by Quinn, Paula
“I did not know that at the time. Did I?” she argued, swiping tears from her eyes. “And even if I had known, it would not have made a difference. I had recently seen crazed men running through my father’s castle with their knees exposed and their long hair swinging out around them while they killed everyone in their path. I hid in my room while they slaughtered my parents and our maids and all who lived with us. I did not go with you that day because I was afraid of the Scots, Nicholas.”
Hell. What was she saying? Was he that big of a fool? Was it truly just fear that had kept her away from him? No! he thought, raking his fingers through his hair while it all dawned on him like a sunrise on a long, tormenting night. No, he groaned inwardly over all the time he’d wasted, all the years she had suffered with, or because of Phillip. And what of Mattie and the years he’d put her through while he walked around Lismoor like a pitiful, prideful fool? Mattie knew he loved Julianna but she’d fought a ghost and won the battle—and it had cost her her life, giving him a son he did not know.
“I did not refuse to go with you because I did not love you,” Julianna confessed, looking scared senseless while she did. “I have always loved you.”
He felt too weak to stand. He couldn’t draw in a breath. Was everything for nothing? “Julianna,” he managed and leaned in, resting his hand on the wall behind her head. “I did not know you loved me. I had no confidence to imagine such a thing.”
She reached up to touch his jaw with her fingertips. He closed his eyes then turned away.
“Nicholas, what is it? Why are you ready to run still?”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Do you not understand? Now ’tis so much worse. Knowing you have always loved me—”
“That I love you still,” she corrected in a soft voice against his chin.
Before he could think to stop himself, he let go of the wall and cupped the nape of her neck. He tilted her face to meet his and kissed her. It was as if no time had passed from that night four years ago in the stables when he’d kissed her so intimately for the first time. Every sensation, every desire awakened from its slumber and came flooding back to him.
He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped loving her because he never had. The truth terrified him and thrilled him beyond his senses.
He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him, deepening their embrace, their kiss. She coiled her arms around his neck and answered his desperate call, filling him up, making things right again. His tongue stole softly around her mouth and his heart thundered wildly against her chest. Hers beat just as fast against him. Her lips were soft, made of clouds and honey. What made them most irresistible though was that they were eager for him—just as he remembered. Her hair fell all around him, like fingers dancing over his skin, or a gossamer web, taking hold of him—
Someone was approaching.
Nicholas withdrew from their kiss, their embrace. His breath came hard as he stepped back. His languid gaze met hers for a moment, and it was all the time he needed to remember his dreams and how she was always his wife in them. His heart thrashed within. What if she left again…or died as Mattie had? He turned away and looked down the corridor.
Rauf was coming toward them, smiling. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Are you?” Nicholas asked succinctly, lifting a doubtful brow at him.
“Sincerely,” his commander promised. “A missive has just arrived from Douglas FitzGerald, Bishop of Whickham.”
Nicholas’ frown turned genuine and he held out his hand. He hadn’t heard from the bishop in three years. He thought of the stack of letters on the table in his solar. Perhaps it wasn’t as long as three years. He was almost certain he’d seen something recent in the pile from the bishop. He’d been back for a sennight and he couldn’t take on what Rauf, who was once his steward, used to see to.
While he was away, Sir Richard, an old knight under the d’Argentan family, had agreed to stay on at Lismoor and see to all matters of state in Nicholas’ absence. The older knight had become Nicholas’ close friend—more like a father figure. He died six months before Nicholas’ return.
Nicholas broke the seal and opened the parchment. “The bishop reminds me that he is coming to Lismoor—what is today?”
“’Tis Monday,” Julianna told him.
“—tomorrow. Son of a—”
She pushed two of her fingers against his lips to stop him from swearing, and then realized where her fingers had settled and pulled them away to cover her own lips instead then pulled them away from her mouth, too.
“What fer?” Rauf asked, ignoring them both to complain. “And what d’ye mean by sayin’ he reminds ye? When did ye first hear aboot him comin’, Nicky, and how am I to remind ye of yer duties if ye dinna tell them to me?”
Nicholas scowled at him. He knew asking Rauf to see to things again was a mistake. First of all, Rauf couldn’t read. After that, there really didn’t need to be another reason.
“If I do not want to sit in a chair reading to myself all the letters I get,” Nicholas asked him matter-of-factly, “what makes you think I want to sit reading them all to you?”
Rauf stared at him, blissfully unashamed of his inability to read. “What are we to do aboot it then?”
Nicholas handed Julianna the letter and asked her to please finish reading it.
She obliged happily. “There will be a gathering of the bishop’s closest friends and advisors from Northumberland who show support for the bishop’s peace talks with the Bruce,” she read. After skimming the rest and deeming it unimportant, she handed the parchment back to Nicholas.
“Are you a close friend of the bishop?” Julianna asked him.
“I was. I was hoping he had forgotten me.”
She tossed him a wide, curious smile that made him want to smile, too—or kiss the hell out of her again. “Why do you look as if you would rather be bitten by a swarm of ants than have him here?”
