Whatever it took.
* * *
Chapter 19
"He was a mercenary knight in my uncle Henri's service," Nicki said quietly. They'd spread their blanket next to one of the giant oaks, and now she sat with her back against it, savoring the cool forest shade, the weight of Alex's head in her lap, the silk of his hair as she glided her fingers through it...
And the blessed relief of revealing to him, at last, the seeds that had been planted a dozen years ago, growing into a weed that had doomed their blossoming love.
"I was fifteen when he came to Peverell," she said.
"How old was Phillipe?" Alex asked, turning his head to look up at her.
Her fingers stilled in his hair. "How did you know his name?"
Alex reached up and caressed her cheek. "You spoke it during your illness."
"What did I say?"
He frowned slightly, as if trying to remember. "Something about him hurting you. What did he do to you, Nicki?"
She looked away from the compassion in his eyes. "He made me fall in love with him."
A muscle jumped in Alex's jaw.
"That is, I thought it was love. In truth, 'twas but a girlish infatuation. I didn't know what love was." Shyly she added, "I do now."
Alex brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. He hadn't kissed her on the mouth at all today. She wondered if he would. She hoped he would.
"He was very handsome," she said. "He was the tallest knight at Peverell, and his hair was the palest gold."
"Like yours," Alex murmured, taking hold of her single braid, which hung over her shoulder, and untying the ribbon from it.
"He had blue eyes, and quite the noble bearing. And a smile that made my knees go weak."
"Your point is made," Alex said ruefully. He wrapped the ribbon around his hand. Something about the way it looked struck a familiar chord in her.
"Do you remember that morning in Rouen when you woke up in the longship, and I was there?" she asked.
Alex groaned. "All too well. What an ass I made of myself."
"You had something wrapped around your hand."
"Ah." Fumbling in his money pouch, he pulled out a long white ribbon and gave it to her. "I've had this since Périgeaux. It's yours."
"Verily?" For some reason, she encircled her hand with it, as he had done.
"You don't think it's silly?"
"Nay, I think it's..." At a loss for words, she leaned down and kissed him on the lips. "Not silly."
"You kissed me." With a gratified sigh, Alex curled a hand around her neck and urged her toward him for another, more lingering kiss. "We mustn't do this," he whispered, and pressed his lips to hers again. "I want to hear your story, and if we start kissing, we'll be kissing all afternoon."
"I don't doubt it." They'd kissed for hours last night. Every time he said he was going to leave, there would be one more kiss, and then another, and another...
"You never answered my question," he said, gently steering her back to her account. "How old was Phillipe?"
"Thirty," she said. "And a seasoned soldier. Very dedicated to it." Like you, she thought, but didn't say.
"What was his weapon?"
"The longbow."
Alex nodded. "It takes a tall man to handle a longbow. And a strong one."
"He was very skilled with it," she said mischievously.
Alex rolled his eyes. "Perhaps I'd rather kiss than talk, after all."
"If you'd prefer."
She leaned down for another kiss, but he cupped her face, his expression sobering. "I need to know how he hurt you."
She straightened up. "'Twas my fault, really."
Alex made a sound of derision. "You were fifteen. He was thirty. 'Twas his fault."
"You don't know what happened."
"I can guess. He pursued you." Alex's voice was low, his manner subdued, almost grim. "You were young and naive and incredibly beautiful, and he was determined to have you. You weren't the type of girl he could just have for the asking, though. He had to ingratiate himself with you, declare his undying love, court you. At first he seemed content to steal the occasional kiss when no one was looking. But as his passion became more demanding, he made it clear that he wanted more—needed it. He was in pain, and if you would not relieve it, he'd be forced to find a woman who would. It didn't mean he didn't love you, but he was a man, and a man had—"
"How do you know all this," she demanded in a quavering whisper. "Do all men use women this way?"
Alex sat up and looked at her squarely. "Many do. I never have." His mouth quirked. "I doubt I could manage all the necessary lies, even if I wanted to."
