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Index
Prologue
Chapter 1 September 1077London, England Simone du Roche perched upon her gilded stool in the king’s grand ballroom, her rich velvet kirtle puddling in deep, green pools at her feet. Her black mane was intricately braided and twined around her headpiece, held at a lofty angle, and her cat-green eyes beheld the other guests with barely concealed disdain as they pranced about to the twanging music. ’Twas the third and final evening of King William’s birthday celebration, and Simone was infinitely glad. With the conclusion of tonight’s fete, she would finally be freed from the curious stares and hushed whispers aimed in her direction by the petty and spiteful lords and ladies that infested the English court. Simone ground her teeth into a tight smile as a flabby noble nodded toward her. He tries to be charming, Simone fumed to herself, and yet the dunce knows not that I understood every scathing word his companion said about me. “He is too fat, Sister,” Didier whispered to her in their nat
Chapter 1
Chapter 2 Nick’s heart thudded in anticipation as he steered the diminutive Lady du Roche through the mazelike passages. He’d been correct at guessing her size—her complicated coif barely topped his shoulder as she glided along silently beside him. His mind filled with the possibilities of how their differences in size would play out within the confines of a bed. He guided her through a gilded doorway and across a sparsely furnished chamber to a set of double doors. A private balcony lay beyond, sheltered on three sides from the brunt of the night’s brisk breeze. Lady du Roche left Nick’s side to stand at the carved stone railing and gaze across the night-soaked gardens below, her chalice gripped tightly in both hands. And so the hunt begins. Nick grinned in the shadows as he shrugged out of his cloak and moved to stand behind the shapely woman. “Are you chilled?” he asked softly, swirling his cloak about her. She glanced at him over her shoulder and pulled his cloak closed with one ha
Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Simone sat curled in the upholstered armchair in her chamber, awaiting her father’s return with no little trepidation. After what had seemed like hours in an empty receiving hall, a footman had arrived to see her to her father’s rented rooms and told her that Armand would join her later. That had been near midnight, and now, dawn wavered on the horizon. She wondered for the hundredth time what could be keeping him. Any number of scenarios she crafted in answer struck fear in her, and she sank deeper under the robes piled over her. The small fire in the hearth crackled and popped as it devoured the stout wood lengths and sent a cozy glow creeping across the rug, but Simone’s tiny bedchamber was frigid. Didier was highly agitated following the evening’s events and whenever that occurred, a deep chill descended around his presence. The boy paced the room in his own strange manner, flitting from one corner to the next—appearing first on the wide, canopied bed and then, in an inst
Chapter 3
Chapter 4 A great pounding filled Nick’s skull, as if God’s own fist struck the earth, threatening to rattle his eyes from their sockets. He rolled over with a groan and felt a yielding cushion of warm flesh against his bare knee. He raised a hand to cover his still-closed eyelids and his elbow brushed against more skin near his shoulder. When the pounding began once more, he cracked open one eye and growled. Surely ’twas not yet dawn— He heard a soft mewing to his right and gingerly turned his head to encounter the frowning, sleeping face of a comely blond woman. Apparently, Nick was not the only occupant of his bed unimpressed by the tremendous noise. “What’n God’s name izzat?” a sleepy voice demanded, from his left this time, and he turned his head gently. A scowling brunette was raised up on her elbows from where she’d been slumbering on her belly, her heavy brown curls only partially concealing her nude breasts. “Shhh,” Nick chastised, wincing. The sound of her voice so near his e
Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Outside the dwelling in which their rented rooms were housed, Armand assisted Simone in mounting the dappled gray that would carry her to the ceremony. She had done naught but cry bitterly the past two days, and now, dressed in her finest saffron kirtle, the effects of her misery were clearly felt. Her entire skull throbbed and her eyes ached from the near-continuous flow of tears that had plagued her. Her nose was red and raw, and her chest and neck were mottled with angry blotches. She sniffed and dabbed a wadded kerchief at her nose. The tears had finally ceased this morn, although Simone suspected the reason was not because she no longer felt like crying but that her body was exhausted. Inside, her heart still wailed. As her father conveyed orders to the man hired to transport their few belongings, Simone looked at her surroundings numbly. Busy merchants called out to passersby, hawking their goods; the squawking of birds and the rumbling of hooves thrummed in her ears. S
