by Nicole Locke
Matilda... Already he saw she had changed. Or maybe he was imagining it. He’d thought he saw traces of the old Matilda last night at dinner. There had been moments when he’d thought she’d chuck a turnip at him.
But maybe she’d truly changed. Louve had said ‘was’, as if her mischief was in the past.
He inwardly shook himself. He’d been gone too long, and who she was now wasn’t his concern. Remembering how she was, reminiscing, would do him no good.
It had been bad enough when he had been expected to reside in a room that haunted him. He didn’t need the rest of the rooms in Mei Solis taunting him.
In his father’s old room a full, deeply carved four-poster took up most of the space. A table and two padded chairs were placed by the windows for intimate dining or conversation. There was a thick, elaborate bench by the fireplace.
Large enough for two.
Large enough to hold a family.
There was even a small table next to it, on which to place a flagon of warmed mead or ale.
The whole room was masculine except for the fabric decorations, some patterned with flowers in red and green. They weren’t necessary, but lavish. Just as he’d told Matilda to make it.
He hadn’t expected the more significant details of the room. The fact that the table, the chairs, the bed...all of it...were made for his size. For him. She would have told the carpenters that. Thought of that detail. Because he certainly hadn’t.
Why would he? Most of his life he’d never fitted inside huts, inns, lodgings or even fine castles. If there was a bed, he simply pulled the mattress off the frame and laid it on the floor. Mostly he’d order extra blankets, so they’d fit from his shoulders to cover his feet.
But this room had been made with care...with love. She had made a room for him—for them—with the idea that he would be master of Mei Solis and she its mistress.
Why had he returned? He could argue that this was his home, and that he had every right to inhabit it. But Mei Solis had never been his home, and he had been all too eager to leave it. He could argue that now he had no duties with Rhain and the other mercenaries, no requests from King Edward, he had nowhere else to go.
Which wasn’t true either.
‘Why are we in here?’ Matilda asked.
‘Because it is quiet—or it was,’ Louve quipped.
Her eyes were wary, but the rest of her was as bright as sunshine on snow. Her cheeks were red, her wavy hair was plaited back and seemed crisp. Her large cloak, silk-lined, hid her belly, but even so she held some inner light, and he turned his gaze away before she caught him staring.
Six years away...three years knowing she’d chosen another. He was a mercenary, a knight, and yet in these glances he felt like a fumbling lovesick fool.
It was temporary, he told himself again. He’d returned because Rhain had said he must bury his past. And he would do so by spending more time with Matilda and Louve. Would free himself of whatever this was inside him. Some remnant of friendship. Of love. Ghost feelings that brushed against him.
Temporary. The word would be his mantra while he was here. But he’d given his friend a vow that he would address his past, and that meant returning as Lord of Mei Solis. That meant providing income, checking the buildings and the gates and the houses. And it also meant meeting with tenants and attending councils.
With Matilda now in the room, he sat. He rolled his shoulders again, feeling the tightness there. He looked at his childhood friends and they looked steadily at him.
Pretending to be Lord of the Manor had never sat well with him. It was a title that his father had coveted and derived pleasure from. His grandfather, a harsh man, had liked to hold power over others. He was the one who had grown the acreage and the tenancy. Who’d had the ambition to obtain other manors and gain a title, to give tithes to the King.
However, though it was what was considered a ‘minor’ manor, Mei Solis had more substance than that. The tenants were close to a hundred and the acreage was almost a thousand. The land was certainly vast enough for two, if not three manors, but his grandfather had had grander schemes than that. And he’d ordered the size of Mei Solis to be much larger than most minor manors. An entire village might find residence inside.
And that was one of the problems. The acreage was vast enough to earn a large income. But the size of Mei Solis required huge funds for upkeep, and then the King’s wars required more in from its vassals.
His father had had to travel to gain coin, but that had required him to leave his land.
For most of those years Nicholas had been training at Edward’s court. Unfortunately his father had left the manor in the hands of one bad steward after another. His father had also been poor at making decisions that would benefit.
Mei Solis had fallen into ruin.
Nicholas had no ambition for multiple manors, like his grandfather. He also had no need for the power behind the title, like his father. Anything larger than this one manor had never been his dream. One home was enough, and on many days even that was unwanted. At one point he’d dreamed of something grand for Matilda, but that dream was dead.
All he could do for his future was find some semblance of peace—like Rhain—and try to protect his back.
Six years as a mercenary and he had garnered many enemies—but none so powerful as the Warstone family. And, much as his personal matters needed attending to, he had other duties.
Now that he had crossed paths, if not swords, with the Warstone family, he fully intended to tighten his ties with the King for protection. Not only for himself but for the manor, and for the mercenaries he travelled with. And that meant increasing tithes to the King.
What he did here for the next few months needed to have a lasting effect. In that time he would pretend he was a lord with multiple manors, like some of the men he’d met. They never stayed on one estate for long.
He stood up. ‘I want to give you my appreciation for the years you have served this land and my home.’
