At His Command-Historical Romance Version (11 page)

“You may stay with me, for now. I’ll send for a pallet.”

Robert’s face lit up. “I’m much too old to stay with Ginelle and Lady Amice, or other boys. I want to learn to be a knight, just like you.”

Belinda chose that moment to saunter in. “Hello, young sir. Goodnight, Nicholas. I adored visiting with you. And look forward to our next meeting.”

She kissed him on the lips and trailed her hand down his body before Nicholas could stop her. She walked out, hips swaying seductively.

Robert’s mouth dropped open. The boy focused on a crack in the stone floor.

Nicholas resisted the urge to wipe his face on his sleeve. He leaned his forehead against the arched wooden door as he locked it, which he’d always do from now on.

He knew he didn’t have to explain anything to Robert, but wanted to. What did a boy of his age know of such things? Would he tell Amice what he’d seen? She wasn’t calculating enough to have sent Robert as a spy.

“Robert, I didn’t invite that woman here. She let herself in after the meal, and waited for me. I was sending her away when you arrived.”

Had he restored Robert’s trust?

Robert smiled. “I’m already learning from you. A good lesson, my lord. Send all uninvited women away posthaste.”

Nicholas sighed with relief. One cannonball dodged. Who knew how many more would be fired at him?

Chapter 6

Amice felt as though she were hauling a heavy cart up a steep hill. She couldn’t let go, but holding on strained her endurance more each day as she waited for word of her groom. She’d asked for details, but none were given. To leave her less time to protest? Each day she learned more of the routine of court, listened to countless conversations about people she’d met and some she hadn’t, walked in the gardens and flew hawks with the women. There was naught else for her to do but attend Margaret. No accounts to manage, no stores to order, no one seeking her guidance, no decisions to make beyond what to wear. She had asked for, but not been granted, a private audience with Margaret in a last, desperate hope to persuade the queen to her cause.

As predicted, though they were often in the same room, Amice and Nicholas hadn’t had the opportunity to speak privately. She knew he trained, hunted and was often closeted with the king and his advisors, but she wanted to talk to him. Be near him. Know his thoughts.

She wanted to scream.

Despite spending hours with the pen dangling from her fingers, hoping for inspiration, even writing was no longer a source of accomplishment or pleasure. Perhaps she’d left her muse at Castle Rising.

Though surrounded by throngs of people, loneliness pinched like a gown tied too tightly. Her thoughts often strayed to Nicholas, who’d seemed to settle in with ease. Had their time at Castle Rising meant anything to him, or was it a mere diversion until he could return to court, where he truly belonged and preferred to be?

Late that night, a boisterous storm kept her awake. Each clap of thunder made her jump and condensed her quarters into a tiny, suffocating box. She had to escape the constraining walls, even for a few moments. She doubted that women often wandered the halls alone at night, but she didn’t care.

As lightning flashed and thunder cracked, she wrapped a cloak around her. She made her way to the great hall, completely deserted at this hour. No servants made their beds on pallets, as they did in many castles. The spacious solitude calmed her, contrasting with the storm. Her peaceful side and rebellious nature warred with each other. She smiled at the comparison, the first smile she hadn’t had to force since her arrival.

Pulling a bench away from the wall, she sat, listening to rain splash against the windows and thunder roll across the sky. The roiling weather echoed the turmoil of her emotions.

Soft footsteps disturbed her thoughts.
Can I never be alone?
As she turned, a burst of lightning revealed a man. She gasped, thinking she’d seen Nicholas gazing out the far window.

How her imagination could play tricks on her.

The hall glowed with another series of lightning flashes as rain beat ever harder.

Nicholas
was
there, his face illuminated by brief brightness. He mustn’t have seen her in the shadows. His long, dark hair was loose, his expression hard. White light reflected harshly on the planes of his face, making him appear a wild warrior. What troubled him so?

As if he could feel her gaze on him, he looked up slowly, staring through the darkness. She felt his stare as though it was a tangible thing.

Her heart lightened. A few moments with him, stolen though they were, would make her feel better.

“Who’s there?” Nicholas’s voice sounded hollow to him in the empty hall, and was almost drowned out by a thunderclap.

Another flash revealed Amice. He hid his surprise, wondering if his thoughts had conjured her. He sat beside her on the bench as the thunder rolled.

“Well met, at this hour. What brings you out, and alone?”

“The storm, of course. I couldn’t sleep.” She drew her cloak tighter about her.

Her nearness tugged at him, drawing him nearer on the bench. He’d missed her company, missed her smile. Quelling a strong urge to take her in his arms, to feel her against him, he chose a safer course. “How do you find court?”

“It seems worlds away from Castle Rising. I have little to do, and miss my responsibilities. I haven’t even seen my cousin Cromwell, who’s off on some task for the king. Each day seems endless with waiting. The suspense…. I fear each page hurrying by is the one carrying the message that the chosen man has arrived. I wish I’d never come. I wish I could go home. There, are you satisfied?”

The bitterness in her voice shocked him. He’d thought her resigned to her fate, an honorable marriage to please both king and queen. Believing in her acceptance was the only thing that had made the past two weeks tolerable.

He started to speak, but his words were lost in a crash of thunder. Waiting until the noise quieted to a low rumble, he tried again. “The weather must be adding to your misery. When the sun shines, you’ll feel better.”

She shook her head, sending her curls flying, brushing his shirtsleeve. “No. I won’t.” After a long moment, she said, “Thank you. Are you happy to be back with the king?”

“’Tis my duty.”

“That’s not an answer.” Her eyes shone an eerie golden green, like a cat’s, in the short bursts of light. She sat quietly, perusing his face as lightning flickered, as if memorizing every inch.

