Heart of Stone

by Quinn, Paula

  She smiled softly into her hand at the look of utter disbelief on Nicholas’ face.

  “You can go,” Nicholas warned him. “Now.”

  “Nicky, I—A’right then. I’m goin’.” Rauf stood up and shook his head, mumbling about him being worse than his brother.

  “He cares for you,” she told Nicholas when they were alone once again.

  “He is a fool,” came his reply.

  Well, she certainly didn’t want to tell him she loved him now.

  “I have been trying to find Berengaria.”

  He looked up at her from beneath his dark brows. “Why?”

  “I want to know why she left us.”

  “Why?” he asked, turning away from her. “What will it change for you?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I do not know until I see her again, but you know I do not believe she left us for no good reason. She loved us, Nicholas.”

  He said nothing.

  “She did,” Julianna insisted, “and I intend to find out what happened.”

  “What if she is dead?” he asked.

  “Then I will live with not knowing, lest it devour me and change who I am.”

  He nodded but, again, said nothing.

  “Rauf mentioned being with you while you were away,” she told him. “Where did you and he go?”

  “When did he mention that?” he asked, thankfully forgetting their previous conversation.

  She shook her head. “I do not recall. Yesterday at some point. So?” she asked, getting back to what she wanted to know. “Where did you go?”

  “Everywhere,” he told her. “We traveled to France and then to Spain. We sailed on ships and settled for a while in small villages encircled by the rainforest along the Marañon River. Rauf was ill most of the time there.” He smiled, remembering, then shook his head at himself. “But we made our way.”

  “It sounds like quite an adventure.”

  “Twas. But I have come home to a mountain of correspondence to read and answer.”

  “I can write,” she reminded him. If he still hated her, perhaps she could win him back. “Remember?”

  “Ah, aye. So you can.”

  “I can help.”

  “And take care of my son?”

  “Do you still want me to?”

  He scowled at her and nodded.

  “Then, aye. I can do both.” And care for you. She wanted to tell him, but she stayed quiet.

  The chapel door opened again and Simon stepped inside.

  When they saw him, they stood up from the bench.

  “Your son is awake, my lord. He cries.”

  “Thank you, Simon,” Julianna said then looked up at Nicholas and offered him an apologetic smile for answering in his stead. “I have kept you from your duties long enough,” she told him, before he had time to speak. He closed his mouth and looked away for a moment. She hated having to leave him. She hoped he felt the same way. “Good day, my lord.”

  She didn’t wait for his reply but stepped around the brother-in-training and left the chapel, trying to remember the way back to Elias’ room.

  Chapter Ten

  “My lord?”

  “What?” Nicholas looked at Simon, who was staring at him. “Did you say something?”

  “I asked if you needed prayer. I know how hard this is for you.”

  He knew because he possessed wisdom far beyond his sixteen years and had found a way beneath Nicholas’ armor to become his confessor. Simon was the only person who knew how he still felt about Julianna. Nicholas smiled and looked at the door again. “How many stars do you think there are in the heavens, Simon?”

  “Innumerable, my lord.”

  “That is how many times I have prayed to be with her.”

  “And now she is here,” the young brother remarked.

  “Aye, she is here. We are free, and I am stricken and stilled with terror.”

  “My lord, you were praying for something and running away from it at the same time. Well, God has answered your prayers. Now what will you do with such a precious gift as a second chance?

  Nicholas shook his head. “I do not know.”

  He left the chapel and went to his private solar. When he entered, he bolted the door behind him and leaned against it.

  She had been Phillip DeAvoy’s wife. Out of all the men in England, why his worst enemy? For money? For title? He felt ill. He doubted he would ever feel well again.

  DeAvoy had struck her. She hadn’t said how bad it had been, but she didn’t have to. Nicholas was sorry he was dead. He would like to have been the one who killed the son of a pig who dared to touch her. Thoughts of Phillip doing to her what he’d done to young William Stone enraged him and made him want to hurry back to her, pull her close, and protect her from anything else this world held in store for her.

  He felt lightheaded from the truth. She was back. She was here, taking care of his son. She had been married to Phillip DeAvoy.

  How could he move on when, after four years, a wife whom he loved, his wife’s death, and a baby, he’d still had to go to Berwick to get Julianna Feathers out of his thoughts?

  Now here she was in his life again. Half of him felt as if he were dreaming, the other half wanted to run as if from a nightmare. How quickly he’d fallen back into the ease of being with her, telling her about his brothers and the places he’d been, meeting her in the chapel, his place of solitude and comfort.

  He was being careless, spending too much time with her. He wanted to trust that she wouldn’t leave him again, but he couldn’t.

  He was sure she hadn’t loved her abusive husband. But then, she hadn’t loved Nicholas either. What did she know of it? That was the question he’d been asking himself for years, wasn’t it?

  Love meant little to Julianna—even to Berengaria because it wasn’t real. It was a forced emotion used to breed guilt and feelings of inadequacy and a host of other horrors when it was gone.

  He stepped into the light pooling in from the window above his table. He looked at the parchments, letters and invitations from other noblemen that had been arriving since he came home, piled in disarray. He gazed at the door. Should he go get her—to pen his missives?

