Читать книгу Reclaimed By The Knight - Nicole Locke - Страница 12

Chapter Three

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hear or see. Whatever words he’d uttered had come from somewhere else, because he couldn’t recall what he’d said.

Matilda was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. The autumn light played warmly against the havoc of gold in her hair. The sun’s glow gleamed a beam across her eyes so that they showed more green than brown, and made shadows of her lashes across her reddened cheeks.

Stunned at seeing her, though it was ridiculous to be so surprised, his only response was to stare like a fool and helplessly track the fluttering movement of the hands that had landed on the swell of her belly she so lovingly caressed.

Matilda carried a child not their own.

Whatever agony he’d experienced before was nothing to this. Nothing.

And it was made more cruel as Matilda embraced him as if they were long-lost friends. He could feel the weight of her against his chest, smell the scent she carried of fresh-cut wheat. No matter the year, she’d always smelled that way to him—like the promise of abundance.

Pain. Too much. And he wanted to draw his sword against it.

Enough. How much more could she take away from him? He had thought she’d taken it all and left him only the coldness that he’d honed until he was the most lethal of mercenaries.

And yet a mere heartbeat, a glance at her swollen curves, mocked this belief. He wanted to howl against the pain—but an audience surrounded them and she stared expectantly at him.

Did she expect an offer of friendship? Surely everyone here wouldn’t expect it? After all, he’d left here as her betrothed, and had toiled for years to make a home worthy of her. When she had decided she’d had enough waiting, she’d married his closest friend and written him a letter.

But he’d kept to his bargain and continued to send coin, so she could keep herself in the manner to which she had become accustomed...just like his stepmother.

He should count himself lucky that he hadn’t married Matilda after all. The coldness of her heart would never curse him as Helena’s had his father. And Matilda’s heart was cold—of that he now had evidence.

Nicholas’s wound wasn’t new to him, but it was to her. What he’d suffered...how he’d survived. So much pain... And yet she stood calmly before him, asking about his stomach instead of his eye.

If she wished for cold formality, he would treat her in kind. ‘I need no feast, nor any warm welcomes,’ he said. ‘I would not wish to cause you any more burden than that you already carry. I merely need a place to unpack my satchels and to change these clothes. My rooms are still available, are they not?’

There was a crack in her friendly demeanour, a tightening of her clasped hands. ‘They have been meticulously maintained.’

He relished seeing her mask slip. Until he knew how to exact his revenge it was best that she knew her place in his life—she was his bailiff, who managed his manor. ‘Then you have done your duties well. Good day.’

He turned, intending to stride away, only to be stopped by others. Greeted. Slowed in making his escape.

Louve was cracking smiles and talking to the tenants who waited to speak with him. In the past he had done much the same. Joked, answered questions, fielded enquiries from the tenants when they had pressured Nicholas too much. When the coin hadn’t enough for their demands Louve had learned to distract them so Nicholas could get away.

He wanted to get away now. He could feel Matilda’s gaze at his back. He broadened his steps and stormed closer to the manor, his fists clenching, ready for a fight. It took every effort to keep his shoulders and his breath even. To appear as if nothing was the matter when in actuality a sword had been sunk into his heart.

Did it look to her as if he was retreating? Let her think what she wanted. He didn’t care.

* * *

Matilda kept her chin high and her eyes on everyone who had observed Nicholas turning his back on her. Shaming her in front of the tenants...again.

‘Steady...’ Bess whispered by her side.

Humiliated, Matilda didn’t want Bess’s comfort. Keeping her hand on her belly, she walked in the opposite direction from Nicholas. The thick crowds parted easily. Because of her pregnancy or her disgrace?

Damn him for making her think these thoughts. She’d done her duty to the Lord of Mei Solis in greeting—and, more, she’d done her duty to Roger’s memory by keeping her composure as he would have done.

But she hadn’t wanted to. Not when she had first seen Nicholas, and certainly not after he’d spoken.

She had been cordial. He had not. What right did he have to treat her like a servant? As if all that mattered to him was that she did her duties here.

