Her reply was cut off by a commotion across the bailey, beyond the raised portcullis, and Simone prayed Didier was not the cause.
“What now?” Nick muttered as a guard crossed the dusty expanse toward the group.
“My lord,” the young man called. “A visitor at the gates for Lady Simone.”
“For me?” Simone asked, her surprise evident in her voice. “Who?”
The guard had reached them and waited for Nick’s slight nod before continuing. “’Tis your father, my lady.”
Nick could not suppress the curse that issued from his mouth. He threw his gauntlets to the dirt even as Simone turned to him, a childlike brightness lighting her green eyes. The bastard.
“My father? Nick, did you call for him?”
Nick snorted. “Nay.” To himself, Nick surmised the miser was looking to wring more coin from him. But still, he was rather surprised that Armand had tracked them all the way from London when he was to return to France soon. His arrival at Hartmoore could only spell trouble. Even now, muffled snatches of the man’s blustery argument for admission reached them.
Nick turned to the guard. “Deny him.”
“Aye, my lord.” The young soldier began to walk away.
Simone gasped, and Nick looked at her, impatient to be done once and for all with Armand du Roche and be about his duty to Obny. Nick did not trust the man and was yet unconvinced he’d not had a hand in his wife’s and son’s deaths.
“I am sorry if this displeases you, Simone,” Nick offered, “but your sire has not endeared himself to me. He’s gotten all the spoils that he would, and I’ll not have him in my home.”
Simone only blanched, but Genevieve was more forthright in voicing her displeasure.
“Nicholas, how dreadful,” she exclaimed. “Surely you did not expect Simone’s father to leave England without saying farewell—he may never see her again.”
“Actually, Mother, I expected exactly that.” He looked to Simone and was not surprised to see her staring toward the barbican. His wife so wanted the love of her father, and yet Armand threw his daughter’s affection in her face time and again. Even after his gross mistreatment, Simone still held out hope that Armand would soften toward her.
Tristan drew near Nick. “Brother,” he began, but one more glance at Simone’s sad face had Nick cursing once more, cutting short Tristan’s lecture before it could begin. He would not allow his brother to chastise him in his own bailey.
“Thomas!” Nick called to the retreating guard. The man paused, turned. “Give Lord du Roche entry.”
Simone smiled at him and then craned her neck to search the barbican for signs of her emerging father. Nick swore he could almost hear her hopeful thoughts—that her father had come to Hartmoore because he missed her, because he loved her. Nicholas would not allow Armand to crush Simone again. Although wary of du Roche, Nick did not worry for his wife’s safety at Hartmoore.
“Wife,” Nick called, drawing Simone’s reluctant attention. Her eyes shone.
“Yea, my lord?”
“You know full well that I have no desire for Lord du Roche’s presence at Hartmoore while I am absent, but I cannot delay my errand. Have your visit, say your farewells, and heed my command that he be gone by morn.”
Simone nodded. “Of course, my lord. As you wish.”
Nick saw the man riding into the bailey, and his stomach churned. “And he’s not to receive any gifts while here. From anyone. I know not why he’s come, but knowing Armand du Roche as I do, it can only be for some gain.”
Genevieve turned startled eyes to Nicholas. “Who?”
Simone replied for him, a sweet smile on her lips. “Armand is my father, Lady Genevieve. I thought he would leave for France from London, but…” She gave a happy shrug.
Genevieve’s face paled. “Armand du Roche is your father.”
Simone turned to Nicholas, her eyes showing a growing concern.
“Mother, what is it?” He grasped Genevieve’s elbow. “You’re making Simone quite uncomfortable. I told you Lord du Roche is Simone’s father.”
“Nay. Nay, you”—Genevieve’s eyes flicked from Nick to Simone, Haith, and then finally Tristan—“you did not give his Christian name.”
“Lady Genevieve, are you unwell?” Simone asked tentatively, stepping closer to Nick’s mother.
