Reclaimed by the Knight

by Nicole Locke

  ‘You know her well?’

  ‘I know everyone well.’ If he had stayed, he’d know them, too.

  He looked away at that, but she saw a muscle tick in his jaw and knew he understood. ‘She’s close to you?’

  She didn’t know where these questions were coming from, or their purpose. Nevertheless, she did know that she didn’t want to be walking to her home with the man who had broken her heart.

  ‘She’s a sweet, curious child. I’m glad Louve was here to return her to her parents.’

  ‘Does she follow you around often?’

  ‘Why all these questions?’

  He stepped back. ‘I’ve returned, Matilda. I’d like to know how my home has fared while I was gone.’

  But these questions weren’t about his home. They were personal and about her. She’d shared enough tonight. She’d done it for her father’s sake, not for him.

  ‘You never cared for this home. Even when your father slaved over it and brought home that woman. Even when your father worked himself to death. You didn’t care. I’d go so far as to say you hated it.’

  ‘I worked as hard as my father—while he was alive and after he died,’ he said with deadly calm. ‘When that wasn’t enough I became a sword for hire. And you say, after all my sacrifices, after all I’ve lost, that I hated it?’

  Yes! she wanted to answer. Always, yes. He had left not because of some love of the land but because he’d hated it. Because he had been restless, and building a life with her here hadn’t been for him. It had only been some vow to his father, some promise to Helena, that had fuelled his drive to build up Mei Solis.

  The same vow that had destroyed their relationship.

  It had simply taken him not writing for her to realise it. The moment he’d left had been the moment he’d broken her heart. When she had known that they didn’t have the same ideas on how they wanted their lives together to be.

  Yet these were all old arguments—ones she hadn’t thought she’d have to make ever again. She’d married another man so she could stop having these arguments.

  ‘None of this mattered to you before,’ she said. ‘It’ll matter to you less when you leave again.’

  ‘I’ve just returned. What makes you believe I’ll leave?’

  ‘You always do.’

  Chapter Nine

  Silently walking down the steps the next morning, Nicholas still couldn’t get Matilda’s words out of head. And staring at the linen tapestries in his room all night had given him no answers as to why he’d stayed in Holgar’s home as long as he had.

  It had all started with a brief walk with Louve to show him more buildings. Then Rohesia’s shrieking. Nothing new. Nicholas could see that now. No other neighbour had reacted because it was a common occurrence.

  Nonetheless, Louve had hurried there and, as a result, so had he. Then Louve had left, taken that little girl and hadn’t come back. He hadn’t been concerned. Yet one step into Rohesia’s home and Nicholas’s feet hadn’t moved again.

  Rohesia had always been volatile and territorial. So he had been surprised to see Matilda and her father there with her. More than surprised to see the gentle, caring way Matilda had been trying to extract her father from the situation. The Matilda he knew would have said a few firm words to let her know where she stood.

  This Matilda had been almost flustered, placating instead. Her behaviour had been incongruous in the woman he’d left behind. There had been strength there. She was no coward, but she acted as if she were timid.

  The last time he’d seen Holgar the man had been almost double the weight he was now, and as proud as any king. Now he appeared diminished.

  He knew Joan had died, but this kind of change seemed dramatic. It had wrenched something inside him to see the man reduced, because he was someone who had been there for him when his own father had died. Who had watched him grow and agreed he was a good match for his daughter.

  Seeing him like that...

  Nicholas shook his head and walked directly to the door leading out of the hall. He was grateful that the few people who were beginning their day weren’t asking him questions or enquiring about his health. He’d had all night, but he still needed to sort his thoughts.

  He had stayed though he’d had no right being in that house. No excuse. With Holgar there, he had known he wouldn’t confront Matilda. He had stayed because for a moment Matilda had needed him to be there. To chop vegetables and listen to her father. To listen to her accusations and to Holgar and his words.

  And that thought had driven a dagger right through his thoughts. Made his sleep restless and forced him up before dawn broke.

  He had left all those years ago. They’d argued. He’d had to go because they’d needed coin. Because he had known his duty to his home, his vassals, his tenants. He had known his desire for her.

  Yet, underneath it all, he did intend to leave again. How could he possibly stay here? Why would she and Louve want him to? They were doing an excellent job of running and improving Mei Solis. More than that, how had she guessed the truth?

  He hated to think that she could still know him. Had she guessed that he wanted to confront his past in order to find peace? Despite her grief, she’d seemed to find it. Widowed, with a child on the way...

  Holgar’s words had been clear: respect Matilda’s choices.

  She’d chosen Roger while he had been out earning silver for her...for them. So they would have a house with a solid roof, oxen to furrow the land. So he didn’t have to work to his death. So they could have children with stability.

  He’d left, and at the moment when he had been earning everything they needed so they could be together she had betrayed him. How was he to respect or reconcile the past?

  And yet he’d stayed for hours with Matilda and her father. He had no right thinking that she’d needed him there. Besides, remaining in one place and chopping vegetables went against everything in him.

  If something needed to be done, he did it. Coin was needed—he became a mercenary and earned it. A friend killed a man in a reckless moment—he killed two to keep him alive.