He had broken their betrothal and her heart when he had left Mei Solis, when he’d stopped his letters. He had no right to be aggrieved. But she was satisfied that the new Matilda had kept her calm. She’d changed herself, and today was testament that it was for the better. She just needed to distract herself a bit longer...

‘We’ll need to notify Cook of a feast—’

Bess’s hand on her elbow stopped her. ‘Be easy. Everyone knows of his return. Cook will already be preparing something special to add to the evening meal. You need to—’

She wouldn’t be ‘easy’ if Bess held her here. ‘Then I’ll see my father.’ She turned sharply to her right and Bess let her go. ‘He’ll need to know.’

Bess opened her mouth, closed it.

Matilda ignored Bess’s enquiring eye. She needed something to do between now and dinner. Something to occupy her hands, if not her thoughts.

She had always known this day would come, but she hadn’t been prepared for Nicholas’s injury. His patch hid most of the damage to his eye, but a scrap of leather couldn’t hide the fact that he’d suffered. The fact he’d never see the world as he had when they were children, when they’d first held hands...

There came the sting of tears, and she stumbled in her walk. She refused to think of Nicholas now. If she gave in to her weakness for him she’d never make it through this first night. He deserved no pity. Six years gone, and his friend dead, and he hadn’t even enquired about him.

‘My father will need to be prepared, and it’s best done by me. You know how he’ll feel about this.’

Her father had believed Nicholas would return to Mei Solis and to his daughter. Then her mother had died, and her father...her father hadn’t been the same.

‘He may not remember. It may be a bad day,’ Bess said.

Her mother and father had been very old when she was born, and she didn’t know now if it was his age or if losing her mother had caused the gaps in his memory. But he was a proud man, and he needed care, though all the while they made it appear as if they weren’t caring for him.

‘Regardless, it’s best I check.’

‘You’re doing too much,’ Bess said, her voice low. ‘You should sit. Maybe rest before dinner.’

That was the last thing she needed to do. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Just a few more steps and they’d be beyond the courtyard’s shadow and most of the prying eyes.

Bess sighed. ‘There’s no screeching coming from his home...that is a good sign.’

‘Or Rohesia has bashed his head in with a cauldron.’

‘True...’

There were days when Matilda and her father were more enemies than friends, but even if this was one of her father’s bad days, she’d gain distraction.

Curse Nicholas for returning. Why now? He’d never acknowledged the letter Roger had sent before they’d married, nor hers which she’d written with such meticulous care after they’d said their vows. The days she’d spent on each word...

Matilda shook herself. She’d put the past behind her and changed her ways. She’d put the Nicholas who was here now at Mei Solis behind her as well.

* * *

Too soon, Louve and Nicholas reached the threshold of a room he’d only ever intended to enter again as Matilda’s husband, and Louve gazed at him expectantly.

He had no expectations. The tomblike manor, Matilda’s cold formality...the fact that Roger hadn’t greeted him. He wasn’t welcome here.

Matilda was pregnant.

Again he was blindsided. Again betrayed. The blade swiftly planted between his ribs before he had even seen the glint of steel.

How he’d longed for a family with her. How he’d toiled to provide for his future children so they wouldn’t have to bear the burdens he had. And now Matilda was pregnant with another man’s child.

Boys carrying his personal supplies scampered past him in a race to reach his rooms before he did. But he didn’t need them to remember his way to the rooms that had once been his father’s.

All it took was the achingly familiar shape of the corridors that neither time nor distance could erase from his memory. As a boy, he too had scampered down this corridor. As a man, he had closed the door when he’d left for the last time.

He needed to get out of here. Never to have agreed to this fool’s errand. Never to have believed for a moment that he could have what Rhain had found with Helissent if he simply repaired his past.

There was no fixing this. He’d faced battles and men with rage in their eyes. He’d thought he could face this. Face her and hear her explanation. Hear Roger’s. Even Louve owed him something for not warning him.

Could he stay here just for revenge? He doubted he could stay here for apologies—not after seeing Matilda cradle her belly. Time had passed, and he shouldn’t feel the betrayal all over again like in some minstrel’s song. But she had stood before him and she hadn’t cared that he’d lost his eye. Hadn’t flinched at his return.

