“We shall see if I go or nay.”
After the door closed, Simone’s trembling increased. She stared at the pile of letters at her feet and wondered at her fate. Would Nicholas refuse her, send her away in favor of his Evelyn? If so, Simone did not know what would become of her or of the eternally young boy standing watch at the gates, stubbornly awaiting the lord’s return.
She knelt by the hearth with a shuddering sigh and stoked the coals, adding ragged tufts of dry peat until a small fire blazed. Moving to a cross-legged seat, she stretched her arm to the scattered pages and retrieved a handful, wrinkling them hopelessly, but uncaring. She unfolded the topmost sheaf and read it through before slipping it into the flames. The edges quickly retreated with a blackened curl, and in seconds, the missive was devoured in a tiny burst of flame. She reached for another letter. Then another. On and on, she methodically sifted through the buttery pages.
My dearest Nicholas…
How I miss your company…
Do you remember when we were children…
My dearest Nicholas…
My dearest Nicholas…
When dusk finally blurred the corners of the chamber, there were no more letters and the small leather chest was disintegrating in a shower of sparks. The tiny, silver heart-shaped key was all that remained, and Simone raised her fist to hurl it in after the chest.
But her fingers would not uncurl. She felt the key’s slight impression on her skin as if it were seared to her palm, each fine turn of metal clear in her mind.
The blaze in the hearth warmed Simone’s body and evaporated the tears on her cheeks, but it could not dispel the cold fear in her heart.
Chapter 16
Nicholas could not suppress the sense of relief that enveloped him as he and Tristan led the men over the hilly terrain toward Obny. Behind him lay Hartmoore and his beautiful—if a bit unusual—new bride; around him, as far as his eyes could see, stretched a prosperous barony. By the time he returned to his home, all would be set to rights with Handaar, Armand would be naught but a distasteful memory, and Minerva would have likely arrived. Perhaps with the old healer’s help, Simone could begin to make peace with her past as well.
Yea, this day signified a fresh start. He would show his underlords that he had ultimate control of his lands—they had naught to fear. Nick very much looked forward to reestablishing his connection with Handaar. He’d sorely missed the old warrior’s council and had to restrain the boyish excitement that tumbled in his stomach as they drew nearer to Obny. He had much news to share, and much to ask of Obny’s recent attack.
Beneath him, Majesty tossed his head and nickered softly, eliciting a chuckle from Nicholas. “Yea, boy—nearly there, now, are we not?”
Randall’s shout drew Nick’s attention from his mount. “Sire!” he cried, pointing to the rolling horizon.
The black tower of smoke boiling over the hills froze Nick’s blood. He reined Majesty to an abrupt halt, prompting his men to draw near. Together they watched in horrified silence as the smoky pillar thickened and billowed.
’Twas Tristan who broke the shocked stillness. “Perhaps they are burning fields.”
Nicholas shook his head, the movement little more than a twitch. “Nay.” He watched the dark, angry cloud, and dread descended on him as cold and heavy as wet peat. Tristan had never been to Obny—he could not know that they were but halfway to the hold. The smoke from burning fallow patches of land would have dissipated from sight at this distance.
“’Tis a building that burns,” Nicholas said, his voice jagged and catching in his throat. “A large building.”
He knew he need not further clarify his meaning. The other men were all well familiar with the border town and would know that the only dwelling of a size to produce such a large indication of disaster was the keep itself.
Obny was under attack.
Randall shifted in his saddle, his unease representative of all the men in the party. “Do we send a rider to Hartmoore for reinforcements?”
Nick heard his first man’s query but felt oddly mesmerized by the sight of the endless smoke. He was already too late to save Obny and he knew it. The burning of the keep would be the last action of any attackers.
The memory of each rumor doubting Nick’s competence as baron flashed through his mind, accusing him.
“What say you, Nick?” Tristan prompted.
Nick swallowed the hard lump in his throat. “There’s not time. We’ll need every man we have.”
He wheeled Majesty to face the men. “Circle wide and approach from the north. If any of the bastards remain, they’ll expect approach from the south or east. Kill as many as you can, but keep together—if their numbers are too great for us to battle, try to run them back toward the border.” Nick met each man’s gaze, ending with his brother’s, and was satisfied with the revenge-bright blaze in their eyes.
He turned Majesty once more. “Go!”
Nick’s lungs ached as Majesty picked his way among the lifeless bodies tossed carelessly around Obny’s burning shell. The sky above him was black with night and smoke, but his vision was regretfully unhampered. Flames still licked at the charred remains of the border town, casting the dead, the dying, in a maniacally gleeful glow.
