At His Command-Historical Romance Version (7 page)

“Are you all right? You’re shaking.”

Her hip ached and she’d bruise, but she was otherwise unharmed. Her body, at least. Fear nipped at her heart. She nodded, not yet able to find her voice.

“I don’t know how he freed himself, but I’ll ensure that he’s locked up tight this time. I’ll send for the sheriff.” Nicholas helped her to a chair by the fire. He drew the matching chair close and sat beside her, a comforting arm around her waist.

She breathed in his scent, her soap mixed with his essence. Warmth, not just from the fire, filled her. She resisted the urge to move her chair closer still.

He wiped ink from her cheek. The gentle tracing made her feel cared for. Protected. She wanted him to do it again.

“How can I thank you?” Amice asked. “I shudder to think what would’ve happened if the king hadn’t sent you. It didn’t occur to me to hire guards after Edwin died. If I’d known Harry was lying in wait, a snake ready to pounce….” Another shiver racked her. “His determination frightens me.”

“You’re safe now. He won’t harm you again.”

He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist. She so wanted to rest her head on his shoulder. To rely on his strength and trust that somehow all would be well.

“I admit that I wasn’t pleased with this assignment,” Nicholas said. “I thought I could better serve the king at court, protecting him from his enemies. But now that I’ve met you, spent some time with you…lived in a home rather than moving from castle to castle or with no roof over my head while at war…. I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed being here more than I expected.”

“I’ve enjoyed having you here,” she admitted.

His eyes were dark as the ink. Intense. After a long moment, she broke the connection.

She’d make sure to send that second letter to the king. Today.

Chapter 4

Then Maud decided to visit Castle Rising. At first Amice was overjoyed to see her cousin, also recently widowed.

Maud was tall and fair, with the palest skin, facts Amice had known but not paid much attention to until she saw her laughing with Nicholas over a cup of wine. Did he prefer women closer to his height? Did he prefer flaxen hair?

The way Maud latched onto Nicholas as a drowning man clutches a passing branch made Amice’s chest burn. But she had no right to wish Nicholas smiled at her, not her cousin. No matter how much she’d enjoyed their conversations and having him here, Nicholas was in no way hers. Nor could he be unless the king acquiesced to her wishes. She hadn’t even been brave enough to tell him how she felt.

He could be Maud’s. The thought rankled, persisting like a nagging cough. If Cromwell decided he was a suitable choice for Maud’s second husband, she didn’t know how she would bear it.

Every morsel of Maia’s normally flavorful meals tasted the same. No activity, not even writing, held her attention for long. Because her thoughts kept turning to a certain dark-haired man and his annoyingly beauteous and pleasant companion.

Each moment he spent with Maud was one less he could spend with her. His hours at Castle Rising were running short.

The next afternoon, Amice was engrossed in dying wool. She sought a special deep blue that met her exacting specifications, a combination of the right amount of woad with orchil to add a hint of purple. She’d have denied it if anyone suggested she tried to match Nicholas’s eyes.

Dyed wool and people were very much alike. Expose people to new influences, and they changed, just as wool changed with the application of dye. But if there were too many colors in the mixture or the fabric was soaked too many times, you could wind up with a shade you didn’t intend or like.

Amice felt like over-dyed wool. Her usually pleasant humor turned to moodiness and rancor. Ever since Nicholas arrived, she’d been plagued with want for what couldn’t be. That desire, which had begun sweetly, as a touch of blue might remind one of the palest sky, had darkened into irritability. Nicholas was the excess dye that turned her from her favorite purple into a grim black.

She moved around the large vat atop its fire, stirring the wet cloth with a tall wooden pole. Hot and sweaty, two conditions which did nothing to improve her mood, she raised a spotted blue hand to push a damply recalcitrant curl off her forehead.

Nicholas and Maud returned from a ride, faces flushed from their exertions. Maud walked toward the keep, waving and laughing her farewell. Nicholas handed the reins to Harold.

