by Nicole Locke
He’d been Lord of Mei Solis since his father’s death. Before that he’d been the privileged heir to a great estate. He’d trained until he became a warrior, a knight, a mercenary. Made himself formidable through his training, through his size, through his will. His sudden vulnerability stopped something inside her. She felt something unfurling.
‘I wanted you to know I wasn’t simply barging in here.’
‘Even so, you did. Barge in here.’
She was only just now realising it. She should have realised it immediately, but the hesitancy in his manner had surprised her. She stood. A feeling other than grief was coming through to her. Discomfort. Frustration. Maybe embarrassment at having her privacy torn apart.
He’d brought her to this room. Given her this sanctuary. Did he think he had a right to watch her, see what she ate, hear the sounds that she wanted no one to hear, that she didn’t want to hear?
‘You didn’t knock.’
‘You’ve been here for three weeks.’
‘You brought me here. I thought this was to be my room.’
‘It is your room in which to rest, to find some peace, but not to hide.’
That hurt. She hadn’t been hiding. It had been her sanctuary. And he was no innocent.
‘Like you hid?’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘You were injured years ago and you didn’t come back.’
‘I wasn’t hiding. I was recovering.’
‘And after that?’ At his silence, she continued, ‘Roger only died a few short months ago, Nicholas.’
‘He died. Not you.’
She flinched and then rallied. ‘What do you expect me to do? Go on with my days as if nothing had happened?’
‘Death had happened, but so has life. And life requires more than death. It requires that you rest, that you eat. That you...’ He pressed his lips together, shook his head. ‘At the very least it requires food.’
He had been about to say that life required more than her sleeping and eating. But she knew life required more. She just didn’t want to acknowledge that right now.
‘They bring me food and water.’
‘The trays are almost full when they are returned.’
She felt discomfort at his sudden presence. Ire at his accusation that she was hiding. Embarrassment at him watching her.
Then something stronger pierced through her grief.
Anger.
How dared he watch her, tell her she was hiding, that she wasn’t eating enough? How dared he notice the sounds she made?
They were private. Her privacy. Her grief. Her feelings. He had no right to thoughts about them.
‘Leave,’ she said.
‘Why do you send the food back, Matilda?’
‘I eat enough to feed Julianna. This is my room. Leave me be.’
‘Why are you staying in here? The window’s closed. It’s dark. The fire’s barely lit.
‘You brought me here—for what? To keep an eye on me? I trusted you.’
‘You need to eat, Matilda.’
‘I have no hunger. For anything.’
His eyes widened with shock at that. ‘You need to eat, Matilda.’
‘For what?’
‘For her.’
‘I’m doing that.’
His eyes searched the room as if for answers. ‘For how long?’
‘For as long as it takes.’
However, she didn’t know how long, and she was already worried. Her milk was not flowing as she’d thought it would. She was eating enough for that, but her body wasn’t co-operating. She was already worried that Bess had seen that and was having someone else feed Julianna. And that made her lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, her body too tired to do anything else.
His eyes returned to hers. ‘You need your strength for her.’
Anger. She’d needed to do a lot of things. Like be there when her husband was out in the fields. Taking care of his wound and agreeing to chop his foot off sooner. There were many dozens of things she hadn’t done.
There must be something she hadn’t done because he was gone. And she lived with the guilt of that, lived with more guilt than this man or anybody knew about.
She knew. What she didn’t want was to hear it. Especially from him.
She marched over to him, waved her arms. ‘Get out.’
He didn’t move.
‘Is this why you put me here. To trouble me and worry me? You’re asking me questions you have no right to. As if—’
Suddenly cold, she grasped her arms around herself, turned around.
‘Who do you think you are? No one. You left and we picked up after you. You left all in your glory to go and wave your sword and earn little metal pieces to buy things. We kept on farming when the wheat came, building when the walls were crumbling. You weren’t out in the blustery gales tying down crops. Losing sheep in the culverts. When the west roof fell in on the manor and the rains came.’
Cold. Hot. Shaking. She hugged herself more. Her feet were taking her faster. She was aware that Nicholas stood as still as a wall. Doing what? Nothing? Listening to her raving? Being there for her?
He stood right there, right next to her, and still he was doing nothing.
‘Get out!’ She pushed against him.
He didn’t move.
Frustrated, she pushed again and again, until something powerful nipped and pinched inside her. Rage.
With everything she had inside her, every bit of strength she’d ever built, she shoved against his unyielding body and he took it. His breath as she jabbed at his abdomen was the only indication that he felt any of the storm breaking inside her.
She wanted to do more. Much more. And she glanced at his implacable expression and his formidable body and she knew he’d take more. More of whatever this was. He was letting her. He was doing nothing. Standing mute and still. He was letting her pour it all out. He was being helpful.
That knowledge spiked her anger. It was as if he had a right to this as well. Her room, her privacy, her thoughts. Now her emotions.
