Reclaimed By The Knight. Nicole Locke
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detain him?’ Matilda asked, not for the first time.
The meal was prepared, and most of the tenants had arrived. Many were dressed in their best clothes in honour of Nicholas’s return. Many had come tonight, and the Great Doors continued to let in icy wind and any stray animal that was fast enough to bypass the children trying to block them.
‘I left him upstairs...’ Louve shrugged.
That had been hours ago, and all day she’d found no distraction. The tenants, her friends, all were excited by Nicholas’s return. Yet she couldn’t—wouldn’t—join in their happy exclamations or murmured conversations.
Her father had been sleeping while Rohesia crushed herbs. Her home had been empty, just as she’d left it. So she had swept her clean floor as if she was attacking wasps and not her turbulent thoughts until she was exhausted. She was always tired now, and even more so when she thought of Roger and what he’d think about today.
What would he make of the joyful chatter spinning through the winding lanes? Mere months he’d been gone. Not enough for grief to be less, but somehow enough for her to feel lost.
She missed her friend...the man who’d wanted her when no one else did. No amount of sweeping would erase that. But then she’d slept long and arrived here late—only to discover the lord of the manor hadn’t shown.
‘He closed the door in your face and you let him?’
‘What would you have had me do?
What had they done in the past? She couldn’t remember. The boys had seemed to have their own mysterious ways. Their chores, their training, their missions and lessons.
‘Perhaps you could have stayed with him.’
‘The man sought rest. I had no intention of watching him bathe or sleep.’
Six years was enough to make a man grown. It had happened to Roger and to Louve. Of course it had happened to Nicholas as well.
Unbidden came thoughts of Nicholas asleep in that room, his dark brown hair curled along his shoulders and spread against the dark cover she’d chosen. His body half turned, as if waiting for her to wake him.
She closed her eyes to hide the sudden sharp emotion before Louve guessed her thoughts. ‘He’s been gone so long and is probably in want of glad tidings. That is all I meant.’
‘Why, Matilda, it sounds like you care.’
She narrowed her gaze. ‘As bailiff, it is my duty to ensure his comfort. And I am one of his oldest friends.’
Louve rolled the cup in his hand. ‘Are you still friends with him?’
‘Why would I not be?’ She had done nothing wrong. Roger would want her to let the past be the past. Roger had been her future...or as much as she had let him be.
‘I offered to share ale, if that appeases your sense of hospitality.’ Louve gestured with the cup in his hand.
That was good, except... ‘But he closed the door in your face.’
‘He didn’t stay in that room.’
‘I don’t understand...’
‘I hadn’t made it far down the stairs before I heard his additional requests. He had them move the buckets to the adjoining room. I didn’t stay to find out the reason. I know when I’m not wanted.’
So did she—and she knew what had happened even if Louve had not guessed. Nicholas had rejected that room just as he’d rejected her. She’d spent coin, time...part of her heart...preparing the room for when he returned, for when he claimed his bride.
He’d taken one look at it and desired the adjoining room. Fuming, Matilda tapped her foot. Worse, it showed that the great lord of the manor expected wasteful comforts. He’d make more work for the household...for her as bailiff.
He had been rude to her, rude to Louve. Maybe she went too far in offering him any hospitality, despite the fact this was his home and Roger would have wanted her to.
‘What did he say about Roger?’
‘Nothing.’
She quickly brushed the chill away from her arms. It did little to warm her, and she knew the coldness came from inside her. Because she was failing to hold back her grief. To show charity and patience as Roger would have wanted. As her daughter deserved.
Perhaps Nicholas was too tired...perhaps he wanted the smaller rooms for household ease.
‘Were his condolences sincere?’ she asked, trying to imagine the conversation.
Louve levelled his eyes at her. ‘He said nothing of Roger.’
‘Roger would—’
Louve’s words registered. Matilda unwound her arms and clenched her hands. There was no imagining this. To be that cruel. That cold. Maybe to her, but never to Roger. When Nicholas had left she’d seethed, but Roger had mourned the loss of their friendship. To know that Nicholas didn’t feel anything. Had not offered some words of kindness...
‘He said nothing of your marriage either,’ Louve added.
Something hot seared through her. ‘He has no right to talk of my marriage. No right to talk about me or—’
‘He did mention—’ Louve stopped.
‘What did he mention?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Servants swept by with great platters and they sidestepped to give them room. ‘You should know better than to ignore me,’ Matilda said, lowering her voice.
‘You’re slower than you used to be.’ Louve looked pointedly at the swell in her belly. ‘I may be able to get away with it.’ At her warning look, he caved. ‘He asked about your babe.’
Her baby. Nicholas had already acknowledged her pregnancy when he’d described her child as a burden. ‘He has no right to talk of her. I hope you set him right.’
Louve’s puzzled expression changed to one of reflection as he eyed her.
She looked away, which was probably telling enough that she didn’t need to add bitter words. But she refused to feel this sense of wrongness. ‘He should never have returned here.’
‘It is his home, Matilda.’
‘It’s never been his home. All his life he talked of exploring other lands, and eventually he did. There is no reason for him to return.’ She had been his only reason to return, and eventually she hadn’t been enough.
‘You may love this crumbling manor and the crooked lanes surrounding it, but it’s his inheritance.’
‘One he never wanted. He earned more coin as a mercenary. You’ll see—one winter here will remind him, and off he’ll go again.’
‘Ready to be rid of me so soon?’ Nicholas said, from directly behind her.
Louve was quick to turn, but she held her posture that bit longer, to show her displeasure. Sneaking up behind them meant Nicholas had come from the servants’ entrance. They’d thought him asleep and sequestered upstairs. He was already proving difficult—and that had been before he overheard their conversation.
Carefully, she turned, taking in the fine weave of his green tunic, stretched wide against the mounds of his chest, the thick weight of his breeches just skimming the strength in his legs.
The clothes weren’t new, but they were a wealthy man’s clothing. Tailored for him with a weave so fine that the green almost reflected in the hall’s candlelight.
Mei Solis’s seamstress had never been able to get the cut of his clothes large enough for him to move properly. But these clothes fitted him so well, it didn’t take much to see the man beneath. A glance was all it took