“Because I would rather that.” He wasn’t used to sitting with nobles—but she was. “’Tis not him. ’Tis his friends I cannot tolerate.” He looked miserable for a moment then looked at her. “Sit with me when he comes.”
“What?”
Aye, what? What was he doing returning to the past with her? He’d just returned from Berwick to rid himself of her and here he was kissing her! Hell, letting himself remember how much he loved her. She loved him? He had suspected it at times. After all, they’d grown up best friends. But he never imagined that she loved him the way he loved her. She still loved him? How? Had she loved him so much that she continued throughout her marriage? It was almost too much to take in. He was aware of how much he’d wanted to hear her confession.
But it couldn’t matter. He didn’t want to love her. Loving her would break him to pieces. Love tempted and teased with the promise of exhilaration, but it only always delivered pain. “Sit with me and perhaps let me kiss you at the end of the night.”
He was a mad fool, but when she nodded her head, he felt the sun on his face again, and the hope that, as Simon had said, they were being given a chance to set things right.
What would it cost him?
Chapter Eleven
After breakfast, Julianna sat in Margaret the seamstress’ chamber and finished looking through Aleysia d’Argentan’s gowns. Margaret had kept them just in case the previous lady of the castle ever found use for them again and sent for them.
There were chests filled with Mattie’s clothes, but Julianna did not touch those. Save them for Elias when he found a wife.
“I like this one against your skin.” Margaret held up an emerald green gown with short sleeves and a lilac kirtle underneath.
“You do not think I will be too cold in short sleeves?”
“No, dear,” Margaret replied with a pin between her teeth and a spool of emerald thread clutched in her long, thin fingers. “The gown is velvet. ’Twas made for the winter. Now, I just need you to try it on so I can mark the adjustments. You are a wi
sp of a thing.”
Julianna did as Margaret bid and slipped into the gown. It felt like a luxurious piece of second skin, even in the places that were too big, like the bosom and the buns.
“I will have to bring it up some,” the seamstress said as she began marking the alterations. “You are a bit shorter than Aleysia.”
Julianna wondered if Margaret addressed Miss d’Argentan so informally in her presence. She wondered how her maids or house workers in Berwick had spoken of her when she wasn’t there. She hoped kindly.
“Also, I need to take in the waist some and shorten the arms.”
Julianna nodded and looked at Elias in a cushioned chair in Margaret’s sewing chamber. He was playing with a ball and cup toy. As if sensing her, he looked up and smiled at her.
She knew it wasn’t sensible for a governess to love her charge, and certainly not so quickly. But she loved Elias. He had no mother and she wanted to take the role.
First, she had to win his father.
She looked down at herself and smiled a little. She thought of his kiss in the hall and touched her fingers to her lips. Oh, it had been heaven! Pure bliss in a set of full, tantalizing lips. It changed everything and made it perfectly clear that she wanted a life with him. When he’d asked if he could kiss her at the end of the night, she couldn’t say aye fast enough. But then he’d left her without even a good eve. And he missed kissing his son goodnight, as well.
“Oh,” Margaret said wistfully, “how nice it must be to sit among such important men like the bishop and his friends.”
“’Tis not as pleasant as you might think,” Julianna told her.
Margaret joined her when she laughed and then the seamstress shared some stories about the men in the castle, like Rauf’s fondness for Agnes, a maid at Lismoor, and how Simon was terrified of cats, and they laughed some more.
Julianna wanted to ask her if she knew what terrified the earl. He was still running.
She decided not to worry over Nicholas while she was with the babe. She would make the most of the morning and take Elias outside again until Nicholas’ guests began arriving. She wanted to explore the rear tower opposite the keep. There were two smaller towers, but only the rear one had windows and she’d seen people, mostly the men, entering it. She wasn’t afraid of the men anymore. There was no reason to be. They had all been very courteous to her, inviting her here or there. It all made her even more sorry for ruining years of her life because she’d been afraid of them.
When she finished wrapping Elias, she bundled herself in two extra léines and two pairs of breeches, a coat and her cloak and left her chamber.
Where was Nicholas this morn? She hadn’t seen him at breakfast. He was still nowhere to be found. She was angry with him for staying away for so long. She didn’t like that he ran from his troubles. He was going to have to stop running. For Elias’ sake, and for hers. She loved him and she wasn’t going anywhere so whatever he was afraid of he would just have to get over.
When they were both ready to brave the cold, Julianna took Elias by the hand and left the keep with him. Some of the men greeted her and the babe on their stroll to a small walkway that was almost completely bare of snow. The path across had been made clear and the sides swept clean by its constant use.
She let Elias chase her over the path and to the narrow, stone stairs leading up to the tower’s narrow door.
“Come, lad, I must carry you up,” she told the babe.
“Lyahs want to climb!” he argued. He enjoyed walking and doing certain things on his own. A good sign of confidence. Was it growing already? Had he possessed it since birth?
“Does Elias want to fall, as well?” She scooped him up but he immediately began to cry and kick.
“Lyahs want to climb!” he carried on, squirming and flailing, kicking his feet and hitting her a few times on the arm. “Want to climb!”
