What would he have told Julianna up there if Elias hadn’t interrupted him? That he loved her? That he’d never stopped?
He wanted to thrill in her again…as he had that night when he was caught and thrown out of Berwick. He hadn’t cared about the beating. He would have gone back for her and been beaten ten more times if Cain had let him—if there had been anyone left alive to go back to. Hell, he understood what the Scots had taken from her, even more now that he knew about Phillip.
He walked back inside and went to the battlements to look out over the land and consider everything.
Julianna had changed, and his way of thinking of her was changing with her. He’d mentioned to her that she had grown up. The spark for life had faded from her eyes.
Phillip.
Nicholas clenched his jaw, hating all that DeAvoy had taken from her. God only knew how much of the Scots’ attack she had seen, if she’d seen her parents die, her friends. How long had it been before Torin found her and spirited her away from the massacre? It was just another reason to push her away. She would never see Torin as anything but a murderer. She wouldn’t care that he’d spared her life and then saved it when he’d gotten her the hell away from all the men.
Nicholas saw it a different way and knew he owed his brother much.
Torin didn’t matter in this, and neither did he. Julianna’s life had changed for the worse. She seemed to have paid the highest price for her father’s sins.
She’d told Nicholas that DeAvoy had made her his servant. How far had he gone? What did she mean when she’d said she had lived in his world? He’d never wanted her there. He’d wanted the best for her. And a man of means was not the best.Hewas. He’d always been the best for her. No one had loved her like he had. No one ever would. When he met her in St. Peter’s Abbey, he knew he could finally provide a place for her among his family. He hadn’t thought about what she’d recently gone through at the time.
His heart sank. He’d been a fool.
What was he to do about it now? She told him she loved him. He believed her in that moment. But now, doubts and misgivings crept back to the surface. Did she love him enough to stay? And was it already too late for him if she chose not to?
It didn’t matter. He was tired of running. He’d taught himself how to do it well. He ran from love. He ignored it. He saw it, recognized it, and kept on walking. Until he came home and saw his son in his small bed, sick from hiding under his bed on the cold floor, crying without any comfort every night. Nicholas knew he was falling in love with his son. There was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing he wanted to do.
It wasn’t his son’s love he didn’t trust.
Chapter Twelve
Nicholas stood infront of Julianna’s door several hours later. He had slept an hour or two, refreshed himself, then dressed in fresh dark breeches and shirt. He finished donning his military coat of dyed blue wool, with strips of red and gold sewn into the wool above his heart. He ran his palms down the long panels, over his empty belt.
Though Lismoor was his, the church allowed no weapons in the presence of the bishop. It was a ridiculous rule but one Nicholas obeyed for the sake of his friendship.
The door opened and Molly stepped out. When she saw Nicholas, she smiled.
What was so telling about him waiting at her the door? Any upstanding man would be right where he was standing! Would he let Julianna walk to the great hall and then step inside alone? Should he let her stand there for everyone’s inspection while her eyes found him and his table? No. Never.
Agnes came out next. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl who giggled often whenever she saw Rauf.
Margaret was next and Nicholas wondered how many of them were inside the chambers.
They were all dressed in their finest gowns with their hair up or braided. Were they going to try to sit at the table? They were servants. The bishop and the others would never approve. Not that Nicholas gave a damn. He simply didn’t like having even more people around.
Julianna stood in the doorway, holding his son by the hand, and whatever he was thinking withered and disappeared like frosty flakes in the sun. He’d seen her in gowns in the past but nothing like this. She was breathtaking and ethereal in a vivid green gown, snug around her upper half and flaring out into waves of lush, emerald folds. Her hair fell freely down her back and was tied loosely at her temples, with bright, rebellious ringlets springing around her face and shoulders.
She smiled when she saw him. “Ni…My lord. I was not expecting to see you.”
“No?” he asked with a dark, raised brow. “I will have to remedy your faith in my manners.”
Her smile widened and, for a moment, he thought she might leap into his arms. He readied himself if she did it. He was a little disappointed when she didn’t.
“Good eve, Elias.” He bent to his son and picked him up.
“Down!” the boy, dressed in new shorts and doublet, demanded. Nicholas looked at Margaret. She must have sewn the garments. When he caught her eye, he offered her a nod and a smile. She had done good work.
He slipped his gaze to Julianna again, forgetting to breathe. He wondered how he could be the one to whom God would present this beautiful woman. She was like a living flame, an all-consuming fire, lighting up the way so he could find everything he’d lost.
“You look…” he had to stop to catch his breath. “You look beautiful, my lady.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She did a little curtsey and then pointed at Margaret. “I owe Lismoor’s talented seamstress much. This gown was too big and now look at it!” She spun around. “’Tis glorious, is it not?”
