He was on the brink of ignoring the boy when the scent of warm lavender filled his senses. His wife’s unique fragrance brought her instantly to mind, and Nick recalled that Didier had answered affirmatively when asked if the matter concerned Simone.
“Is Simone in danger?”
A hesitation, and then,Yea.
Nicholas placed his hands on his hips and stared at the earth between his boots for several moments. Clearly, Didier did not wish for Armand to know he possessed this information, and in truth, what could Nick charge the man with if he did summon him? There was no proof of Armand’s wrongdoing.
He sighed and looked up at the feather once more. “Very well. I shall keep my own council for now. I assure you, you were no more glad than I to have seen that pompous miser’s departure.”
Yea.
The feather twirled away in the direction of the crude animal shelter near the inn, prompting Nicholas to call out, “And stay away from the horses!”
Nick turned to look one final time at the night-draped convent. On the morrow, he would pass by that place with his wife, on their way to Hartmoore. His thoughts turned briefly to Tristan’s warning about Nick’s foolish pining, and his conscience tugged at him.
He turned back toward the inn and ’twas just then that the humor of the situation struck him. He chuckled as he passed through the dim, quiet common room and mounted the rickety stairs. His chuckle broadened into a low laugh.
“A nun, a ghost, and a Frenchwoman arrive at an inn…”
Nick eased the door of the bedchamber open and stepped inside. The scene that greeted him caused an unexpected warmth in his gut.
A thick candle splattered its dying glow over the plaster walls and the large trunk in the center of the room. Nick spied sleeves and fancy trim where ’twas pinched in the seam of the trunk lid. His wife lay sprawled across the stingy bed, amongst a scattering of parchment and ribbons. The tray bearing her evening meal sat upon the floor, barely sampled.
Simone’s face was turned toward him, her delicate features relaxed in sleep. Her lips were parted, and her eyelashes lay thick and dark upon her cheeks. In spite of the trunk obviously brimming with gowns, she still wore the dust-caked kirtle from the day’s journey. One hand lay upon her stomach, pressing a cracked, yellowed page to her body. Her quiet breathing filled the room, and Nick closed the door behind him with care. ’Twas well past midnight, and he had no wish to wake Simone and answer questions about his absence.
He unbelted his sword and leaned it against the wall near the bed and eased out of his boots, all the while his eyes never leaving the form of the woman before him.
So beautiful,he thought,and yet in her trials she’s shown strength few men would possess.Nick’s eyes lingered on her soft lips, and he remembered the easy way she could be stirred to passion. His want for her grew to a bittersweet ache.
Would their tentative friendship grow into something more? Nick did not know, but he was curious to learn more of the true Simone du Roche FitzTodd, when she was no longer saddled by the sorrow of her family.
Simone’s eyelids fluttered open, and her gaze was soft and unfocused. “Nick? I—”
“Shh.” He crouched down at the bedside. “I did not mean to wake you. All is well, go back to your sleep.”
“Non.I have something to show you.” She rolled to her side and sat up, handing the parchment she’d be clutching out to him. There was a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “Look.”
12 December, 1069
Marseilles was wondrous, as expected. A fortnight of escape from this dreary existence at Saint du Lac. Simone thoroughly enjoyed herself, indulged as she was by Jehan. Young Didier’s first journey was a success and he proved quite content on horseback, slumbering nearly the whole of the way. Our friends took much delight in his good nature, and we were pressed by many to spend Christmas in Marseilles. But I returned for my children’s sakes. As it were, Armand had depleted his funds and arrived at Saint du Lac before us, and I do believe he has broken two of my fingers. I shall not be able to get away now until spring. O, frigid winter, how I wish for your speedy end!
Nick looked to Simone. “Your mother?”
“Yea.” She smiled and began gathering the scattered pages together. “There are stacks of them I’ve yet to read.” She paused in her tidying and looked up at him, her face radiant. “Is it not wonderful, Nick? I never knew my mother kept note of her thoughts and activities. ’Tis almost as if I have a small piece of her with me again.”
“I’m glad it pleases you.” Nick was more than a little troubled by the blasé manner in which Simone had accepted the horrific account of her mother’s injuries. He sat on the bed next to her. “But are you not troubled to read of her abuse at Armand’s hand?”
“It saddens me that he caused her pain, yea,” she replied, a curious frown on her face. “But ’twas common enough. My parents’ arguments were oft quite violent.” She shrugged. “Papa has a fierce temper when crossed, andMamanwas never one to take orders. Many times, when they rowed, I would ride the countryside for hours. Sometimes with Charles, sometimes alone.”
Nick frowned. Before, he could only imagine the turmoil of Simone’s childhood, but now, reading a firsthand account of the viciousness, Nick was truly sickened.
And he cared not at all to hear what a comfort Simone’s betrothed had been to her.
A look of concern crossed her lovely face, and she laid a hand on his arm. “Fear not for Portia, Nick. She meted out her own share of punishment. Verily, Papa is missing several whole teeth and his hearing is impaired on his right side.”
Nick cocked one eyebrow and could not help the snort of laughter that escaped him. “Is that how Armand came by the afflictions that plague him? The scar, his lameness?”
Simone’s nose wrinkled while she thought. “’Tis possible, but I think not. Papa was in a great battle before I was born. He’s been that way as long as I can recall.”
