholas’s voice was even, but not friendly. ‘She gave me a thick slice of bread with an even thicker slab of butter before I even started my greeting.’

Matilda just stopped herself from digging her nails into Louve’s arm. This exchange was ridiculous. Nicholas had returned to Mei Solis to meet some agenda, perhaps to insult them all and show his uncaring soul, not simply to be fed. How could she keep quiet with a man who did not mourn his friend and had never replied to their letters?

She bit her lip, trying not to retort, but her eyes strayed to the doors and she knew Nicholas was watching her.

Nicholas smirked. ‘Would you prefer it if I left right now, instead of after the winter?’

He had heard every word.

Good.

Yet again she tried to hide her need to sweep past him and open the doors wide for him to step through. That would have been the old Matilda, the reckless one who had showed no caution. That Matilda had never served her well. Now, no matter how desperately she wanted Nicholas gone, a part of her wanted to be Roger’s wife and the mother of his child. To be calm, to remember that they had all once been friends.

She didn’t know Nicholas’s reason for being here. Roger’s death had been mere months ago, but Nicholas had given her no condolences nor apologised for not being here. Other than that time after his father’s death, when he had became obsessed with repairing Mei Solis, he’d never shown any interest in his home or the rich fields surrounding it. And now he gave no clue to his motivation.

He held neither the boyish looks of his youth nor the easy open temperament. This man before her was a stranger. Dark gaze, even darker mien. She’d never been friends with this mercenary.

‘Don’t be foolish, Nicholas. You apparently need rest, and the weather will soon prevent you from leaving.’

‘So you do show concern at my welfare? At my inability to ride because of travel weariness? Or are you afraid that I might catch cold?’

Louve almost choked on his ale. Nicholas ignored it. Matilda tapped Louve’s arm. Remember what Roger would want.

‘Of course we’re concerned for your welfare, and we haven’t had a chance to hear properly of your travels. This is your home.’

‘Ah, yes, my home,’ Nicholas said, his gaze roaming the hall. It was a brief relief from a gaze that always saw too much, before he narrowed it on her again. ‘There’s more than that that prevents me from leaving.’

A fissure of warning opened up inside her at those words. Most definitely he had some reason to be here, but it wasn’t for Roger. No word of condolence, nor apology for not being here to bury him. It wasn’t his home and it wasn’t her.

Louve’s arm tensed when she asked, ‘What could that possibly be?’

The victory light in Nicholas’s eye returned, and she knew she was the foolish one.

‘I’ve returned with bags of silver to make Mei Solis everything you’ve ever wanted. You will have the ability to make repairs, purchase supplies for a thousand new roofs or new buildings. Or tear the whole thing down and start again.’

Simple words. Insulting words. Matilda’s nails dug into Louve’s arm before she could hide her response.

The look on Matilda’s face was exactly what Nicholas had hoped for when he’d caught her and Louve unawares. The one she had denied him when she had turned away slowly to hide her response. She couldn’t hide her response now, and he revelled in it.

Petty of him, he knew, but he’d once found some balance in his life and now he could find none. Even his quarters, which were meant to be his sanctuary, had haunted and mocked him. He’d reeled when he saw the rooms, the evidence of all Matilda had done. He hadn’t been able to bark out his instructions to move elsewhere fast enough.

After a quick bath, he’d left to investigate the rear of Mei Solis and visit the kitchens. To greet Cook, with deeper furrows between her eyes from her frowns, and more around her mouth from her frequent smiles. It had been good to see her again.

However, not as satisfying as this. Having the advantage and striding up to Matilda and Louve, who had been looking towards the stairs and not the servants’ entrance. Reminding her who exactly she was. Someone greedier even than the woman who’d killed his father.

Mei Solis had been crumbling down, its roof collapsed. He’d ridden off to earn coin for their home—only to be shown that Matilda could spend his silver and have another man.

He’d dealt the verbal strike, but he’d felt a blow himself when her hand had tightened on Louve’s arm. Another man...any man but him.

‘When the light comes tomorrow we can show you what has been done,’ Matilda said, her voice tight.

Still not good enough for him. ‘So the work’s all done and the coin I bring now is unnecessary? Perhaps I’ll spend it on trivial matters. I notice my rooms need updating.’