She nodded morosely. "He did lie to me. It was lies, all of it. He told me loved me. He said he wanted to marry me as soon as he was landed. Uncle Henri had already told me that he intended to leave Peverell to me—or rather my firstborn son—and I confided this to Phillipe, but he insisted he wanted his own land, not his wife's. At the time, I thought...I thought 'twas noble of him. I was a fool."
He kissed her forehead. "You were a sheltered young girl being manipulated by a cad. You're the cleverest person I know—never doubt that."
She shook her head. "Mama tried to warn me. She'd always told me to stay away from the soldiers, that all they were interested in was the act of love, not love itself."
"Hmph."
"She was right, Alex. I would have done well to heed her. Especially in light of..." Nicki hesitated, on uncertain ground. "Do you know anything about...my father? Has Milo told you?"
"Nay. I always assumed your mother was a widow."
"She was, but...perhaps I should tell you about him, and then you'll understand why my mother felt as she did about soldiers, and why I...why things turned out as they did." She hated having to look into Alex's eyes as she peeled away these layers of the past. "Lie back down." She patted her lap. "I like the feel of you here."
Smiling, he did as she asked, and she continued absently stroking his hair. "My father's name was Conon. Like Phillipe, he was one of Uncle Henri's knights. He pursued Mama just as Phillipe pursued me. She resisted him for a while, and then..." She let out a ragged sigh and leaned her head back against the tree, closing her eyes. "When she realized she was with child, she told Conon. He tried to deny that the child was his, but of course he was the only man my mother had ever been with. He argued that he was landless, and couldn't support a family."
"Your mother had no property, I take it."
"Nor was she heir to any, else I doubt Conon would have balked as he did. Her belly grew to the point where everyone knew. When Uncle Henri figured it out, he was outraged. 'Twas he who finally forced Conon to wed her."
Alex shook his head. "This is why I...take measures to keep from siring children. Planting a bastard in an unmarried girl is a fine way to repay her for granting you her favors."
"I wish all men were as conscientious as you are."
"I'm glad Conon wasn't." He smiled in response to her look of puzzlement. "If he had been, you might never have been born."
"Charmer."
"So Conon married your mother."
"Whereupon Henri promptly dismissed Conon from his service and ordered him to take Mama away from Peverell. He was ashamed of her. All of Normandy knew about her by then. Conon took her to Clairvaux, where he was from. He set her up in a little wattle-and-daub hut and left to sell his services to the highest bidder. I was born there."
"I had no idea." Alex sat up again, frowning. "I thought..."
"You thought I was a child of privilege, that I'd been born at Peverell and knew naught but luxury my whole life."
"I suppose so."
"Lie down."
Looking pensive, he did.
"The first seven years of my life, we lived in squalor. My father never returned to us. He sent a little silver from time to time, but far less than we needed. Mama sold eggs and took in laundry."
"My God."
"It was those years
of hardship that turned my mother into...the woman you knew in Périgeaux."
"Yes," he murmured. "I had no idea. What happened to convince Henri to let you return to Peverell?"
"Conon died—not in battle, but in a knife fight with another mercenary. The little bit of silver stopped coming. It wasn't much, but we'd depended on it. Mama threw herself on her brother's mercy and he relented. The first time I saw Peverell Castle, after having known nothing but that dismal little cottage, I could scarcely believe it. You might think it's gloomy and depressing, but to me it looked like the very gates of heaven."
"I don't doubt it." He tugged the slipper off one of her feet and caressed her toes with his strong fingers. It felt stimulating and comforting at the same time.
"Henri's condition for Sybila's return was that she must dress and act as befitted a proper widow, and that under no conditions was she to encourage the attentions of men, especially the men under his command."
"Little wonder she never remarried."
"Oh, she was completely unmarriageable when she returned to Peverell. No noble family would betroth their son to her after the disgrace that had surrounded her marriage to Conon. She'd been big with child on her wedding day."
"Such transgressions are often overlooked."
