by Quinn, Paula
Nicholas nodded. His brother was correct. “Aye, thank you for taking him and Agnes in again.” He looked at the door. He should go to her but he wanted to give her a chance to cool down. And he couldn’t leave his brother asleep earlier in the great hall. Hell, he hadn’t seen Torin in two years. “’Tis good to see you, Brother.”
Torin smiled at him. “’Tis good to see you as well and thank ye fer not lettin’ yer beloved kill me.” He yawned and then stretched. “So, ye are tellin’ me that Phillip was poisoned in this manner and then buried alive?”
Nicholas nodded.
“Gruesome. But I do feel refreshed.”
Nicholas smiled at him and shook his head. “So what do I do about her? You are the poet. Tell me.”
“Alas, I have not written anythin’ in a long time.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am busy bein’ a good husband and father…and ’tis taxin’ work tryin’ to keep the reivers from killin’ each other. But why are ye sittin’ here like my nursemaid instead of findin’ and speakin’ to Julianna? Ye dinna need me to tell ye that ye should go talk to her.”
“I do not know what to tell her and I probably should not be taking advice from the man she hates most in the world.”
“I fear she will never fergive me,” Torin admitted thoughtfully while he swung his legs off the bed. “I wouldna fergive me were I her. Damn it, had I known ye were in love with the lass when I took Berwick, I would have done things differently.”
Nicholas shook his head. “Let us no longer lament over the past.”
Torin tossed him a surprised, grateful grin as he came toward him. “When did wisdom hit ye, lad?”
Nicholas smiled and rose from his chair. “It comes and goes.”
His brother laughed with him and walked him out of the room.
“I will go speak with her,” Nicholas told him, parting at the stairs. “Her chambers are that way. Close to the viscount’s,” he added with understanding softening his smile.
He turned as his brother descended the stairs. “Torin, we take back Lismoor tomorrow.”
“Aye, Brother. I’m with ye. Good thing my wife is heavy with another child of mine or she would be here with ye, too.” He looked up to heaven for mercy and then continued down the stairs.
Nicholas chuckled on his way, but his brother was serious. Torin’s wife, Braya, was as good a warrior as any man Nicholas had ever seen—save for Cain.
His smile did not fade while he walked to Julianna’s door. He felt happy for the first time in years. Aside from this dreadful thing between his beloved and his brother, he felt stone crumbling away from his heart hour by hour, moment by moment. He had everything he’d ever wanted in his life. Julianna, his mother, and his family. He felt light-footed and confident that all would be well as he knocked on Julianna’s door.
After knocking harder, louder, with no answer, Nicholas pushed open her door and entered her empty chambers.
He checked the great hall for her and the viscount’s room. Margaret hadn’t seen her. Berengaria was in her own room, alone.
Where was she? She wouldn’t leave Edlingham without Berengaria. Would she?
He started to hurry to the stables for his horse, but stopped suddenly.
Phillip.
Why would she go to Phillip? He didn’t want to waste time thinking of it—until he arrived in the dungeon. The old dungeon keeper was dead near the open door, his throat slit, his keys gone.
Nicholas kicked the door open fully and entered. The cell was empty.
Fear and rage boiled and bubbled to the surface and finally erupted. He shouted for his horse and did not stop to speak to a soul on his way back out. He ran to the stable and wasn’t surprised to see the groom dead in the hay.
Avalon had blood around her mouth. Good. Phillip tried to take her and she bit him. Hopefully there would be a trail of blood.
“Nicky!” Torin called out, hurrying to him. “What is goin’ on?”
Rauf was with him, as well as Lawson and Bamburgh. Good. He needed them all “’Tis DeAvoy. He has escaped and has taken Julianna.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Julianna opened her eyes and discovered that only one would obey her. The other was swollen shut. Bastard! Her lip didn’t feel any better when she tried to scowl. As she came more awake, she realized she was on a horse, in a man’s arms. In Phillip’s arms. His hands were on her. His touch repulsed her. She pushed his hands away. One was bleeding and wrapped in a makeshift bandage.