It overwhelmed her that she was doing this. Not sitting on the bed, trying to hold herself together, but falling apart. Falling apart.
The sounds she had held down inside her were coming out with her fists. Louder now that she didn’t muffle them in the bedcovers. Grief, pain, agony released for anyone to see, to hear.
For this man to witness.
Until she shoved at him one more time, her body slamming into his, and physically fell against him, panting hard. His arms came around hers, squeezing tight. Holding her in as she fell apart.
Matilda’s sobs wrecked him in every possible way. It was her vulnerability, her broken heart, the way she pounded and shouted as if she was in a storm, lost at sea, and he was the hollow broken tree limb she clung to in order to keep afloat. He was all she had to keep her afloat.
Worthless—that was what he was. Broken. Hollow. The choked sounds she made were like a person taking in water. She was taking in feelings, and though she clung to him tightly, and he wrapped his arms around her with every bit of care and strength that he could give, it wasn’t helping. She was still going under—and she was taking him with her.
And he let her.
He deserved it—and all the words she threw at him. Her hatred of him was clear in every bite of her accusation, every break between her denunciations. He deserved her pounding fists and battering palms. Smashing his walls, his stupidity. His pride.
For weeks she’d been like this, in the room next to his. Living with this fear and sorrow. And he’d let her. Married to another. No rights.
All true.
All false.
Because those things didn’t matter—not after the promise he’d made to Rhain to return here and repair his past.
What kind of man was he that he hadn’t given her a helping hand? Even if that hand was out of friendship? Broken as it was. Hollow, most likely. But there was substance there. There was their childhood.
For that sweet, innocent time he should have been standing by her all these days and nights. He should have taken her words and her fists, and let her repeat them every day. Let her cling to him when she was going under with her grief.
Instead, for almost three weeks he’d let her drown.
No more. He pulled her closer, lifted her so she didn’t have to hold her own weight. When even that distance was too much he lowered his head and rested his cheek against her hair. After a moment she pulled her own head into the crook he’d made. As if being in that almost enclosed spot against his neck was the air she needed.
* * *
Bess knocked twice before she entered. Nicholas almost rose from the chair in the corner to stop her, but worried the weight of his boots would be amplified in the suddenly silent space.
Bess stopped and gaped. Her arms full of Julianna, her eyes went from him to Matilda, sleeping peacefully in the bed. And she looked peaceful, too, despite the tear tracks. There was a softness in her, as if something had lifted.
‘She fell asleep,’ he said.
Bess clutched the baby a bit closer.
‘You can give her to me.’ He held out his arms.
She took a couple of steps, stopped. ‘What are you doing in here?’
‘I merely had a conversation with her.’
‘And stayed?’
‘She needed rest.’
‘And you stayed?’ she repeated.
Matilda stirred and their gazes swung to hers.
‘I knew you’d return soon,’ he whispered. ‘Hand the baby to me so she can rest, and then you can return to your home.’
Her eyes wary, Bess walked quietly to him and laid the babe in his arms.
Julianna did not stir, perfectly content, though it must have been hours since she’d been in the room.
‘Has she fed?’
Bess hesitated.
‘Has she?’ he repeated though he knew the answer.
‘There are many mothers available who are more than happy to help, knowing Matilda cannot.’
‘Does she know?’
‘We don’t talk about it... I don’t talk about it... But I think she knows because she gives me Julianna when she is wailing. Her milk may be going.’
Nicholas adjusted Julianna until she was held securely against him. He absorbed her sweet smell and gentle warmth. This child needed her mother, and her mother needed her.
‘Is it the grief?’
‘Rohesia thinks so.’
Matilda had been drowning in her emotions in the room right next to where he slept and her baby was going down with her. What good were his promises? Hollow. Worthless.
Not any more.
‘I’ll tend her.’
Bess fixed her gaze on Matilda, still sleeping. Then, with a glance he knew was a warning, she nodded and left the room.
A warning. It wouldn’t be the first one he’d received, and soon he’d be receiving many more.
Fix his past.
When he’d left it had been only Mei Solis that had needed repairs. Now that he’d returned, his friendships, his relationships with these people, needed repair as well.
He had seen the peace Rhain had achieved. He’d thought he’d do anything to find that. Except he hadn’t.
Temporary. No rights.
Even if his stay here was temporary, his relationships weren’t. They’d continued even while he had ignored them for all these years. He hadn’t said proper goodbyes.
He could never have time with Roger again, but if he could, what would he say? Only now could he allow himself such thoughts.
Louve wasn’t the same as when he’d left. The casual ease was still there, but some fissure was running underneath his smiles. Was it because he’d stayed? Had he wanted to stay? A few more days, and many more drinks, and maybe the mystery that was there would be solved.
Mei Solis Manor itself had been managed to the utmost. A little more coin—which he had now brought—was all it needed to provide a good livelihood for the tenants. More sheep, more supplies for the blacksmith. All that.