Chapter 5
Chapter 6 “He certainly is hairy, is he not, Sister?” Simone felt as if she had been languishing in a deep, warm pool under Nicholas’s damnable kisses, and Didier’s voice was like a bucket of icy water, tossed in just for spite. Her eyes darted beyond the baron’s wide shoulders, searching the chamber’s darkened corners for the imp. Her view was hampered by the massive male body before her, prompting Simone to lean slightly to the side in his embrace. Still, she did not spy Didier. The baron’s arms tightened and he cocked his head, forcing Simone to look at him. She was surprised by the concern in his azure eyes. “Did you hear something?” he asked. Simone blinked. “Yea—hmmm…I thought I did.” The sleepy grin returned to his face. “’Tis merely nerves, I’d wager. I hear naught.” He drew her close once more, and Simone could feel his heat even through the thick fur. He moved her closer to the bed. “Allow me to put you at ease.” Nicholas sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled her to stan
Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Nicholas maneuvered the winding corridors feeling as though he’d been dropped from a great height. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and his heart pounded. How the wench had managed to nearly burn him alive without Nick seeing her so much as move toward the hearth, he did not know. He halted before a chamber door identical to his own and raised a fist, pounding insistently. “Tristan! Tristan, open the—” As if his brother had been waiting with his hand on the latch, the door swung wide. Tristan was still dressed for the feast, and Nick charged past him into the room. “Good eventide, Nick,” Tristan said lightly, closing the door after his brother’s entrance. “How goes the wedding night?” Nick halted in the center of the chamber, his breathing labored. Haith sat calmly in a dressing gown, brushing her undone mane before the fire. “Lady Haith, I’ve an issue to take up with you,” he said through clenched teeth. “Several issues, actually.” Tristan appeared at Nick’s side, a frown
Chapter 7
Chapter 8 Nicholas was true to his word. The fortnight following her wedding was a whirlwind of activity for Simone. Her new husband was a most accommodating host, touring her through shops and markets, feasts at countless nobles’ homes, and even several meals with the king and queen. He seemed to enjoy showing her off at every opportunity. Nicholas bought her trinkets and baubles, ribbons and bolts of cloth, and the strangest item of all: a small, slender feather from some exotic bird. Simone had looked to him in bewilderment when Nicholas handed her the near-weightless gift outside a dressmaker’s shop. “Thank you, Nicholas. ’Tis beautiful.” She frowned and spun the feather between her thumb and forefinger. “But what is its purpose? ’Tis too small for writing.” Nicholas grinned down at her, causing her heart to flutter. “Nay, it is not for writing, nor is it for you. I purchased it for Didier.” “For me?” Didier crawled from beneath a merchant’s cart and scrambled to Simone’s side. “Le
Chapter 8
Chapter 9 The first day of travel on the journey to her new home passed more quickly than Simone had expected, even though Nicholas had told her it was the longest stretch of the two-day ride. They followed the Thames westward at first light, leaving the closeness and stench of London behind like a fever, gradually acclimating their ears to the quiet of ever-increasing stretches of countryside. They passed through small villages, spread farther apart as the day grew longer, where young children would dart from doorways of humble cottages at the sounds of jingling tack and the rumbling of cartwheels on the packed dirt road. Nick had warned Simone of the beggars before leaving London and had handed her a weighty sack of coin to dole out at her discretion. More often than not, after depositing a coin into the grubby hand of a child and seeing him sprint away, kicking up dust with bare, blackened feet, a peasant woman would catch up with the group, offering fresh bread or a small sack of d
Chapter 9