Possessiveness seethed in Amice, steamy as the water in her vat. She stomped toward him. Much like a fish, her mouth opened and closed. Everything she thought of to say seemed childish.

“You aren’t here to dally with my cousin. You go riding when things need to be done. Shall I inform the king you’ve been lax in your duties?” She wanted to be calm, to show she had no interest in him. But she couldn’t prevent the stream of complaints from leaving her lips, knowing all the while she sounded the shrew.

“What things?” He stepped closer.

Each was momentarily silenced as the heat radiating from their bodies met with a clash. Being susceptible to him fueled her anger.

Shaking her dripping pole, she continued, “I’ve barely been able to get a word with you since Maud arrived. There are important things to discuss, and you’ve been too busy with her.” Her cheeks colored from more than the flames’ heat. She’d not only sounded childish, she’d basically confessed her jealousy.

“What things?” Nicholas repeated. He stepped closer, grabbing Amice’s pole so she couldn’t accidentally whack him in the head in her fury.

What angered her so? Bits of hair curled on her reddened cheeks, begging him to push them away. Her green eyes sparked with gold as she glared at him. Even Amice’s fury enticed him.

Exactly why Nicholas had welcomed Maud’s arrival. He could talk to Maud without wanting to hold her hand or hold her, without stirrings of desire. Without being sad when their time together ended. Yet he’d missed Amice. His friend. His…what?

One of his hands closed over hers. The simple contact elicited a rush of longing, almost making him relinquish his grip. Why did he react to her so strongly?

“Going riding with Maud, as though you had nothing better….”

Without thinking, he stopped her reproach with his mouth. He’d wanted to do that for so long. The sweet taste of her heightened his excitement.

This, at last, was what he’d waited for, swirling vibrations of yearning, as he kissed her in the bailey.

In the bailey! Instantly, his passion cooled. They were in plain view. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying attention.

“How dare you kiss me?” she hissed. “If you try that again, this will stop you.” She brandished her pole as she hurried back to her vat.

Nicholas concealed a grin as he watched Amice poke viciously at the wet wool. His impulse to smile vanished. Henry and Margaret trusted him to safeguard Amice until they agreed on a groom. Compromising her in any way was unforgivable. Yet Amice had but to enter a room and all activities but being with her lost their luster. Being inches away from her lovely face, her slender body, made him lose control. Unforgivable.

He’d conquer his desire with the same determination he’d used to fight those who trespassed on English soil. His weapon against invaders was his sword. Against the lure of Amice, he’d have to rely on self-discipline and denial.

“The wool is too dark now. I’ll have to start over,” Amice called as Nicholas walked away.

Her flushed cheeks stood testament to interrupted desire, but Amice hoped he thought her heightened color was due to the heat.

With his warm lips moving upon hers, longing for more had filled Amice so that she’d barely been able to stand. She’d wanted to melt into him, let him whisk her to her room. Surprise at her strong reaction, at being kissed in public, led her to snap at him rather than indulge further.

Better he believed she had no interest in him. Leading him to think otherwise could only result in disaster.

Hours later, Robert ran into the hall, shouting, “My lady, my lady, the watchman says a messenger approaches. ’Tis believed he wears the king’s livery!”

Though her heart skipped a beat and dread flooded her, Amice fought to keep her face calm for the benefit of those watching. She took another stitch of her embroidery as if nothing were amiss. “Thank you, Robert.”

“He’s expected anon.” The boy puffed out his chest and stood proudly at attention a short distance from Amice.

Other servants hurried into the hall.

Despite her suddenly dry mouth, she said, “Maia, prepare food for our visitor. I’m sure he’ll be hungry and parched.”

She tightened her hold on the cloth to keep herself from wringing her hands or throwing them into the air. Tears came to her eyes, but pride forced them back. She wouldn’t cry in front of her people or Nicholas. Of all, she didn’t want him to think her defeated.

