At His Command-Historical Romance Version (3 page)

Amice descended the stairs, having offered her larger chamber on the main level to Nicholas in deference to his status. A servant busily transferred her belongings to the smaller room she’d occupied as a child. As long as she had the small painting of her parents and brother near her bed, she was home.

The head table sat on the long side of the rectangular hall across from the windows. How unsettling to see Nicholas in the lord’s chair, as if he were lord of all he surveyed. Of her. But she couldn’t help admiring how the way he held himself conveyed confidence. How handsome he was, as Ginelle had said.

She sensed each man watching her as she took her place beside her guest. Sir Nicholas’s gaze fair burned her skin. A rush of uncertainty and nervousness kept her from meeting it. When was the last time a man had admired her appearance?

Servers carried in steaming platters, turning the men’s attention from her. Stewed mutton flavored with costly pepper, haddock in creamy sauce and huge slices of crusty bread were set before her. The first meal she’d eaten in days.

Food had never tasted so good. She studied Nicholas through lowered lashes as she ate. A man as handsome as he must have women clamoring to claim him. His black hair, longer than the favored close-cropped styles, fell in shining waves against his forehead and brushed the collar of his dark blue tunic. Unlike most men, he wore no hat.

A shiver went through her as she recalled Nicholas’s first look at her in the clearing, his intense gaze taking in every detail. With him and his men added to her staff and Harry locked away, she felt safe. But thoughts of the unknown disturbed her peace as she chewed on a chunk of soft, still-warm manchet bread. What could the king possibly want with her?

Time for some answers.

Chapter 2

“Sir Nicholas. I thank you for saving me from Harry and returning me to Castle Rising,” Amice said above the din of chatter and laughter. “I hope you won’t be called upon again to take on such a dangerous task on my behalf.”

“It was my duty,” Nicholas responded.

“Your duty? Why have you come here?” She met his gaze, ignoring eagerness to learn more about Sir Nicholas the man.

“You truly didn’t expect us? I sent a messenger ahead to alert you to our arrival.”

“I didn’t receive a message. Harry must have intercepted it. No wonder he was in such haste to wed.” A chill raced through her at the thought of what might have happened if he had succeeded. “I didn’t know you were on your way, much less the reason why. Tell me now.”

His expression yielded no clue. He glanced around the room at the keen faces, each straining to hear his answer. “I’d rather discuss this privately.”

Amice saw people she considered her family. Anything concerning her interested them, as their lives interested her. And as it wasn’t a common occurrence for a king’s man to visit, they too must be most curious as to his purpose.

Kind of Sir Nicholas to consider her feelings, but…. “I’ve waited long enough. I keep no secrets here.”

“As you will. Best get it out without delay, then.” He set down his eating knife. “King Henry and Queen Margaret have decided you should wed again. They’re seeking a husband for you.”

Whispers flew about the hall.

He continued, “I’m to ensure your safety until they send for you, and then escort you to court.”

The king and queen wanted her to marry. And they wanted to choose her husband.

Amice’s hands shook around her goblet. She hid them beneath the table and struggled for control by taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. Then another. Maybe now she’d be able to keep from bursting into tears.

Sir Nicholas was an intruder. This man didn’t deserve to know how his news affected her. He’d rescued her out of obligation. She didn’t owe him her secrets.

Why did her relatives have to be so important? Many widows had the power to choose their next husbands. Perhaps Henry would present her with several candidates, allowing her the final choice. Why, she’d be willing to pay for such a privilege.

She had to take matters into her own hands before it was too late.

“If there’s nothing else you need, I shall retire,” Amice said.

“Have you nothing to say? I’d hoped the news would please you.” His eyes, the shade of yarn her mother used to call the sky at twilight, revealed none of his thoughts. “Lady Amice, are you well?”

Mother.
If she and Father had lived, would Amice be so alone, in this unfortunate position?

What was it to Sir Nicholas who she wed? “Have you ever been married?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then you can’t know what it is to live with a spouse you didn’t choose. One husband picked for me was quite enough. But we’re all at the king’s command, aren’t we?” Tears threatened. She swallowed them back despite a suddenly dry throat and stood. She wouldn’t cry in front of him, let him think her weak. He’d rescued her once already today. She couldn’t bear another hint of concern or compassion. “Perhaps in the morning you’d care to survey the area.”

“I would. I’m sure your steward can show us what we need to see. We need not trouble you,” Nicholas replied.

