by Quinn, Paula
He was probably correct, Nicholas thought. He should have killed him.
“Where is she, Stone? Where is Julianna, my wife?”
Nicholas closed his eyes. “You do not have the right to call her that.”
“Oh no? How about whore? Or bit—”
Nicholas stepped forward and punched him in the face, tearing his bottom lip, loosening two teeth, and breaking Phillip’s nose.
Nicholas stood in his spot for a moment but Phillip did not hit him back and, after a moment, Nicholas moved out of reach. He said nothing but watched as Phillip spit out blood.
“I’m going to have your balls for that,” Phillip promised.
Nicholas only smiled.
Knowing now how to provoke him, Phillip grinned, then scowled when pain from his lip shot through him. “I’m going to gain my freedom and then I’m going to come after her.”
“You will not be free, Phillip,” Nicholas bit out over his voice. “I will kill you first.”
“And what will your beloved mother think if you do?”
“When,” Nicholas corrected and then shrugged. “I do not know what she thinks now. I’m certain I will not know what she thinks later.”
DeAvoy narrowed his gaze on nothing in particular. “She is not as empty headed as everyone believes. She used to curse my mother while she was in the pit.”
“Why not your father?” Nicholas asked, more curious than he wanted to be.
“He had nothing to do with it,” Phillip told him. “My father was the one who kept Berengaria out of the pit. When he died, my mother was the one who had her taken and put away. My mother always hated—”
“Berengaria is your mother,” Nicholas reminded him.
“No! She chose you. You! A serving boy. A waif. She gave you all her love. That is why when my mother had her thrown into the pit, I rejoiced.”
Young Simon would tell him that Phillip was speaking from pain and jealousy of what Nicholas had had with Berengaria.
Nicholas didn’t give a damn.
“You’re not going to make it out of here alive,” he promised.
“I think I will,” Phillip countered. “Do you want to hit me again?”
“Oh, aye, I do.” Enough. He’d tried. Oh, how he’d tried not to lose his control, but Phillip had done too much to the people Nicholas loved. He took too much pleasure in it. “In fact, I probably will. When I come at you, I will make it as fair a fight as it can be with your ankles shackled.” He quirked his mouth to one side. “So you better start preparing for the worst now.”
Phillip snarled at him. “If you would have opened your mouth like this to me in the past…”
“What?” Nicholas put to him. “What would you have done in the past that you cannot do now? Tell your father? Your mother? Have me whipped for pounding your face into the ground?”
Phillip’s face burned red and the muscles in his neck were taut. He was livid, ready to inflict his worst. But he had nothing except whatever he could do with his own hands. Therefore, he had nothing.
“All you have to do,” Nicholas said, wanting to fight, “is speak unkindly about Julianna, and we will begin.”
He waited. There wasn’t anything else Nicholas wanted to ask him. He’d heard enough. “Oh, and by the way, the instant you are dead she will be my wife.”
That was enough to make Phillip reach out for Nicholas’ arm. But Nicholas was too quick, having trained every day with Cain for a year, and Phillip grabbed at the air.
“Phillip, think well on what you do next.”
He came at Nicholas again, spitting mad. “If you touch her I will—”
“You will do nothing,” Nicholas assured, leaning back out of range and avoiding the blow. He moved forward and sent his fist into Phillip’s nose hard enough to snap Phillip’s head back and splatter blood everywhere. He didn’t move. This time, Phillip shook his head at the effects of Nicholas’ blow. He swung again, but Nicholas easily sidestepped the strike. He remained close to Phillip, as if his ankles were also shackled to the ground. He fisted both hands and hit Phillip with a right and then a left, finishing with another crushing right uppercut. Phillip managed to hit him in the side, He was strong and his rage was fierce. Nicholas lost his breath and almost buckled in half. But hell, he’d been hit harder than that in the past and had continued fighting. Now was no different.
