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  She wished she had a pretty gown to wear. She wore hose and a léine because she had to in her line of work. She was not opposed to wearing womanly garb. She liked how some gowns fit her body and made her feel. She missed her gowns. She hadn’t owned any in a year. Perhaps there were some here, left by Miss d’Argentan. She would ask Margaret, the seamstress, or Ann, the laundress.

  For now, she was content with what she had.

  She washed her feet at her basin then donned woolen socks and pulled her boots back on. She left her hair loose and put on her belt, not forgetting, this time, her knives.

  By the time she left her room, Nicholas was gone and in his place was a young man of about sixteen years. He wore dark breeches, boots, and a long-sleeved léine beneath a voluminous Highland plaid.

  “Where is Ni…the earl?” she asked him.

  He had large, dark green, fathomless eyes that had likely already seen war, judging by the three scars on his face. The longest went from just above his right ear, which she could see, thanks to his shorn head, to under his right eye and to the top of his lip. One smaller scar laced beneath his bottom lip, and another across his left temple.

  “He said you are to meet him in the chapel.” He pointed in the direction she should go. “Two rights, a left, then one more right. You will see the door. I will listen for the babe and if I hear him, I will come to the chapel to get you.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

  He smiled back.

  She was about to go, but stopped and turned to him. “I’m Julianna.”

  “Simon, my lady.”

  “Are you one of the earl’s soldiers, Simon?” He couldn’t be. Surely he was too young. There also wasn’t much to him. He had no muscle, or even meat on him that she could see. Was Nicholas letting this poor child fight in their king’s wars?

  “No,” he answered, “I was a slave to the Earl of Hampton in Norham. The Earl of Rothbury rescued me.”

  A slave? He was a slave? She closed her eyes. It hadn’t been a war. It hadn’t been the Scots. She knew the Earl of Hampton. His daughter, Rohesia, had been one of Julianna’s friends. She’d stopped correspondence though when Julianna lost her title and wealth. She almost—wait. Nicholas had been in Norham? It wasn’t far from Berwick.

  “What was he doing in Norham?” she asked.

  Simon went a little pale and he cleared his throat. “Who?”

  She eyed him carefully. He realized he’d said too much. “The Earl of Rothbury. Was he visiting Berwick?”

  He shoved his finger down the neck of his léine and tugged it. “My lady, I cannot speak for him.”

  He was loyal. She liked him all the more for it. Besides, she didn’t need for him to answer. He already had. Why had Nicholas gone to Berwick? Did he know the Scottish lord there?

  “How long ago did he rescue you?”

  “About a month and a half now, my lady,” he said and urged her onward with a movement of his chin.

  Ignoring his chin, she moved a little closer, as if to protect him from anyone overhearing. “Why is your head shaved?”

  “I had to keep my head shaved as a slave. I still do it out of habit. And I do not mind it anymore since I am now studying and practicing to be a brother of the Carmelite order. Margaret, the seamstress here, is putting the finishing touches on my habit.”

  “That is good news,” she said with a tender smile. “Should I call you Brother?”

  He shook his head and laughed. “Simon will do, my lady.”

  “Julianna,” she reminded him with her most tender smile. She thought he had very sad eyes behind his mirth. “I am the new governess to the earl’s son. You have my thanks for standing watch over him.”

  “I was honored to be asked, my—Julianna.”

  He respected Nicholas. He was grateful to him for rescuing him from servitude. Who wouldn’t be?

  She looked down the hall. Nicholas was waiting for her in the chapel. She wanted to go…to run. But they would talk. Her marriage was likely to come up. Even if it didn’t come up naturally, she needed to tell him. She nodded to herself and took a deep breath.

  “We shall speak again, Simon.” She smiled. “I’m glad you are free.”

  He blushed and nodded then looked away, still smiling when she turned and headed down the hall making two right turns.

  Following Simon’s directions, she finally came to the door of the small chapel and pulled it open. Whatever was coming, she would face.

  The inside was lit with hundreds of candles, creating light and shadow along the stone walls. The smell of melting candlewax filled Julianna’s nose and gave her a familiar sense of comfort, the way she’d felt at the abbey. Silence boomed through her ears until she thought she heard God moving about.

  Nicholas sat on a bench to the right of the altar. When he heard her, he stood up and waited for her to reach him. “Forgive me for leaving my post at my son’s door,” he said, watching her move closer. “There are too many people in the castle. I need to step away sometimes. ’Tis peaceful here.”

  “Aye,” she agreed. “’Tis.” Her dreams paled in comparison to the way light from hundreds of candles flittered over his dark, stormy visage.

  “’Tis quiet. No one ever comes in here save for young Simon.”

  “I met him,” she said, smiling at the memory of the brother. “He mentioned you rescued him in Norham. What were you doing so close to Berwick recently?”

  His eyes blazed and she feared she might have gone too far and made him angry with poor Simon.

  “We can talk about that later,” he said, sitting down. “I am curious about your life after we saw each other again at St. Peter’s.”

  “You mean my marriage?” she asked quietly as she sat beside him on the polished bench.

