by Ruth Kaufman
The crack of the seal breaking seemed loud as a matchlock gunshot in the silence. When they had finished reading, Nicholas lowered the letter and looked at Amice.
He turned to the messenger. “Tell my liege we are on our way, and look forward to greeting him anon.”
The servants began whispering. Their lady was going to court. Activity resumed with renewed energy.
Amice took the missive, hoping she’d misread it. “The King to all in Greeting: The attendance of Amice, Lady Winfield, is requested at Westminster. We shall introduce Lady Winfield to her new betrothed in our presence…our man Sir Nicholas Grey is recalled to the service of his king…. Depart with all speedy and convenient haste…. Witness the King at Windsor, 26 May.”
King Henry either hadn’t received her letters or had chosen to ignore them. Why should he grant her request when he wanted her to wed? She’d lulled herself into believing life at Castle Rising would stay as it was, with Nicholas an important part of it.
Suddenly she regretted her efforts to resist her feelings for him. Parting would be painful in any case. Why hadn’t she allowed herself to embrace the joy, the comfort, of caring for a man, even for a short time? She’d squashed girlish dreams she should have reveled in. For they might be all she’d ever have.
Amice sighed. The king wanted to meet her. Misery over the main reason for her journey overwhelmed any excitement she might’ve felt at being so honored.
“We ride at dawn. Leave your men behind. Take only two servants. Quarters can be crowded,” Nicholas said. “You’ll need to arrange for provisions.”
The flurry of commands startled her. Nicholas clearly thought only of preparations needed for travel. The warm, agreeable man she’d come to know had fled, leaving the efficient commander in his place. Had their time together meant so little that he could move on so easily?
Amice went about the tasks at hand, numb as if she’d stood all day on the parapets in mid-winter. Ginelle proffered various garments to pack, but Amice barely noticed what went into the satchels. Yes, that was the way. Feel nothing and nothing will matter.
Will away your desires and you won’t be sad when they don’t come to pass.
She couldn’t sleep. As the hour of departure approached, she burst into tears, crying all the harder that she had to cry at all. She loved Castle Rising. Her home, the place where she remembered her parents and the happiness they had shared. She felt safe here. She knew where everything was and knew everyone she saw. At court, only two servants would comfort her, with occasional visits from her cousin Cromwell. She’d be an outsider.
While a short trip to see some of the world would be opportune, she didn’t want to live anywhere else. Her new husband would probably take her to his home, unlike Edwin, who hadn’t cared where they lived. She’d been happy running her home as she saw fit.
She’d been far happier with Nicholas in her life. She’d miss his companionship and his contributions to running the estate. Though she’d only admit it to herself, she’d miss just looking at him. Wishing he might kiss her again, even if he didn’t, was better than not being with him at all. Simply watching him work and relax in her home gave her a sense of satisfaction, of internal peace. Of family. If only he could have been the one chosen for her.
On the other hand, he was a knight. What wife wanted to fear for her husband’s safe return, or live alone for months while he was on campaign? A perfect situation if a wife didn’t like her husband. But if she had to wed again, Amice wanted to more than like her husband, she wanted to love him.
What were the chances of that?
Harry ground his teeth as he crossed his narrow cell for the three hundred and thirty-fifth time. What else was there to do but walk, count and plan?
Anger burned within, keeping him warm despite the chill. The cell was clean enough, but such quiet and solitude could rot a man’s mind.
“Everything is Amice’s fault.” How could he hate her and want her to wife at the same time?
While Edwin was off getting married, Harry had persuaded Edwin to leave him in charge of the estates for the first time. He’d worked diligently, eager to impress his cousin with his accomplishments.
His plans changed the instant Amice rode into the courtyard. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair, of darkest brown, was mostly hidden under a golden headdress, but Harry imagined it flowing down her back. Her skin, so smooth and pale, her fine features and sweetest of smiles called to him.
The problems of being a mere cousin had converged. Edwin, the heir, had the estates, the responsibility, everything. Of course Edwin received a wonderful bride while he had none.
“While I, ever so much handsomer, was supposed to feel lucky even to have a place to live,” Harry told the door, which did not reply.
“I had to get rid of Edwin. It was my turn to have it all.” Three hundred and forty-two. “Hunting can be a very dangerous pastime. I’d return from the hunt alone, the grieving cousin. No witnesses to suspect me.
“I was finally the eldest Winfield. But Edwin bequeathed everything to Amice. Wasn’t it enough she had her dower lands? She had to have what should’ve been my inherited birthright as well? Not one manor or field for me. Not one tree.”
He’d come so close to persuading Amice to marry him. Until that king’s man Sir Nicholas arrived. He’d managed to free himself, only to taste imprisonment again.
Harry punched the wall, then gasped at the pain. Cradling his throbbing knuckles, he completed the three hundred and fiftieth pass.
There had to be another way to have Amice. And a way to make Sir Nicholas pay for foiling his plans and putting him through the humiliation of prison.
But what could he do with only unyielding walls and a silent door at hand?
He had to get out. Again.