He could fix his past.
But Matilda?
His heart?
Could he forgive her for marrying Roger? For not waiting for him? For thinking he’d lied when he’d said he loved her? How could she think so little of him? Think that he’d simply stopped writing and that was a rendering of their betrothal?
He’d done it to protect her, and yet no answer could she give him to make up for that letter he’d received while he’d lain there dying. Nothing.
His eyes fell to Julianna. But for his friendship with Roger, for his friendship with Matilda in the past and for this baby here, he would make it easier for them. He might be injured, his body scarred as well as his soul. He might be hollow and worthless. However, if she would cling to him a little longer he’d make certain that she and Julianna didn’t drown, but made it to the shore before he left.
He pulled the blanket more securely around Julianna. The baby slept, the mother slept, and for the first time since he’d returned Nicholas’s restlessness was still as well.
Chapter Eleven
February 1296
Mere months and Matilda’s life had completely changed. She sat at her own table in her own home and held her child as she fed. Julianna, her daughter, was more beautiful than she could ever have imagined. From her toes to her fingers, from the darkness of her hair and the stubbornness of her chin, so like her father’s. And Julianna was a girl—something she’d known all along.
This was the life she wanted. A home. A hearth. Good friends...family. She wanted to hold on to it so desperately.
Julianna was her life now—a tiny baby, completely dependent on her—and she knew she was already using her as a shield against life’s greatest agony. Death. Loss. Roger had done that. Defended her. Julianna would never know that.
Matilda gasped. So much loss. Julianna would never know her father—the way he’d smiled, the ease of his kind words. And his patience. Her daughter would never know of his patience.
She rubbed her daughter’s hair, which already looked darker than her own. Roger’s hair. Maybe Roger’s eyes. Definitely his nose.
‘He knew her.’
Her hand still on Julianna’s head, Matilda whirled around. Nicholas was there, holding her gaze but looking unsure. A strange look for a man who made his life killing.
Death should have become familiar to him. Yet she could see from the lines of his face, the line of his shoulders, that he carried a great weight. It was in the hesitancy of his step and the cadence of his words. His words which somehow were all too sure. and he continued them.
‘It’s what you were thinking, about the babe?’ he continued. ‘Tiny, fragile, new. She didn’t have enough time to know him. He knew her, though. Before he died he already loved his child, even if she wasn’t yet born. I envy him that.’
‘Well, there’s nothing to envy now.’ A daughter with no father. Like her.
He looked at Julianna, his eye softening. ‘There’s everything to envy.’
‘Pity, you mean. A woman with no husband...a child with no father. And no land of our own except what he did for you. Do you think my labours will be enough?’
‘Can I take her? There’s food, and I know you haven’t eaten.’
She clenched Julianna tighter to her. ‘She’s not crying. I’d rather not disturb her yet.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll get the food, then.’
‘And do what? Feed me?’
‘If need be.’
‘To make certain I don’t weaken and you lose coin?’<
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‘We’re past that now, aren’t we?’
He moved to the fireplace—she presumed to put on another log, to make it warmer. Instead he threw a bucket of water on it and turned back to face Matilda.
‘You can’t stay here on your own. You’ll stay at the manor through the rest of winter. It’s too cold for Julianna to be in a cottage.’
Matilda’s eyes broke from her trance. The relieved look in her gaze told him he’d said the right thing.
Neither of them said a word on the path to the manor. As if his words had made sense in the chaos that was their life.
It was the cold. Of course it was the cold that drove her from her home. The cruelty of winter and the storms that battered against the feeble boards and windows had mocked the little fireplace inside. It was only that, and not the fact that her husband, father to her child and lifetime friend, was dead.
He held out his arms. ‘Give her to me.’
She gave a tiny shake of her head and clutched Julianna closer.
Fear. Pain. She still needed reassurances. Those he could give to his mercenaries, but what did he tell this woman he’d once loved, whom he still loved, when she’d lost the man she’d chosen over him? Reassurances of what?
Then he knew. ‘I have held her before,’ Nicholas said. ‘On the day she was baptised. I didn’t drop her then.’
Gasping at that, she let her eyes, which had lost their focus, gaze on him. He wanted to comfort her when he had not the right. Nonetheless, she had loosened her hold, and he could take advantage of it. Carefully extracting the baby from her arms, he nestled her against him.
‘Why did you do it?’ she asked. Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears.
He looked over his shoulder and saw a woman grieving. He grieved with her. No matter what had happened between them, he grieved for her loss and his own.
‘Why did you carry the baby to the church that day and not Bess or Rohesia? Why did you agree to be her godparent?’
‘The Lord of the Manor is usually asked to be godparent.’
However, that didn’t explain why Bess or Rohesia hadn’t carried the baby, though it was customary for a woman to carry the baby if she was a girl. But explanations and reasons weren’t what Matilda was asking him for. So he told her the truth.