  “All of it,” he answered. “If you wish to tell me.” His gaze flowed over her fiery mantle and came to rest on her face. With no reaction revealed, save for the deepening intensity of his eyes, he asked, “How did you get here? How long were you with the abbess after I left? You can tell me what you wish.”

  She used to tell him everything. She wrung her hands together and then stared at them. She missed him. She missed him more than he would ever know. Could she tell him that? Could she tell him that she wanted him and only him in her life, in her arms, and in her bed? Would he forgive her for marrying Phillip? Could she still tell him everything?

  Chapter Nine

  “After my husband died, I remained at St. Peter’s for about a year. I did not want to marry again and the abbess protected me.”

  “You speak of the abbess who knocked out Cain when we were there?”

  She nodded, remembering that day and her words to him. She hated that day.

  You are a servant, Will. We were never meant to be together.

  I am changing my life. Things will be better for me, he had argued.

  No. I am here until the man to whom my father promised me—a man of means—arrives. I will be married and have no more time for childish fancies.

  “William, I am—what is it?” she stopped to ask, sobering at his expression. She realized her error almost immediately. “Forgive me for calling you William. ’Twill take some getting used to.”

  “I know,” he promised. “But I am no longer him. I no longer want to be him. And you…you make me feel like him.”

  “What is so terrible about that? William loved. He hoped.”

  His stoic gaze tore at the fibers of her heart until she nearly fell apart in his sight. “He lost those he loved. Everyone.”

  She held herself together. She wouldn’t ever fall apart again. Not even for him.

  She knew whom he meant. As William, he had lost Berengaria. Her. He had even lost the woman he loved later.

  “But you have gained two brothers and a son!” And her…if any part of him still wanted her. He hadn’t lost her. She was his. She would always be his. “Are they not deserving of your gratitude?”

  “They are deservin
g,” he continued sincerely, “and I am grateful. But I think I would rather not have, than have it and lose it.”

  “You would rather not have your brothers?” she smiled, unable to contain her joy for him. “I hear two have found you.”

  He smiled in the dancing light. “And who did you hear this from?”

  “Rauf. But you must promise never to tell him I told you. Do you promise?”

  “Aye,” he vowed through clenched teeth.

  She smiled, satisfied and happy to be talking about him. “Are there more than the three of you?”

  He shook his head and she watched him as he spoke, unable to believe she was truly here with him. She had missed his face, the familiar pitch and cadence of his voice. It soothed her and comforted her like warmth in the cold.

  “I am the youngest,” he told her. “Cain is the oldest and a commander in King Robert’s forces. He is a warrior of great renown, who has a strong belief in the goodness of God.” He looked up at the crucifix of Christ above the altar and smiled slightly, as if he were remembering something. “He lives with his wife and children in Invergarry.

  “Torin is Warden of the Western Marches. He lives in Carlisle with his wife and children. He is more of a crafty, silent killer, unseen by the enemy until ’tis too late. He likes words and putting them together to form poems and stories.”

  Her smile widened. “He can read and write?”

  “Aye. He taught himself.”

  “I am impressed by that,” she remarked. And she was. She had taught William as children and he hated it. “Did they tell you of your parents?”

  “Just bits they could remember. My mother enjoyed her garden and my father was a blacksmith.”

  “And,” she grew somber and covered his hand with hers, “did you tell them about your life as a servant? About my father?”

  “Cain told Torin about—” he stopped for a moment as if an invisible hand had reached out and cupped itself over his mouth…or his throat.

  “What is it?” she asked with concern.

  He shook his head. “I just recalled I never sent a letter to my brothers informing them of my return.”

  “Perhaps I can do that for you.”

  He blinked and let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer. “Very well. But when will you have time?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and let her smile return on him full force. She felt genuinely happy for the first time in four years.

  “Of course, I will pay you extra,” he told her. “Do you have any coin at all? I can have Rauf take something out of the—”

  “I have what I need,” she told him, holding up her hand to stop him. She blushed, hoping he didn’t ask her if she was saving her coin for anything in particular. Could she tell him that she was saving her coin to find him? That finding him was her goal?

  They talked more about his brothers. The more she heard of them, the happier she was for Nicholas. She wished the English had left his family alone that night so that he could have grown up with his brothers. What a different life he would have had. She still would have had Berengaria. Nothing much would have changed for her save that she would never have known the little boy who grew to a man before her eyes. The one who was better than all the other boys she’d known, and then, better than all the men. She wouldn’t have had hope in escaping Phillip.

  But she would have given William up for a chance for him to have his proper life with his family as Nicholas.

  “What about you?” he asked her. “I wanted to hear about your life, and here we are talking all about mine.” He waited while she wrung her hands together. “What tore the spark of life from you, Julianna?”

  She looked at him and her practiced smile grew dim. “You think I do not possess a spark of life?”

  “Not the same spark you once had,” he corrected with a repentant dip of his eyes.

  Had he always dipped his gaze when he spoke to her? She hated it. “Nicholas…”

  He looked up the instant she spoke his name. She didn’t want to tell him who she had married.

  “Come, lass,” he tempted like a siren, “tell me of your life. You have grown up.”

