It took Charlotte only a moment to recall Nicola’s angry demeanour and their palpable hostility. ‘Bragging,’ she whispered, consolingly. ‘How men like to brag about how they got a woman into their arms, but it’s the timing, isn’t it? Of all the things that men are not so good at, and there are quite a few, their timing is the worst, I’ve found. But forgive him. There’ll be compensations.’ She took Nicola’s weeping face between her hands as if she’d been made of eggshell. ‘Such a very special, courageous woman,’ she whispered, ‘and so very much loved by us all. Bruised, and hurt, and confused too. But the hurts will fade, dear one, like the problems, if you give them time and stop berating yourself. Give your love time to grow too. Men in pain don’t always say the right things, you know.’
‘Give my love time, Lotti? What love are you talking of?’
Charlotte could not hold back a mischievous smile. ‘Oh, you cannot conceal it for ever, you know, though you may try. You may want to believe Sir Fergus is thinking only of his father’s wishes in this affair, but, believe me, it’s Fergus Melrose’s wishes he’s thinking of far more. He’s about as transparent as you are, my love.’
‘You see too much, Lotti,’ Nicola said, wiping her face with a knuckle. ‘And what did you mean about men in pain? Were you speaking of Fergus?’
‘It’s time you two had a long talk about things,’ Lotti said, prosaically. ‘You both have a lot of ground to make up. Yes, Fergus was injured too. A broken rib, for one thing. He wouldn’t tell you that, of course.’
‘No, he still thinks of me as an eleven-year-old child at heart.’
‘Well, you’ll hear no more from Lord John, my dear. Sir Fergus certainly knows how to deal with people who step over the line, doesn’t he?’
Nicola shivered as the hairs on her arm stood on end. Yes, I shall find little softness in him, it seems. To insist that I ask him to agree to a betrothal was a heartless move to boost his own score, not the act of a lover. She took a last sip of the treacly drink to avoid answering.
Lotti dusted down her gown with well-manicured hands. ‘Now let me put a dab of this new salve on your poor lip, then we’ll go along to the solar. I’m going to send for a bath, so we’ll take all the fragrant essences with us, and the body lotions, and then we’ll find something pretty and comfortable for you to wear. Who does your hair best, Lavender or Rosemary?’
But Nicola was not listening. A white rabbit had found its way up to the top of the steps and was being stopped from entering by its blue leash caught on the ledge. ‘Melrose,’ she whispered, picking her up and savouring the warm softness against her skin. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
The lovely face was still blotchy with the ravages of weeping, and there was nothing that Lotti could devise that would quite conceal the swellings and bruises, but the transformation was nevertheless truly remarkable, in spite of Nicola’s protests that this was all rather a waste of time. Lotti knew what she was doing, and insisted on choosing Nicola’s most becoming apricot silk with a twining pale aqua motif woven in. The deeply scalloped sleeves reached the ground, and the high-sashed waist hinted at the full curves that she swathed in layers of gossamer around the shoulders and neck like a tantalising mist. They had bound up the glossy dark tresses with gold braids and ropes of pearl, listening to no protests. They had salved, creamed and perfumed her and, hanging pearl pendants from her ears, had unanimously declared the effect simply irresistible.
‘Irresistible to whom?’ Nicola said, looking with suspicion into the mirror. ‘It’s a bit late, isn’t it? Sir Fergus will have gone home, surely?’
‘I think you’ll find,’ said Lady Charlotte, ‘that he’s been waiting to speak to you this last hour.’
Nicola stared at her sister-in-law’s reflection and saw that she was serious. ‘Lotti…no! I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want him to start probing about…oh, you know…I can’t…Lotti. Please tell him to go away. It’s not going to work. I thought it might, but I was wrong.’
Lotti caught her as she flounced away, knowing that it would not, could not be as Nicola feared. ‘Give him another chance, my dear,’ she whispered. ‘It’s worth another try, isn’t it?’
For many reasons it was worth another try, if not for Nicola’s own happiness then for Lady Melrose’s and for the memory of Prioress Sophie.