Nicholas reclined on his comfortable bed for the last time. He’d enjoyed Castle Rising much more than he’d expected to. Time away from court was what he’d wanted, not the seclusion he’d once anticipated. He realized he wanted to belong, to be part of a household. He’d thought himself happy fighting Henry’s battles, that his satisfaction came from helping the king achieve his goals, from striving for the good of England.
Compared to the pleasure and sense of completion he derived from training the men and spending time with Amice, the splendor and intrigue of court seemed tarnished as an unused candlestick. The rush of battle no longer intrigued. The reprieve he’d sought from endless banquets, political debates, gossip and shallowness of many courtiers wouldn’t suffice. If anyone had told him two months ago he’d feel this way, he’d have laughed.
Martin interrupted his reverie. “So, back to the life we love, eh? I’m sure Belinda will be happy to see you.”
Nicholas sighed. Since his arrival at Castle Rising he’d not thought of her.
“Too bad no sensible man will take her to wife,” Martin said. “Poor Belinda, three husbands but no children.”
“Mayhap she’ll find another wealthy widower who needs a wife to raise his children.”
“Or you could marry her, like she wants,” Martin teased.
“You know I have no interest in marriage.” Unless I can wed Amice.
He sat up straight so fast his head spun. What had made him think that?
Wed Amice. Until now, he’d not shared the compelling need most men had to sire heirs. With Amice as his bride, the prospect sounded appealing.
But that could never be.
Martin laughed. “I think you fear falling in love. You see caring so deeply as a weakness to which a powerful knight should not succumb.”
“Would it were that simple.” His earliest memories of visits home were of his parents’ vicious quarrels. And they’d married because they believed they were in love, not because their families arranged it. Somehow, over the years, their feelings had disintegrated into bitter unhappiness. Whether the sameness of daily life or the demise of emotions caused the decay, all who lived in their household were exp
osed to their misery.
Nicholas could still feel the anguish as he huddled behind a door, doing his best not to cry as they shouted, wishing he could escape their suffering. And his own.
“Misery seems inevitable when a man and a woman are stuck together for their entire lives. How could any man possibly be with one woman for so many years and not find her annoying?”
As his friends wed, he’d grown more convinced marriage was a horrible lot. He’d not found a woman he could tolerate even with time apart while he was at war. How could he be expected to find a life mate? Belinda had seemed the perfect solution.
Until Amice. Who he couldn’t have.
“Belinda won’t relinquish you without a fight, but she’ll land on her feet like the cat that she is.” Martin smirked. “I’ve seen the moon-sick way you stare at the Lady Amice. Though she is small, her hips look wide enough to—”
“OUT.”
Martin wasn’t afraid to step out of bounds if he thought doing so was in Nicholas’s best interest. Which made him both valuable and annoying. He’d spilled a few grains of truth, Nicholas acknowledged.
After spending so much time with Amice, he could no longer endure Belinda. She’d been a means to avoid being completely alone. He realized now that he’d still been lonely, that even his appreciation of Belinda’s sexual maneuvers paled in comparison to the contentment his friendship with Amice brought. And if they could’ve delved beyond kisses, he knew their intimacy would surpass anything Belinda could offer. Sex had been just that with Belinda. Not making love.
He’d come to truly care for Amice. How could he stop?
Though the hour was early, he sent a servant to finish his packing and walked into the hall. Amice was already in her customary chair by the hearth, clad in a fox fur trimmed cloak. Her red and puffy eyes proved she’d been crying.
“Amice?” he said softly. “What troubles you?”
She jumped. Nicholas’s heart wrenched as the last stubborn tear trickled down her cheek. He sat beside her, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“I wish I could lie and say, ‘Nothing.’ My mother often warned me that my inability to tell even the whitest of lies would get me into trouble someday. Any lie would haunt my conscience. The truth will come out anyway, so why lie, get caught, and not be trusted?” She rose and walked to the hearth.
“What is it, Amice?” Something truly bothered her. Something he sensed had to do with him.
“I don’t want to go,” she blurted. “I don’t want to leave my home and I don’t want to marry a stranger.”
He walked to her. “Will you miss me?”
He had to know if he was part of the reason she was so distressed. Whether he would or could act on her answer, he wasn’t sure, but he had to know how she felt.
Amice looked bewildered. Either he’d read her deepest thoughts, or he’d been wrong to think their time together meant anything to her beyond mere companionship. Which? He clenched his teeth to keep from asking again.
“There was something you were going to say the day you brought your torn shirt for repair. What was it?” she parried.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Nicholas regretted his question. What he’d wanted to share went far deeper than being missed. Telling her now would only make her feel worse about leaving Castle Rising.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as if doing so could help her decide what to say next. “Of course I’ll miss our time together, Nicholas, very much,” she said as smoothly as any courtier.
Nicholas waited for more, suddenly feeling as if his future hung on her answer. This was the first time since the kiss that they’d talked of their feelings. He steeled himself to remain still, not betray his anxiety by shifting his weight from one foot to the other or tapping his fingers on his sword sheath.
She continued, “I’ve never had a friend like you.”
