by Nicole Locke
‘I carried her because you needed me to. And you’ve needed me before, haven’t you, Matilda? But I wasn’t here. And so you found Roger. And now you’ve lost Roger, and nothing I can do or say will make up for that. I’m so sorry, Matilda.’
They walked on in silence for a while longer, Nicholas nestling Julianna tightly in his arms.
‘I’m sorry for that day,’ he said.
Deep in her thoughts, she wondered if she’d lost track of what he was saying. ‘What day?’
‘It wasn’t your fault I received that letter then. You’d sent it a month before, but we were travelling and it took time to reach me. I received it the same day I received my injury.’
It had arrived when he was at death’s door. The worst day of his life somehow made worse.
‘Did it give you strength, my letter? Did your hatred for me help you?’
He wouldn’t lie to her. ‘Yes.’
That hurt, but it was better than the alternative. Something that had hurt him so much he hadn’t wanted to get out of bed.
‘Sorry,’ he said again.
She tried to tease him. ‘I’ve never known you to apologise so much before.’
‘I have a lot to apologise for.’
So did she. Still.
‘And is this because of Roger? You feel I’m owed these apologies now because I’m a widow?’
‘Matilda, just let a man do what he needs to.’
‘So you can have a clear conscience because your friend is dead?’
‘I was wrong to blame you!’ he growled. ‘It wasn’t your fault you fell in love with him. I can see why it happened now. And it wasn’t wrong of you to write to me and tell me about it.’
‘I’m very glad your hatred for me fuelled your recovery!’
‘You are the most impossible female I have ever known!’
‘In all those grand countries and exciting adventures? I doubt it.’
‘There’s nothing grand about that life, I can assure you, Matilda.’
‘So is that why you returned home?’ Matilda asked.
‘Rhain told me to.’
She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘You take orders from other people?’
‘He didn’t exactly tell me to return here, but he wanted me to face my past.’
Nicholas’s past wasn’t Mei Solis. It might have been significant for his father, but for him the manor had only ever been stone and mortar...and something he didn’t want. There were no other ghosts here for him to face...except her.
He had returned to face her. All this time she’d felt him watching and waiting. Would he confront her now?
‘Why did he think you needed to fix the past?’
‘Are you asking how he knew me so well?’
She shook her head. ‘You mentioned him in some of your letters.’
‘The ones I did write to you.’ Nicholas looked over her shoulder. ‘I had almost forgotten those.’
She hadn’t. Those letters, received almost every new moon, were all she’d had of him those first years he was away. When she’d married Roger she’d wrapped the letters and placed them in the bottom of her chest. She should have seen her actions for what they were—known that part of her had never stopped loving Nicholas.
‘How could you forget them?’
His gaze returned to her. ‘I didn’t forget my feelings for you. They were all I had left. No family. No home. Just you and the times we’d shared, the feelings we’d shared.’
‘Yet you stopped writing to me?’
‘Yes.’
Just like that she felt the cracks in her heart open again. There was a part of her that still believed if she had stopped loving this man and given herself to Roger completely then he wouldn’t have been out in the fields at every moment. Maybe a truer love would have completed him—completed her. They wouldn’t have sought their happiness elsewhere.
Elsewhere? There was nowhere else for her. Mei Solis was her home. And, though she argued otherwise, though he did as well, Mei Solis belonged to Nicholas.
‘Why did you come back? When you say you wanted to face your past, you mean face me. Did you come back to face me?’
His face turned implacable, as if he was holding a terrible secret. It made her angry. Roger was dead, her mother was dead, and she only had her father part of the time.
‘Why didn’t you wait for me?’ he demanded. ‘I was out there risking my life for coin to provide for you. To build you a—’
‘Oh, don’t say it. Are you comparing me to Helena? When have I ever cared for wealth or belongings?’
He had tried to pretend she had, but he knew it wasn’t that. ‘You were selfish—just like her. Taking your pleasures where you could.’
If he had struck her she wouldn’t have been more surprised. ‘I have never been selfish.’
‘You married behind my back.’
‘You broke my trust!’ she said. ‘You left after I begged you not to. Sent a letter almost every new moon, and then suddenly you stopped writing!’ She waved her arms, turned away from him. ‘You’ve given me reasons for this, but we both know you could have put something in the missives you sent to Louve. Yet, you didn’t. Just...nothing.’
She stabbed a finger above her heart.
‘And you dare compare me to Helena? Me, who stayed and helped care for every one of the tenants you abandoned. Who cares for her father, and Agnes, and at least—’
She broke then—just broke. It was more than her trust. He’d broken her pride. Her begging him not to leave had been in front of everyone. The looks of pity had lasted for years afterwards.
But she couldn’t say that to him. What little pride she had left refused to yield to him. But she was vulnerable, and Nicholas knew it, because he held out his hand as if to help her.