Still confused, angry and defiant, and still trying to quench the love she had only just begun to acknowledge, she passed through the door that Lavender held open, expecting to have some time to think, alone. But it was not to be, for there by the upper passageway, leaning against the wooden panelling, was Fergus, and she was unable to escape as she had hoped. Nor did he intend her to.
Even on the shadowy landing it was plain to see that something about him had changed, something less easy to define than Nicola’s outward appearance, something in the eyes that showed a softness, less challenging than their usual sweeping assuredness. The hauteur was now replaced by a tender appreciative smile that promised more than arguments and unnecessary deadlines, and it was this disarming expression that made Nicola check the refusal she’d been intent on delivering. She knew then that she would have to give him the chance to speak.
Even now, his look made her blush and stammer like a girl. Any look at all from Fergus Melrose was unfamiliar, but this one roamed from the dark pile of hair to the hem of her gown and back to her face, lingering sadly upon the tell-tale marks of her suffering in Lotti’s arms. ‘My lady?’ he said. ‘Nicola?’ There was a pleading in his tone she had never heard before. The door to her room closed quietly behind her, and they were alone. ‘Can we begin again?’ he said. ‘Please? I cannot lose you.’
Her breath welled up into a hard mass, refusing to help. She shook her head.
‘I’ve been with Signor Foscari, Nicola. He’s told me—’
‘No!’ The word exploded angrily, squeakily, and she tried to turn away, anticipating the probing questions that would be sure to follow. But Fergus reached out to catch at her hand, and the gentle restriction became a tug-of-arms, then a beating at his breast that flared like tinder into a fight, blind and instinctive on her part, purposeful and restraining on his, a brief skirmish she had no hope of winning, even on a good day. Then she was in his arms, hitting at his charcoal-grey doublet in helpless rage, her voice entangled in a mesh of scalding rebukes that came out sideways and backwards and every way but straight as if they’d been under compression since her childhood.
Raging and pounding at him still, she was held securely against his chest until, panting for breath, she wound down like clockwork with one last feeble shove and the typically female conclusion that made him smile, unseen. ‘I have nothing to say to you, Fergus Melrose.’
The smile widened before he could pull it back. ‘No, sweetheart. But will you hear what I have to say?’
‘I’ve heard what you have to say. I’m tired of hearing what you have to say. If you did less talking and more…’
He waited. ‘More what?’
‘Nothing. And I’m not your sweetheart. You can take your damned deadlines…and conditions…and…’
‘Shh…hush, lass. I have no deadlines or conditions.’
‘What?’ Lifting her flushed face, she wiped a knuckle across her damp nose in a child-like gesture that tugged at his heartstrings. Worn down by the earlier storm, her voice now grated sexily, making her rebukes sound more like caresses.
‘No deadlines, no conditions,’ he repeated. ‘There are some things that we both need to know, sweetheart. Things we should have known before. As I said, I’ve been listening to Signor Foscari. He’s a wise man, is my captain. He agrees with me on this matter.’
‘On what matter?’
‘That I would be a fool to lose you, having got so far. He’s right; I cannot lose you. Can we talk now? Which is your room?’
‘That would be unseemly,’ she sniffed, intent on being contrary.
‘Not for a betrothed couple, or even a couple about to be
. Which one? This?’ Keeping hold of her waist, he opened the door through which she had just passed and steered her inside, holding it open as Lavender and Rosemary departed with lowered eyes and tripping curtsies.
The room had been tidied, and the sounds of happy children and deep laughter floated through the open window, reminding them both of how time had suddenly crept up on them before they were ready for it.
They listened, then Fergus drew her towards the window-seat and sat her opposite him, each to their corners. ‘Does the light hurt you?’ he asked, letting go of her elbows. ‘Here, let me put this cushion behind you.’
The wariness must have showed in her eyes as she followed these small attentions that, apart from the tending of her wound, hardly typified his earlier manner towards her. ‘What is all this about?’ she said, with more than a hint of mistrust. ‘You think to change my mind again, don’t you? Well, I think I should warn you that—’
‘No, don’t warn me. It’s much too late for warnings, sweetheart. I want you to tell me, not warn me. You’ve suffered, I know.’