  He wanted to find peace and happiness—he returned here to find it.

  Chopping vegetables had got him nowhere. He needed to confront her, to demand why she betrayed him.

  However, after those hours locked in uncharacteristic quietness with her and her father, with her father’s words still scraping uncomfortably within him, he knew he wouldn’t. Not today. He was too reckless and restless for that. So that left...what for him to do?

  He hadn’t belonged here before he’d left, and he didn’t belong here now. He didn’t recognise anything or anyone. This wasn’t the home he’d left, or the people. He wouldn’t stay here, but he needed a future. One in which whatever still thumped in his heart when he looked at Matilda, whatever rage he felt towards Roger, was gone. A new home, new friends, a woman who would truly trust him.

  He refused to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for Reynold to attack. And to do so he needed to make Mei Solis so prosperous that the King couldn’t do without its tithes.

  Did he regret what Rhain had done that night when he’d made the deal with Reynold? No. Rhain made that deal with Reynold to protect Helissent. Someone he loved had been at risk, and he’d have made any bargain with the devil. Rhain had protected his future. Now Nicholas would ensure he could have a future as well. And he was eager to begin it.

  Nicholas strode through the courtyard towards the stables. He was so restless he could probably walk to the outer fields.

  His land.

  In the days he’d spent here he’d already ridden through much of the land. And there was more to cover at this time of year, with many of the outer fields just harvested.

  He had a large estate, but it was worthless unless the land was used. Over his travels h
e’d seen different farming styles. But, though he wanted to adopt some of the techniques he’d seen in Spain, he knew most would be useless in this climate. Most, but not all.

  * * *

  ‘I can’t get the tail right!’ Agnes cried, her voice too full of happiness for her complaint to have any real bearing.

  ‘Well, look at this back leg I have drawn—what horse ever had a leg like that?’ Matilda pointed to the ground, where they were scraping sticks in the dirt.

  Laughing, Agnes skipped around it. ‘It looks like a dog.’

  Matilda took a large step back to look at their work, and was rewarded with a jab in her side and along her left leg. She froze.

  Agnes stopped skipping. ‘Is she talking again?’

  Matilda waited a moment before she could reply. ‘Very loudly.’

  ‘Can I listen?’

  Matilda breathed out slowly until the pain had eased. She shouldn’t have stepped back so quickly. ‘Always.’

  ‘Are you well?’ Agnes whispered to the baby.

  Another pang. ‘I think... Oh!’ Matilda’s hand went to her belly.

  ‘Is she kicking again?’ Agnes asked.

  A short walk and they’d be at the edge of the village. By then someone would surely have crossed their path.

  ‘Why don’t we go and see if Rohesia is near?’

  Agnes bit her lip. Matilda grabbed the girl’s hand and gave her a smile, but she could feel her body tightening. Readying, and yet she wasn’t ready. It was too soon for her baby’s arrival; she hadn’t enough clothes sewn.

  A few more steps and they did run into someone—but it wasn’t Rohesia or Bess. It was Nicholas, striding over from the cordwainer’s. They were still on his blind side, and Matilda hoped that he would continue, but it was a foolish hope. He never appeared to have a blind side when it came to her. His gaze always found hers.

  She couldn’t straighten, and a sheen of sweat broke out on her skin, but she loosened her grip on Agnes and tried to appear as if all was well as she smiled.

  Whatever Nicholas saw in her expression hastened his steps to her. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘The baby’s coming,’ Agnes said.

  ‘She’s not!’ Matilda said. ‘I stood too quickly and have a pang in my side. I simply need to lie down and rest.’

  ‘Rest?’ Nicholas asked.

  Wrong word. How many times had she argued that she didn’t need to rest? ‘Stretch a bit. She doesn’t like it when I hunch over and don’t give her space to move.’

  ‘You’ve gone pale,’ Nicholas said, looking around. There was still no one. ‘Find Bess and Rohesia,’ he said to Agnes. ‘Tell them to meet us at the manor.’

  Spinning on her heels, Agnes didn’t wait for Matilda’s response.

  ‘I don’t need to go to the manor!’ Another sharp pain, but it was still only uncomfortable. ‘I want to go home.’

  Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. ‘I have already told Agnes where to go. Bess and Rohesia won’t go to your home.’

  ‘This is too much. It was probably only something I ate that didn’t—’ There was a flash between her legs. Hot...wet. ‘My waters—’ Matilda gripped her belly.

  Nicholas cursed as he gripped her for support. ‘Stop arguing.’

  ‘Rohesia says a first child always takes its time. We can make it back to my home.’

  At that moment Nicholas wasn’t certain who would make it where...or how. He’d certainly seen worse in his travels—been assaulted by more chaos and confusion than one woman giving birth. Nevertheless, this was Matilda. His Matilda. And, for better or worse, he was the only one here to provide support, to get her to help. To give her help.

  Yet with her grip on his arm he couldn’t move. There was a vulnerability within her at this moment they shared that made his chest burn.