He recalled their departure from Castle Rising, the stirring kiss they’d shared. His loins tightened. Of its own volition, his head moved toward hers, to build on that moment and make it new. She didn’t move, but accepted his mouth on hers as if she’d been waiting for it. Waves of warmth crashed with the thunder, driving the dampness of the night from him.

Only their lips touched, then their tongues. They explored each other’s mouths with deep, thirsting kisses.

Amice savored the taste of him, the pressure of his lips on hers. Sliding closer, until their chests met, they kissed in the flare of the storm. Delicious warmth centered on her chest, where he pressed against her.

How long she’d waited for this.

Her cloak slipped off her shoulders as he slid his arms around her. His muscles bunched as he pulled her closer. Only the thin gown separated them now. His tongue sought hers as his hands caressed her back. Warmth, desire, everywhere. She wanted more.

Having him so near was torture. A teasing, wonderful glimpse of what could never be.

“This will get us nowhere. I am not for you.” It took all of her willpower to push free of his embrace. She ran from the hall and back to her chamber, where tears burst forth with all the force of the storm.

She’d experienced the freedom of the hall only to return to her cage. Just as she had barely begun to enjoy Nicholas, only to be returned to the prospect of an unknown groom.

The only thing that brought Amice pleasure was the queen’s library. She’d never seen such a vast collection of books, available to anyone able to read.

Reverently she opened each volume to reveal treasures concealed by the decorated bindings. There were elaborately illuminated romances, various histories. As expected, she found a worn copy of
Roman de la Rose,
the long poem of courtly love written nearly two hundred years ago.

Two volumes that surprised her were written by Margaret’s father, René, king of Anjou. Then she came across a book that brought tears of delight to her eyes. Queen Margaret had a copy of
La Livre de la Cité des Dames, The Book of the City of Ladies
,
the very book she’d been yearning to read for years. She read the cherished tome as slowly as possible, in small sections, to savor every word.

Oh, to be able to write like Christine de Pizan. Most women didn’t talk of things Christine wrote about, leading Amice to believe she alone in had unusual ideas. But here they were, preserved on the pages. Women should be educated, could contribute beyond wifely duties. Christine wrote to avenge wrongs done to women throughout history.

The rustle of skirts interrupted her concentration. She almost dropped the precious book when she realized Queen Margaret stood before her.

Amice jumped to her feet, clutching
The Book of the City of Ladies
to her chest. She curtseyed. “Your Grace.”

“Are you fond of that book?” Margaret inquired in a tone requiring no answer. “My grandparents were among Christine de Pizan’s patrons. They gave it to me.”

Amice was pleased to find a subject she could discuss with her queen, one not as delicate or painful as her upcoming marriage. “Yes, Your Grace, I’ve longed to read this. She writes so cleverly and wisely.”

“I am particularly fond of her discussion of the queens and princesses of France.” She perused the shelves, her velvet-clad back to Amice. “I couldn’t sleep, and thought to find a book myself.”

“The volumes your father wrote are quite impressive,” Amice added. She desperately wanted the queen to accept her. Perhaps like her, even.

Margaret turned and smiled, the first time Amice had seen her do so. “Chivalry is his passion. He helped illustrate the tournament book.” Holding a volume of statutes under her arm, she studied Amice with a thoughtful expression. “Do you write as well as read?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Amice answered. “And I keep the tallies at Castle Rising.” Letting go of the reins and leaving her steward in charge had been a challenge.

“When this marriage issue is resolved, come to me. I can always use another scribe.”

Amice dropped into a deep curtsy. She hadn’t expected such an honor, especially after she’d alienated the queen by trying to avoid her arranged marriage. She wished her parents were still alive, to be proud of her and share her accomplishments.

After Margaret left, thoughts of the beautiful queen prevented Amice from reading. Amice knew Queen Margaret was highly intelligent and poised for power. But none of the terrible things Amice had heard about her seemed to be true, such as that she favored France over her new home, England.

How did Margaret handle the pressure of being queen, when Amice was nearing her breaking point over the choice of a husband? Did the queen, who could command hundreds, have what she really wanted?

Amice doubted she herself ever would.

Seated with the king and a small group of advisors, Nicholas frowned as he watched Belinda and Amice talking on the other side of the Painted Chamber, a hall replete with biblical paintings covering the walls and ceiling. A group of men blocked his view, making him shift in his chair.

Being alone with Amice last night still haunted him. He’d remained in the hall, eyes closed, breathing slowly to still the pounding of his heart. To calm surging desire. If she hadn’t had the strength to leave, what would they have done? There, in the hall, where anyone could enter? Again having her in his arms made him forget his duties, his honor. He remained weak where she was concerned, despite many prayers for strength and more on her behalf every morning and every evening.

The king had pledged her to another. Thank goodness temptation would soon be removed.

He tried to convince himself he meant it.

She and Belinda slowly walked out of the room, heads bent close. He barely resisted the urge to jump to his feet.

What was Belinda up to? What if Amice confided in her? He signaled for Robert, seated on a fat velvet pillow, plucking ineffectively at a lute. Nicholas thought of sending for vellum to write a note, then thought better of it.

“Never mind, Robert, I’ll go. Come for me if the king needs me.”

He knew Robert returned to what he called his instrument of torture with great reluctance. Nicholas had assured him a true knight was well-versed in many areas, including music. So play he would.

Nicholas found the two women—one who wanted him, one he wanted—seated on a stone bench beneath a vine-encrusted trellis. Belinda wore blue brocade, while Amice wore a deep green gown that accentuated her eyes. He vowed to commit each moment with her to memory, in case it would be his last. The row of pearls trimming her neckline reflected late afternoon sun. A cream undergown peeked above the neckline. A mesh headdress with a short transparent veil that floated in the gentle breeze hid her hair.