Instantly, she was back on the defensive. ‘You do not know, Fergus Melrose. Why does everyone think they know how I feel? How could you possibly know? You’re a man. It couldn’t happen to you.’ She had begun to tremble again, aware that her outburst could sound pettish, like the silly ramblings of a girl with her first lover. ‘That kind of thing doesn’t happen to men,’ she said, lamely.
‘No, it doesn’t. And I blame myself entirely for getting you into such danger and then for assuming that nothing much had happened, since you still had the energy to thrash your attacker. I had no right to assume anything of the sort. Nor had I the right to assume that you are as tough a nut as you used to be as a child. I can see that you’re not. How could you be?’
‘I never was, Fergus. You assumed then that I was impervious to hurt because it suited you to. But I never was then, any more than I am now. You’ve always assumed too much. Even after the brawl at Southwark you never once asked if I’d been hurt, though you must have seen what happened.’
‘I thought—’
‘That because I didn’t list my bruises, there were none? Well, I got hurt in places where ladies are not supposed to get hurt, and although you could say it serves me right for dressing as a man, it would have been nice to receive some sympathy. And I don’t want to tie myself for life to someone who thinks I’m just an inferior breed of man, like the lad I used to be when we were young. I’ve told you, things have changed. I knew what you were like, Fergus. I have only myself to blame for letting things get this far.’
‘Is it really too late, Nicola? Is it too late for me to make it up to you? I heard what the captain had to say. He told me…oh, God…sweetheart, show me your poor wrists…come, show me.’ Taking her fingers, he gently eased back the silk sleeve to expose the red and purple pattern of the twisted rope on her skin. Bending his great handsome head, he put his warm lips to it, kissing every part of her wrists while she watched and felt each healing caress steal down to the soles of her feet. And when he had done that to his satisfaction, he pulled the sleeves back into place and drew her into his arms with none of the resistance her words had led him to expect. ‘Your beautiful eye, your lip, too,’ he said, studying them so closely that she could see herself reflected in his eyes.
‘Did the captain tell you everything?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, he told me what he saw. Now, you can tell me the rest.’
‘No, I can’t do that. I won’t repeat it. It’s far worse than Southwark.’
Fergus’s eyes hardened with rage. ‘I need to know, Nicola.’
Her voice shook. ‘They told him what we were doing in the woodland, and he was angry because it was you and not him. He was crude and disgusting, Fergus. He’s spoilt it. I was going to stop on the track…to tell you…that I wouldn’t wait till sundown…to tell you…you know. But now it’s spoilt. I can’t tell you what I was going to say. I feel cheapened. Defiled.’
‘Did he touch you?’
‘Except for hitting me and holding me by the throat, no.’
‘Show me.’
Without shame, she let him move the gauze aside to study the blue fingerprints, watching again as his lips approached to lap tenderly at them. ‘I shall keep the dog at those oars till he drops,’ he said. ‘I swear it. Is there anything else I need to know? Nay, lass. Do not look at me like that. This is not going to change anything between us. Did you believe it would? You belong to me, Nicola Coldyngham. You were mine before this happened, and you still are. You were on the verge of accepting me, and it was insensitive of me to impose a time limit. I can see it now. That’s not the way to win a woman.’
‘You’re sure you still want me?’
‘Am I sure? Good grief, woman, I’m more sure of that than I am of my own name. You’ll never know what torments I suffered when I almost lost you. Did you know that I broke three heads that day, and nearly tore London apart?’
‘No. No, I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me what had happened to you. Lotti told me about the rib. I’m sorry. Does it pain you much?’
‘Several ribs. It’s nothing. Were you concerned for me?’
I died a thousand deaths for you, that day. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I was.’
‘So do you think it’s time we started to confide in each other a little more? We shall be betrothed, my lady. You may as well accept it.’
‘All this in the name of duty to your father, Fergus?’