"If the woman is wealthy. But my mother had nothing."
"No wonder she warned you against Phillipe."
"For all the good it did her. I was wildly enamored of him. At first I refused to do more than kiss. He told me he'd have to seek out...a certain kind of woman. Still I held firm. I told him I was afraid of becoming pregnant, as Mama had. He promised that if I quickened, he'd marry me immediately, land or no land. After that, I'm afraid he found me all too easy to seduce. I was weak, I..." I still am. My flesh hungers for yours. I have the heart and soul of a wanton, a sinner.
"I'm surprised your mother let you out of her sight long enough to..." He cleared his throat. "Where did you—"
"In an empty stable stall." Nicki remembered that hasty first coupling in the straw—his grunts of effort as he rammed his way through her maidenhead, her whimpers of pain. He'd pressed a hand over her mouth to shut her up, and then his face went red, and he grew rigid as he emptied his seed in her. He'd sighed and collapsed on her, and then they'd heard someone enter the stable. Phillipe withdrew abruptly, making her cry out in pain. For God's sake, shut up, he'd said, and gone to check. It was only Gaspar, his confidant, whom, unbeknownst to her, he'd posted as a lookout. Lady Sybila was asking for her daughter, Gaspar said. He'd eyed her with interest as she brushed the straw off her tunic, trying to pretend her inner thighs weren't sticky with blood and semen, that she wasn't on the verge of tears from the knifelike pain in her womb. She could still recall her shame. He knows...
"After the first time," she said, "I...didn't want to do it again."
Alex's hand tightened on her foot.
"But," she said, "Phillipe was so sweet, so contrite for having hurt me. He promised next time would be better. It was, a little. It never stopped hurting entirely, though. Within a fortnight, I suspected I was with child, because my..." Heat rose in her cheeks.
Alex fondled her foot with his wonderfully rough fingers. "Your courses didn't come. Did you tell Phillipe?"
She sighed heavily. "Not right away. Like a fool, I kept hoping I was wrong. I waited another month, and another. Finally I had to face the truth, and I told him. He just swore and walked away. That night he rode off and never came back."
Alex sat up and looked at her.
She gazed at her hands, clutched in her lap. "Gaspar told me that he...Phillipe, he...he had a wife and child in Paris."
Alex muttered something under his breath that Nicki was just as happy not to hear. He covered her hands with his.
"I was shocked, brokenhearted...and terrified. I'd ignored my mother's counsel, and now I'd be ruined, just as she had been. I felt like the lowest harlot."
"Oh, Nicki, Nicki..." Alex took her in his arms and kissed her cheek. "My poor, sweet love."
"I told my mother—I had to. She beat me, called me a whore, but I felt I deserved it. She was...consumed with panic. We both were. On top of the sinfulness and the scandal, there was Uncle Henri. He was almost certain to cast me out—perhaps both of us, and we'd be even worse off than we were in Clairvaux."
"Christ." He leaned his forehead on hers. "If I'd been there, I would have offered to marry you."
"Gaspar did."
Alex stared at her in evident shock.
"He came to me," she said, "and told me he felt partly responsible for my predicament, because he'd known Phillipe was a wedded man. You must understand, Alex, Gaspar was different then. Not as hard. The years have changed him."
"Yes. That's all too clear."
"He said he knew he was lowborn, and unworthy of me, but that he'd claim the child as his and provide for us as best he could. I was touched."
"But you turned him down."
"Aye. I was already three or four months along. A hasty wedding at that point would have fooled no one, and all I would have gained was marriage to a man I didn't love. He probably thought I was rejecting him on the basis of his station, and I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a factor, but it wasn't the main one."
Alex gently pried her hands apart and took them in his. "What happened to the baby?"
"I lost—" Her throat caught. She took a deep breath. "I lost her."
"Her?"
"'Twas a girl. She was...so tiny. Wee little fingers."
"Oh, Nicki."