Images in his head that he wished were not there, of his mother in the pit and Julianna filled with fear. But they gave him the strength and stamina he needed to finish this.
He bent the rest of the way to the ground to avoid another swinging fist then he rose up and smashed his elbow into Phillip’s cheek, cracking bone. Phillip went down in pain and Nicholas finally had the chance to finish him, beat Phillip DeAvoy to death for all he’d done, all he’d been part of.
He stood up and stepped out of bounds, finishing the fight.
He’d seen savages. He’d lived among them in the jungles of the south. He wasn’t one of them.
When he passed the dungeon keeper, the old man gave him a nod of approval.
Nicholas didn’t need it. Living under the harsh hands of the men above him, he’d learned the value of mercy, for it was the most difficult thing to give away.
He started up the stairs and didn’t come to a window for two more sets. When he did, he saw that the sun was beginning to rise.
He heard the sound of footsteps moving quickly toward him. He scowled at himself for not carrying his weapon.
A guard turned the bend and saw him. “My lord, men approach. One claims to be your brother, Torin MacPherson, Warden of the Western Marches, another says he is Rauf Hisfirstincommanddamnyou!”
Nicholas smiled and then hurried with the messenger not far behind toward the doors.
Suddenly he stopped and looked toward Julianna’s room.
Torin was coming.
Hell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Margaret braided Julianna’s hair into three parts then blended the plaits into one that fell like a burnished rope to her waist.
“He was very sick,” Margaret told her. “I think two ribs were broken and there was an arrow in this shoulder that Rauf and I had to remove.”
Julianna’s face grew red with anger. How much more would Phillip be able to hurt them? She wanted to march to the dungeon and poison him now that she had her adornments back.
The thought of Berengaria stopped her.
She looked toward the older woman tidying her bed coverings. Hers was the first face Julianna had seen that morning. She’d arrived early with warm tea and hot porridge and sweet butter. Julianna loved having her back—even though she wasn’t completely back yet.
They needed Elias back to be a family. It made her heart swell thinking about it. Nicholas loved her. But his suffering, brought about by Phillip’s decision to attack Lismoor, was too much. But when Margaret advised her of Molly’s death, she knew forgiving Phillip was, at least for now, impossible.
“I swear Rauf would have carried him in his arms if he had to.”
Julianna smiled, knowing that Rauf was Nicholas’ most loyal friend.
She wondered where Nicholas was. When had he left her bed? She remembered them naked and her heart began to race making her flush. They had almost made love but Phillip appeared in her thoughts and wouldn’t leave. Things he had done to her flashed across her mind and brought fear where desire and passion should have been. She felt terrible about it. She knew Nicholas would never hurt her. She had told him while she lay falling asleep in his arms. He wanted her to leave England and go with him and Elias to the Highlands. He’d be giving up his title and land. There was nothing to think about. Of course she would go.
“He was very strong and very brave to travel in his condition,” Margaret told her. “One thing drove him to recover. You.”
They heard horses outside in the small courtyard. Margaret went to look out the window. “A group of men—oh, ’tis Rauf!”
Julianna hu
rried to the window. Her heart crashed within her when she didn’t see Agnes or Elias. She didn’t know any of the men with Rauf. The one to whom he stayed closest was cloaked with a fur-lined, hooded mantle.
She reached for her bracelet and slipped it on.
Had Rauf seen Agnes? Elias? Her heart pounded in her throat. She didn’t want to greet them and hear more terrible news, but when Margaret left and Berengaria stared at her as if she were waiting for Julianna to move, she did.
She met up with Margaret and the two found one of the guards to question.
“Who are the men we saw from our window?”
“Lord Rothbury’s brother and his first in command, I’m told,” said the guard.
Nicholas’ brother! Julianna wondered which brother it was. She walked a little faster, eager to hear any news of Agnes and Elias.
The men were still outside in the courtyard dismounting. There were nine in all. Julianna smiled when she saw Nicholas waiting for them.
