His gaze grew harder on her but he made no move to strike her. After a moment, he laughed at her. “Look at you. Puny thing. What man would want cold bones in his bed?”
She smiled, looking as if she were remembering something. “Strong enough to bury you, Phillip.”
He stared at her, stunned to hear her confess such a thing.
“I could not heap the dirt upon you fast enough.”
“You will hang for it.”
“’Twill be worth it to know you woke up eating dirt, just like the worm you are!”
Phillip wanted to kick the door closed and show her, but she and her abbess had ways of killing men with just a touch. DeAvoy was careful not to touch her. “Remove your clothes, your adornments, everything. Do what I tell you and he lives. Disobey me, which I know you love doing, and he dies. You see what is happening here, love? I am taking control.”
“Aye, Phillip,” she agreed and did what he commanded.
He smiled. This wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
Chapter Eighteen
Nicholas sat upagainst a rock and looked toward Alnwick Moor. He didn’t go to Lismoor because he didn’t believe Julianna was still there. He prayed that Elias was with her but the longer he journeyed, the more he changed his prayer, the more his heart broke within him, stone by stone.
He’d regained some of his strength but traveling was taxing and took much out of him. At least his arm felt somewhat better. He could swing his sword or axe, though thankfully he hadn’t had to.
He was exhausted and they were cold and hungry, but they continued on. Margaret and Simon were still with him, though he had tried to leave them in three different inns. He’d tried to convince them that it wasn’t safe for them to travel with him but they wouldn’t hear of leaving him.
He was glad for the company. Margaret told him all about her life while he practiced fighting in whatever field they came across. Margaret wasn’t as close to Mattie as Agnes and Sarah had been, but she believed Mattie would have liked Julianna.
“I like her, too,” Margaret told him, trying to conceal the deep emotion she felt for Julianna. “She treats me kindly and with thoughtfulness. She made me a lady for a night.”
“Aye, I like her, too,” Simon chimed in.
Aye, Nicholas smiled with them. Julianna was easy to like.
“You will get her back,” Margaret assured him. And his son, as well.
They gave him hope. He was thankful they lived through the attack. He would make sure they lived through this journey, as well.
“Just a few more miles. They must be in Alnwick by now.” He used his last ounce of strength to get back on his horse. He sat up in the saddle, clutched his side, and then he didn’t see anything else.
Someone was touchinghim, fussing with him. His or her hands were gentle and busy on him. Even…shaving his face. He wanted to push them away. His hands didn’t move.
He opened his eyes the next day. He tried to sit up and found that his ribs felt better. He was in a bed, a small, straw bed to be exact, in what looked like a large prison cell. Margaret worked at a pot of something on a trivet in the center of the cell. Simon sat close by while another, older woman worked near her.
He lifted his hand to his face. He was clean-shaven. Where was he? Why did the place look as if it had been lived in? Who had taken care of him? He felt better and more rested than he had in days.
“Simon?” he called.
He turned, and so did the older woman. When Nicholas saw her he sat up, oblivious to pain. His eyes filled with tears instantly but he didn’t allow any of them to fall. Had he died? Was he dreaming?
“Mother,” he whispered, afraid to break whatever hold had come over him.
The woman looked at him—straight into his eyes. And then she smiled crookedly and went back to her work, leaving him shaken.
Defying how he felt, Nicholas swung his legs off the bed and stood up. It was her. His mother. Berengaria. Her hair was gray where it had once been dark brown. She wore it in a long braid coiled around the back of her head. Her skin was more weathered and her teeth were darker than they had once been. Her eyes were different, as well. Still gentle, kind sea-foam blue eyes that had once seemed to look into him now looked through him as if he weren’t there. How…? “What are you doing here?”
He should be angry. She deserved his anger for leaving them. For leaving them alone at twelve and nine years, to fight a world that stood against them. But he didn’t feel angry with her. He wasn’t sure what he felt.
“My lord.” Margaret touched her fingers to his arm. “This is your mother?”