Chapter 10 Night settled around Nick like a heavy cloak as he sat on a knoll some distance away from the small inn, his back pressed against the gnarled skin of an ancient oak and a wine jug pressed against his thigh. He felt foolish and angry at himself as a handful of darkened windows on the convent’s south side were lit from within the thick stone walls. A bell tolled, each deep, echoing clang reaffirming his recklessness. He lifted the jug and drank deeply, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve when cool rivulets ran down his chin. How could he have forgotten the close proximity of Evelyn’s chosen haven to the route his party traveled? Silky dark hair and glittering green eyes sprang into his mind, but he pushed the vision of Simone away. He could not think of his pixie bride in this place, not when Evelyn had him once more in her grip. Though, in truth, thoughts of one woman were as damning as thinking upon the other. Evelyn, with her face and disposition like a calm, sunny afternoo
Chapter 10
Chapter 11 Simone’s aching muscles felt each plodding step of the gray she rode on the second day of travel. She’d fallen asleep in the small hours of the morn, pressed close to Nicholas almost as soon as her head had touched the pillow and, by the sore state of her body, hadn’t moved until Nick woke her before dawn. It had taken until nearly midday before her eyelids ceased trying to close of their own accord. They rode northwest into a brisk breeze, but the sun was bright, warming Simone’s cheeks and shoulders. Her spirits were also warmed as she glanced repeatedly at Nicholas, who was never far from her in the party. She felt as though she’d been given a second chance, by God, perhaps, on this journey to Hartmoore. At her side was a handsome, caring husband. Her mother’s journals—a written remembrance of Portia—lay tucked deep within the trunks that followed her. Armand was in faraway London, soon to return to France, leaving her in peace at last. The only stain on Simone’s bright n
Chapter 11
Chapter 12 The next morning found Nick seated at a wide, planked table in the small ground-floor chamber under the stairwell where he conducted Hartmoore’s business. He’d spent the remainder of the previous evening with Simone, settling her into his chamber, and except for the awkward moments after Didier’s enthusiastic arrival into Hartmoore’s great hall, it had been a most relaxing homecoming. His new wife had two distinct personalities it seemed to Nick: open and caring when shown tenderness, but reserved and defensive at mention of Didier or Nick’s actions. Surely his life would assume some semblance of normalcy after the arrival of the old healer, Minerva, and after he was rid of all the blasted guests infesting his home. What had his mother thought, inviting that bastard Bartholomew? Nick grinned to himself as he recalled Didier’s antics with the man. Rat, indeed. Now a steady stream of laborers and overseers flowed in and out of the chamber, pressing Nick for decisions or report
Chapter 12
Chapter 13 “You wished to see me, my lord?” Nick looked up from belting on his sheath to see Simone standing in the doorway, as fresh and pretty as he remembered. He sent her a smile and motioned for her to enter. “I did.” He watched her sink gracefully into a straight-backed chair before his accounting table, hands folded in her lap, a gentle curve to her lips But was that a shadow of disquiet in her eyes? He did not want to leave her so soon. Even with her many eccentricities, Simone was like a cool woodland brook, soothing and fragrant, lending a quiet vibrancy to Hartmoore’s vast, gray canvas. He must have stared for several moments, for Simone flushed and prompted him. “My lord?” “Hmm? Pardon me.” Nick shook himself and walked around the table to stand before her, resting his backside against the table’s edge. “And how have you faired this morn?” “Quite well. Except I—” she shook her head, chewing at her bottom lip, and her eyes flashed again with uncertainty. “My…my mother was ke
Chapter 13
Chapter 14 Simone waited in the lavish great hall for her husband’s return, her stomach in knots. Her first full day as Hartmoore’s mistress had been going quite well until the moment Armand had arrived. How very typical. She sat in an upholstered chair, her muscles turning to cold iron, and eyed her father as he moved about the cavernous room, inspecting the ornate tapestries and weapons displays decorating the walls. Her mind went to the journal entry she’d read this morning—what secret had her father discovered? Would he tell her if she asked? She chuckled to herself. Of course he would not. She felt the ultimate fool for hoping, even for an instant, that her father had come to Hartmoore to reconcile with her. His attitude toward Simone had not softened in the least. So be it. But Hartmoore was her home now, Nicholas her husband, Genevieve her family. Armand would not ruin it. He would not. Drawing a deep, silent breath, Simone rose from the chair and crossed the hall to stand at he
