Reclaimed by the Knight

by Nicole Locke

  ‘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 bes
t 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.’

  ‘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.

  Unbidde
n 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.’