Louve raised his brow. ‘Are you intending on usurping us?’
The prospect was not even tempting, since he’d have to govern a piece of property that had never been his home. He’d do what needed to be done here and then leave.
‘Of course. The manor is falling into ruin and I’ve obviously arrived just in time,’ he said sarcastically, and sat down again.’
‘He is definitely intending to usurp us,’ Louve said, his eyes on Matilda.
Her eyes stayed wary, but the curve of her lips eased at the joke was shared between them. The two of them shared a commonality, and he was the odd one out.
But there was one long-time joke that had once been shared amongst them all: his lack of interest in the crops and the land. He had only taken the reins of the plough when his father had died. A moment when Fate had showed him that his feeble efforts at major operations weren’t enough to feed his tenants and to provide for Matilda as he’d wanted to.
‘I can assure you, you are safe with your duties.’
Louve’s eyes returned to his, the merriment dimmed despite Nicholas’s attempt at continuing the laughter. ‘Why don’t I feel secure with your statement?’
‘Because he’s called a council between us. When has he ever held a meeting?’ Matilda quipped.
Not even when he’d left. He’d simply stood in a field one day, they had already been there, and he’d said it. That he was leaving in a week to earn the coin necessary to pay for the roof that had fallen.
A week during which he and Matilda—No. He wouldn’t think of those days. Never again.
He glanced at Matilda. Quiet when she never had been before. Whenever they’d talked it had always been she who had interjected. Her restlessness had made her never one for polite or formal means of conversation. But now Matilda remained quiet, her arms around her belly, her hands in her lap, her eyes bouncing
from him to Louve.
‘I’ve called a meeting because I’ve been gone for six years and I don’t know a damn thing about what’s been going on.’
Matilda’s eyes caught his.
Was she surprised that he could admit to a fault?
‘Not even two full days here and you are disparaging my reports to you,’ Louve said.
‘I doubt I received all the correspondence you sent. I only received the more...choice letters.’
His friendship with Louve was mended, but Nicholas couldn’t fathom making peace with Matilda. Matilda’s expression when she looked at him was mutinous.
‘So what do you want to know?’ Louve said.
He’d received some correspondence, so he knew how things had been when Roger was still alive, but now...?
‘Tell me how matters are operated here.’
‘We have the tenants working your demesne two days a week, their own the rest,’ Louve said. ‘I keep track with tally sticks. The tenants understand them when I make the notches.’
Nicholas nodded. ‘How to increase production?’
‘How much silver did you bring?’ Matilda said.
Even Louve swung his gaze to her at that.
Avarice. Greed. He’d never attributed those things to Matilda, only to Helena. Still, he’d wanted to give her riches. Told her he’d leave to bring them home to her.
But he’d been gone a long time, and perhaps with the silver he had sent home she had grown greedy.
‘Enough for lifetimes,’ he replied.
Louve darted another look to Matilda and replied, ‘Then we can get the tools we need. We can hire people to help with the bleeding of the livestock and the storage of the wheat we’ve harvested. We’ve lost some of our crops simply because there aren’t been enough people to get it into shelter.’
‘Or enough shelters,’ Matilda added. ‘When we go out you’ll see some of the buildings we’ve constructed, but the crops have yielded more and we have no storage.’
‘Then let’s do it,’ he replied. All that would increase his tithes to the King. Everything sounded as if it was running smoothly.
‘The manor’s roof has been repaired. The walls and floors have been reinforced,’ Matilda added. ‘As you instructed.’
Louve shot her another puzzled glance. ‘Fortifications, too, were reinforced. Everything I wrote to you about.’
Everything seemed too easy. When he had been here, when his father had been Lord, crops hadn’t yielded so much that storage had been needed. Tenants had not worked the land.
‘And how are the disputes? Surely there must be disputes?’
‘What can’t be resolved we hold council meetings for,’ Louve interjected. ‘At the beginning there were many.’
‘All three of you?’
‘At the beginning,’ Louve said. ‘Then I left matters to Roger and Matilda.’
He could imagine them now, sitting side by side, the Lord and Lady of the manor.
‘And now?’
‘There has been no council for some time.’
‘Disputes?’
‘Too many,’ Louve quipped. ‘But with—
‘I will attend these meetings.’ Nicholas turned to Louve. ‘Then you can supervise the planting of the barley without interruption.’
Louve’s tapping fingers stopped. Nicholas saw a brief flare in Matilda’s eyes. But then it was gone, and she put a hand to her belly.
Louve’s eyes went from Matilda to Nicholas. ‘Don’t you think I should attend?’
‘It is most expedient that I know the affairs of my tenants. There are many I have not talked to.’
He waited for her reaction. After all, he intended to sit by her side as they should have done all those years ago.
But Matilda said nothing. No one protested.
Nicholas stretched back in the chair as if he hadn’t a care in all the kingdom, but suddenly he felt weighed down with them all.
Chapter Eight
The baby kicked again, and Matilda stood. ‘Is this better?’ she whispered. ‘Is this what you want?’