She watched them dismount. The man in the fur-lined hood, whom Julianna assumed was Nicholas’ brother, pushed his hood back. Bronze streaked curls fell loose around his face. His handsome, familiar face.
Captain Gray.
He had been one of her father’s men. He’d rescued her from the…Scots. What? Was he Nicholas’ brother? No. He couldn’t be. Why would he have fought against the Scots if he was a Scot? One of the other men must be his brother.
She stepped outside to find out. Nicholas saw her first. His face went pale and Julianna’s blood went cold.
Captain Gray turned and saw her and was visibly vexed.
Julianna felt ill. Something was very off here. The captain had arrived at Berwick from Etal two months before the Scots had attacked. He came with high recommendations from the barons of Etal and Branxton.
He had found her hiding in her chamber after the attack and convinced her that her father wanted her sent to St. Peter’s Abbey should he fall to his enemies. His body would then be sent there and buried after she arrived. So she had gone with the captain, away from all the death to safety. He had been quiet, almost unresponsive at times while he rode his magnificent horse called Avalon onward toward her new home until her promised husband came for her.
“Captain Gray, welcome to Edlingham Castle, home of Louis Pratt, Viscount of Bamburgh.” She greeted him as if she were the lady of the castle. “The viscount was injured and cannot come to greet you personally. He sends his apologies.”
Margaret giggled and blushed when Julianna introduced her.
“Your visit is quite unexpected,” Julianna remarked to him. “Do you travel with the Scots now?” She didn’t understand how some could kill a man and then have a drink with that’s man’s cousin.
“Aye, Miss Feathers,” he told her. His voice was deep and wonderfully melodious—like Nicholas’. She didn’t remember it sounding this way before. Before, it sounded more English. “I do.”
“Good,” she smiled at him and looped her arms through Nicholas’. “So do I.”
Nicholas turned to her and shook his head. “Do not speak treasonous things while in England, Julianna.
He was correct. She didn’t know the captain enough to trust that he or his men wouldn’t turn her in.
She’d caught the captain’s slight smile when he saw her take hold of Lord Rothbury’s arm.
“Come in out of the cold, please,” she offered when no one else did. She stared at Nicholas. Was he going to leave all the conversation to her?
They all followed her into the keep’s great hall where warm mead and ale were shared.
“My lord,” she asked Nicholas softly when they sat. “Any word on Elias?”
“Aye! Forgive me for not telling you right away.” He lifted his hand to his head and tugged on his curls. “Rauf found him and Agnes and took them to Carlisle. To my brother.”
She closed her eyes. “Thank God.” She opened them again and looked around at the men taking their seats around the tables. “Which one is he?”
Nicholas pointed. Her gaze followed his direction and looked past the captain. She saw the other men. “My lord, I—” Her gaze stopped on the captain. Nicholas was pointing to the captain.
“Captain Gray is your brother?” she asked Nicholas just to be certain. It would have been a good thing to have a man like Gray as a relative. But it meant too much that he was a Scot.
Unless—“Captain,” she asked after Nicholas gave her his answer. “Did you know you were a Scot when they came to Berwick?”
When he didn’t answer right away, her heart lurched forward and fell at Nicholas’ feet. She wanted to scream at him to finish what he started and kill her, stomp on her heart until nothing remained.
“If you are a Scot,” she told his brother, “and you knew you were a Scot before they attacked, then chances are you were a spy. Please, tell me that was not the case, especially if you are Nicholas’ brother. Tell me that was not how they breached the walls of Berwick. That you are not the one responsible for so much death—even of the innocents.”
“Miss Feathers,” he began guiltily after a few moments. “What I did was fer King Robert. ’Twas war. Yer father knew ’twould be war when he refused to offer fealty to the King of Scots. My men were instructed to take the castle, not the village—”
She stepped up to him and clenched her jaw. “People I loved were in the castle.”
