though she wanted her baby to know of him, her baby couldn’t hear yet. Right now she didn’t want to be reminded of Roger’s protective nature when he could no longer protect.
‘It may be true...what he would have wanted...but I’m here now, and my crawling on this ground is a duty I need to fulfil. I’m not helping with the binding. I’m here with the children, gleaning.’
‘Stubborn as usual. What kind of reputation will I have if I can’t move a pregnant woman? I’ll never hear the end of it,’ Louve said.
‘You ruined your reputation when you were four years old, Louve, and you know it,’ Bess said. ‘And it appears—
Shouts came from behind them. A young boy was racing over the hill. His cries were carrying on the autumnal breeze.
‘Did he say we have company?’ Bess said.
Matilda turned her ear to the boy’s words, but they were still too faint. No one visited the estate. Up until this year they had been the ones who travelled to other villages and other markets to sell their wares. However, if the crops stayed this plentiful that would change. Until then...
Panting, the boy stopped in front of them.
‘We have guests arriving?’ Matilda cradled her belly, supporting the baby, who was blessedly still now that she’d given her room.
‘Visitor,’ the boy clarified. ‘With two giant horses behind him!’
The world...the ground underneath Matilda...shifted.
‘Steady,’ Bess whispered, grabbing her elbow.
‘How far out?’ Louve asked the boy.
‘Just outside the barren fields.’
If they could see a rider coming in that direction it meant he came from the east.
Louve glanced from Bess to Matilda and then back. ‘I’m closer than the others. I’ll get a horse and greet him before he reaches the trees.’
There was nothing to be discussed. It was the only choice, given all the men were in the opposite direction and she couldn’t move her legs.
Matilda kept her eyes on Louve’s long stride, taking him to the stables. ‘I will be well,’ she whispered. ‘Just give me moment more.’
Bess kept her hand where it was. ‘You knew this day would come.’
Matilda placed her hand on top of Bess’s. It was true. She had always known this day would come. Like a storm and the changing seasons. Like the endless rising of the sun and the setting of the moon. Like the certainty of time. She had known she’d see Nicholas again.
‘Always.’
Nicholas rode guardedly towards his home, his father’s prison and the cause of his death. Mei Solis Manor. Ridiculous name: My Sun.
It had been a grand gesture from an impoverished knight to his new wife, Helena of Catalonia, the sixth daughter from a family who’d gained wealth in maritime, but no title. His father, a mere knight with a crumbling manor, had had favour and connections with the English Court, and thus had been able to wed a woman of some means.
Such happy news upon his father’s return. His father had been beaming with pride, knowing that with silver the rich soil estate would prosper with the right management and supplies.
Nicholas, six years old at the time, remembered the day Helena had arrived. His father had toiled for months before, and the estate had never looked better. When the carriage had stopped, his father, eschewing custom, had assisted his new wife in alighting from the carriage.
Chin raised, a tight smile on her face, she had stood next to his father. Her gown, almost white, had seemed to glow, made of some fabric he had never seen before. His first and only thought at the sight at his new mother had been, The sun’s light never stays.
He had been right. Helena had had only a modest income from her doting family, and had shared most of her dowry with her new husband and his estate. The remainder had been used for her return to London and Court, where she had remained despite his father’s attempts to make the manor more hospitable for her and his pleading messages. She had stayed there despite his own curt message regarding her husband’s sudden death.
After his father had died Nicholas had seen Helena a few times at Court. She had always been surrounded, but they had exchanged polite greetings given the agreement between them. After all, his father had paid with his life to keep the estate running, and Nicholas had paid Helena with his coin ever after to keep her well-dressed.
It was an arrangement made by his father that he continued. It was his sentence and his prison, too. As long as he paid Helena there would never be enough coin.
There’d been clear blue skies since he’d left London to travel west to his home, but the easy weather and the ride hadn’t alleviated the tumultuousness of his memories or the brutal facts. It had taken him six years to get enough coin. Six years during which he’d lost everything. His friends, his eye, his only love.
In the distance, a different shape arose from the empty peaks and valleys. At first it was too small to comprehend, but as it grew he recognised the lone rider. A friend to greet him.
Not that any greeting would be welcome. He’d never intended to return here. He wouldn’t be here at all except that he’d made a promise to a fellow mercenary to repair his past.
However, the only repair he could conceive of was to exact revenge on the three who had betrayed him. Something, no matter how much pain had been caused to him, he had never been able to bring himself to do.
Yet here he was, travelling alone on a road he’d never wanted to take, intending to do just that. All because his friend had reclaimed his past, found happiness, and requested that Nicholas do the same.
He’d stay the winter at his former home with its ridiculous name, find some justice from the people who’d blindsided him, and then be gone again. With any hope he’d be free of the painful memories of betrayal and be able to find his future.
So revenge he must have. The acts done to him were far past reparation and apology. His hatred of those deeds was the only emotion that had fuelled him for the last three years. There was nothing to reclaim or repair for him. Anything of worth in his past had been lost. He could gain nothing from nothing. Mei Solis was a vast emptiness to him. My Soulless.
Even recognising his childhood friend, Louve, as he neared wasn’t enough to gladden him. Not when he saw him pull up short, causing the horse to skitter backwards. Louve was a master horseman. The only reason for this lack of control was because he’d got a good look at Nicholas’s face and it had shocked him.
His scar. For years now he’d had it. A sword-swipe that had begun across his belly and moved up to his chest, and then the flick of an enemy’s wrist that had projected the sword-tip across his face and destroyed his left eye.
All sewn and beautifully stitched now, it was only a slight silvery shadow of the horror it had once been. The horror it