That was all? Nicholas burned to know the truth. If she felt as he did, could there be some way for them to be together despite the obstacles in their path?
Someone had to make the first move.
Nicholas would take up the gauntlet and prove Martin wrong. He wasn’t afraid to care. He could be strong enough to let Amice know how he felt.
The decision somehow freed him. Nonetheless, he struggled with his choice of words. So confident on the field of battle, when talking to women at court, he was unsure of himself now. Because I care about Amice. Nicholas was reluctant to admit that his feelings for her continued to strain his self-control.
Perhaps there’d be a better time for this conversation, when he’d had an opportunity to analyze his true feelings. Angry at himself for wavering, he bit back his hastily decided upon confession.
“I’ll miss you too.” Admitting that was easy, but by no means complete.
Martin would gloat, were he here.
“Won’t I see you at court?” she asked.
“We’ll often be in the same room attending the king and queen, but whether we’ll be able to speak privately, I can’t say. You will, naturally, be expected to spend time with—”
A spear of jealousy stabbed his gut. He didn’t want her to get married, either. The thought of another man having the right to talk to her, walk with her, hold her pretty little hands, wed and eventually take her to his bed infuriated Nicholas. The idea of another man touching what he had not, out of his sense of honor, allowed himself to touch beyond a single kiss filled him with unaccustomed envy.
What could he do? The king had chosen. Why would Henry change his mind? He already had the benefit of Nicholas’s services, so no great political alliance would be made. But as a reward to an honored friend and knight? A slim possibility.
He hadn’t known how important Amice would become to him, despite their differences. Nicholas had never felt such possessiveness for a person before. The very thing Belinda had demanded of him, he’d freely given to a woman he’d known only a short while.
Maybe he was imagining his feelings. A perfect example of what he’d oft heard minstrels sing of, wanting from afar but not being able to obtain. The longing, the sighing, the wishing for what could never be he’d once thought foolish and feigned were all too real.
At that moment, however, he wasn’t far from the object of his interest. She gazed curiously at him, dark curls shining in the firelight. Her eyes, made brighter green by crying, so close to his. Yes, he confirmed, one eye was greener than the other.
He gently put his hands on her face, her skin against his fingers soft as the tufts of her fur collar. He lowered his head, his mouth inches from hers.
How many times had he daydreamed such a moment? Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth slightly open. His arms supported her as she leaned back, looking up at him as if trying to read his thoughts.
He lowered his mouth to hers and was pleasantly surprised when she instantly wrapped her arms around his neck. Her warmth enveloped him and desire claimed him. He drew her closer, his hands gently cupping her neck, feeling her smooth skin.
For once reality surpassed dreams. Imagining the need flowing through him wasn’t as wonderful as living it.
“More,” she breathed.
He was happy to comply, sliding his arms around her to pull her against him. It was never like this with Belinda, never. Ashamed his thoughts would turn to another woman at all while kissing Amice, he released her. He wanted to tell Amice about Belinda, so there’d be no secrets, but didn’t want to spoil the moment.
He couldn’t describe the swirling in his stomach, though he recognized quite well the stirring in another part of his anatomy.
“Nicholas,” she began, but he stopped her with a finger on her lips.
“Later. Others are coming into the hall. We must get under way,” he said.
Was that sorrow or relief in her gaze? Releasing Amice despite the desire that pulsed through every fiber of his being, Nicholas stormed outside. He hoped the summer winds would return him to his senses. What might he hav
e promised her if he remained in the spell of her nearness? He wanted her so much he’d almost violated his honor.
When had being with her, sharing his days by her side, become what he truly wanted? How could he have such thoughts, which could bring dishonor on them both if carried out?
What he wanted couldn’t matter. Nothing could come before duty to his king and his country, not even his feelings for Amice.
He wouldn’t allow himself to touch her as a husband touched a wife ever again.
Chapter 5
London is only a day away, a day away, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves sang scornfully. Amice’s stomach churned. Dust and misery choked her.
She didn’t notice the weather or the countryside they rode through. Not since her parents and brother died had she felt so despondent, so purposeless. All she could seem to do was think about Nicholas abandoning her in the hall the morning of their departure. He’d kissed her, and she’d wanted more. Her heart had rejoiced in his attentions. She’d felt changed for life.
Her tongue still hurt, she’d bitten it so hard to keep from calling him back. The futility of acting upon any feelings they might have for each other in light of Henry’s impending announcement had prevented her from saying the words she longed to say. But she couldn’t deny how his kiss made her feel. The tingling sensation remained, deep inside, making her yearn for more. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her face, smell his clean scent, sense the security of his arms holding her.
Again she wracked her brain for any means for them to be together. No option she could think of would serve any purpose but to briefly delay the inevitable. Still she wanted…was it sinful? She wanted to make love with Nicholas, to feel his hard body against hers. She imagined waking in the cozy warmth of his arms, watching him sleep as early morning light crept in, carefully brushing stray locks of hair from his eyes. How could she have such thoughts, which would bring dishonor on them both if carried out?
Nicholas moved his horse close to hers. “You have your duty, as I have mine.”