‘Who are you talking to?’ Agnes came bounding in.
As always, Agnes’s hair was coming undone from her plaits and her clothes were haphazardly put on.
‘I’m talking to the baby.’
The young girl’s brows drew in. ‘Can she hear you?’
Matilda almost smiled. She had everyone except Rohesia, Louve and Bess believing that the baby would be a girl. A few more weeks and they’d know she was right.
‘I don’t know, but if she can is there something you’d like to say to her?’
Agnes’s eye grew as big as full moons and she hastily shook her head.
‘Not even a little bit?’
‘There’s so much!’ Agnes blurted. ‘She hasn’t seen the horses, or the fields. Nor the new linens in the hall or how Cook’s makes her raston bread sweet for you.’
Oh, to see the world through a child’s eyes. A world where everything was of equal importance.
‘Maybe you don’t have to tell her all that. Maybe you could simply tell her a secret message?’
‘Can I touch your belly?’
At Matilda’s nod, Agnes laid her small hand gently on her stomach.
Matilda gasped.
Agnes quickly stepped back. ‘Did I hurt you?’
She shook her head. ‘Your hand is cold, that’s all. Do you have enough clothing on under that cloak? It is unseasonably chilly for September.’
With a shy grin, Agnes shrugged.
Agnes was always either half-dressed or hardly fed. Her mind was usually occupied with the shape of a butterfly’s wings or the way the water carved through mud. But the weather was turning, and despite the cloak Agnes’s cheeks and nose were bright red and her hands were like ice.
‘How long have you been outside?’
‘Not long.’
Which could mean hours. ‘Did you leave the house before or after breakfast?’
‘Before, I think.’
Definitely hours. ‘Why don’t you talk to the baby and I’ll make you some pottage?’
Agnes nodded eagerly and placed her hand on her belly again. She leaned in and whispered, ‘Can’t wait to play with you.’
Matilda, who was trying to keep her sudden happy tears at bay, said, ‘She can’t wait to play with you either.’
Agnes clasped her hands. ‘Did she tell you that?’
‘No, but I know I can’t wait to play with you, so it makes sense that she can’t either.’
Agnes clapped, her whole body vibrating.
‘What are you building today?’ asked Matilda.
‘Wolves.’
‘Wolves? But what will happen to the horses that you built the other day?’
‘They’re circling the barns.’
It was quite a story. ‘Where is this one built?’
‘In the herb garden.’
Her brothers wouldn’t think of entering the garden. ‘But how can you build anything there?’ The stalks of the vegetables and herbs would surely impede any structures.
‘It’s only some rocks and sticks on the ground.’
Matilda’s heart panged. Though most of them fell down, Agnes liked to stack things on top of each other.
Agnes nodded. ‘Maybe the baby could help me when she gets out.’
‘It’ll be a while before she can play with you in that way. I’m afraid she might be more like your brothers at first, and destroy your creations before you can blink.’
‘Is Agnes here?’ Bess called.
‘In here,’ Matilda answered.
Bess strode in. ‘Your mother’s looking for you.’
‘I’m fine in here,’ Agnes said.
‘I’m about to feed her,’ Matilda
added, walking to the pot by the fire. Not hot, but warm enough. She placed the pottage in a cup and Agnes wrapped her hands around it.
‘What brings you here?’ Matilda asked Bess.
Bess poured herself some pottage and sat down. ‘Rohesia’s wondering where you are.’
‘You’re running messages today?’
‘It appears so.’ Bess took a sip.
‘Why does Rohesia want me?’
‘Apparently, you’ve been having pains.’
‘When I’m bending over—you know of those.’
But there were also those pains she’d experienced in the middle of the night, when she was lying down, and the other ones when she was standing. She’d never mentioned them. Didn’t want to worry anyone.
Bess gave her a sideways glance.
‘You don’t have to believe me.’
Bess opened her mouth closed it. Opened it again. ‘You never tell me everything.’
‘We’ve known each other since I was a babe—what more is there to say?’
Bess turned to Agnes. ‘Ready to return? Let’s walk back to your house.’
Handing the cup over, Agnes frowned. ‘I know my way!’
‘You may know your way, but I said I’d get you home,’ Bess said.
‘And I have to leave, too.’ Matilda swung on her cape which caught on her belly. Giggling, Agnes straightened it out, while Bess opened the door and they stepped out.
Agnes skipped ahead of them.
‘What’s the true reason Rohesia wants to see me?’
Bess shrugged. ‘That’s all she said. You know what’s she like—mixing those herbs and bending over her cauldrons, plotting.’
She wanted to say that Rohesia didn’t plot, but she had watched them all grow into adults. The healer did plot, and she nudged until a person had no choice left.
They passed Agnes’s home and she ran inside, waving goodbye.
‘That child thinks you walk on silver,’ Bess said. ‘All those drawings in the sand and the little piles of rocks and sticks. You spend too much time with her.’
‘It’ll be good practice for me and her mother needs a break.’
‘But all those things she builds. I’m constantly tripping over them. Nuisances.’