He nodded but she wasn’t done with him. “What was it that you did?” When neither he nor Nicholas answered her, she slapped her hands on the table. “Tell me, Nicholas!”
He looked as if his favored horse just died. “He—”
“I pretended to be Captain Gray,” the captain interrupted to speak for himself. “I had been sent by the king to infiltrate Berwick’s strong defense and bring it down on the inside first.”
Julianna covered her mouth with her hands and stared at him, horrified. She didn’t think she could hate anyone more than Phillip, but she was wrong. This man had comforted her at the abbey by remaining calm. He pretended to sympathize with her, be her friend.
“My father trusted you. You were often at his table.”
She remembered him because, although William was the only one on her mind, the soldier stood out. Whether on the practice fields or in the great hall with the other men, his face was the most comely, his smile the most inviting, and his demeanor, the most graceful.
“Aye,” he confessed, crushing her thoughts.
“And you were only there for our destruction.”
“Aye,” he admitted again, looking away.
“Just one more question then, Torin,” she said on a quavering voice. She was doing all she could to hold herself together—for all their sakes. “How did you know my father’s last instructions? Where were you when he died?”
“Lass, I dinna think—”
“Whether you can think or not is not in question,” she said, clenching her teeth. “You know perfectly well what is. Are you trying to keep from answering?”
“Not at all,” he defended.
“Then, please do.”
She waited. She grew tired an instant later. “You killed my father.”
“Lass, ’twas war,” he reminded her with a gentle plea.
She stood up, enraged. Just because it was war didn’t mean she had to accept that he’d killed her father, her friends. She stuck out her hand and touched his wrist, sticking him with a poisonous fang.
Torin Gray/MacPherson, or whatever-the-hell his name was, slipped from his seat and hit the floor as if dead.
Before everyone else moved, she did, grabbing one of the knives under Torin’s belt. She yanked it from its sheath and aimed it at his throat.
“No!” Nicholas grabbed her wrist, staying her hand.
“He killed my father, Nicholas!”
“He is my brother!” he countered. “He saved your life!”
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Nicholas defended him. Her heart broke. There was too much aga
inst them having any peace together. Phillip, the church, kings, and now this.
“They will not let you leave here alive,” he pleaded with her and motioned to the deceiving captain’s men. They were poised, swords ready to kill her. She let him go and he crumbled to the ground. “He sleeps!” she told them when they made a move toward her. “He is not dead!” Though he should be.
She dropped the knife and yanked her wrist free of Nicholas’ hold.
“You knew,” she accused, glaring at him. “You knew your brother was responsible for Berwick.”
“I found out when I met him two years ago,” he confessed. His eyes gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from the windows. “I did not care about him killing your father. Your parents were difficult masters. I cared about you, and what he did for you. He saved you from the massacre and brought you to the abbey.”
She shook her head, hearing nothing he said.
“You knew. ’Tis why you disappeared. You knew they were coming. You did not tell me!”
She didn’t wait for any answers this time, but spun around on her heel and ran out of the great hall. He didn’t follow her. She didn’t think he would. It wouldn’t make a difference.
Hope was gone.
“Ye didna think ’twas an important thing to tell her?” Torin asked from a bed in his chamber. This one was smaller than the rest, but the viscount only had small rooms left to offer his guests. Torin had accepted gracefully.
“There really has not been much time,” Nicholas said in his defense. “She arrived a fortnight ago. I have not been home a month yet.” He looked away—toward the hearth fire and shook his head at himself. “A fortnight and I have left my son again.”
“Ye had no choice, Brother,” Torin told him, rubbing his head. “Ye were shot with an arrow and then ye were kicked around until a few ribs were broken. And I told ye, yer son is safe and happy in Carlisle. We visited him often while ye were away and he stayed with us twice.”
“I did not know.”
“Of course ye didna know. No one could send a missive to ye through the jungle.”