“Quit squirming!” Phillip commanded. “Or are you trying to fall from the horse?”
“What are you supposed to be doing, Phillip?”
“Supposed to be?” he echoed angrily.
“Aye! Supposed to be!” she barked right bark, tired of being afraid of him. “He will come for me and he will kill you and you are in no condition to fight!”
Phillip actually looked worried. But it didn’t last. He pulled her by the hair, keeping her balanced.
She wanted to kick him and bite him, do whatever she needed to do to get away from him, but his hold on her was strong and her movement was limited.
“Your William was so smug,” Phillip muttered. “He broke my nose and my cheekbone. But look who has you now.”
Oh! She was growing more livid by the second! She was not some prize to be won for any kind of show—or a fool to be tricked into thinking someone was a friend when, in fact, they were a murderer.
To think! William’s brother took down mighty Berwick. Was it fate that the brother of a little boy slave, purchased for a stone by her father, would bring about the end of her family?
“Your power has left you,” Phillip said against her ear and ran his hand over her throat to prove it.
“For now,” she replied, wanting to claw out his eyes.
“You are my wife lest you forget,” he purred, pushing up against her and making her ill. “I will remind you later.”
Her hands shook. Her mouth went dry and her heart accelerated. If he tried to…she would kill him first.
Something hard and long pressed against her back. The hilt of his dagger tucked into his belt.
Why was she waiting? She had a chance to kill him now. She had to take it.
She reached around her and grasped the hilt. She yanked it loose and without a moment’s hesitation, she flipped it in her hand and stabbed him in the guts with the blade.
His fist came around hard and smashed into the side of her head and knocked her off the horse. She landed on her side in the grass, got up, and started running.
She hadn’t killed him. ’Twould seem it takes much more strength than she realized to tear through clothing and then flesh and muscle.
Her legs were strong and she’d run from thieves before. She bounded over roots and bramble, and disappeared in the thick trees.
She held her hand over her mouth to keep him from hearing her labored breathing and hid behind a tree. She heard him stumbling through the snow, cursing her. He left no trail of blood. His wound was not deep and likely not fatal.
She was still, careful not to even think too loud. She heard the sound of horses in the distance. Nicholas?
Phillip heard it too and raced to their horse. He leaped up into the saddle and rode away.
Alone, Julianna crept out of her hiding place. She listened. What if it wasn’t Nicholas but a band of thieves? She was weary from running. Where would she run if it wasn’t him? She heard nothing. Not a sound, and then the crunch of snow behind her.
Phillip! She turned just as his bloody hand reached for her. His bandage had come off. He was missing two fingers.
“Not a sound, Jules,” he whispered close to her. Too close. “I knew you would come out if you thought I left.” He held his bloody dagger to her belly. “Come back to my horse with me or I will kill you where you stand.”
He tried to drag her by her hair. It was the only thing he could grab with his wounded hand.
She wanted to fight him
and escape, but the tip of his blade had torn through her clothes and was sharp against her flesh.
A moment of complete clarity came over her. She would let him kill her rather than go back with him if she had not found Nicholas. She wanted her future with him. She wanted to be Elias’ mother and be there when he cried. So, as much as she hated to do it, she spoke softly, meekly and kept her head down. “Your blade is hurting me.”
He grunted and pulled her harder but moved the blade away from her. Her next breath came a bit easier.
Her head was down so she didn’t see the force that sped by and snatched Phillip away as if he’d been caught in a whirlwind.
At the same time, she felt a hand on her shoulder and spun around to see Torin’s large green eyes on her…and then on the fight just beyond her.
She followed his gaze to Nicholas on top of Phillip, punching him in the face. Battered and bloodied, Phillip reached for something in his boot. A dagger! He lifted it behind Nicholas’ back and Julianna opened her mouth to scream.
