Reclaimed by the Knight

by Nicole Locke

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 e
ye 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.

  Chapter Four

  ‘You should go after him,’ Louve said, holding his sleeve to his bloodied lip.

  Matilda crouched beside her fallen friend. Louve had hit the floor faster than she had been able to react to what Nicholas had done. The corner of his lip was bleeding and the entire right side of his face was bright red, his eyelid beginning to swell.

  ‘Your eye!’

  ‘He only glanced it. I’m lucky.’

  ‘Lucky? Lucky is being told that Cook didn’t burn all the bread for the day. The right side of your face is swelling faster than said bread loaves is not Fortune smiling on you.’

  Her heart would not stop thumping and her every word shook. That moment when Nicholas swung. The expression on Nicholas’s face. Something raw, visceral. It had gone through her before she’d registered what he meant to do.

  Louve had been completely unprepared.

  The people in the hall had been unprepared too, as the crack o
f Nicholas’s fist against Louve’s jaw had reverberated against the stone.

  She hadn’t heard Louve hitting the ground—not through the sudden gasps of the crowd.

  Then there had been a void of sound, except for Nicholas’s harsh breaths and his brutal growl aimed at no one as he stormed through the unnaturally still room and out through the Great Doors.

  ‘Lucky?’ she repeated. ‘You’re bleeding. And despite him only glancing it, you’ll have a black eye.’

  ‘Luckier yet, for Mary will care for me now.’

  Matilda saw Mary, standing as still as the rest of the crowd. She’d never understand the hold she had over her friend. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

  Louve took her hands and helped her stand. Then he waved off the now circling crowd with a smile. The crowd dispersed, but the chatter increased. Soon everyone within a day’s ride would know of what had happened here tonight.

  What a great welcome from the lord of Mei Solis. No, it had been a welcome from a mercenary. Nicholas had always been impulsive, but that violence hadn’t come from the Nicholas she’d once known.

  ‘You should go after him,’ Louve told her.

  ‘You’re the one he struck—don’t you want to talk to him?’

  ‘Not this time.’ Louve flexed his hand and gave her a look she recognised from years of friendship. ‘I dare you.’

  ‘That won’t work on me.’ And no such childish challenge would influence the mercenary who had strode out of the Great Hall. ‘Nicholas has gone, and maybe he’ll keep on going.’

  ‘You know where he went. And, despite his aim, it’s you he needs to talk to. He’s been gone a long time, but from his reaction...’ Louve placed his hand on her arm. ‘He didn’t know about Roger, Matilda. You can’t leave him like that.’

  She could. ‘He left us.’

  ‘He’s returned to find his friend dead. Not only a friend, but Roger. For all he knows, Roger could have been gone for years.’

  ‘The time of Roger’s passing makes no difference. Nicholas chose his path years ago—as I chose mine. He left first. He holds no more importance to Roger’s death than to any other friend. In truth...’ In truth she saw little of the man she had once called her betrothed. ‘You don’t know if he thinks of any of us as a friend. He never answered our letters.’