Heart of Stone

by Quinn, Paula

  “I do not know, Your Excellency,” Nicholas replied with an easy smile. Unlike many in the bishop’s vocation, he truly wanted peace. “I visited France and Spain, not Italy.”

  “Ah, even better. You will tell me all about both places at supper tonight. Right now, I wish to refresh myself and rest a bit.”

  “Of course, Your Excellency. Here is Simon. He is training to be a brother. I will let him tell you of which order as he shows you to your chambers and sees to your needs.”

  The bishop left him alone on the stairs. The others would be arriving in a few hours. It was going to be a long night. He’d already been awake most of the night in the village tavern trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do. Should he risk all for Julianna? Everything he’d worked so hard at finding again in his travels. He didn’t know what it was. Still. To this day.

  The desire to live, mayhap? Because, he felt it now and he hadn’t felt it before. Julianna stirred him back to life. Should he risk it all by letting himself want her, need her? Could he even stop himself from feeling those things? He’d tried not to love her, but it had never done any good. It was as if he had no control over his emotions at all when it came to her. Letting go terrified him, so he didn’t. Not completely. He thought that if he could keep hold of a little, it might help him gain something back if he lost her.

  A breeze, warmer than expected for this time of year, blew his curls off his forehead while he blew out a deep breath from his nostrils and set his diamond-faceted gaze on the tower.

  What would he have told Julianna up there if Elias hadn’t interrupted him? That he loved her? That he’d never stopped?

  He wanted to thrill in her again…as he had that night when he was caught and thrown out of Berwick. He hadn’t cared about the beating. He would have gone back for her and been beaten ten more times if Cain had let him—if there had been anyone left alive to go back to. Hell, he understood what the Scots had taken from her, even more now that he knew about Phillip.

  He walked back inside and went to the battlements to look out over the land and consider everything.

  Julianna had changed, and his way of thinking of her was changing with her. He’d mentioned to her that she had grown up. The spark for life had faded from her eyes.

  Phillip.

  Nicholas clenched his jaw, hating all that DeAvoy had taken from her. God only knew how much of the Scots’ attack she had seen, if she’d seen her parents die, her friends. How long had it been before Torin found her and spirited her away from the massacre? It was just another reason to push her away. She would never see Torin as anything but a murderer. She wouldn’t care that he’d spared her life and then saved it when he’d gotten her the hell away from all the men.

  Nicholas saw it a different way and knew he owed his brother much.

  Torin didn’t matter in this, and neither did he. Julianna’s life had changed for the worse. She seemed to have paid the highest price for her father’s sins.

  She’d told Nicholas that DeAvoy had made her his servant. How far had he gone? What did she mean when she’d said she had lived in his world? He’d never wanted her there. He’d wanted the best for her. And a man of means was not the best. He was. He’d always been the best for her. No one had loved her like he had. No one ever would. When he met her in St. Peter’s Abbey, he knew he could finally provide a place for her among his family. He hadn’t thought about what she’d recently gone through at the time.

  His heart sank. He’d been a fool.

  What was he to do about it now? She told him she loved him. He believed her in that moment. But now, doubts and misgivings crept back to the surface. Did she love him enough to stay? And was it already too late for him if she chose not to?

  It didn’t matter. He was tired of running. He’d taught himself how to do it well. He ran from love. He ignored it. He saw it, recognized it, and kept on walking. Until he came home and saw his son in his small bed, sick from hiding under his bed on the cold floor, crying without any comfort every night. Nicholas knew he was falling in love with his son. There was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing he wanted to do.

  It wasn’t his son’s love he didn’t trust.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nicholas stood in front of Julianna’s door several hours later. He had slept an hour or two, refreshed himself, then dressed in fresh dark breeches and shirt. He finished donning his military coat of dyed blue wool, with strips of red and gold sewn into the wool above his heart. He ran his palms down the long panels, over his empty belt.

