sound he heard next should have been barely audible, but Nick’s overly sensitive ears registered clearly each distinct click and scrape of a lock being breached.
He could not have obtained a key…
The sound of creaking hinges filled the room, and then a sharp, feminine gasp of outrage. Nick snapped the covers from his face and peered down the length of his body to discover not only Tristan but Haith as well, observing him from the end of the bed.
“Get. Out,” Nick growled, and dismissed the pair of them by raising the furs once more.
Tiny, tapping footsteps sounded around the bed, and then Haith spoke from somewhere over his head. “A fine idea, Lord Nicholas.”
A resounding slap and a female shriek followed her words, and Nick grudgingly peeked out of his warm—quiet—cocoon to see his brunette friend being dragged from the bed. Lady Haith had a rather impolite grip on the nude woman’s hair.
“Be gone from here, harlot,” she commanded, pushing the woman toward the open door.
“Ay!” the woman cried. “Who d’ye think ye are, ye fancy bitch, rousin’ me from me sleep?”
“I am the woman who will gladly wring your neck should you not be gone from my sight in the next instant,” Haith warned, skirting the bed once more.
The brunette woman must have seen the sincerity in Haith’s eyes, for she uttered not another word, only sent her a pouting glare. She spotted Tristan as she bent to collect her discarded garments.
“Good morn to ye, milord,” she cooed, trailing her wrinkled gown across the floor.
Had Nick been in his usual good humor, he would have laughed aloud at the expression of panic that crossed his brother’s face. Tristan was looking rapidly between the nude wench advancing on him and Haith, who was currently occupied with rousing the blonde from Nick’s bed.
“And you as well, you shameful tart,” she said, sending the woman from her rest in much the same manner as her friend.
“Lady Haith,” Nick offered, “I believe your husband requires your assistance.”
Haith spun around to behold the brunette stroking the front of Tristan’s tunic, he with his hands held out to his sides and a look of sheer horror on his face.
“Sweet Corra!” Haith swore with a stomp of her foot. She flung a hand toward the door, and suddenly the two women were tossed through it. She snapped her fingers and the door slammed shut on their stunned and outraged cries.
Haith turned toward Nicholas, her arms folded sternly across her chest. “Lord Nicholas, you should be shamed. Consorting with those—those”—she sputtered and tossed her head—“whores on the very day of your wedding!”
A timid tap sounded at the door, and one of the displaced women—Nicholas thought it might have been the blonde—called from the other side, “Milady, if ye please, we ’ave need of our clothing.”
Haith never turned, but after an agitated sigh, the door swung open of its own accord and a pile of garments skittered across the floor and through the portal to land at the women’s feet. Nick only glimpsed their shocked expressions before the door once more crashed to.
“Well?” Haith demanded of him.
“Tristan, I beg you,” Nick said, tucking the furs around his nude body, “control your wife. Should she be allowed to continue this tyranny, I fear I shan’t have any friends left brave enough to entertain me.”
“Nay, Haith is correct.” Tristan came to stand next to his wife, and the pair peered down at Nick. “Today you wed, or have you so quickly forgotten?”
Nick grunted. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. How could he? That green-eyed minx, Simone du Roche, had lied through her pretty teeth while teasing him with her willing lips and warm hands. She had sworn she was content to marry Halbrook—right before her father had caught them enflagrante in what Nick had been certain was a suitably secluded location.
The wench was unbelievably clever, Nick had to admit. She had laid a nearly undetectable trap, and Nick had offered himself up like a calf to the slaughter. Now he was fully obligated by William himself to wed the chit in order to placate her father and avoid yet another uproar at court.
“I still fail to see how my impending nuptials warrant the both of you bursting into my rooms like common thieves.” Nick looked to his brother accusingly. “And just how did you obtain a key to the door?”
Tristan shook his head with a wry grin. “’Twas not I, Brother. I tried to break the door in.” He raised his eyebrows and glanced pointedly to Haith, who was now flitting about the chamber. She mumbled crossly to herself while retrieving articles of clothing and emptied wine jugs from the floor.
“Of course,” Nick groaned. “How could I have forgotten Lady Haith’s clever escape from Greanly’s dungeon?” He instantly recalled the tale of how his sister-in-law had used her magical Scots talent to unlock her cell door and escape Tristan—a move that had very nearly led to disaster.
“Never you mind about that,” Haith said briskly, a flush tinting her cheeks. She bent to capture a rent length of embroidered cloth. “Had we not admitted ourselves to your apartment, ’tis likely you would have missed your own—oh, Nicholas!”
Nick winced when he saw the ruined tunic Haith held. He must have been further into his cups last eve than he realized.
Haith turned wounded blue eyes to him. “Your mother and I labored over this piece while I carried Isabella—you were to wear it when you wed. And now look at it!” She held the tunic toward him, the wine stains and unraveling hem clearly visible.
“I am sorry, Lady Haith,” Nick said, rising from the bed on unsteady legs and wrapping a fur about his middle. “Truly, I do not know what came over me. I had naught else to wear last eve and…” His voice trailed off at the sight of the tears in her eyes. “’Twas not my intention to hurt you.”
“Enough,” Tristan said, his voice hard. Nick turned to face him, and the tic along his brother’s jaw indicated that he was struggling to keep control over his temper.
“Brother, I—”
“Nay, hold your tongue.” Tristan approached his wife and steered her gently toward the door. “Wait for me in our rooms, my love. I’d have a word with Nick.”
Haith’s meek nod sent a pang though Nick’s heart, and when she spoke, the hitch in her voice made him feel like a complete fool. “I shall see what can be done to repair this before the ceremony.”
While his brother saw Haith through the portal, Nick hurriedly donned his chausses—an exercise that increased the pounding in his skull tenfold. He was trying to focus on the tangled laces when he heard the sharp click of the lock being engaged, and he chuckled half-heartedly.
“’Tis rather pointless to attempt to lock your wife from my chamber, Tristan. Should she desire entry, she will merely—”
Tristan’s blow caught Nick squarely in the mouth, sending Nick flailing onto his back and releasing a myriad of colorful starbursts before his eyes. Reality wavered as he rose up on one elbow and stared at his brother. Tristan stood