‘I need to change my clothing,’ he said, instead of voicing the thoughts roiling through him.

‘I’ll have water brought up.’

Nicholas pointed to some boys who were carrying pails into the room. ‘There are some buckets here.’

‘You’ll need a tub.’

What he needed was some time to come to terms with Matilda’s pregnancy.

‘How many more are there?’ he asked.

Louve gave him a questioning glance.

Nicholas looked over Louve’s shoulder to the flat stone embedded in the wall. The stone he’d mutilated with his first dagger while waiting for his father to emerge from his empty marriage bed.

‘She’s expecting a child. How many children do they have?’

‘That’s the question you want to ask me? I thought you’d want to talk about—’

‘Just answer me, dammit,’ Nicholas interrupted.

Louve’s gaze turned assessing. ‘After six years I thought you’d be prepared.’

It had been only three years since her—their—betrayal. ‘No, you didn’t think that. That’s why you’re here now—to see what scene I’ll make.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘This is my home. I have every right to be here.’ He didn’t have to give explanations to anyone.

‘You may have a right to be here, but you have no right to ask questions of Matilda’s personal well-being.’

‘You lecture me on what I have a right to?’ He knew Louve was as guilty as the others. ‘You, Roger and Matilda owe me!’

‘Roger? You bring Roger into this? You can’t even let—’

Without a word or a message, without facing him like a man, Roger had married the only woman he’d ever loved.

‘God himself would expect his punishment.’

Louve’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t—’

‘I do.’

But Roger’s reckoning would wait until the coward met him face to face. Nicholas had no intention of sharing words with Louve on Roger’s black deeds.

‘For now, I’m simply expecting an answer to my question. How many?’

Louve’s expression turned mutinous. ‘The Nicholas I knew would have shown some mercy towards Roger...towards Matilda, given the circumstances.’

Mercy? To Roger? Never. ‘Tell me more.’

Louve’s brow deepened, then he looked away. ‘No.’

‘You walked with me up here and now you don’t want to talk?’

‘You’re not—’ Louve shook his head. ‘You’re not asking the right questions, and I refuse to believe you can be such a bastard. Come, let’s order some flagons brought up and we can share them here.’

Nicholas flexed his hands at his sides. A bath, ale, banter amongst friends... Were Matilda and Roger supposed to join them as well? Ridiculous. He had the answer to his question and these people were no longer his friends.

‘I have no patience to gossip like an old woman.’

He closed the door in Louve’s face.

* * *

‘What could possibly 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 to see Nicholas in ways she never had before. Always tall, but never this broad. Never this...lethal.

She raised her eyes and took in more of the man. His thick hair was damp and waving loose around his shoulders. His face was now shaven, revealing the cut of his jaw, the sensual slash of his lips, but if he had slept, she did not see it in the strain of his brow, nor in the dark shadows underneath his eyes.

She took a brief moment to acknowledge that vulnerability before her eyes met his gaze. And then all she saw was the calculating brown, the victory gleam he disguised in his expression, but not in the lit depths.

He was pleased to surprise them—and to overhear a conversation never meant for him. But it was too early for any victories.

‘I’m merely stating facts, Nicholas. Your need for adventure is no secret here. In fact, you made it very public when you left on one and never came back.’

‘But my arriving now proves that I have returned.’

‘It only proves that you’re checking up on us. Isn’t that why you were in the kitchens?’

‘I was in the kitchens to see old and dear friends.’

‘I think I see Mary,’ Louve interjected.

She placed her hand on Louve’s arm to hold him back. Under no circumstances would she let him escape. When he glanced at her he got the hint.

Turning to Nicholas, Louve asked, ‘The kitchens, huh? How did Cook react?’

Nicholas glanced at her hand on Louve’s arm. She’d meant to withdraw it, but in some small measure she took comfort at the simple contact, and she didn’t want to withdraw it merely because Nicholas’s gaze had suddenly darkened.

‘As she always has.’ Nicholas’s voice was even, but not friendly. ‘She gave me a thick slice of bread with an even thicker slab of butter before I even started my greeting.’