  Though Lismoor was his, the church allowed no weapons in the presence of the bishop. It was a ridiculous rule but one Nicholas obeyed for the sake of his friendship.

  The door opened and Molly stepped out. When she saw Nicholas, she smiled.

  What was so telling about him waiting at her the door? Any upstanding man would be right where he was standing! Would he let Julianna walk to the great hall and then step inside alone? Should he let her stand there for everyone’s inspection while her eyes found him and his table? No. Never.

  Agnes came out next. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl who giggled often whenever she saw Rauf.

  Margaret was next and Nicholas wondered how many of them were inside the chambers.

  They were all dressed in their finest gowns with their hair up or braided. Were they going to try to sit at the table? They were servants. The bishop and the others would never approve. Not that Nicholas gave a damn. He simply didn’t like having even more people around.

  Julianna stood in the doorway, holding his son by the hand, and whatever he was thinking withered and disappeared like frosty flakes in the sun. He’d seen her in gowns in the past but nothing like this. She was breathtaking and ethereal in a vivid green gown, snug around her upper half and flaring out into waves of lush, emerald folds. Her hair fell freely down her back and was tied loosely at her temples, with bright, rebellious ringlets springing around her face and shoulders.

  She smiled when she saw him. “Ni…My lord. I was not expecting to see you.”

  “No?” he asked with a dark, raised brow. “I will have to remedy your faith in my manners.”

  Her smile widened and, for a moment, he thought she might leap into his arms. He readied himself if she did it. He was a little disappointed when she didn’t.

  “Good eve, Elias.” He bent to his son and picked him up.

  “Down!” the boy, dressed in new shorts and doublet, demanded. Nicholas looked at Margaret. She must have sewn the garments. When he caught her eye, he offered her a nod and a smile. She had done good work.

  He slipped his gaze to Julianna again, forgetting to breathe. He wondered how he could be the one to whom God would present this beautiful woman. She was like a living flame, an all-consuming fire, lighting up the way so he could find everything he’d lost.

  “You look…” he had to stop to catch his breath. “You look beautiful, my lady.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She did a little curtsey and then pointed at Margaret. “I owe Lismoor’s talented seamstress much. This gown was too big and now look at it!” She spun around. “’Tis glorious, is it not?”

  “Aye,” he remarked, filling his vision with her. “’Tis glorious.”

  He could have stood there staring at her for the rest of his life, but the bishop was waiting to be announced and Elias was restless.

  He took his son by the hand and crooked his other arm to her to escort her to the great hall. Was this truly happening? Was he walking with Julianna Feathers freely, openly, unafraid of her father’s unforgiving eye? How many times in his life had he thought about walking, just walking with her without fear?

  He turned his head and smiled at her. He didn’t care if Molly and the others were behind them.

  “What are you planning to do with the women?” he asked her close to her ear. Her hair brushed against his nose, his lips. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he loved her. He’d never stopped wanting that.<
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  “Margaret,” she said, turning to the seamstress behind her, “is Miss Margaret Allerton, sister of the Viscount of Newton.” She waited while Margaret curtseyed and Nicholas bowed in response, and then did the same for the rest. “Agnes is Lady Agnes Huxley, daughter of the Marquess of Cartington, and Molly is Lady Burton, widow of the Baron of Newbridge.”

  Nicholas smiled indulgently at Julianna as they continued walking. “I see you have this all thought out.”

  “Oh, perfectly!” She tucked her arm through his again. “My friends will be ladies for the night.”

  “And who are you?” he asked her with a teasing slant of his mouth.

  “Why, I’m your son’s governess.”

  He laughed and almost did not recognize the sound of himself. It had been many years since he laughed. “They will never believe that is all you are to me.”

  Nicholas didn’t think she was even aware of how the soft flush of her cheeks worked like a sorceress’ spell on his senses, his thoughts. He wished her friends weren’t so close. She’d be in his arms by now if they weren’t.

