When they stepped out, he found Margaret. “I do not want her cleaning. She is not a servant. I would tell Rauf the same thing but he will be with me and the rest of our men when we go to Lismoor tomorrow. Watch over her, will you, Margaret? You and Julianna?”
“Of course, my lord. I will see to your wishes.” She smiled and took Berengaria from his hands.
He went to Margaret, took her face in his hands, kissed her on the forehead, and then left.
He made his way to Julianna’s chamber door. He knocked, eager to see her, to be with her, tell her everything he wanted to tell her. But no answer came.
He put his knuckles to the door again but heard the sound of someone entering the castle and walking briskly to the great hall.
Nicholas was drawn to the silence that followed, like the calm before the storm. He moved toward the doors of the great hall, his heart thrashing in his chest. What was it? What was this sense of doom and disaster rolling in on him like a frigid mist from the North Sea?
The quiet echoed like drums through his body. He heard a man’s voice—Bamburgh—“In closing, I hereby order that Phillip DeAvoy be released and not hampered in his duty to me.”
What? What was he saying? Then Nicholas realized that Bamburgh was reading. A letter had arrived.
The storm came soon enough.
He pushed open the doors and saw Julianna standing next to the viscount. Torin was close by looking forlorn. The men had been drinking but presently they stared at Julianna as Bamburgh read from a missive in his hands.
When she saw him, she ran into his arms and held him tight. “I will not let you go!”
“Nor will I, my love, but what—”
“A letter from the king!” she cried. “He wants Phillip released and he wants me to be handed over to him as his rightful wife.”
They would have to kill him first, Nicholas thought. He would never allow her to be put in such danger! Killing Phillip wasn’t out of the question. He’d prefer not to, for his mother’s sake. But he’d kill him in an instant if he had to.
He found his mother in the great hall now with Margaret.
“I do not care what the king orders,” Julianna told Nicholas and Bamburgh. “We will go to the Highlands, will we not, Nicholas?”
“Aye, love, to the Highlands and to hell with kings and nobles.” They would have to leave soon. Lismoor would have to stay in the hands of the English a little while longer—until he could come back with Cain. Now, he had to get to Carlisle without the king finding out where he was, for he would be an outlaw in England and an outcast in the church.
“There must be something we can do,” Bamburgh said. “We cannot let you both be fugitives. The church will not marry you.”
Julianna sniffed and replied but Nicholas didn’t hear. He watched her, ready to kill for her, die for her. He listened to her telling Bamburgh that they would live in the Highlands after they went back to Carlisle for Elias.
God help him, Nicholas thought, the stunned disbelief that anyone could be so lovely was as strong and as stirring as it had been when he was a boy. If he didn’t pour out his heart to her soon, he’d go mad. He’d held back his whole life, never able or allowed to tell her how much he loved her.
They drank to Edlingham and to Mr. Lawson—who was nowhere to be found—and his men but Nicholas could think of nothing but being with Julianna alone.
“Bamburgh, everyone,” he called out, “if you will excuse us, I need to—”
All eyes turned to Mr. Lawson entering the great hall. He stepped up to the table and set a bloody dagger down on it, capturing Nicholas’ attention. “Miss Feathers,” he said, turning to her, “ye are no longer bound to Phillip DeAvoy. Death has parted ye.”
Nicholas opened his mouth to speak but what could he say? Thank you? He wasn’t sure how Julianna felt about it. He couldn’t tell from her stilled expression if she was grateful or angry. He looked toward his mother, sitting at another table with Margaret, sipping from her cup. Did she understand what Lawson had done? She seemed oblivious.
He set his gaze on Julianna. She was free! With one eight-inch blade, a mercenary saved them from so much. But he’d killed Berengaria’s son. They could never tell her—if she ever woke up long enough to ask for him.
“Julianna.” He reached out for her hand. “Do you understand? Phillip is dead.”
She strained to breathe, but then it became easier. “Aye. I understand.” She eyed the dagger for a moment. “Are you certain he is dead? Phillip has a way of—”
“I’m certain,” Lawson answered with a nod. “A slit neck usually kills you.”
She didn’t flinch or scowl though her smile was a bit forced. “Was he coming after you, Mr. Lawson, about to attack you perhaps and that is why you had to kill him?”
“Aye, that is why,” the dangerous-looking mercenary agreed as if he were speaking to a beloved daughter. “He will no longer be a threat to you, lass. Now go on and live your life with your beloved.”
