by Nicole Locke
He rubbed his hands along her sides. Skimmed his knuckles over her breasts. Strummed his thumbs over her as he breathed across the tips.
‘I ache...’
He rocked his hips forward against hers. ‘Yes!’
She wanted. Needed. She pulled her chemise off.
Nicholas fell to his knees. Pulled her to him and rested his head against her stomach. His fingers splayed on her ribs. Grappling at his hips, he felt it, tried to hold it back. The taste of her on his lips was driving him forward as much as the feeling of her against him.
‘Please...’ she begged.
Her lips parted in invitation and he took them, dipped his tongue inside. There was a tangle of tongues as her hips moved, seeking and finding him. And then on a rough groan he sank deep into her.
Then there was nothing but this—her sounds, the clenching of her hands on his hips, her legs rubbing against his. Shuddering, he pulled out, held steady until her eyes opened. He never wanted this to end. Wanted to feel her clenching him again and again before this ended.
Matilda pinned him with the need and desire in her mesmerising eyes. Never wanting to close his own gaze, needing to capture everything she felt over and over, he drove into her again and again.
‘Nicholas...’
Her body was arching under him. Taut like a bow. How many times had he envisaged this? The curls of her hair damp against the green grass. The flush of her skin. Her nipples puckered and red from his kisses. Peaking and asking for more.
But the way she felt against him... Her willowy figure lithe and strung tight. Never had he envisaged this. For she was so much more, and his body prepared, tightened for her.
Too soon.
It was her response. The vision of her beneath him. He drew his nails into his palms, bit the inside of his mouth. The sharp pain did nothing to stop what they’d started, what his body demanded he finish with his release.
Too soon.
‘Don’t move,’ he said.
Her eyes flew open. Her gaze taking in his loss of control. The slick sweat sliding down his neck. His breath ragged. Past spent. His every sense centred to her. His hips aching for one strong thrust.
Her eyes darkened. Her glowing skin was burnished to gold. Her lips parted to hasten her increasingly shallow breaths. The restlessness of her legs scrabbled against his, against the grass they lay on. Trying to find purchase. To move.
When he gripped her hips to hold her still, her core fluttered, then grew stronger.
‘Don’t—’ He groaned, his head bowing in defeat even as he struggled to last.
‘Please...’ Her hands were stroking against his shoulders, his arms, moving down to his hands then back up again. She was desperate to make him move.
‘Matilda,’ he rasped. ‘I can’t—’
His grip stilled her body, but he could do nothing about her limbs. Her stroking hands were now frantically slapping against his wet shoulder blades, his back. Her feet had found purchase, flat on the ground so she could draw up her knees sharply beside him. Sprung tight. Her core gaining purchase, her pulls growing stronger.
So long he had waited for her. He never wanted this to end.
‘Wait...’ he begged.
‘Now!’ she demanded.
She knew what she needed. What they both needed. Sinking her nails into his shoulders and ramming herself upward, she cried out her release as her core tugged him into her body, into the heat of her.
He was lost. Gripping her tight, thrusting deep, he bowed his body over hers and roared her name.
Moments later they were catching their breath. Completely bared to the elements. The cold breeze, the birds in the trees. The grass still wet from the morning, the sun not warm enough to heat the earth they lay on.
Chilled, despite Nicholas’s arms around her, Matilda burrowed closer to him. Revelled in the exhalation of his breath, the sound he made that sounded close to one of contentment. Her body ached, but in a way it never had before. Replete. Relaxed. Whole. She was truly whole after so much emptiness.
Yet there was something just under her skin, thrumming under the even beat of her heart and her breath. Pricking between her languid thoughts of the way Nicholas had made love to her.
Words she had heard many years ago.
The feel of his body should have lent them truth. Yet somehow what they’d shared didn’t feel like the truth. And it was that thought she followed more than those that made her feel rested. She followed the pricks and jabs to her conscience.
The reasons she hadn’t told Nicholas that she loved him—she remembered them. Now that they had shared their kisses and caresses. She’d realised too late, because she had confessed too much in the way she’d held him, kissed him. Made love to him.
Because she knew that, as much as they had shared, there was one fact that remained. One fact they still didn’t share. That had torn them apart all those years ago. He had left because he was restless. Because Mei Solis hadn’t been enough for him.
That fact hadn’t changed. Mei Solis was still a farm and a manor. Nicholas was still a knight. And no matter how many kisses, caresses and professed words of love, there was nothing here that would make him stay.
That thought jabbed at her soul, but she didn’t want to think on it. Not now that Nicholas’s exploring caresses were sending shivers along her thighs. Never as she bared her neck to welcome his kisses and tugged him to her.
Chapter Fourteen
Nicholas shifted in place to ease the familiar sting of training. Tomorrow his back would ache from the swinging of his sword, and fresh bruises would appear. Even so, it had been a successful day; his hands hadn’t cracked and he had suffered no wounds.
A good day for his men as well, as they’d laughed and kept score. Slapping shoulders over the few victories, bonding in the many losses.