Matilda just stopped herself from digging her nails into Louve’s arm. This exchange was ridiculous. Nicholas had returned to Mei Solis to meet some agenda, perhaps to insult them all and show his uncaring soul, not simply to be fed. How could she keep quiet with a man who did not mourn his friend and had never replied to their letters?

She bit her lip, trying not to retort, but her eyes strayed to the doors and she knew Nicholas was watching her.

Nicholas smirked. ‘Would you prefer it if I left right now, instead of after the winter?’

He had heard every word.

Good.

Yet again she tried to hide her need to sweep past him and open the doors wide for him to step through. That would have been the old Matilda, the reckless one who had showed no caution. That Matilda had never served her well. Now, no matter how desperately she wanted Nicholas gone, a part of her wanted to be Roger’s wife and the mother of his child. To be calm, to remember that they had all once been friends.

She didn’t know Nicholas’s reason for being here. Roger’s death had been mere months ago, but Nicholas had given her no condolences nor apologised for not being here. Other than that time after his father’s death, when he had became obsessed with repairing Mei Solis, he’d never shown any interest in his home or the rich fields surrounding it. And now he gave no clue to his motivation.

He held neither the boyish looks of his youth nor the easy open temperament. This man before her was a stranger. Dark gaze, even darker mien. She’d never been friends with this mercenary.

‘Don’t be foolish, Nicholas. You apparently need rest, and the weather will soon prevent you from leaving.’

‘So you do show concern at my welfare? At my inability to ride because of travel weariness? Or are you afraid that I might catch cold?’

Louve almost choked on his ale. Nicholas ignored it. Matilda tapped Louve’s arm. Remember what Roger would want.

‘Of course we’re concerned for your welfare, and we haven’t had a chance to hear properly of your travels. This is your home.’

‘Ah, yes, my home,’ Nicholas said, his gaze roaming the hall. It was a brief relief from a gaze that always saw too much, before he narrowed it on her again. ‘There’s more than that that prevents me from leaving.’

A fissure of warning opened up inside her at those words. Most definitely he had some reason to be here, but it wasn’t for Roger. No word of condolence, nor apology for not being here to bury him. It wasn’t his home and it wasn’t her.

Louve’s arm tensed when she asked, ‘What could that possibly be?’

The victory light in Nicholas’s eye returned, and she knew she was the foolish one.

‘I’ve returned with bags of silver to make Mei Solis everything you’ve ever wanted. You will have the ability to make repairs, purchase supplies for a thousand new roofs or new buildings. Or tear the whole thing down and start again.’

Simple words. Insulting words. Matilda’s nails dug into Louve’s arm before she could hide her response.

The look on Matilda’s face was exactly what Nicholas had hoped for when he’d caught her and Louve unawares. The one she had denied him when she had turned away slowly to hide her response. She couldn’t hide her response now, and he revelled in it.

Petty of him, he knew, but he’d once found some balance in his life and now he could find none. Even his quarters, which were meant to be his sanctuary, had haunted and mocked him. He’d reeled when he saw the rooms, the evidence of all Matilda had done. He hadn’t been able to bark out his instructions to move elsewhere fast enough.

After a quick bath, he’d left to investigate the rear of Mei Solis and visit the kitchens. To greet Cook, with deeper furrows between her eyes from her frowns, and more around her mouth from her frequent smiles. It had been good to see her again.

However, not as satisfying as this. Having the advantage and striding up to Matilda and Louve, who had been looking towards the stairs and not the servants’ entrance. Reminding her who exactly she was. Someone greedier even than the woman who’d killed his father.

Mei Solis had been crumbling down, its roof collapsed. He’d ridden off to earn coin for their home—only to be shown that Matilda could spend his silver and have another man.

He’d dealt the verbal strike, but he’d felt a blow himself when her hand had tightened on Louve’s arm. Another man...any man but him.

‘When the light comes tomorrow we can show you what has been done,’ Matilda said, her voice tight.

Still not good enough for him. ‘So the work’s all done and the coin I bring now is unnecessary? Perhaps I’ll spend it on trivial matters. I notice my rooms need updating.’

Matilda paled, and Louve’s hand grasped hers on his arm. Nicholas tracked their familiarity with each other.