‘Don’t!’ she warned him, changing what she wanted to say to what she needed to. ‘Don’t make this about me. It was you, with your promises as empty as your father’s. Telling me you’d stay, but leaving within the year. Telling me you’d return, but year after year you didn’t. Telling me you’d write, and then the letters stopped. You broke something in me with your actions. How could I ever trust you again?’
Nicholas soothed Julianna, who had stirred in his arms, no doubt disturbed by the angry voices over her head. He lowered his voice, desperately trying to rein in the emotion behind the words he spoke.
‘Every action I took was to uphold my promise to you. To give you a home, a family, a life here. We couldn’t have that if I didn’t earn the coin. I was faithful to you all those years. Though we spent many nights in inns full of women. Though I travelled to foreign lands and their customs were different when it came to marriage. It took me years to return, but I told you I would earn coin and come back to you, and I did.’
He exhaled, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while he held the baby in the crook of his arm.
‘It’s true my father never kept promises, and so I never learned trust. Not from my father nor from a stepmother, who broke her trust the moment she clapped eyes on this heap of land. I trusted you. I gave you my heart, my everything, but you didn’t believe me. And, try as I might, I don’t understand.’
She turned from the anguish in his gaze. It was three years since she’d sent that letter telling him she was marrying another. How to explain what had happened to her at that time?
Weak. Vulnerable. Everything in her became small as she listened to his words. But if she told him all her vulnerabilities then she’d only be weaker. That little bit of pride she had left would be gone.
He’d taken everything else—she wouldn’t give him this. So she remained turned away from him and she also remained silent.
Nicholas exhaled roughly. A sound of angry frustration. ‘I depended on you, Matilda. Everything that was worth anything was with you.’
/>
She heard him pacing away, his words getting louder.
‘My heart. My soul. I bet everything on your trust. You who had had it all your life. Who knew what it was and how strong it could be. I bet my life on your trust. And where did it go?’
‘I remained faithful to you as well. All those years I wrote to you, and I prized those letters you sent me. I was surprised when my letters didn’t come, but Louve’s did. Then another one was missing, and another. Then my mother died...and my father didn’t fare well. I didn’t fare well.
Nicholas made some rough sound. He was breaking now—just like her. She knew why, too, because every word was the truth.
He hadn’t been wrong to put his trust in her. But she had been weak. She hadn’t trusted herself. If she had, she would have realised that Nicholas must have a reason for not writing. All she’d had to do was trust that. Trust him.
Instead, she’d let her pride get in the way. It was true that she’d never been tested like that before—never been pushed to those limits, with his support gone, her mother’s death, her father’s deterioration. But those were just excuses, really, because at the first hurdle she had fallen. Embarrassed, shamed, she had wrapped herself in pride and hadn’t let anyone close enough to see the weakness she was hiding.
A mistake—and she had hurt so many people. Roger. Nicholas. Her father. Herself.
She’d been hurting herself. That was why she’d wanted to change who she was. Not because Nicholas had left, but because she hadn’t wanted to be reminded of who she was.
She marched ahead. However, she knew Nicholas’s gaze was still on her. So much pain between them. So many mistakes to remedy. And not all were in the past. More words needed to be said. Those she’d tried to speak earlier. Those needed to be said.
‘I cared for Roger the best I could,’ she said. ‘I stayed. I cared. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing I did or continue to do, nothing I was or continue to be is enough!’
Without another word, she took her daughter from him arms and walked away from Nicholas, towards the only regret she could remedy.
Chapter Twelve
How much time did he have? Nicholas swung the horse outside the gate. None. He had none. Matilda hadn’t been seen since she’d returned to the manor. Bess had reported that Matilda had fed Julianna and then left for a walk.
Why had he let her go?
He’d known when she’d stalked off with Julianna in her arms that matters weren’t settled between them. But he’d thought to give her more time. In the meantime, Matilda had managed to enter the stables, saddle one of the mares and ride off.
It had been hours since they’d talked. Hours during which he’d let her alone—because her voice had sounded so lost, her words had gutted him, because he hadn’t known what he wanted to say.
He couldn’t push his horse to gallop any faster. Not for the first time he cursed his size, his weight, the fact he had only one eye. Fighting, walking, he’d conquered it all—but not this. Not navigating a horse which was sensitive to his every shift. And at a horse’s speed his peripheral vision was limited. He could be rushing past her.
He cursed the loss of his eye all over again as he sped across terrain that was no longer familiar. Yet, somehow he knew that she would ride over the fields through the sparse copse of trees towards the woods. That was familiar, and yet it had been years since he’d ridden this way.
In their youth, they’d ridden recklessly out this way, towards the low shrubbery and the low stone walls that dotted this area of his land. Part open field, part obstructed. Only the most skilled horseman could manoeuvre a horse through such territory. In their youth they’d often raced and jumped through the open field.
Now the shrubbery wasn’t so low, and the grass was taller. The stone walls were partially obscured. And there she was! Her horse ran at a slower pace than his, but he felt no relief. She was raising herself in the saddle, bending her body low.
Did she intend to jump? Matilda had told him she hadn’t ridden in years. Her body had changed and so had the terrain. It was too dangerous.