Hope flared. What if the messenger brought a response to the letter she’d sent the king, not a summons to court?

Servants paused where they stood, arms filled with clean linens or dirty ones, brooms halted mid-sweep. Eerie silence permeated the hall until the messenger was announced.

“I bear a message from His Grace Henry VI for the Lady Amice Winfield and Sir Nicholas Grey,” the thin, balding man proclaimed loudly for all to hear.

Nicholas and Amice stepped forward as one. “I am Sir Nicholas and this is Lady Winfield. The message is for both of us?”

“Aye, my lord.” He handed Nicholas a parchment sealed with thick red wax.

The crack of the seal breaking seemed loud as a matchlock gunshot in the silence. When they had finished reading, Nicholas lowered the letter and looked at Amice.

He turned to the messenger. “Tell my liege we are on our way, and look forward to greeting him anon.”

The servants began whispering. Their lady was going to court. Activity resumed with renewed energy.

Amice took the missive, hoping she’d misread it. “The King to all in Greeting: The attendance of Amice, Lady Winfield, is requested at Westminster. We shall introduce Lady Winfield to her new betrothed in our presence…our man Sir Nicholas Grey is recalled to the service of his king…. Depart with all speedy and convenient haste…. Witness the King at Windsor, 26 May.”

King Henry either hadn’t received her letters or had chosen to ignore them. Why should he grant her request when he wanted her to wed? She’d lulled herself into believing life at Castle Rising would stay as it was, with Nicholas an important part of it.

Suddenly she regretted her efforts to resist her feelings for him. Parting would be painful in any case. Why hadn’t she allowed herself to embrace the joy, the comfort, of caring for a man, even for a short time? She’d squashed girlish dreams she should have reveled in. For they might be all she’d ever have.

Amice sighed. The king wanted to meet her. Misery over the main reason for her journey overwhelmed any excitement she might’ve felt at being so honored.

“We ride at dawn. Leave your men behind. Take only two servants. Quarters can be crowded,” Nicholas said. “You’ll need to arrange for provisions.”

The flurry of commands startled her. Nicholas clearly thought only of preparations needed for travel. The warm, agreeable man she’d come to know had fled, leaving the efficient commander in his place. Had their time together meant so little that he could move on so easily?

Amice went about the tasks at hand, numb as if she’d stood all day on the parapets in mid-winter. Ginelle proffered various garments to pack, but Amice barely noticed what went into the satchels. Yes, that was the way. Feel nothing and nothing will matter.

Will away your desires and you won’t be sad when they don’t come to pass.

She couldn’t sleep. As the hour of departure approached, she burst into tears, crying all the harder that she had to cry at all. She loved Castle Rising. Her home, the place where she remembered her parents and the happiness they had shared. She felt safe here. She knew where everything was and knew everyone she saw. At court, only two servants would comfort her, with occasional visits from her cousin Cromwell. She’d be an outsider.

While a short trip to see some of the world would be opportune, she didn’t want to live anywhere else. Her new husband would probably take her to his home, unlike Edwin, who hadn’t cared where they lived. She’d been happy running her home as she saw fit.

She’d been far happier with Nicholas in her life. She’d miss his companionship and his contributions to running the estate. Though she’d only admit it to herself, she’d miss just looking at him. Wishing he might kiss her again, even if he didn’t, was better than not being with him at all. Simply watching him work and relax in her home gave her a sense of satisfaction, of internal peace. Of family. If only he could have been the one chosen for her.

On the other hand, he was a knight. What wife wanted to fear for her husband’s safe return, or live alone for months while he was on campaign? A perfect situation if a wife didn’t like her husband. But if she had to wed again, Amice wanted to more than like her husband, she wanted to love him.

What were the chances of that?

Harry ground his teeth as he crossed his narrow cell for the three hundred and thirty-fifth time. What else was there to do but walk, count and plan?