Wild Wind
Page 34
He opened his eyes; they sparked with devilment. "Why?"
"Because you're going to faint."
"Oh."
With Nicki's help, he lowered himself to the ground and lay with his head in her lap.
"Aren't you going to kiss me?" he asked.
"Look at your arm! How can you be thinking of kissing?"
"I've been hurt worse than this," he said. "I never die."
"That's most reassuring." She reached into the gap of her tunic and tore several strips from her ruined undershift.
Alex slid his good hand into the gap and opened it wider, lightly stroking her. "You have such pretty breasts."
"Stop that," she chided. "Lie still so I can bandage that arm." Nicki almost fainted herself when she got his sleeve torn off and discovered the extent of the damage. She wrapped the injuries tightly to stanch the flow of blood. Aiming for a tone of nonchalance, she said, "You'll have another scar—a bad one."
"Good. They give me character. Kiss me."
"I can't believe that's all you can think of after everything that's happened today."
His smile dimmed; his gaze grew melancholy. "What happened to Milo? Did Gaspar kill him?"
"Nay. Well, in a manner of speaking he did." She told him about the poisoned wine, and Milo's final act of redemption.
Alex touched her hand. "In his own way, Milo loved you."
"Just as he loved you."
He caressed her belly. "Are you truly unharmed?"
"The baby's fine. He's fast asleep inside me. He never knew what happened."
Alex frowned. "They didn't...do anything to you?"
"No, Alex. They didn't have the chance. You came in time." She smoothed an errant strand of hair off his forehead. "You came back. I'm so glad you came back."
"Every hoofbeat that took me away from you," he said, "felt like a stake being pounded into my soul. At seventeen, I'd been ready to fight for you, regardless of the consequences. I wondered what had become of me, that I was willing to give you up—and our child as well—with so little struggle. Once I was truly faced with losing you, I knew I couldn't go through with it. Oath or no oath, I had to come back for you."
"God understands about the oath."
"I know that now. Nicki..." He reached up to touch her cheek. "Milo gave his life for us, so that we might be together. 'Tisn't a gift to take lightly."
"If you want me to marry you," she said, "just ask."
He looked through her eyes, into her very soul. "Will you marry me, Nicki?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, I would love to marry you."
"Good." Curling his hand around her neck, he lowered her head, murmuring, "Then come here."
* * *
Epilogue
July 1074, Cambridgeshire, England
"Ah, here you are," Alex said from the bedchamber doorway when he saw Nicki at her writing desk, working by the light of the late afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. "I should have known." He patted the baby in his arms, rooting busily on Alex's chest through his shirt, the damp little mouth blindly inquisitive. "This hungry babe is asking for something I can't give him."
Nicki turned and graced them—both of them—with one of her breathtakingly luminous smiles. "I'm only too happy to oblige." She crossed the room to sit on the edge of their big bed and tugged at the cord that laced up her tunic.
Alex bounced the infant gently while she got unlaced. He'd never wanted children until his own child started growing in Nicki's belly. And then, wanting a home to take his wife and babe to, he'd let King William grant him a substantial Cambridgeshire estate—in return, of course, for dismissal from his service, an offer Alex accepted eagerly.
Their manor house was sizable enough to be imposing, but airy and full of sunlight, thanks to the many large windows. It was their bedchamber, though—their private sanctum—in which Alex felt most at ease. The sprawling room, which encompassed the entire upper floor, bore Nicki's distinctive touch. Colorful rugs adorned the whitewashed walls, the bed was draped in buttercup curtains...there was even a pot of sunflowers on the writing desk.
"What are you writing?" Alex asked, wandering over to the desk.
She hesitated. "You may read it if you like."
Alex smiled at that. You may read it if you like. Only a year ago, she would have had to read it to him. Lifting the sheet of parchment she'd been inking, he saw that it was a letter, or rather, the start of one.
To Martin, esteemed prior of St. Clair, from your most devoted friend, Nicolette of Ravenhurst.
Beloved Brother Martin, cherished companion, how I miss you. I think of you frequently, wondering how you fare and what new marvel you have devised. Aside from the lack of your fellowship, however, I have found in England such happiness as I have never known.
