“But it is not what I need right now. My heart is involved. Things like him supporting what his brother did chip away at me.” She had told them about Captain Gray, the spy who helped take down Berwick, being Nicholas’ brother. “Nicholas behaves like I owe the murdering invader something for not killing me.”
“Well, you do,” Mr. Lawson claimed, either fearlessly or foolishly. Julianna hadn’t decided yet. “Men of war have a mission from the king—take this area or that. Leave survivors or not. Usually, these men never disobey. If they are soldiers and they disobey their orders, they will be hanged, or worse.”
Julianna scowled at him. “You think I should care about things like that?”
“I think you should consider the alternative for him, while keeping in mind that he would likely ask the same question when doing his duty to his king. Should he keep in mind those he has come to fight? Their families? He could never be a soldier if he did. And even so, remember that he did, in fact, consider his enemy’s daughter and saved you. Also, he saved his brother from DeAvoy’s dagger, aye?”
Julianna didn’t want to see his point. She liked Mr. Lawson. They were friends. Why couldn’t he be her beloved’s brother? She sighed. She didn’t want to hate Nicholas’ brother. “Let us speak of other things.” She turned to the viscount. “Do you know that one of your servants is in love with you?”
She was free to mention it since Lizbeth had asked her to.
The viscount’s smile turned playful. “Am I to guess who?” He thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “It could be any one or all of them! How am I to guess?”
“My goodness,” Julianna remarked, staring at him. “You are vain, indeed.”
His smile widened and he moved his knuckles down his sides and looked at her as if to ask if she blamed him.
She laughed and he joined her.
“May I join in on yer merriment before I weep of boredom?”
Julianna looked up at Torin MacPherson and then at her twofriendswhen they excused themselves and left! She would kill them later.
“Has all been well with ye, my lady?”
“Did your brother not tell you I was married to Phillip?”
He smelled like pine and leather. “We spoke of if briefly.”
She wanted to tell him that marriage to Phillip was hell on earth, but he would ask more questions and they needed to repair their relationship—for Nicholas’ sake.
“You disguised your voice at Berwick,” she said to him instead.
“Aye. Everyone had to believe I was English.”
She looked away because everyone had believed it.
“Fergive me, lass.”
She was about to speak when a messenger arrived with a missive for the viscount from EdwardII, King of England.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nicholas had beentaken to the private bath, rarely used since Lord Bamburgh was rarely here. He was bathed by two elderly women and then left alone to soak. While the oil-scented water soothed his tired muscles, he did nothing but relax and think about Julianna. She was worth the wait. He was glad that he knew he loved her. He wasn’t walking around pretending there was nothing between them.
If anyone had a problem with them, they needn’t go far to settle it. He was right here.
He still didn’t feel at ease with letting go of his fears of loving her. Part of him still wanted to take off and run. But where could he go that she wouldn’t haunt him?
He left his bath and dressed himself, sending the viscount’s servants away. Bamburgh offered to give him a change of clothes, but Nicholas was too big to fit into anything. He dressed in his own black doublet and boots, and a fresh pair of hose from one of Bamburgh’s men that fit him well. He combed his unruly hair back with a pearly-looking comb.
There came a knock at the door. Nicholas called for them to come in.
Berengaria hurried inside and began cleaning up after him. “Mother, stop. I can do this myself.”
But she kept going.
He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her. His mood was too good to ruin by trying to talk to her. He wanted her back but this wasn’t her. She looked up from her work twice and smiled at him. He thought of all the times when he needed her and she was there. And all the times she wasn’t. He’d been so angry. It was when his most defeating anger was born, when he locked away memories of her, along with parts of himself he never thought to see again.