Chapter 14
Chapter 15 Simone skidded to a halt before her chamber door, not caring that she’d left a string of shocked manor staff in her wake. If Didier was correct—and he always was in regards to Armand’s whereabouts—her father lurked just beyond the thick door, dangerously close to Portia’s writings. Her chest heaved from her flight and also her fear, and she stared at the door handle, curving toward her like a serpent poised to strike. She fought back a wave of nausea and opened the door. Simone’s breath caught high in her throat at the scene before her: Armand stood at the foot of Nick’s intricately carved bed, his back to her. In his left hand was a stack of creased parchment, and he quickly scanned the sheets and then flicked the topmost away with his clawlike right hand, where it floated to land on the thick mattress. The bed and floor around Armand’s feet were littered with the discarded pages. Tens of them—a hundred, it seemed. “Papa?” she croaked. “What are you doing?” Armand did not j
Chapter 15
Chapter 16 Nicholas could not suppress the sense of relief that enveloped him as he and Tristan led the men over the hilly terrain toward Obny. Behind him lay Hartmoore and his beautiful—if a bit unusual—new bride; around him, as far as his eyes could see, stretched a prosperous barony. By the time he returned to his home, all would be set to rights with Handaar, Armand would be naught but a distasteful memory, and Minerva would have likely arrived. Perhaps with the old healer’s help, Simone could begin to make peace with her past as well. Yea, this day signified a fresh start. He would show his underlords that he had ultimate control of his lands—they had naught to fear. Nick very much looked forward to reestablishing his connection with Handaar. He’d sorely missed the old warrior’s council and had to restrain the boyish excitement that tumbled in his stomach as they drew nearer to Obny. He had much news to share, and much to ask of Obny’s recent attack. Beneath him, Majesty tossed hi
Chapter 16
Chapter 17 To Simone’s great surprise, her father had been waiting for her in the bailey the next morn, ready to take his leave. Simone had fought the urge to disobey Nicholas and ask her father to stay. True, ’twas more dangerous to have him at Hartmoore, where he may stumble upon Portia’s journals or further alienate Simone from Nicholas, but Armand was her only living kin. He was her father—who else could she turn to should her husband refuse her? But she had bid him adieu, hoping that he would leave her with an encouragement or a kind word. Instead, Armand had only warned that did Simone not send for him within two days, he would return to Hartmoore regardless of Nick’s orders and Simone would surely regret the repercussions. He had not embraced her, not wished her well, merely trotted through the gates eastward. She had never felt so very alone. Now Simone sat propped in the middle of Nick’s wide bed, the mid-afternoon sunlight washing the scattered pages of Portia’s journals with
Chapter 17
Chapter 18 Simone smiled as Isabella struggled to pull at each item set on the table before her mother. Haith never hesitated in the conversation she was holding with the other women, but calmly plucked each contraband from the babe’s chubby fist and moved it farther out of reach, often with a colorful, mild scold such as, “Och, leave it be, lass.” Isabella squealed in three-toothed delight when Haith handed her a large wooden spoon. Simone wondered if she and Nicholas would ever have children. Simone wondered if she and Nicholas would even remain married after she told him the truth about Armand. After Evelyn. Genevieve looked tired this morn, her eyes puffy and glassy, but she shook off some of her apathy and was entertaining the younger women with a scandalous anecdote about a particularly amorous male guest and a kitchen maid when a horn sounded, heralding the baron and his party’s approach of the town. Simone’s stomach fluttered as Haith and Genevieve each gained their feet. Today
Chapter 18