  He rubbed his hand down his face when he thought of his brother, Torin. How the hell should he tell her that his brother had not only killed her father, but had infiltrated Berwick and began killing men an hour before the Scots arrived? That the invasion was all Torin’s doing for the glory of King Robert? And that when it was over, he escorted her to St. Peter’s without her knowing a thing? Nicholas couldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter.

  He walked around the large chamber and finally sat in his chair to think about all the reasons she couldn’t stay. Torin was one of them. Another was that she called him William because that’s who he was to her. But he wasn’t that boy anymore, or an orphan with no real identity. He knew who he was now. A MacPherson.

  He wanted to get on with his life. To live again. He’d gone across the world to do it. But he’d still felt dead. He lamented and raked his fingers through his hair. Until she came to Lismoor. Until he saw her face, heard her voice, her laughter. He looked toward the door. He heard her laughter outside his door. Julianna. He heard a man’s voice next, muffled by even more laughter.

  He stormed toward the door, ready to…? What? She wasn’t his. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want anyone. He had no right to be jealous of anyone in her life. Still, it pricked him in the guts.

  He unbolted the door and yanked it open. He was surprised when he saw Rauf laughing with Julianna. His son was holding on to Julianna’s hand and looking bored.

  “I’m trying to rest,” Nicholas barked out from the entrance.

  “Oh?” Julianna queried with a light air about her. “I thought I was going to help you pen some letters.”

  “Now?”

  She smiled. “Why not? Dear Rauf—”

  Dear Rauf?

  “
—has offered to sit with Elias in the great hall, but I think the babe needs to get to know his father. Do you not agree, my lord?”

  Nicholas agreed that his son needed to get to know him, but he’d had no time to prepare. “I—”

  “Do you have parchment? Ink? Quill?” she asked. “I have my own but my ink is…getting dry.” With his son in tow and without another word, she moved past him and entered his solar.

  Nicholas watched her move about in his chamber then cast Rauf a “what the hell do I do now” look. His friend shrugged, smiled, and walked off.

  “Ehm.” He stepped into the room feeling suddenly like he was entering a web—willingly. “Julianna, you should not be in my chambers alone.”

  She went to the table and picked up a few of the parchments from the pile and looked them over. “I’m not alone, my lord. Elias is here. Also, I do not care where I should and should not be. I will be where I’m needed.” She pulled out the chair beside his table and sat. “Where would you like to get started?”

  “With my son,” he told her. “What is to be done with him while you write?”

  She eyed the boy while he toddled toward the bed, bent his knees and looked under it. “I was thinking you could play with him while you tell me what to write.”

  “Me?” he asked. He knew he sounded terrified. Of a two-year-old boy. He didn’t give a damn.

  “Well, I cannot,” she insisted. “He will get ink everywhere!”

  “But, I do not know how to play with a babe,” he tried, hoping she would take pity on him.

  He should have known better. She reached for a fresh parchment. “You are his father. You will think of something. Now, what do you wish me to start with?”

  “I wish to start with you showing me how to play with him. You do remember that I have been away for two years, aye?”

  “’Tis difficult to forget, my lord. Though I wish I could.”

  She hated that he’d left his son. Doing so made him as bad as those who had left him. She didn’t understand. He didn’t expect her to.

  “So, what do I do?”

  “Try this,” she said, and held her hands over her eyes. “Elias?” she called out then held her hands away from her eyes and smiled at him. “I see you!”

  As if she released some sort of magic to the air, Elias laughed and hid his face in the bedding. She did it again and the babe laughed even harder.

  Nicholas thought it was the most profoundly moving sound he’d ever heard, the most gloriously beautiful sight his eyes had ever witnessed. It was a purely infectious event, making him laugh harder than he had in years. Many years. He watched, letting his gaze also revel in the sight of Julianna playing and laughing with his son.

  He thought he would give it a try and before he knew it, he was on the ground and Elias was climbing on top of him and squealing with laughter when Nicholas tickled him.

  The afternoon passed by with songs and silliness and no writing at all. Rauf came by with some food and drink for supper, which they ate on the floor of the chamber, picnic style.

  “He eats well for one so young,” she remarked while Elias chewed some bread slathered in sweet butter. “Thanks to the village women helping to teach him.”

  “Aye, I must find a way to show them my gratitude. What do you suggest?”

  “Hmm, let me think,” she replied, smiling. “You could have a celebration to honor them. Food, wine, music and dancing.”

  He scowled and shook his head. “I do not like that sort of thing. Too many people coming and going.”

  “What is so bad about that?”

  “I like quiet.”

  “Well,” she said, tossing him a pitiful look, “you are not going to get it with a two year old around.”

  “Papa, shoe!”

  Nicholas looked down to see his son trying to fit his foot into his father’s discarded boot.

  “Did you hear that?” Nicholas asked, nearly bolting to his feet. “He said papa! On his own! Without you telling him!”

  Her smile softened and warmed on him. “That is what you are, my lord, his papa.”