‘When has coin ever become unnecessary?’ Louve said, his voice light, though there was a dark warning in his eyes.

Nicholas was past warnings. It was time for him to give some of his own. ‘True. It is convenient for bribes, debts, wars and weapons.’

‘Mercenary work? Nothing we’ve seen here,’ Louve said. ‘I speak of boundary fences. The coin we’ve gained from the fields has supported this, but not soon enough. There are times when deer have been as destructive as the weather.’

‘Boundary fences?’

Nicholas knew of enemies and boundaries—was all too aware of how they could be crossed. He had no interest in the stone and mortar kind, but still, an inspection would serve his purposes. Maybe he’d invite Roger to go with him, and there in the empty fields he’d demand his honour returned. If Roger ever showed.

Nicholas rolled his shoulders. Whatever sense of homecoming he’d felt in the kitchens was now gone. There was only the strain in his shoulders, the weight in his stance. The weight of this moment—as if this pause, this time, held some significance.

For what or for whom? A pregnant woman and a man who made too many jokes? If so, this was his welcome home feast and there was one guest missing.

‘It’s getting late, isn’t it?’ he said, turning his head towards Matilda.

‘We should eat,’ Matilda agreed.

‘Surely the fields are empty at this time of year?’ At their quizzical looks, he added, ‘It’s too late for man or beast to still be out.’

Matilda frowned. ‘We’ve been able to get the work done before dark these last few years...’

That wasn’t what he was asking. Over the years he’d received Louve’s reports and, despite everything else, he trusted them when it came to maintaining the estate.

What and who he didn’t trust was Roger, who was avoiding this welcoming feast. However, eventually Roger would be expected to enter the hall to eat. Until then...

‘I will wait to sit until everyone is present.’

Nothing. Louve looked mildly curious while Matilda stayed implacable. Did they expect him to say nothing about the man—his friend—who’d stabbed him in the heart? Then they didn’t know him very well. He’d wait until next winter if that was what it took.

Louve drained his ale, the tenants’ chatter eased, and all eyes turned to him. Of course they would—because they couldn’t eat unless he sat. He wanted to announce that it wasn’t he who delayed their meal, but a coward. One he should have faced years ago.

He had been travelling for weeks alone, lacking sleep in order to protect his horses and the satchels. His body ached and rest beckoned. Still he stood, waited, and thought about what he would say to Roger. His childhood friend, his reeve, who took care of the crops. Waited for the man who loved his betrothed but hadn’t had the courtesy to tell him, who had married her and given her a child.

Patience, he told himself. But it wouldn’t come. Not with all eyes turning to him now. Not with the constrictive band and the pressure of the patch over his eye. His right hand tightened as if it wanted to grasp a sword. His heart thumped as if he rode onto a field of enemies.

He’d been polite and had enquired gently regarding Roger’s absence. He’d waited for Roger to reveal himself, or for Louve and Matilda to inform him of Roger’s whereabouts. He’d come here to bury his past. To seek some revenge. To demand apologies. The man had married the woman he loved, and now he wouldn’t show his face.

Enough was enough. Right now he would demand that Roger show himself. He wouldn’t wait for answers—he’d force them.

He didn’t—couldn’t—ease his stance, or the tension mounting inside him as he bit out every word. ‘Matilda, where is your husband?’

There was a sound from Louve and Matilda paled. The crowd around them faded. The lights seemed to dim as her brows drew in.

No. No balance. No patience. No understanding.

His fingers curled and there was a roaring in his ears as he glanced to Louve, whose expression was stricken, his mouth slack.

Nicholas glanced behind them to the Great Doors that remained shut, and the tenants waiting by their seats. Even the children and the animals were finding their places.

There wasn’t space for anyone else.

His gaze locked on Matilda. There was a flush in her cheeks and an answering emotion gleaming in her hazel eyes. He recognised them all. Anger. Rage. A warrior’s cry for battle.

His sense of betrayal was overwhelming. Patience? Balance? None to be found. He shook his head—a warning to himself, to Louve, who stood agape. To Matilda, whose lips had parted.

He was lifting his curling fist before she said the words, ‘He’s dead.’

Nicholas struck.