Mei Solis might be an agricultural manor, but over the years wealth had been built up here. So Nicholas had sent many men here to train and protect. Men who had carried his coin and his messages to Louve. Who’d stayed on for protection for the required period of time to pay a debt or earn coin of their own. Some had remained after their agreed time, and those Louve had ensured continued their training...or they had trained him.
Louve rolled his left shoulder over and over, and Nicholas smirked.
‘He almost took my arm off,’ Louve grumbled, though his expression was admiring. It was rare someone got one up on him.
‘Your fault for turning when he had a hold of his sword like that.’
‘Took my chance.’
‘To dislocate your shoulder?’
‘To make that Spanish bastard feel more pain than I will tomorrow.’
‘Ah, Graviel never did fight fair.’
‘Still doesn’t.’
‘If he lasted with you, you must have trained him well. He wanted to be a mercenary but had not enough experience.’
‘So you sent him here to break my arm?’
‘Someone needed to do it.’
Nicholas was pleased that Mei Solis had men who could provide protection. Not enough men—but then Mei Solis wasn’t the grand castle of his grandfather’s dream, it was a farm. With good, useful lands not only to make him wealthy, but to help the people who tilled it.
In that way it was better than his grandfather’s ambitions for a grand castle. Mei Solis was more than a family’s vanity.
Nicholas glanced to the sky. Soon he’d have to call a halt to the training and get on with his other duties at Mei Solis. What he wanted to do was return to Matilda’s bed and stay there for days.
He couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing and how Julianna fared. The days were still cold, despite the early spring. But most days now held warmer winds, and in a couple more weeks they’d see each other out in the fields.
Never before had h
e taken such care with the land. Now his days were inundated with tenants, wanting discussions over flagons of ale. He might have coin to pay for supplies, but the future of Mei Solis depended on the prosperity of its crops. The future for Matilda and Julianna depended on the manor.
Temporary? Nothing he’d done since that moment Matilda had ridden to the jumping field had been temporary.
A fortnight had passed since that time in the field. The days and nights since then had been full of stolen glances. Kisses in stairwells and against doors. Wanting more and taking it. Their private rooms were separate from the rest of the manor. Ideal for the nights.
But always, always she came to him in his room and then left. He had had two weeks of trying to capture her attention in the hall or in the village, only to have her turn away.
For the most part, he’d let her. But there had been moments when he had stopped her leaving, when he had grabbed her wrist or touched her arm. Asked her if she was well, if it was all too much, if she wanted to stop.
Though her eyes were always filled with unsaid conflicting emotions, her words and her actions were always the same. Words of acceptance and encouragement. A curve to her lips and a light to her eyes, indicating how much she still wanted this. Wanted them.
He wanted to believe her, but lingering was the fact that although he had said he loved her, she’d never repeated those words to him.
He’d talk of future seasons together, and what he wanted to do for her, Julianna and Mei Solis, but she’d grow quiet.
He argued with himself that she needed time. Roger had died less than a year ago, and she was caring for Julianna, still lacking asleep. And she was now getting even less sleep, since he never denied her when she came to his bed.
He was greedy for her now that he could kiss her, talk to her in the quiet hours as she fed Julianna, feel her hair against his shoulder and the length of her legs against him, even if she never stayed the whole night. So, needing to be near her, he didn’t want to know the truth.
He never pushed her. Let her set the pace. Let her keep the secret of them. That was what he was. He was her secret.
‘And there you go again!’ Louve laughed.
Nicholas pulled reluctantly from his thoughts. ‘Where do I go?’
‘You didn’t hear any of my words, did you?’ Louve shook his head. ‘Men in love are useless. Every one of you. No wonder you left yourself wide open and took that fist to your ribs.’
Men in love? Was he that obvious?
‘You think I can’t recognise the signs?’ asked Louve. ‘Your eyes search the grounds when you’re not occupied at your tasks. You look for her every day, just like I look for Mary.’
Louve had confessed to loving Mary, but other than seeing Louve entering her home, Nicholas had seen no love there. Only something that occurred behind closed doors. Like a secret.
Except everyone in Mei Solis knew that Louve visited Mary, and that there was nothing more. No betrothal or promises, nor even loving smiles.
‘She’s not good enough for you.’
Louve’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Shouldn’t I know the truth of that?’
‘Not in this.’
At Louve’s questioning gaze, Nicholas went on.
‘I’ve earned the truth of it.’ He had—with his and Matilda’s trials. They’d loved in the past, and they loved now. He knew all the sides of that emotion, and no doubt he’d learn some more.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Louve said. ‘But—’
‘And you’re my friend.’
‘Always—even though you’ve known of this for months and haven’t said anything before.’
Because he was here only temporarily. He was supposed to leave. It was spring. After the winter he had meant to leave.
He’d told Matilda he loved her, but Matilda hadn’t said it back. Was he no better than Louve?
‘You can do better,’ he insisted.
Louve’s eyes were careful, assessing. ‘You really do love her. What would you have done if Roger hadn’t died?’