Matilda paled, and Louve’s hand grasped hers on his arm. Nicholas tracked their familiarity with each other.

‘When has coin ever become unnecessary?’ Louve said, his voice light, though there was a dark warning in his eyes.

Nicholas was past warnings. It was time for him to give some of his own. ‘True. It is convenient for bribes, debts, wars and weapons.’

‘Mercenary work? Nothing we’ve seen here,’ Louve said. ‘I speak of boundary fences. The coin we’ve gained from the fields has supported this, but not soon enough. There are times when deer have been as destructive as the weather.’

‘Boundary fences?’

Nicholas knew of enemies and boundaries—was all too aware of how they could be crossed. He had no interest in the stone and mortar kind, but still, an inspection would serve his purposes. Maybe he’d invite Roger to go with him, and there in the empty fields he’d demand his honour returned. If Roger ever showed.

Nicholas rolled his shoulders. Whatever sense of homecoming he’d felt in the kitchens was now gone. There was only the strain in his shoulders, the weight in his stance. The weight of this moment—as if this pause, this time, held some significance.

For what or for whom? A pregnant woman and a man who made too many jokes? If so, this was his welcome home feast and there was one guest missing.

‘It’s getting late, isn’t it?’ he said, turning his head towards Matilda.

‘We should eat,’ Matilda agreed.

‘Surely the fields are empty at this time of year?’ At their quizzical looks, he added, ‘It’s too late for man or beast to still be out.’

Matilda frowned. ‘We’ve been able to get the work done before dark these last few years...’

That wasn’t what he was asking. Over the years he’d received Louve’s reports and, despite everything else, he trusted them when it came to maintaining the estate.

What and who he didn’t trust was Roger, who was avoiding this welcoming feast. However, eventually Roger would be expected to enter the hall to eat. Until then...

‘I will wait to sit until everyone is present.’

Nothing. Louve looked mildly curious while Matilda stayed implacable. Did they expect him to say nothing about the man—his friend—who’d stabbed him in the heart? Then they didn’t know him very well. He’d wait until next winter if that was what it took.

Louve drained his ale, the tenants’ chatter eased, and all eyes turned to him. Of course they would—because they couldn’t eat unless he sat. He wanted to announce that it wasn’t he who delayed their meal, but a coward. One he should have faced years ago.

He had been travelling for weeks alone, lacking sleep in order to protect his horses and the satchels. His body ached and rest beckoned. Still he stood, waited, and thought about what he would say to Roger. His childhood friend, his reeve, who took care of the crops. Waited for the man who loved his betrothed but hadn’t had the courtesy to tell him, who had married her and given her a child.

Patience, he told himself. But it wouldn’t come. Not with all eyes turning to him now. Not with the constrictive band and the pressure of the patch over his eye. His right hand tightened as if it wanted to grasp a sword. His heart thumped as if he rode onto a field of enemies.

He’d been polite and had enquired gently regarding Roger’s absence. He’d waited for Roger to reveal himself, or for Louve and Matilda to inform him of Roger’s whereabouts. He’d come here to bury his past. To seek some revenge. To demand apologies. The man had married the woman he loved, and now he wouldn’t show his face.

Enough was enough. Right now he would demand that Roger show himself. He wouldn’t wait for answers—he’d force them.

He didn’t—couldn’t—ease his stance, or the tension mounting inside him as he bit out every word. ‘Matilda, where is your husband?’

There was a sound from Louve and Matilda paled. The crowd around them faded. The lights seemed to dim as her brows drew in.

No. No balance. No patience. No understanding.

His fingers curled and there was a roaring in his ears as he glanced to Louve, whose expression was stricken, his mouth slack.

Nicholas glanced behind them to the Great Doors that remained shut, and the tenants waiting by their seats. Even the children and the animals were finding their places.

There wasn’t space for anyone else.

His gaze locked on Matilda. There was a flush in her cheeks and an answering emotion gleaming in her hazel eyes. He recognised them all. Anger. Rage. A warrior’s cry for battle.

His sense of betrayal was overwhelming. Patience? Balance? None to be found. He shook his head—a warning to himself, to Louve, who stood agape. To Matilda, whose lips had parted.

He was lifting his curling fist before she said the words, ‘He’s dead.’

Nicholas struck.

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