‘Matilda!’ he shouted.
Startled, she pulled sharply to the left on her reins as she looked over her shoulder. The horse skidded to the side, but she got it under control again and urged it forward. Faster this time.
Matilda heard nothing of Nicholas behind her. Nothing but the harsh breath of her horse, her own shortened breath as the jarring of its hooves crushed the grass. The field was uneven, and she dodged around shrubbery and holes.
She didn’t want Nicholas behind her, cornering her at the taller hedges they’d used to jump. Maybe at this speed she could make it. It had been so long. Why had she stopped riding?
Movement to her right—the head of Nicholas’s horse. Too close.
Her heart beating faster, she leaned down, preparing for the jump. His horse gained on her, pushing her to the side. Her mount started to slow and she pressed her knees in tighter. But Nicholas forced the turn.
There would be no jumping, but she refused to stop. Snapping the reins, she let out a shout and her mount burst forth again. Nicholas made a similar sound, but she was ahead this time, and turned towards the woods. Her smaller mount would make it through the trees. His horse would not.
A whistle, loud and shrill, shot across her, and her horse immediately responded. No words, no snapping of the reins changed matters. The horse knew a command and listened. It skittered under her while she continued to force it forward. Another whistle and it yanked its head out of her control and stopped.
Matilda gripped her saddle while Nicholas tossed his reins and dismounted. His expression was dark and menacing, emblazoned with exertion and rage. The whiteness of his scar was like a lightning slash across his face.
Coursing under her skin she felt the exhilaration of the ride and the chase, the certainty she had been about to fall. Her horse was too small for that jump. Nicholas had known it—she had not.
Still she refused to dismount, but his height was to his advantage and his strong hands hauled her off and away.
When he set her on the ground he looked as if he wanted to put her back on the horse so she could ride to her death. Even so, for the first time in so long she felt alive.
‘Why did you do it?’ he bit out. ‘Why did you risk it? That horse is too small to make that jump. And riding like that—one mud puddle could have killed you!’
Her legs were unsteady, but some unknown strength held her up. ‘I was riding my horse.’
He pointed his hand towards her. ‘You’ve never ridden like that! Was the saddle secure? You were sliding sideways.’
She swiped his accusing hand away. ‘It wasn’t the saddle. It was the terrain. You think you weren’t leaning as much as me? I was at full strength—you forcing my horse to the side could have got them tangled. Both of us killed.’
‘I forced that turn to get to you. To my surprise, you then headed to the woods.’
‘You have no responsibility for me. You left.’
She didn’t need this. Shouldn’t want this. Not now, when everything broken within her had almost righted itself.
She’d nearly fallen. Had been certain she would when her horse had started shying away from the jump she had committed to before Nicholas had forced the change in direction.
However, until that moment—during that moment when she had been about to catapult over—everything in her had become whole again.
She hadn’t felt like herself in six years. The years of Nicholas’s absence, her marriage to Roger, her trying to be like him. Her mother’s death, her father’s deterioration. Roger’s death.
Riding with no care, she had felt free, and it had been glorious. She’d be damned if this glowering man ruined it.
Spinning around, she marched to her horse.
He leapt to her side. ‘Now you ignore me?
’
Her horse shied as she approached, which only angered her more. ‘I was ignoring you before. You were the one who came after me!’
‘If I hadn’t, where would you be? Dead! That horse is lame.’
‘The horse is fine. Move away so I can get to her.’
‘It’s skittering away because it has more sense than you.’
‘You are being ridiculous. Just go. I’m alive. The horse isn’t lame. You can go back to your home now. Whack around your sword with Louve.’
‘Not when you almost caused your own death.’ Nicholas stepped back, ran a hand through his hair. ‘Did you want to die?
She whirled around. ‘Of course I didn’t want to die! Is that what you thought?’
She relished Nicholas stepping back. It was her turn to be the wild beast. She was free, and whatever was inside her could roam.
‘When you first left, I rode, but no one rode with me. Your absence weighed heavy inside me and I stopped jumping. I stopped giving the horses rein to run, to be free. I was incapable of feeling any such lightness and I forced them to temper theirs.’
At first, there had been a part of her that had blamed herself, but after six years she had known the blame lay with him.
‘You left because of your own restlessness.’
‘I left because the manor—’
‘No! You will admit it. There was something inside you that thrilled at leaving Mei Solis behind.’
He exhaled roughly. ‘Then my leaving was my choice.’
A victory—but not enough. He wouldn’t get away with it this time. ‘Why were you restless, Nicholas? Why? Because there wasn’t anything here for you? Because what you needed wasn’t here?’
‘I loved you.’
‘Not enough.’
When she’d been flying across the field, the wind had whipped at her hair so it had stung her eyes. She had been flying, and his words had pulled at her and crashed her to the ground.
‘I wasn’t enough. So I remade myself. I stopped riding. Took care of my father and taught Agnes how to draw. I spent time with Roger.’