  “Aye.” Nodding, because he could not say more without risking choking on his strangled cries, he mussed his son’s hair and kissed the top of his head. Darkness fell early so they let Elias stay up and play for a little while longer.

  When the babe grew tired, Nicholas picked him up and put him on his bed. “I will carry him to his bed later. For now, let him sleep while you write.”

  She rose from the floor and patted her breeches then cleaned up.

  “I do not know if he will sleep with us both in the room,” she let him know.

  “He will if we lie down with him,” he suggested and then set the boy down gently on the bed. He kissed Elias’ head again and laid down next to him. “Come, Julianna.” He held out his hand and waited for her. “Forget the letters. Lie on the other side of him.”

  She came shyly and climbed up onto the bed. Elias smiled when she grew close and closed his eyes. They whispered and smiled and kissed the babe’s hands.

  Nicholas didn’t know why the sight of her lying with his child made his heart swell up with dreaded emotion. When Mattie died, he was tortured by the fact that his son would never have his true mother. Just as Nicholas had never had his.

  He wondered what Mattie would have thought of Julianna. She would have disliked her four years ago. But Julianna was different now.

  “Your bed is very soft,” she whispered over Elias’ little head. “You may have trouble getting him out of it, and me, as well.” She said the last with a soft laugh that sent warmth down Nicholas’ spine.

  “He is asleep, my lord.”

  Nicholas could see that. He didn’t want to get up, to leave the bed and her. He wanted to reach over his son and trace her features with his fingers. But he had never been free to touch her, until he’d kissed her in the stables—and he had been beaten and banished from Berwick for it. There was no one to stop him now. Her father was dead and so was her husband.

  Still, he withdrew and left the bed. As much as he wanted to touch her, he didn’t want to feel anything again. He was finally healing from the loss of his wife…the loss of her. His gaze settled on her for a moment while she carefully left the bed. He looked away when she straightened.

  What if Rauf was correct? What if everything had always been because of her?

  “Let me at least get one letter written for you,” she offered awkwardly, hurrying to the table.

  “No,” he stopped her and unclenched his jaw so that his offer was believable. “Go to bed. Or go explore the castle.” He forced himself to smile. “Rauf will escort you.”

  “But I am not sleepy and I do not want to go anywhere,” she argued in a hushed voice. “I am Elias’ governess. My duty is to stay here and see to him.”

  He might have to carry her out. She was digging in her heels. Why? Why would she want to stay with him when he didn’t want her there? Then again, if he truly didn’t want her there, she’d be gone by now. He was allowing all this for her.

  “I am his father. I will see to him,” he muttered, sounding more like the low rumble of a large predatory cat.

  “I grow weary of you sending me away, my lord,” she said and yanked her arm away when he tried to take hold of it. “I will go to Rauf then.”

  She wheeled around on her heel and stormed out of the room without making a sound.

  Good. He was glad. Why had he told her to go with Rauf? Did he want something to develop between them? What if something did? Hadn’t Rauf mentioned liking one of the maids? Agnes, perhaps?

  But who was any woman compared to Julianna?

  He looked at the bed and his son sleeping soundly, and ran from the room.

  His larger steps overtook her much smaller ones and he caught up to her quickly, barely two doors down.

  “Julianna,” he said, pulling on her elbow. “Wait! Do not go.”

  She stopped immediately and turned to him. “Did you forget so
mething, my lord?”

  “Stop calling me that,” he warned her. “I do not care if I am your lord or not, you will not call me that again.”

  “Very well, but ’tis not as if I’m calling you Zeus, for goodness’ sake. What is this that comes over you?” she demanded. “Why is it you are so afraid of me?”

  He laughed softly, ready to refute her words. “There is no part of me that is afraid of you, Julianna.”

  “Then what is it, Nicholas? Why do you always try to chase me away the instant there is any spark between us?”

  “I do not—”

  She stomped her foot into the ground and balled her hands into fists. “You do! And unlike you, I do not want to fight with you! So what are you afraid of? Tell me!”

  “I am not—”

  She walked away.

  Damn it, he couldn’t let her walk away angry. He rarely could and she knew it.

  “I do not want to love you again.”

  She stopped and turned. Her eyes opened wider and shone like coals in a furnace, about to blaze. “When did you stop?”

  He wasn’t prepared for her question. He didn’t know exactly when. He couldn’t pinpoint a certain event or day when he stopped loving her.

  He gave his shoulders a shrug and shook his head as if he didn’t care. “Why does it matter?”

  “Was it at St. Peter’s abbey?” she asked, visibly shaken.

  Did she care so much then if he loved her or not? He thought about it then shook his head. No. He had still loved her after that.

  “Julianna, why does it matter so much? ’Twas the past. I will not let it interfere with how I feel now.”

  “And how do you feel now, Nicholas?” she demanded. “Do you hate me for a choice I made after everyone I knew was butchered by the Scots? Scots you were traveling with?”

  “No. I do not hate you for that,” he told her in a low rumbling voice. “I do not hate you at all. And as I already told you, Cain was not involved in the massacre of Berwick. I would not have stayed with him if he had been. The villagers of Lismoor returned when Cain was here and not one hair on their heads was lost because of him.”