"I almost died from losing her. The midwife said it was the most violent miscarriage she'd ever seen, and I fell into a fever afterward. But at least my uncle never found out. Mama just told him I'd taken ill. 'Twas curious...I was so sad about my little girl, my baby. You'd think I would have been relieved, but..." Nicki shook her head to dispel the lingering image of those fragile little fingers.
Alex scooped her into his arms and held her for a long time, murmuring soft words of comfort into her ear.
"Mama told me I was weak about matters of the flesh, and that this weakness would damn my soul and destroy my reputation if I let it. She made me promise never to give my heart to another charming young knight. I was to find a husband who preferred hearth and home to warfare."
"Ah. Of course." Alex kissed her temple, her cheek. He tugged his fingers through the plaits of her hair, loosening them.
"Shortly after that, Uncle Henri publicly announced his intention to leave Peverell to my firstborn son. Overnight, I was transformed from his impoverished ward into a coveted marriage prize. Henri and Mama tried to negotiate a marriage for me. The first candidate was old and half-blind. The second was so fat he wheezed when he walked. They were all..." She shuddered. "All they cared about was rents and mill revenues. None of them gave a fig for me. I turned them all down."
"I wondered, back in Périgeaux, why you were still unwed at nineteen." His fingers, grazing her scalp and trailing through her hair, felt delicious.
"Uncle Henri was disgusted that I should be so fussy in the face of his generosity to me. He told me he'd arranged with the Church for the abbey to inherit Peverell if he should die before I married."
His hand stilled in her hair. "I thought his condition had to do with your bearing a son."
"That was just an ancillary condition to the first. His primary concern was that I should wed as soon as possible, to ensure that Peverell's castellany remained hereditary—that it stayed in our family. Mama begged me to marry. She said she couldn't go back to taking in laundry, and that if we were turned away from Peverell, we'd have two options—the convent or the brothel. I knew my uncle had the upper hand. Peverell meant everything to me, and to Mama."
"What about the second condition?" Alex asked.
"Henri wanted to make sure I wouldn't concoct a false marriage of appearances just to keep Peverell, and that there would be another generation to inherit it. If I failed to produce a son within ten years of his death,
the estate was to revert to the Church."
Alex sighed. "He thought of everything."
"Phelis invited me to visit her in Périgeaux, and I accepted. I needed to get away from Uncle Henri and that castle."
Alex brought a handful of her hair to his face and rubbed it on his cheek. "I remember the first time I saw you, playing jeu de paume with Phelis and Alyce in Peter's back meadow. You were all in white, and your hair flew as you ran after the ball. It gleamed like fire in the sunlight. I thought you were the most exquisite thing I'd ever seen. I was instantly smitten with you."
"And I with you."
"Were you?" Smiling, he tucked her more firmly within his embrace.
"Oh, yes." She rested her head on his chest, comforted by the solid feel of him through the soft linen shirt, the steady thudding of his heart. "Right from the beginning. 'Twas your eyes, I think—at least at first. When you looked at me, I felt as if I were the only girl in the world, and you were the only boy."
"Boy," he murmured.
"Hmm?"
Reticently he said, "Afterward, I thought you had just used me to make Milo jealous. He was a man, a learned man, and I was just an ignorant boy."
She looked up at him. "That's the most singularly asinine conclusion I think anyone's ever drawn about anything."
He laughed and kissed her hair. "Thank you for setting me straight, my lady."
"I admired Milo. I liked him, much the same as you did, and we did share a rapport of the mind. But my bond with you went well beyond the mind. It went right through to our souls. You knew that, Alex. You felt it, that first day in the cave, when we held hands in the dark."
His arms tightened around her. "Yes."
"I knew I shouldn't feel what I felt for you. You would be leaving soon to join William, and I knew that nothing would prevent that, even me."
Alex was silent for a moment and then he said, softly, "I was just a boy, really. A foolish boy who thought he could have everything."
"And I was afraid," she admitted, "after what had happened with Phillipe. Mama told me that soldiers revel in their conquests, and that I was the type of girl who was all too susceptible to their charm."
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