  This was the best place to tell him, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t kill her here, would he? She wasn’t sure she could do it. She stumbled over a few words before she found the right ones. “As you said,” she paused to breathe in and try to summon her courage. “I have grown up. I have lived a less privileged life.”

  He nodded as if he understood. “You married beneath you?”

  She had married beneath a cellar rat’s shite. “I married…I married the Gov…the Governor of Alnwick.”

  Her eyes filled with tears as her words and her reaction to them dawned on him. His expression grew bleak for a moment then hard as steel. “You married one of the DeAvoys?”

  She nodded and held her fist to her chest as if it could keep her upright. “Aye.”

  She closed her eyes as he asked, “Which one?”

  Knowing how much her words were going to hurt him, she let her tears flow. But she did not sob or weep bitterly.

  “Julianna, who?”

  She wiped her eyes. “Phillip.” There. It was out. It was done. She felt a slight sense of relief from it. The rest of her wanted to look away from his shock and utter dismay.

  He stood up from the polished bench as if it were on fire and raised his hands to clasp them behind his head. “Julianna, no. No. You did not marry that scum…” For a moment he seemed too angry and brokenhearted to go on. “How could you marry him?” he asked finally.

  “I was penniless. He was the only one who wanted me.”

  His eyes darkened like a storm billowing forth in the distance. “I wanted you.”

  Lord, help her, this was no time to react to such a declaration. He spoke of the past. How he used to feel. She’d known it back then, even under the watchful eyes of her father’s guards. His servant was in love with his daughter, and she with him. As a child, William had taught her that the “haves” and the “have nots” were the same by always inviting her to play with him and his friends. She had grown up among them, hating their different statuses for keeping them apart.

  “I have been haunted by you, my lord,” she confessed when he moved to leave her—and likely, the castle. “Not Lord Nicholas MacPherson, Earl of Rothbury, but humble William Stone.”

  “William is gone, my lady,” he answered. “And that was not humility, ’twas subservience.”

  Even to her? Even to me? She wanted to shout at him in the quiet chapel. She had never used her position to order him around or treat him hatefully. Aye, there was a period of time when she was no longer a child and not yet an adult, when she allowed the popular fear of the day to grip her. When her friends, including Phillip, laughed at him. She had laughed with them. She hadn’t always told the boys to stop when they struck him or threw things at him. But she would never have let it go on if they were hurting William too much.

  She looked down at her hands. No matter what she said now, it wouldn’t ease what the end result had been. She had refused to leave the abbey and go with him.

  “I did not choose you because I was a fool and a coward, and I have paid for that decision since the day I made it. But I never forced you to submit to my will. You are hurtful to suggest it.”

  He looked sincerely stunned and he didn’t apologize, though she gave him a few extra moments. He sat down again and faced her. “How bad was it?”

  “What?” He hadn’t heard a word she’d said!

  “What did you mean earlier when you said you remained at the abbey? Had you been there while you were married, Julianna? Had you fled your husband?”

  “Aye,” she answered, ashamed. She hoped she didn’t have to say anything more.

  “Why, lass? What did he do to you?”

  She looked at him, her William, and swallowed. Before she became afraid of the Scots, she loved when he called her lass.

  Phillip had tried to take everything f
rom her. She wouldn’t let him take Nicholas. “He made me his servant.”

  She felt a wave of nausea wash over her, the scalding burn behind her eyelids. She didn’t say another word. She didn’t have to.

  He covered her hands on her knees with one of his hands. When he spoke a moment later, his voice shook with leashed fury. “You said he was dead.”

  She nodded.

  “By your hand? Are you hiding from the other two brothers?”

  “No. Phillip died at the hands of the abbess. Poison,” she said, moving closer to him. She owed the abbess her life. William was the only one she would ever tell.

  “Do you hate me for marrying him, Nicholas?” she asked. She didn’t want to hear the answer but she needed to. As much as she loved him, she wouldn’t stay if he did not, or could not in the future, love her in return. She wouldn’t blame him. It made her want to pull out her hair. “I would know the truth.”

  He moved his hand away from hers and looked away. Julianna was certain he could hear her heart banging.

  Silence boomed even louder for an eternal moment until he spoke. “I have done everything to stop you from haunting me, Julianna. The only relief I have found in four years was the short time I had with Mattie. I sailed halfway across the world and tried to hide in the most remote places, but I could not escape you. I even went to Berwick to rid myself of the memory of you. Aye, I was there. I made myself hate you. ’Twas the only way to live without you.”

  His eyes gleamed as he stared off into the flickering candlelight. “I couldn’t move on with you constantly in my head. And I have to move on. For the sake of my son.”

  “Of course,” she said on a broken whisper. Why did he have to move on? She was here. She loved him. She wanted to tell him. She didn’t want to lose him again. “Nicholas, I—”

  He turned to Rauf entering the chapel and grinning when he saw them. “What is it?”

  “Nothin’,” Rauf said as he sat down. “I just wanted to see how things were goin’.” He grinned even harder when he caught Julianna’s eye. “Seems to be goin’ well.”