“You smell pleasant to me.”
She looked down and blushed. “’Tis my hair. Sadly, I have no—” She stopped on a shallow breath as he bent even closer and dipped his nose to the hair falling around her neck. She heard him inhale and a warm trickle traveled down to her belly, her navel, and then below it. Her body grew taut and ached for a touch—just for a touch from him. It almost frightened her how badly she wanted him. Affection and making love did not go together in her marriage to Phillip. She had no idea what to expect or even if Nicholas wanted her. But she knew it would be different with him. She knew he would make it special and everything it should be.
He straightened, shattering her thoughts and the desire to move closer into him until their bodies touched. She felt needful and lonely for him. She’d felt it so long.
“I will only be a few moments,” she assured with a soft smile. She knew it was best to be away from him for a little while, else she ran the risk of making a fool out of herself.
“I will stay by Elias’ door in case he cries.”
Relief and joy coursed through her. Not because she had someone to listen for the babe, but because it seemed Nicholas wanted to spend more time with her. “Thank you, my lord.”
She walked calmly to her room, though she would have liked to hurry. She wouldn’t appear too eager to him. She did grin as she entered her room though. He didn’t hate her. No. There was too much between them for that.
Of course there was still Phillip. She had to tell Nicholas, but she was afraid that whatever trust and fondness she had won in him so far would be gone the instant he learned who she had married. Her happiness faded when she remembered the things Phillip had done to him, the way Phillip had belittled him. Everyone knew what kind of man Phillip DeAvoy would become. But what did it say about the woman who married him?
She groaned kicking off her boots and padded to the hearth to add wood to the dying flames. She fell into her chair close by and watched the fire grow.
What would he think of her? What had she thought of herself for years? She loved William, but she sent him away and married Phillip. Nicholas would never forgive her. She didn’t blame him.
But she had done what she’d done to survive. She’d thought living among the savage Scots who killed almost everyone in Berwick would be worse than living with Phillip, but after a month of marriage, she wasn’t so sure. After being here, among the Scots for a day, it made her realize how wrong she had been. It wasn’t the men here who changed her mind, but the women. Aside from Captain Wallace, the men, though long-haired and wild looking, were respectful and thoughtful. The women here didn’t need men guarding them. They walked around the castle smiling and flirting and happy with the men here—proving that she’d made the most grievous error of her life by marrying Phillip.
She didn’t want to go back into the hall to see Nicholas. The more she spoke to him, the closer she would have to get to telling him.
Oh, how had she gone from joyful outside her door to woeful inside? Phillip was dead and still making her life miserable. No! No more! She sprang from her chair and hurried around her chamber peeling off her léine and putting on another. She’d had her things laundered at the inn while she waited two days for the carriage to Rothbury.
She wished she had a pretty gown to wear. She wore hose and a léine because she had to in her line of work. She was not opposed to wearing womanly garb. She liked how some gowns fit her body and made her feel. She missed her gowns. She hadn’t owned any in a year. Perhaps there were some here, left by Miss d’Argentan. She would ask Margaret, the seamstress, or Ann, the laundress.
For now, she was content with what she had.
She washed her feet at her basin then donned woolen socks and pulled her boots back on. She left her hair loose and put on her belt, not forgetting, this time, her knives.
By the time she left her room, Nicholas was gone and in his place was a young man of about sixteen years. He wore dark breeches, boots, and a long-sleeved léine beneath a voluminous Highland plaid.
“Where is Ni…the earl?” she asked him.
He had large, dark green, fathomless eyes that had likely already seen war, judging by the three scars on his face. The longest went from just above his right ear, which she could see, thanks to his shorn head, to under his right eye and to the top of his lip. One smaller scar laced beneath his bottom lip, and another across his left temple.
“He said you are to meet him in the chapel.” He pointed in the direction she should go. “Two rights, a left, then one more right. You will see the door. I will listen for the babe and if I hear him, I will come to the chapel to get you.”
She smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”
He smiled back.
She was about to go, but stopped and turned to him. “I’m Julianna.”
“Simon, my lady.”
“Are you one of the earl’s soldiers, Simon?” He couldn’t be. Surely he was too young. There also wasn’t much to him. He had no muscle, or even meat on him that she could see. Was Nicholas letting this poor child fight in their king’s wars?
“No,” he answered, “I was a slave to the Earl of Hampton in Norham. The Earl of Rothbury rescued me.”
A slave? He was a slave? She closed her eyes. It hadn’t been a war. It hadn’t been the Scots. She knew the Earl of Hampton. His daughter, Rohesia, had been one of Julianna’s friends. She’d stopped correspondence though when Julianna lost her title and wealth. She almost—wait. Nicholas had been in Norham? It wasn’t far from Berwick.
“What was he doing in Norham?” she asked.
Simon went a little pale and he cleared his throat. “Who?”
She eyed him carefully. He realized he’d said too much. “The Earl of Rothbury. Was he visiting Berwick?”