Thank you for overseeing the management of Peverell in my absence. The steward you engaged has kept me well informed of all new developments, including the windmills you erected in the outer bailey and the star-viewing machine you are building in the athletic field. I only wish I could see them.
My husband and I are filled with pride and rejoicing, dear brother, for the Lord has blessed us with a strong and healthy baby. Our joy is boundless. I would, however, be obliged if you would inform Father Octavian that the deed to Peverell is to be transferred to the abbey forthwith. Our child, you see, is a daughter.
"I'm ready," Nicki said, holding her arms out.
Alex returned the unfinished letter to the desk and brought young Bryan to his mother. Baring one of her breasts—more ripely beautiful than ever—she set about feeding their son.
Nursing generally filled her with heavy-lidded contentment, so Alex was surprised to see little creases forming between her brows. "Do you think it's a very great sin to lie to a man of the cloth?" she asked.
Alex smiled. "Brother Martin is a wise man, Nicki, and he wants what's best for you. He would understand."
"Giving up Peverell is best for me," she conceded, "but is it best for our son? Peverell is one of the most important holdings in Normandy. Are we wronging Bryan by denying it to him?"
Alex sat behind her on the bed, gently easing her back until she was leaning against him. Wrapping his arms around her and their child, he tucked them up close to him. "Bryan will grow up an Englishman, Nicki. He'll inherit this estate, or earn another, even better one."
"Aye, but Peverell is—"
"Old and gloomy," he finished.
She chuckled. "Aye, it is that."
"And too many sad memories are buried there," he said softly. He kissed her silken hair, inhaled a whisper of roses and spices mingled with a baby-sweet milkiness—a scent he wanted to surround him, be a part of him, always and forever. "We'll make new memories, Nicki—happy ones—right here in England."
###
Author's Note
Luke's little brother had the face of an angel and the well-muscled body of a soldier. His many old scars—mementos not of the battlefield but of the savage beating he'd taken at seventeen after a liaison with the wrong woman—only served to add an intriguing edge to his beauty.
That description is from this book's prequel, Secret Thunder, the story of Luke—a knight tormented by the savagery lurking inside him—and the earthy Faithe of Hauekleah, who heals his soul. After Secret Thunder hit the shelves, I was happily inundated with mail from readers, most of whom were just as fascinated by Alex as I was, and eager for his story...which I was just as eager to write.
This isn't the first time I've fallen in love with the brother of one of my central characters. While writing Falcon's Fire, I became helplessly smitten by the heroine's brother, Rainulf. I knew in my heart that all he needed to cure him of his angst was the right woman—and, as Heaven's Fire proves, I wasn't about to let the fact that he was an ordained priest get in the way!
My next medieval romance is inspired by Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window. Set in twelfth-century London, Silken Threads—which won Romance Writers of America's RITA Award for Bes
t Long Historical Romance—is the story of a riches-to-rags heroine who rents a room to a man with a broken leg who can offer her nothing but more trouble. And then there's the heroine's brother, a charismatic mercenary knight who ended up starring in his own award-winning book, The Sun and the Moon.
About the Author
Patricia Ryan has written more than two dozen novels, which have garnered rave reviews and been published in over twenty countries. A RITA winner and four-time nominee, she is also the recipient of two Romantic Times Awards and a Mary Higgins Clark Award nomination for the first book of her historical mystery series featuring Boston governess Nell Sweeney, which she wrote under the name P.B. Ryan. Pat's Evil Twin, Pamela Burford, is also a published romance novelist. Sign up for Pat's newsletter at her website: http://www.patricia-ryan.com.
Nell Sweeney Mysteries
by Patricia Ryan writing as P.B. Ryan
The acclaimed historical mystery series featuring Boston governess Nell Sweeney and opium-smoking former battle surgeon Will Hewitt.
Still Life with Murder
Murder in a Mill Town
Death on Beacon Hill
Murder on Black Friday
Murder in the North End
A Bucket of Ashes
A boxed set of all six novels, The Nell Sweeney Mysteries, is also available as an ebook.
Table of Contents
Wild Wind
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
About the Author