“Elias!” she said sternly and set him down on his feet. She leaned down on her knee and looked him in the eye. “What is this behavior?”
“Lyahs want to climb.”
Gah! Impossible! Julianna stared at him. How could such a tiny being wield such power over her? “Very well,” she said, giving in and not caring. “You can climb, but Julianna will be with you. Aye?”
He wiped his nose, nodded, and turned for the stairs.
Julianna followed close behind. So close that the front of her was almost touching the back of him. She told him to press his hand to the wall and do not release it. It would keep him from falling over the side. She curled her shoulders in and stretched out her arms to encircle him and followed him up, slowly, carefully, to the top.
Nicholas stood in front of the door like a dark, shimmering shield, with his arms folded across his midnight blue cloak. He looked down at Elias, and then at her.
“You had him well covered.”
“Aye,” she whispered back. “He is very brave.”
Nicholas nodded and moved aside so she could pass. He brought them through the narrow door to a front room where she unwrapped Elias and removed her cloak.
Once his son was free, Nicholas bent down and picked him up. “You climbed well, for I watched. You listened and kept your hand on the wall and climbed to the top. Well done.”
He turned to her. “What are you doing at the tower?”
“I wanted to see it,” she told him then narrowed her eyes on him and remembered that she was angry with him. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to have a talk with the men about the bishop…and about you.”
“Oh?” she asked. “What about me?”
“I wanted them to know that if any of them dishonor you in any way, they will make an enemy of me.”
“Oh.” Her voice was low, laced with understanding as she looked into his flinty, gray eyes. “Thank you.”
It didn’t mean anything, she told herself as her heart accelerated. He was protecting his son’s governess. If she was unsafe so was his son.
“Did you want to go on alone?” he asked her. “Or would you prefer if I showed you around? We have time before people start arriving.”
He hadn’t been running after all. He’d been warning his men not to dishonor her. Her anger vanished. “I would like you to stay.”
His lips curled at the edges, just enough to prove he was pleased with her decision. He moved aside to let her and Elias pass and then took his place on the other side of his son.
“This is the gathering hall,” he said then turned to push open the heavy double doors leading to it. About a score of his men were drinking in their seats and sat up straighter when they saw her.
No one said a word as they continued walking through the gathering hall then to the coiling stairs.
“They seem afraid of you now,” Julianna whispered, moving beside him and pushing up on her toes to get closer to his ear.
“They should be,” he replied on a low rumble that sent a chill down her spine.
Who was this? Not her quiet William. Her humble groom who used to let other, less noble boys treat him poorly for her sake. Was this the man who had been brewing all those years while he watched the more fortunate laugh and act like haughty fools?
“What would you do?” Did she truly want to know?
“If one of them touched you,” he said deeply then gazed at his son. “Or him. I would beat him to within an inch of his life, and then I would kill him.”
She covered only one of Elias’ ears, since she was carrying him in her other arm. “A bit too much, Nicholas?”
His eyes rounded on his son then slid guiltily to hers. “He should not be squeamish about such things,” he defended.
“He is two,” she reminded him with an edge to her tone. “He will have his whole life to learn not to be squeamish. Let us keep such talk from his ears for a little while longer, aye?”
He nodded and smiled at his son as they ascended the stairs on the ground floor. Elias let his father carry him up the next three stories. Each consi
sted of two small, stone-vaulted chambers and a garderobe. The fourth landing was a large guardroom, empty of any guards. Bows and arrows stacked against the walls, beneath the narrow embrasures.
Nicholas walked toward one of the embrasures and let Elias look out at the white world below.
“About what happened,” he said slowly. “…between us…”
Julianna’s heart stalled. Was he going to tell her their kiss was a mistake? That it should not have happened and will not happen again? Or that he’d been dreaming of kissing her for four long years—as she had dreamed of kissing him?
“Julianna,” he said, and her name became a groan on his lips.
She wanted to cover her ears and turn away from the guilt of running away from the most treasured thing in her life.
“Horsey!” Elias shouted merrily and pointed downward.
Nicholas switched positions with his son to look out. He remained quiet for a moment and then let out a breath that made his shoulders sag. “Our guests have arrived.”
She wanted to ask him what he’d wanted to say. She wanted to shout it. Demand that he hurry and tell her. But she said nothing. The moment was gone. The guests were here and she was wearing breeches!
She followed him down the stairs, took Elias from his arms, and hurried off to Margaret’s chamber.
Nicholas waited at the bottom of the outside steps while the bishop was helped out of his ornate carriage by two aides. It was good to see him but why did he have to come now? What was so damned urgent?
“Rothbury!” the bishop called out, reaching him. “How was Italy?”
They’d met four years ago, when King Robert publicly granted Lismoor to Nicholas. Bishop FitzGerald had remained for a month, getting to know him and Father Timothy. They found that they could both finish a jug of whisky without effect. And when everyone else around them had passed out drunk, they spent hours discussing God, the church, and the king. When the bishop left Lismoor, he considered Nicholas his good friend. Nicholas never told him about Julianna, but the bishop knew he’d been a servant in Berwick Castle before the siege.