  “But ’tis true, my lord. Until I am something else, I am your son’s governess.”

  Something else. Was that what she wanted? What kind of guarantee did he have that she would not change her mind and leave him and Elias?

  “Oh, look what I have done.” She patted his bicep with her free hand and then kept her hand there. “I have brought a cloud over our conversation. Forgive me.”

  He gazed at her, sorry that his inner thoughts were so plain to read on his face. “There is no cloud.

  “Papa, me walk!” Elias tugged on his hand. He wanted his father to let him go. Nicholas did, and watched him run down the long, torchlit hall. “Stay close,” he called out then smiled, feeling lighter than he had in years while he watched his son circle back, running with all the stamina of a hundred well-rested men.

  “You have not told me how you know the bishop,” Julianna remarked, walking close to him.

  She tempted him to tell her everything. What he had discovered about his life—discovered about himself. He wanted to open his arms to her and hold her so bad it made his body ache.

  “Being a personal friend of Robert, King of Scots, has many advantages.” He shrugged one shoulder. “The bishop is one of them. Most of the rest are curses.”

  She looked up at him. How was he supposed to think when her beauty mesmerized him? “How do you know the king?”

  “My brothers fight for him. They are renowned warriors. Cain kept me with him after he found me and I met the king through him. Robert is a good man. I respect him. He does not just order his men to battle. He fights with them.”

  “Have you fought for him?” she asked softly, sounding as captivated by the story as he was by her.

  He shook his head and then dipped his nose to her hair and inhaled. “Though Cain taught me to fight well,” he said, lingering for a moment before moving his head away, “for the first two years I was here, the only battles taking place were the ones in the great halls of the noblemen. The men who made decisions about peace. ’Twas where I won battles at the diplomatic table as shrewdly as his best warrior. ’Twas why Robert made me earl.”

  “So, your tongue is your best weapon?”

  He looked down at her, lost in the deep, sable depths of her eyes. “Not my best.”

  “Oh?” She smiled playfully, teasingly, slanting her eyes at him. “What is your best then?”

  He quirked his mouth and returned his long, smoky gaze back to Elias. “We would have to be married for you to find out.”

  What the hell was he doing? His wife? Was he truly so mad to put himself through that, and with Julianna? Terror gripped him. Love was torment. He didn’t want to love her. He didn’t want to die again if he let her claim what was left of his heart. She said she had always loved him. That meant she was able to deny her heart in the past. What was so different now?

  Now, he was an earl.

  No.

  It was more than that. She had changed.

  She had been a servant.

  He heard footsteps coming from the opposite direction around the bend. Elias heard them, too, and stayed close to his father, which filled Nicholas’ heart with love for him.

  “Ah, Rothbury,” said Barnabas Black, Viscount of Bellington. “I was not sure we would see you here. I did not believe you had finally returned.”

  The viscount was a tall, average built, uninteresting man with long dark hair reaching to his shoulders and even darker eyes. Nicholas wasn’t sure what it was but he remembered that he didn’t like him. He didn’t trust him.

  Nicholas tried to force his smile but it seemed more difficult than it ever had before. He’d forgotten how to fake his interest in people like the viscount. “Bellington, had I known you would be here, I would have stayed away.”

  Bellington tossed back his head and laughed, having no idea that Nicholas was serious. Men like Bellington didn’t know him. Not the real him.

  “You must tell me who this is,” Bellington drawled and closed in on Julianna like a predator that had just spotted its prey while she bent to gather up his son.

  Nicholas stepped into his way, putting his body between them. “She is Miss Feathers, my son’s governess and…my betrothed.”

  She tilted her face and looked up at him with a playful smile.

  Saying it felt unreal, fantastical. It was something he had only dreamed about in the past. He smiled back at her. “We are to be married in the spring.”

  “Ah, your betrothed.” Bellington grinned and gave Nicholas a hearty pat on the back. “Now your long absence makes sense!”