Chapter 19 Simone’s heart felt as though it had simply stopped beating as she wove her way through the swirling throng of people in Hartmoore’s great hall. She could feel tiny pearls of sweat along her hairline and upper lip, but her skin was chilled beneath the light gown where Nicholas had touched her. Her breath came shallowly. She is Lord Handaar’s only child, and I have sent word for her to come immediately. Simone tried to smother the ominous words as she moved absently through the hall. She felt as though she walked in a vast sea, the sounds around her muffled. I have no time for your reminiscing and riddles, Simone…torment me no more with the strange tales of your kin. Not just this day, but all days. A very young soldier—barely more than a lad, really—collided with Simone in his haste to join the battle planning and did not so much as look back to inquire of her welfare. Simone moved on, her eyes skimming the frantic faces about her, not really hearing their shouts. She is Lor
Chapter 19
Chapter 20 Simone still sat at Handaar’s side when Haith reentered the hall, her gown fresh, her hair damp, and her babe on her hip. “Simone, my God!” Haith stalked to stand over her. “Where is Minerva?” Simone gave a deep, shuddering sigh and began to rise from the floor. “She went above with Didier. I think to—” “I’ll have her leathery hide for a bag, leaving you like this,” Haith growled. “Nay, Haith.” Simone reached out a hand to touch Haith’s arm, but when she saw the brown stains covering herself, she let it drop. “She left only a moment ago. Rail not at her.” Simone was a bit unsure why she felt it necessary to defend the woman, except that had she not come to their aid, Handaar would have surely died. Leaving Evelyn alone at Hartmoore with no kin. Haith seemed ready to speak again but was interrupted by Tristan’s entrance into the hall, followed in a moment by Nicholas. At the sight of her husband’s familiar stride, Simone’s heart lurched. He, too, was still covered in filth fr
Chapter 20
Chapter 21 Once inside the stables, teeming with men and horses outfitting for battle, Nick sought a full rain barrel. He removed his belt and sword and set them aside, stripped off his ruined tunic, and dunked himself to the waist in the cold water. Rising with a harsh gasp, he scrubbed his palms over his skin, raked his fingers through his stiff hair. He dipped into the water twice more to rinse the filth from him. When he rose again, he realized he had not thought to bring a drying cloth or clean shirt, and the breeze through the stable cut him to the bone. He cursed, shook the water from his hair. Something soft prodded his lower back, and when he turned, he saw Tristan, a length of linen in one hand and a dingy undershirt in the other. Of course, Nick thought darkly. Leave it to my brother to swaddle me like the babe I am. He jerked the linen from Tristan, muttering a curt thanks. “The monks have gone,” his brother confided. Nick tossed the now-damp cloth over a half wall and took
Chapter 21
Chapter 22 Nick ran into the great hall, Tristan close behind. He saw the crowd of people clustered together before the hearth, and he prayed he was not too late. He shouldered his way through the group, and when he gained the center, his heart kicked against his ribs. Evelyn knelt at Handaar’s side, her smile wide and bright, threads of tears sliding down her cheeks. She held Handaar’s hand to her bosom and leaned close, whispering then listening. Handaar’s eyes were open, the blue rings of iris rolling around in bloodshot whites, trying to focus on his daughter’s face. His lips moved, but his voice was too low for Nick to hear. Beneath the black fur covering his body, Handaar’s midsection was grotesquely swollen. A chilling sweat broke over Nick’s face and chest and back as he dropped to his knees beside Evelyn. “—your mother,” Handaar wheezed, “so proud. Beautiful girl.” Evelyn did not take her eyes from her father, and her smile never faltered, though she hiccoughed on a sob. “I kn
Chapter 22
Chapter 23 Nicholas led the battle party away from Hartmoore, with Tristan at his side, in the pitch black before dawn. Behind them lay the curling whips of smoke from Handaar’s funeral pyre, drying the dampness on Nick’s face into black smudges. The rain had stopped, leaving a crystalline damp in the cold air. Nick could smell snow in the frigid wind. They rode slowly, their ranks numbering not quite three hundred, and the party was quiet, the horses’ tack muffled with batting and rags to disguise their approach of the border. The lack of conversation between men was due not to fear but to the early hour and the cold—every man who was riding that morn longed for the impending battle, craved revenge. They would ford the Wye just before daybreak and take Donegal’s village by surprise. Nick’s own silence, however, stemmed from his thoughts of the time he’d shared with Simone only hours ago. His heart beat a heavy, steady rhythm in his chest—Simone was his. The way she had given of hersel