‘Continued to love her and found joy in the fact that she chose the better man.’
‘Does she know everything?’
‘Too soon,’ he said.
He might not be able to keep from touching her, and he knew she cared for him, but love? She was only now grieving Roger’s death; had only just given birth to their daughter.
Asking anything more from her would be greedy, even for him. Which meant he would respect Matilda and give her whatever she needed. If she needed time, or to keep their relationship secret, he’d give that to her.
Mary’s situation was different, since her husband had been gone for years. ‘It’s not too late for you,’ he said.
Louve’s expression eased. ‘It never has been.’
‘If so, then—’
There came a pounding of hooves and the distinct clatter of metal. Shouts and the low reverberations of voices. Many voices.
Nicholas and Louve turned to the gates.
‘Who could—?’ Louve said, his strides matching Nicholas’s.
Both hastened their steps as the sounds grew more chaotic. The voices were loud, with the unmistakable sound of horses and the creak of leather.
Closer Nicholas’s footsteps took him to the gates. But he didn’t need to see the man who was surrounded by ten others. He needed to see the banner that was raised.
Reynold of the Warstone family was here.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Here, Father. Sit here.’ Matilda bore her father’s weight across the small room and gently eased him into the chair.
‘Why is there fire?’
‘It’s not yet spring. Not so many fires outside, only inside, and we need this one for food. Can you leave it alone? Aren’t you hungry?’
‘She’s a good baby,’ Holgar said.
Julianna was wide awake, her sweet gaze taking everything in. Her hair and eyes were so much like Roger’s it made her heart ache, but there was also joy in seeing them. Acceptance as well.
Matilda looked at her father, who was no longer looking at her or the baby but at the fire again. Always the fire. She might not understand where her father went in his thoughts, but there were times when she almost understood him. When she looked at the fire she thought of her mother as well. Of her small frame, her hands perpetually cold, perpetually reaching towards the flames to warm them. Those were happy thoughts, even though she missed her mother.
‘You were a good baby,’ he said.
Matilda’s eyes pricked. ‘I was?’
His eyes glanced at her and her heart stopped. Then he swung his gaze away. ‘Not enough fires outside.’
‘It’s nearly spring,’ she whispered.
‘That’s good,’ he said, nodding.
Matilda couldn’t get her heart to work normally. A tight fist had squeezed around it in that moment when he’d seen her and she him. It was gone now, but the feeling of warmth and joy was still there. His love for her was there underneath.
‘It is good,’ she told him.
A quick knock at the door made her jump.
‘It’s me!’ Bess said striding in. ‘I thought you’d be here if you weren’t at the manor.’
She tilted her head. ‘Father keeps returning here.’
Bess glanced around and looked at the low fire. ‘That’ll be difficult until spring.’
Their house was separated from the rest of the huts. Roger had always been out in the fields with everyone, glad of his privacy in the evenings. Except a house too private with fire to keep it warm would mean her father might not be safe.
‘I like to think of him here.’
There were happy memories here—fresh and new joy surrounding them like the warmer winds and the longer hours of sunshine. Like a father and a daughter’s love.
> Bess gave her usual efficient nod. ‘We’ll make certain someone is here with him, then.’
Her father was alive, in her home, and would have care; she couldn’t ask for anything more. However, her worries weren’t what had caused her friend’s hands to be clasped so tightly.
‘What has brought you here?’
‘There’s trouble.’
Matilda glanced at her father, who still gazed at the fire and didn’t move. ‘What is the matter?’
‘There are a lot of men at the gates.’
Matilda stood and bounced Julianna. ‘From what manor?’
‘No manor. I’ve never seen them before, but Nicholas has. He’s greeted them, and is now walking with their leader to the Great Hall.’
‘We have visitors and they’ll need food.’
Those were her duties—ones she enjoyed. Already her thoughts were moving to how best to provide. Wondering, too, what manner of men these friends of Nicholas’s were.
‘I don’t know how much hospitality they’ll want. They look like trouble,’ Bess said, reaching out to take Julianna.
‘She’s fed.’ Matilda handed her over. ‘If they’re men who are Nicholas’s acquaintances and have come to visit, what could possibly be the trouble?’
‘When you see Nicholas’s expression you’ll understand.’
All was clear the moment she strode into the hushed hall.
She’d changed her dress, plaited her hair. Any signs of taking care of her father and Julianna all morning were gone. Not that she cared for her appearance in a vain sense. She knew only that Bess’s description meant she needed to present a solid persona with no weakness.
It had taken her some time to get ready, so she’d expected the ale to be flowing and the conversation to be lively. But as the hall’s door closed behind her she was sorry she’d spared those few moments, for though Nicholas clearly knew them, these men weren’t friends.
Around a dozen men stood, while one other sat with Nicholas near the fire at the end of the hall. The men were clean, with clothes made of fabrics much finer than hers. They looked like men who had been the victors in every battle they’d ever fought. Except for the man with Nicholas they were all standing ominously silent and eerily still even as their eyes roved the hall, all its contents and its persons.