His reply to that was not quite what she had expected. With no thought of his broken ribs and the pain any movement caused him, he slid a hand beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms, carrying her the three strides to her canopied bed as if she could not have walked. As softly as thistledown he laid her there and stood over her as he had done once before, with his arms like a cage on each side of her. ‘Let’s just leave the duty out of it, shall we, sweetheart? Just tell me what you were going to say on the woodland path before you were prevented. Come on, I need to hear it.’
The time for prevarication was past. ‘I was going to say…’ she looked away, but he moved her chin back into place with tender fingers ‘…that I will marry you, but you don’t deserve my co-operation.’ The hard words were softened by a smile that reached her eyes as well as her swollen mouth; for all Fergus cared, the reprimand might just as well have been a declaration of love.
‘No.’ He grinned. ‘But you’ve said you’ll have me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I shall work harder to deserve you, Lady Coldheart.’
‘My heart is not cold, Fergus.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it, sweetheart. So, as soon as the ceremony is over and you feel well enough, we’ll go up to Melrose to see my mother. Come, lass,’ he said, sitting beside her and enclosing her with his arms, ‘tell me that we’re friends now. I’ve seen you smile for the first time in days. Is that a sign of your recovery?’
He was close again, close enough for her to feel his warm breath upon her face, and all she had to do was to lift her arms and cradle his head, and feel the shivers of desire start under her fingers, flooding her body. She had accepted him. There would be no going back.
Fergus’s intention to work harder to deserve that lady’s thawing heart was taken rather more literally than he expected and, in view of his broken ribs, too soon. Nevertheless, no one made any objection to the events that Nicola had planned, for while some doubts still lingered in her mind, she would need to put Fergus to the test, one way or another.
The arrival of Ramond at River House was just the opportunity she needed, for with two brothers to bolster the competition, she believed that Fergus would surely revert to his former ways and forget to include her in any of the sport. Though it was good to see them together once more, swapping news and teasing, in spite of Fergus’s plea not to make him laugh, Nicola could scarcely hold back the strange feeling of déjà vu and the anticipation of dread.
Less surprised at
the impending betrothal than George expected him to be, Ramond was predictably diplomatic, entering into the spirit of Nicola’s suggestions as if she had always been team leader instead of Fergus. A boating party found favour with them all.
But the brothers would not allow Fergus to row, relegating him to sit in the stern of the narrow launch with both arms around Nicola, his hands over hers, beneath her breasts and only a move away from a public caress. Fortunately, Lotti and the men were far too occupied with keeping Roberta and Louis still to notice where Fergus’s hands were straying, or how tenderly she was being held against his warm body.
She felt his whisper on the patch of skin behind her ear. ‘Got you, my beauty,’ and until then she had not known of the link from there to her woman’s parts. The rush of excitement was like a vibrating bowstring, keeping her breath deep inside her lungs.
‘What do you do for a ship now it’s on its way to Flanders?’ George called, heaving at one pair of oars. ‘Wait for it to return?’
‘No,’ Fergus said. ‘I have my Genoese carrack filling up at Holyrood Wharf. Have you not seen her? Smaller sails and fewer men, but she carries a massive cargo. I’ll show you round if you have time. You may want to send some of your wool in her.’
‘Where will she be bound?’
‘Scotland. I have Queen Margaret’s shipment from Genoa.’
Testing him, Nicola said, ‘Perhaps we could row up there to see the ship?’
‘Ooh…yes!’ the children shrieked. ‘Can we, Papa? Can we?’
Fergus’s arms tightened, his laugh sending shivers into Nicola’s seat. ‘We’re rowing the wrong way,’ he said. ‘We’ll go tomorrow.’ Typically, he had taken charge, but the old brutal coldness was now replaced by a gentleness as his hands fondled her arm underneath the woollen wrap, and she would not for the world have argued with him.
‘It’s the prioress’s funeral rites in a day or two,’ she whispered over her shoulder.
‘That’s all right, sweetheart. Time enough.’
His Duty, Her Destiny Page 15