Chapter 23
Chapter 24 Had Simone had more than an instant to assess the situation, she may have handled it differently. But the dull thud of Armand’s fist connecting with Genevieve’s temple, sending the woman limp to the floor, and the arm about her own waist, a filthy hand stifling her scream, sent her into a panic. She flailed and bucked and kicked her heels at her unseen captor while Armand stared hungrily down at the unconscious Genevieve. “Oh, Genevieve, forgive me, my love,” he crooned, his words slurred. Armand’s right eyelid twitched frantically, drawing nearly closed, and his cheek hitched in a crazed grin. His hair had come undone from its usually messy tie and lay thin and greasy against his filthy tunic. Armand looked as though he’d been sleeping outdoors for days. Finally, he looked at Simone, but his words did little to comfort her. “Portia?” he whispered with a dawning horror, but then reality shook him from that terrifying possibility. “Ah, Simone. You so resemble her in that gown
Chapter 24
Chapter 25 They were winning the battle, driving the Welsh back toward the border, and with every swing of his sword, Nicholas felt Handaar’s spirit strong within him. Each hot splatter of Welsh blood healed, in Nick’s mind, Handaar’s wounds, as if they had never been. Each body he left lying lifeless on the ground slowly filled the void in his heart at having to take the old warrior’s leg, to watch him die in Hartmoore’s hall. Nick felt vindicated, invincible, forgiven, as he plowed through the enemy in the fading afternoon light. “Aaaiiee!” The high-pitched yell came from behind him and then the blow to the middle of his back, bowing Nick’s body forward. His breath whooshed from him as he fell, and he quickly rolled to face the second blow he knew would soon follow. A Welshman, covered in blood, toppled toward him, a thick club in one hand and a short ax in the other, the latter raised high over his head. The beast gave another battle scream, his teeth bared in a bloody grimace. Nick
Chapter 25
Chapter 26 Nicholas moved his feet, one in front of the other, by rote, his breaths ragged in his chest, heaving in and out like old, rotted bellows. He had walked through the night from Obny, but he would not be spelled by any man. He would bear the litter that carried Tristan’s body back to Hartmoore, each and every step his paltry penance. His eyes never wavered from the easterly horizon, his pace never slowed. With each numbing footfall, his own tormented thoughts spurred him on: My brother’s blood is on my hands. My brother’s blood is on my hands. The phrase was rhythmic, tormenting, and constant, circling Nick’s mind like the scavenger birds they’d left at the battlefield. And it was naught but the truth. Too well and too recently did Nick know these circumstances in which he found himself: covered in blood, returning to Hartmoore with a body on a litter. He thought of Lady Haith, of beautiful innocent Isabella, of his mother, and a pain seared his chest and stole his breath for
Chapter 26
Chapter 27 The deepest interior of the ruined abbey, the remains of a great hall, was mostly intact, its rotted, ancient wood withstanding the brunt of the storm’s fury. But the rain rippled down the walls in sheets and dripped from the roof beams and poured through gaping holes, giving the shelter the atmosphere of a damp sea cave. Sputtering torches dangled haphazardly around the walls in crumbling, crooked iron holders, and a large fire snapped and sputtered directly in the center of the spongy floor. Ragged holes hid amongst shadows in the rotted boards, grinning back black nothingness. Simone felt as though she and Genevieve had been dropped into the midst of a nightmare. The two women huddled together near the fire, their wet, heavy clothes plastered to their bodies. They sipped warm, watered wine from crude wood bowls and tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Since their arrival at the coast, Armand had seemed to grab a firmer hold on his sanity and now spent his time ta
Chapter 27
