Читать книгу The Rogue - Ana Seymour - Страница 12

Constance pulled her cloak more tightly around her against the raw spring wind and made her way across the stableyard. Nicholas had left the house before dawn and had not returned all day. It was past the dinner hour. A furrow of worry creasing her smooth forehead, she looked off to the darkening western sky.

Her concern was no less than it had been when Nicholas had been a boy and had disappeared regularly to seek out friends and activity in the village. It had been one more stone to the constant weight she bore over the fact that she’d not been able to provide him with brothers and sisters for companionship and support.

She peered into the dark stable. The light of a single lantern filtered from somewhere in the back. “Nicholas?” she called.

“Aye. I’m back here.”

Picking carefully through the straw, she walked between the stalls toward the light. Nicholas was seated on a bench, his armor spread around him. He was rubbing some kind of cream into a breastplate that gleamed in spite of the dimness. “I’d grown concerned,” she said without chiding. “You’ve not eaten this day.”

Nicholas looked up. “Forgive me, mother. I’m not hungry.”

“’Tis past sundown.”

“I’d lost track of the time.”

His black eyes were uncharacteristically dull. “You’re not ill?” she asked.

“Nay.” He looked down at the metal in his hands and continued polishing.

“Then what’s amiss?”

He looked up again. This time there was a spark of anger. “I’ve traveled to the ends of the world and back all by myself, Mother. I’ve no need of a nursemaid.”

Constance gave her foot a little stamp of frustration. “I’m not your nursemaid, I’m your mother. And that I’ll be until you travel to your grave and beyond. Whether it pleases you or not.”

Nicholas gave a reluctant smile. “Forgive me, Mother. In truth, I know not what ails me. I only know that nothing is as it should be any more. I’d thought to return to Hendry a changed man. Instead, I find ’tis this place has changed, while I remain the same.”

Constance frowned. “Life changes things, Nicholas. Your father could not help his dying.”

“Nay, nor could he help the fact that he never was able to love his only son.” There was no longer any anger in his voice. He set the breastplate next to him on the bench and reached for a gauntlet which he began to polish with the same mechanical precision.

His mother studied him, her eyes full of pain. “You are wrong, Nicholas. Your father loved you as much as he was capable of loving.”

“According to Baron Hawse, he loved me so much that he wished that I had not been born.” His hand continued its monotonous circles on the metal.

Constance gasped. “I can’t believe the baron would have said anything so cruel. And so false.”

“Deny it if you will, Mother, but the tale has the ring of truth.”

Neither spoke for a moment. Finally, Constance sighed. “I wish your father was still here, Nicholas.”

“Aye. So that he could sign away my birthright before my very eyes?”

“I’ve told you, his actions were to protect me and the people of Hendry.” A single tear dribbled from her eye and slid down her cheek.

Nicholas looked up, saw it and stopped his work. “Now I’ve made you cry. You see, mayhap Father was right. In any event, I’ll trouble you no more.”

“What are you talking about?” There was alarm in her voice.

“I’m a soldier now, Mother, and ’twould seem to be the best life for me. I was good at it, you know, in spite of what Father might have predicted for me. I’d thought to leave that life and find a new one here, but it appears that fate has other plans for me.”

“The Crusade is over. Your place is here.”

“The Crusade is over, but the continent is full of land barons who pay goodly sums for the services of a battle-seasoned warrior.”

Constance shook her head and reached to pull the iron gauntlet out of his hand. “’Tis said there’s a mind sickness comes upon those who’ve followed the cross, my son. You must give this thing time. Come into the house and have some good beef stock. Tomorrow will dawn a brighter day. And the next still brighter.”

Nicholas stood and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Your beef stock can make the dead walk once more among the living, Mother, but I fear it will not cure my ills. But, I’ll come with you, just the same. And I’m sorry for making you grieve. Soon you won’t have to trouble yourself over me.”

“I’ve not seen you brooding this way since your sister passed over,” Phillip told his daughter. “You must get Nicholas Hendry out of your head.”

Beatrice knew that her father’s advice was sensible, but how could she put the newly returned knight out of her mind when she saw his reflection every time she looked at his child? With every tender moment she spent with little Owen, she wondered if Nicholas Hendry’s return meant that she might lose the right to raise him?

She sat with her father at one of the trestle tables in the taproom. It was late. Gertie had long since left, and the inn was empty of customers. “What if he had seen Owen at the Fletcher’s?”

“Aye, what if?” Phillip reached across the table and put his big hand on top of his daughter’s. “Daughter, he will see the boy some day. You must face up to it.”

Beatrice pulled her hand away and averted her eyes. “Mayhap as he grows he’ll lose the resemblance.”

Phillip shook his head in exasperation. “Aye, and mayhap the ground will open and swallow Nicholas Hendry up, but ’tis not likely.”

Beatrice looked directly across at her father. “I’ve decided to take him away.”

Phillip pushed back his bench, startled. “Away?”

“I’ll go back to live with Aunt Mildred.” At her father’s pained expression, she amended. “We’ll all go.”

“And leave the inn?” Phillip gestured to the empty room.

Beatrice knew that her father had worked hard to make his way from brewmaster to proprietor of the Gilded Boar. “You could sell this place and start a new one in York.”

Phillip merely shook his head. “Owen belongs here, Beatrice. ’Tis where his mother and grandmother are buried. This is our home.” He stood. “Come, let’s go to bed. You’ll feel better on the morrow.”

Beatrice turned her head and stared at the fire, making no move to rise. She’d been happy living in Hendry, and she knew that Owen loved his grandfather very much. If she took the boy away, her father would grieve. But if Nicholas Hendry found out about his son, both she and her father might lose him. She saw no other solution. She had to make plans to get away.

Nicholas awoke with a start and sat up on his pallet. He could see nothing in the darkness, and it took him a moment to remember that he was back in England in his own bedchamber at Hendry Hall. In his dreams he’d been back in Galilee, wet and cold in a miserable winter rain.

Nicholas lay back on his cot and shuddered, as if he could still feel the bone-chilling drizzle of that long winter. He’d almost died. If it hadn’t been for Gervase’s healing powers and Bernard’s devoted, if untrained, nursing, his leg wound would have finished him.

Perhaps that would have been for the best, he thought with a wave of self-pity. His mother would have shed a tear, but then she would no longer be troubled by worry over him.

Well, that much he could still give her. Once he left Hendry, she could move on with her life without concern for his feelings. It would be best for everyone. He no longer had a place here. No one would mourn his departure. Harold was busy with his new young family. The maidens he’d courted had found new lovers. Flora’s sister and father would no doubt be pleased to have him out of the territory.

He winced in the darkness as he remembered Beatrice’s unremitting hostility. She’d appeared to be relenting slightly as they talked in front of the Fletchers’ cottage, but when she’d run off so suddenly, he decided that he might have been mistaken. As he stared into the darkness of his bedchamber, he could still see her stormy, accusing eyes.

It was the one piece of business he hated to leave unfinished. He wished he could have convinced her that he would never have hurt Flora. Mayhap ’twas not too late. He’d like Phillip to know, too. For the first time since he’d heard Baron Hawse’s departing words, Nicholas felt a sense of purpose.

There was time before he left England to put this thing right. Tomorrow he’d pay a visit to the Gilded Boar. Whether or not the Thibaults wanted to hear his explanation, he’d at least have the satisfaction of giving it before he left home, this time for good.

When Nicholas had been wooing Flora, Phillip was the town brewer, but had not yet built the Gilded Boar. He and his daughter had lived in a modest house on a hill just beyond the village, far enough away to keep the yeasty smell of the brewery from wafting out over the town.