“I am concerned, Lady Genevieve,” Simone whispered, now that the truth was unleashed, unable to keep council with her own dark thoughts. “With Nicholas gone, who will protect you if Armand—”
“Do not think it, darling,” Genevieve said. They were nearly upon the dowager baroness’s rooms. “He cannot reach me at Hartmoore. Nicholas has left guards, and Armand is but one man. A madman, at that.”
Simone could not push the itching worry from her mind. “Nicholas will hate me when he finds out,” she whispered.
Genevieve gave her a tired smile and drew her into an abrupt embrace. “Nay. Nay, he will not. ’Twas I who should have told him.” Then Genevieve released her and pushed open the chamber door.
Simone followed the lady in, and so she saw the rush of movement too late to save the dowager baroness or herself.
The chamber door closed quietly on the empty corridor.
Nicholas could not mistake his first man’s white-blond hair catching the light or the bright colors of the king’s royal guard as the sea of riders rolled like a wave over the land toward him and Tristan. Randall had fulfilled his duty, and well.
Nick’s first man and a single guard pulled away from the mass of soldiers and gained the small rise with ease. Nick glanced eastward at their outfit and was darkly pleased to see no fewer than one hundred of William’s soldiers mingling with his own.
The officer spoke first. “How many of the vermin?” he asked, nodding toward the west.
Nick followed the man’s gaze; with daylight fully upon them, no telltale torchlight could be seen. The crest of the knoll appeared empty. “Mayhap three score.”
The general grinned a sly, slippery smile. “’Twill be a victory most swift, my lord—with his majesty’s battalion, we number over four hundred.”
“Indeed,” Nick concurred quietly, still looking toward the western horizon. “Good knight,” Nick said, swinging his horse abruptly to face the trio of me.
“Sire?”
“Take your men to Wheatley posthaste and arrest Lord Wallace Bartholomew under my accusation of treason. He and his men abandoned the battle when he knew full well it was imminent. Take him to William and tell the king this. I will follow after battle to give my testimony.”
“My lord?” the general asked. “You do not wish for us to stand and fight with you?”
“As you said, ’twill be a battle ill-matched, and I have a desire to beat Donegal with the men whose lands and people they defiled.” Then, for no reason he could lay name to, Nick turned to Tristan. “What say you, Brother?”
Tristan gave not an instant’s hesitation. “I agree.”
Nick felt his chest expand at his brother’s easy answer, but he was spared an awkward moment by the king’s man.
“As you wish, Lord Nicholas. Good battle, my lords. Godspeed.” After a seated bow, the man turned on his horse and rode toward the army behind them.
Randall said, “Sire, shall I make ready the men?”
“Yea,” Nick replied. “Once the king’s soldiers depart, close ranks along the ridge. I want the bastards to see the hell they have called down upon them before we attack.”
Randall left to do his lord’s bidding, and Nick turned to his brother. “My thanks, Tristan, for supporting me before the king’s man.”
“I’ve always supported you, Nick,” Tristan replied easily. “Mayhap I’ve not always agreed with your choices…” He let the statement dangle in the breeze and dismounted to begin checking his horse’s tack.
Nick snorted and then he, too, dismounted, mirroring Tristan’s actions. “You constantly refute my judgment, question my abilities.”
“I’ve never questioned your abilities. Only your reasoning.”
“You went so far as to coerce William into seeing me wed,” Nick said, ignoring Tristan’s protest.
His brother looked across both horses’ saddles. “You regret making Lady Simone your wife?”
Nick met his gaze. “Nay.”
Tristan sent him a cocky grin.
“But ’tis no matter—you behave as if I cannot tell wrong from right.” Nick jerked Majesty’s bellystrap tighter.