Chapter 28 Nicholas crawled over the icy, jagged rocks on the seaside of Armand’s lair, Didier’s feather clutched in the sweaty creases of his hand for safekeeping—and for luck. He felt a narrow ledge of wet, sandy soil above him and pulled himself up to rest with his back against the rotten and water-swollen timbers, stifling as best he could his gasps for breath. He looked down the way he had come: nearly a sheer drop to the sea, the waves crashing against the rocks as if in frustration that he’d not fallen. Then, to his right, scrabbling footsteps, the skittering of loosened pebbles sliding down the seacliff. A lanky, olive-skinned man in loose-fitting chausses stepped around the side of the abbey, his carefree whistle abruptly ending when his eyes met Nick’s. “Qu’est-ceque c’est?” the man demanded in a surprised voice, but Nick quickly shot out one booted foot, collapsing the man’s knee in on itself with a sickening crunch. The swarthy man opened his mouth to scream, and Nick swipe
Chapter 28
Chapter 29 Simone’s head swung to the far side of the hall where Jehan Renault stood, a slender sword in hand. “Renault?” Armand whispered. “Not your son,” Jehan repeated. “My son. Mine and Portia’s. You killed them both.” Armand shook his head furiously, his twisted features a blur. “N-non! Non!” He stabbed his claw toward Simone. “That one! That one is yours! Didier was mine! I laid with your whore!” “You laid with Portia when she quickened with my child,” Jehan said. “You were drunk, she seduced you, thinking you were too ignorant to know. And she was correct.” “Non!” Armand gripped his head with both hands. Snot ran into his gaping mouth as he moaned. “Oui.” Jehan stepped closer. Simone skittered to Nicholas’s side as quickly as she could. She saw that he was awake, and when she reached him, Nicholas rose up on one elbow. “My hands, love,” he whispered. Simone quickly undid the ropes, ignoring her throbbing fingertips and keeping a wary eye on Eldon. When his hands were free, Nick
Chapter 29
Chapter 30 It took the party three days to make the trip to London, and the whole of the way, Simone felt as though she were slowly dying. She and Nicholas spoke not a single word to each other, and as far as Simone knew, she was already dismissed from his life. She spent her nights between Jehan and Genevieve, her days on horseback, trying to avoid conversation with the now buoyant and loquacious Charles. It seemed each word out of her soon-to-be-husband’s mouth sent long, jagged splinters into her head. He tried to be humorous; he was juvenile. He tried to be attentive; he was annoying. He tried to talk with Simone about their future and she was completely disinterested. She missed Didier. She missed Nicholas. When she could, Simone passed the long hours conversing with Lady Genevieve and Jehan. The two elders of the group got on surprisingly well, and oft times Simone enjoyed merely listening to the pair talk of France and children, food and politics, but never about Simone leaving
Chapter 30
Chapter 31 Nick fell into a desperate, exhausted slumber, Simone still in his arms. And he dreamed. He was in Withington once more, on the journey from London to Hartmoore with Simone. The damned convent! How could he have forgotten its proximity to the inn? Because it truly did not matter, his present-self reminded him. You are not in love with Evelyn. You love your wife. When you are with Simone, you think not about Handaar’s daughter. Only when you see aught which reminds you of Evelyn does your pride pinch you. That made sense to Nicholas, but even so, he was still in Withington in his dream, and he let the memories carry him along until he was once more seated against the ancient oak beyond the inn, wine jug in hand. A small, white feather circled and swooped toward him. “Ah, young Didier,” Nick said in the dream. “Chastity itself. I would think you’d be sitting faithfully at your sister’s side, preventing me what little comfort I have in this world.” The wine jug was dispatched d
Chapter 31
Chapter 32 Charles choked. “FitzTodd—how—?” “Nick!” Simone screamed, and resumed her struggles. Nicholas stepped into the cabin, filling it with his murderous presence. “Back away, Beauville.” “This is none of your concern, FitzTodd,” Charles said, jerking Simone in front of him as if to shield himself. “She is no longer your wife!” The imbecile, Nicholas thought before stepping forward and simply pulling Simone to her feet. He drew her tight to his side, and she buried her face in his chest. “You did not let Didier burn alive,” Nick continued calmly. “After he saw you, you held him in a water trough until he drowned. You had to rid yourself of him quickly, else you would have also perished in the fire.” Simone’s head raised and she looked up at Nick, her face stricken. “The water,” she croaked. “How did you know?” “Didier told me, love,” Nick said gently, touching a forefinger to her lips. “Long ago in Withington, and again last night, after we made love.” Simone looked to Charles, th
Chapter 32
Epilogue
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