  Nicholas’ smile froze and his eyes watered for an instant while she gave his arm a painful pinch.

  Without the slightest flinch, he turned to introduce her friends, using the names she’d given him a few moments earlier. Bellington set his hungry gaze on Agnes next.

  Nicholas stepped closer to the viscount yet again and leaned down to warn him in his ear. “She is my commander’s woman. He approaches as we speak. He is unreasonable and unruly. I would use caution were I you.”

  Nicholas’ smile remained as he gave Bellington’s back a hard pat of his own.

  Rather than stay and meet the commander, the viscount promised to meet and talk again later.

  “Arrogant bastard,” Nicholas muttered as they parted ways and he and his party moved on toward the great hall. “He has not changed in two years.”

  “Why should he change?” Julianna asked him.

  Aye, she was correct. The viscount had no reason to change. Nicholas was expecting too much. He agreed to sit through this to show his support for peace between Scotland and England, not to give a damn how rotten the statesmen were.

  He led them to his raised table. “Do not fear,” he promised them as Rauf caught up—and smiled a bit more meaningfully when he looked at Agnes. “This is a small gathering of the bishop’s closest allies. Only a few other noblemen are here.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Julianna reassured him. “I carry my knife.”

  Nicholas smiled but his eyes opened wide on her. “Woman, the bishop prohibits weapons in his presence.”

  She gave a slight shrug. “He will not find out unless he tries to touch what he should not.”

  He laughed softly and leaned back to have a better look at her from head to toe while she sat Elias in the chair. “Where do you hide it, lass?”

  She cut him a smile filled with promise and whimsy. “We would have to be married for you to find out.”

  His playful smile remained. “Did you not hear me tell Bellington we were to be married in the spring?”

  She reached out to pinch him again but he moved back, avoiding her hand. “Nicholas, marriage is nothing to jest about.”

  He waited for her and the other women to sit then he took his place at the center, with Julianna and his son on his left and the seat at his right, where Rauf usually sat, empty. His commander sat in
the seat beside it, with Agnes after him.

  “Who says I’m jesting?” Nicholas asked, feigning mild interest while he looked around.

  “I do,” she let him know haughtily. “You barely like me. You tolerate me being here for Elias’ sake.”

  What? He shook his head. Hell. They were jesting, were they not? When had it taken this serious turn? She should know the truth, that he loved her. He didn’t want her to go for his sake as well as his son’s. Would she marry him if he asked? Would she marry him if he had nothing?

  When had he started thinking of marriage? He had gone pitifully mad. It was the only explanation. Hadn’t he been telling himself since she arrived that he didn’t want this? But he did want it. He’d always wanted it.

  “Julianna, what you say might have been true in the beginning, but—”

  Her expression collapsed into one of despair.

  He closed his eyes. They weren’t jesting.

  “It might have been true?” she lamented. “The beginning? Nicholas, we have been reunited for three days! You have not gone from hating me to wanting to marry me in three days!”

  “I could,” he disagreed, and then confessed, “I do not want to lose you again.”

  She smiled at him over his son’s crown of chestnut curls, and moved in a bit closer. She leaned in and he inclined his ear to her lips. “You do not have to marry me to ensure that I will not leave you. As long as you want me to stay, Nicholas, I will stay.”

  The bishop was announced and everyone stood up. Nicholas turned to her. He wanted to say something to her. To tell her that he loved her still. That he had never stopped.

  They all waited in silence while the bishop made his way to his seat to the right of Nicholas, who expelled a great, silent breath before greeting him.

  He introduced Elias and Julianna, but the bishop stopped him before he could explain who Julianna was.

  “Miss Julianna Feathers. Your father was the Viscount of March and the Governor of Berwick, was he not?”

  “That is correct, Your Excellency,” Julianna told him. She appeared a bit taken aback at being recognized and looked at Nicholas as if she needed help.