Torin tore away from her and leaped at them. He caught Phillip’s wrist and twisted it until the dagger fell. He picked it up and held it over his head, ready to bring it down on his brother’s enemy.
“No, Torin!” Nicholas shouted. “He is Berengaria’s son!”
Torin stared at him, dagger in hand. “Who in the blazes in Berengaria?”
“My mother,” Nicholas told him. “She raised me, Torin. I ask you for her sake.”
Torin nodded and stood up, carrying the knife away. “We have much to talk about, Brother.”
Nicholas pulled Phillip up to his feet and handed him over to the guards.
He turned and strode to Julianna. She watched him for a moment, taking in all his fine lines, his powerful gait. She couldn’t wait and ran to him.
She leaped into Nicholas’ arms and wrapped herself around him while he held her with the perfect mixture of tenderness and strength. He whispered her name through her curls. “Are you hurt, my love?”
“No,” she shook her head. Oh, she couldn’t wait to be with him alone. She would refuse to think of Torin until tomorrow. “I knew you would come for me.”
“I would move the world to get to you, Julianna,” he replied huskily.
She smiled and held him and kissed him, thankful to be returned to him yet again.
Torin’s men returned Phillip to Edlingham’s dungeon while Torin and the others rode on in a separate group.
They each had a horse to ride and as they went, Julianna kept hers close to Nicholas’.
“I was afraid that you would think I left with him of my own accord.”
He smiled and it pulled at her heart until she thought it would burst from her chest and fly into his lap.
“I could never think such a thing. I know you better, Julianna.”
“You know me best.” She offered him a radiant smile and reached out her hand to hold his. She wanted to stare at him in the cold, revel in the way his eyes matched the sky, going from charcoal to silver to blue. He looked happier than she’d ever seen him look before. Was she the cause for his smiles? Was it having his mother back? Both? She didn’t care. His shields were falling away around her feet and watching them was exhilarating.
When they got to the castle, Phillip was taken back to the dungeon with extra guards watching him. Julianna was swept away by Margaret and some of the female servants. They tended to her and fussed over her for hours. She tried to get away to see Nicholas. She missed him. She wanted to talk to him about their future, about Torin—but the gels were correct, she was filthy.
She had blood in her hair so they bathed her and washed her tresses with soothing lavender-scented soap, a gift from the viscount. She smiled thinking of Louis. He was not the dullard she’d expected.
She was too clean and she smelled too good to put on her old clothes. Thankfully, Lizbeth had a white kirtle and a colorful overcoat with hanging sleeves that fit her. Her friends tied up her unruly curls with many pins then finally gave up after many curls sprang free around her face.
Choosing to wear her boots under her skirts rather than slippery slippers, she and her friends made their way out of her rooms to the great hall.
Julianna searched the faces of the men for Nicholas, but she didn’t find him.
“Julianna.”
She turned to see Mr. Lawson and Viscount Bamburgh standing behind her, looking as fit as the day she first met him. His pale gold tresses were tied at the back of his neck. She was so glad to see him well. He’d been kind to her in this battle and she would always remember it.
His worshipful, verdant gaze danced over her. “’Tis nice to see you.”
Julianna was sure something in his face twinkled, his eyes, his smile, something.
“Louis, it pleases me to see you up and out of your sickbed, especially since you were there because of me.”
“I would not have recovered if not for your constant care.” His smile warmed on her then he glanced up at the ceiling and shook his head.
“What is it, my lord?” she asked, touching his arm. “Do I trouble you?”
“’Tis your beauty, Julianna,” Mr. Lawson replied. “It astounds us all.” He looked at her and his smile faded. “There, now I have made you blush and feel uncomfortable. ’Twas not my intention.”
“Come, sit with me at my table,” the viscount insisted.
“Thank you,” she answered graciously. “But I am waiting for Lord Rothbury.”