  He offered Matilda his other arm and her fingers gripped so tightly he felt her fear through his cloak and his tunic, down to his very bones. Her trembles ensured that her worry vibrated through the rest of his body and every bit of the vicinity around his heart.

  Looking at her determined expression, he couldn’t guess what was happening to her, but her trembles told him they’d never make it out of the village.

  ‘I don’t want to go to the manor,’ Matilda repeated. ‘I need—’ A sharp inhalation. ‘I need to go to my home. The cradle is there, as are all the linens. I have prepared it for this.’

  ‘Your home is too far for you to make it.’ Nicholas indicated with his chin. ‘You’re gathering attention. Do you want that?’

  Now everyone had decided to appear? She shook her head. ‘This is—’

  ‘What is necessary,’ he interrupted. ‘If you don’t agree, I will carry you.’

  She frowned at him, and a pang cut through his chest as a memory clashed with the present. How familiar she was in this moment, with her hazel eyes flashing at him. How many times had they stood toe to toe like this in the past, until their childhood dirt clods had turned to kisses?

  Those kisses had burned through him all those three years until he’d received her letter. They burned through him now.

  Exhaling, he shook his head. There was no time for the past when she needed him so much now.

  She shuffled forward, but stopped short of a full stride. One hand on him, the other on her baby. ‘I think I may have got my wish.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘That she’d come early.’

  Nicholas cursed, then swept her up. Her cloak, her heavy skirts, the weight of her pregnancy.

  He felt none of it. The rush of her smell, like the soil before it rained and fresh spring grass, was what almost brought him to his knees.

  She was grasping behind his neck and he felt the trusting weight of her, the fact that she fitted so comfortably in his arms—as if she belonged. He didn’t know who was more vulnerable at that moment—he in the flash of memories of things that would never happen again between them, or her because of the babe that was to come.

  The baby. Usually women were confined before this happened. Not out in the open, exposed to people, edging closer, their eyes wide with worry.

  She shouldn’t be exposed to him.

  Her breath sped. She was suddenly pale, then red. Her entire body tensed against the coming contraction.

  ‘Nicholas!’

  ‘I won’t drop you.’

  Her eyes met his, and all the years fell away.

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  He’d never wanted to reach his home before. Not with this urgency and absolute need. Now it was his sole desire. Rushing through the gates into the courtyard, he demanded linens, water, food and rushes to be sent to the room next to his.

  Nicholas pushed by the crowds beginning to form. His vision of Matilda was marred by the patch over his eye. He’d have to look down to see her and he forced himself not to.

  She was too close. He held her too tightly. But she clung just as much as her pain came and went, as her hands fluttered from his neck to her belly. He sensed her struggle. This moment was all for the baby—but she, the mother, had to get somewhere safe first.

  He bounded up the steps, past his room, to the chamber that adjoined it. The one he’d been sleeping in to avoid what she had done to the master chamber.

  ‘Here?’ she said.

  ‘You heard my shouting.’

  ‘I’m in pain—I’m hardly listening to you.’

  Already servants were passing him, pushing open the door. ‘Well, you should be.’

  He took her to the bed to lie her down.

  ‘I want to stand.’

  He eased her down. Her trembles were increasing as her legs took her weight, as another wave of pain swept through her.

  She gripped his arm again. ‘Bess and Rohesia will be here soon.’

  ‘I need to wal
k.’

  ‘Then we will walk.’

  He could do nothing else. His heart was thumping and his limbs were heavy and clumsy next to hers. This wasn’t some enemy he could fight. There was no tea or tincture to make this go away.

  Women died from childbirth. Matilda might be dying now. But her grip stung and the light in her eyes was undefeated. She wanted to walk, so they would walk until their feet pained, until the baby came. They would walk.

  More servants...most ignoring them. One dropped the linens when she saw him.

  Flushed red, bent over, Matilda almost laughed. ‘You have to go.’

  ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘No man is allowed during this time.’

  ‘I’m staying,’ he repeated.

  Her breath was speeding up again. She was gripping his arm, gripping her skirts. He leaned in to support her and she took his support, rubbing her forehead against his chest, against his heart. He laid a hand on the back of her neck. It was burning.

  When the pain had subsided he shuffled them towards a bucket, relished the coolness of the water, dipped a washcloth and placed it on her neck.

  ‘Now you decide to stay...’ she whispered, with a different tone. Gratefulness?

  ‘I’m not leaving you like this.’

  She pushed against his chest. ‘More walking, then.’

  The room was large enough to make a slow side turn, but not long enough to get a good stretch if that was what she needed. ‘We would be better in the hall.’

  A grunt from her. ‘I don’t think so. I want to be private. We stay here.’

  Her pain was increasing. Although he could tell, he couldn’t imagine what she was going through. ‘I’m not certain this room is enough.’

  ‘All of this is enough,’ she said.

  Did that mean he was enough?

  The door burst open and Rohesia and Bess stamped in. Bess swept to Matilda’s side, her manner gentle, comforting.

  Rohesia, looking like a mighty harridan from the old tales demanded, ‘Out!’

  Matilda didn’t let him step away. Instead she gripped his arm with both her hands. Her pain was coming again.