“You can wait for him with me,” he pushed gently.
She nodded and sat with him at his table, accepting a cup of wine from the server.
“He is a large man,” the viscount mumbled and then laughed when Julianna cast him a curious look. “We tried to find him clothes to wear but he is too big.”
Julianna laughed softly though, in truth, she wanted to get up and go search for him.
Soon though, the wine began to relax her. Nicholas would be coming to the great hall to look for her. She would see him. She needn’t worry that every time they were apart something would try to keep them that way.
“I must tell you,” the viscount said, turning to her. “I feel responsible for what happened today. My dungeon keeper was old. I am not here often and that is why he had not been replaced.”
“Phillip would have found a way to escape. He escaped a grave, remember.”
“Aye,” he agreed, and then shivered and shared a look with Mr. Lawson. “Having come so close to it, ’tis a difficult thing to imagine. Nevertheless, he will not escape this time.”
“Let us hope not, my lord.”
The three of them talked easily, like friends visiting each other. She knew the viscount cared for her. Mr. Lawson did as well, but it was more like a fatherly affection. She never kept the truth of her heart from the viscount. They spoke about Elias in Carlisle and about Nicholas’ brother, Torin.
“I understand why you are so angry with him,” the viscount told her. “But I have no advice on how to stop it. Sometimes, trying to muffle anger is worse than just letting it out.”
“I did let it out,” she told him. “’Tis dangerous, my lord. I would have killed him if not for Nicholas’ hand staying my blade.”
Both men laughed softly, admiring her. “You are feisty and fiery-tempered, my lady,” Mr. Lawson said.
“But it is not what I need right now. My heart is involved. Things like him supporting what his brother did chip away at me.” She had told them about Captain Gray, the spy who helped take down Berwick, being Nicholas’ brother. “Nicholas behaves like I owe the murdering invader something for not killing me.”
“Well, you do,” Mr. Lawson claimed, either fearlessly or foolishly. Julianna hadn’t decided yet. “Men of war have a mission from the king—take this area or that. Leave survivors or not. Usually, these men never disobey. If they are soldiers and they disobey their orders, they will be hanged, or worse.”
Julianna scowled at him. “You think I should care about things
like that?”
“I think you should consider the alternative for him, while keeping in mind that he would likely ask the same question when doing his duty to his king. Should he keep in mind those he has come to fight? Their families? He could never be a soldier if he did. And even so, remember that he did, in fact, consider his enemy’s daughter and saved you. Also, he saved his brother from DeAvoy’s dagger, aye?”
Julianna didn’t want to see his point. She liked Mr. Lawson. They were friends. Why couldn’t he be her beloved’s brother? She sighed. She didn’t want to hate Nicholas’ brother. “Let us speak of other things.” She turned to the viscount. “Do you know that one of your servants is in love with you?”
She was free to mention it since Lizbeth had asked her to.
The viscount’s smile turned playful. “Am I to guess who?” He thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “It could be any one or all of them! How am I to guess?”
“My goodness,” Julianna remarked, staring at him. “You are vain, indeed.”
His smile widened and he moved his knuckles down his sides and looked at her as if to ask if she blamed him.
She laughed and he joined her.
“May I join in on yer merriment before I weep of boredom?”
Julianna looked up at Torin MacPherson and then at her two friends when they excused themselves and left! She would kill them later.
“Has all been well with ye, my lady?”
“Did your brother not tell you I was married to Phillip?”
He smelled like pine and leather. “We spoke of if briefly.”
She wanted to tell him that marriage to Phillip was hell on earth, but he would ask more questions and they needed to repair their relationship—for Nicholas’ sake.
“You disguised your voice at Berwick,” she said to him instead.
“Aye. Everyone had to believe I was English.”
She looked away because everyone had believed it.
“Fergive me, lass.”
She was about to speak when a messenger arrived with a missive for the viscount from Edward II, King of England.
Chapter Twenty-Four