Clearly he thought her a delicate flower of a lady, or one lacking intelligence. She couldn’t keep rancor from her voice. “I know these lands better than anyone, even Cyril.”

“Very well. We’ll leave after we break the fast.”

He had given, now she must. “Very well. Good night.”

As Amice climbed the stairs, dizziness assailed her. She swayed slightly, putting her hand to her head. Summoning strength, she made her way up the stairs by clinging to the stone wall, hoping no one had seen her waver. She was rarely ill. Days without food and long exposure to the cold combined with the impact of Nicholas’s news must have taken their toll.

She made it inside her door, then collapsed.

Someone screamed. Nicholas, on his way to his chamber, retraced his steps. Taking the stairs at a run, he collided with Ginelle as he burst into the hallway.

“More evil is at hand,” the maid wailed. “My lady is ill. What if Harry poisoned her food? I can’t open her door. I think she’s wedged against it.”

Pushing slowly and carefully, he opened the door, then picked up Amice and carried her to the canopied bed. Setting her gently on the soft mattress, he rested her head against the pillows. She was still as death, her skin pale.

He sucked in a breath. If anything happened to her, he’d fail his king. Fail himself. Surely that was why concern and worry warred within him, tiny spears and daggers lancing his gut.

He felt Amice’s forehead, recoiling as his hand met burning heat. “She has a fever.”

“What are we to do? She usually takes care of the sick.” Ginelle wrung her hands.

Nicholas had a rudimentary knowledge of tending battle wounds, but was at a loss about curing fevers. What had his mother done when people took ill? “Is there someone who knows what to do? If so, I’ll fetch him. You change her clothes and cover her with quilts.”

Ginelle, seeming calmer now that there was a plan, vague though it was, said, “We’ve no physician. Sometimes Maia, the cook, she’s got herbs for things.”

“Well, then, we’ll have to make do.” Nicholas had seen physicians at work and reasoned Amice might be better off without one. His sister, Margaret, almost died after a physician bled her in an effort to realign her humors. Her recovery had taken months.

By the time Nicholas returned with Maia, Amice was tucked beneath several quilts. She rolled to the side, exposing a red spot on her cheekbone.

The three looked at each other in horror, eyes wide.

“Red spots. She’s got plague!” Ginelle burst into tears. “We’re doomed. We’ll all catch it and die horrible deaths.”

Who could forget the outbreak in 1434 that had killed rich and poor alike? Almost everyone knew someone who had succumbed.

Maia approached the bed, leaning back as if she didn’t want to get too close. “Thank the Lord, I don’t think it’s that,” she said. “She must’ve scraped her face when she fell. I’ll mix a drink she must take every hour. Won’t work if she doesn’t. Maybe some cucumber with honey and oil too, that’s good for fever. Or some fennel…no, that would only be if she stays ill.” She turned to look at Nicholas. “Milord, there is nothing you can do here. We’ll wake you if need be.”

He wasn’t used to being told there wasn’t anything he could do. Still, he had no choice but to trust the cook. His insides twisted as he looked down at Amice’s unconscious form. The desire to protect her, help her, filled him. And not just because he had been ordered to, or because completion of his duty depended on her safety. Somehow, it was more than that. As if she was a valued friend. Someone important to him.

A peculiar way to feel, knowing her for such a short time. He hadn’t had strong protective feelings for anyone since his mother died. How could he care for someone he’d known less than a day? Perhaps it was only that he felt the need to protect her after what she’d endured at Harry’s hand. Yes, that must be it.

Nicholas went to his room,
her
room, but couldn’t sleep though the huge bed and soft linens proffered comfort. Too much had happened this day, several it seemed, all rolled into one.

He was in a castle he’d never heard of until two weeks ago, protecting a woman to whom all sorts of unusual things happened. And a beautiful, intelligent woman, too. He turned on his side, inhaling the same rose scent Amice had worn at dinner. The sweetness tantalized him. He pushed the sheets away, ignoring the cold night air.

He remembered how Amice had yelled in outrage at Harry. He laughed. She was a bit outspoken, but to the right man that would be a blessing. If only he were the right man for her.

Where had that thought come from?

Amice’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. She was in her old bed with the green velvet curtains drawn. Her head throbbed as if she’d spent too long in a crowded hall and queasiness gamboled in her stomach. She tried to sit up but fell back against the pillows, alarmed by her feebleness.

She remembered falling to the floor. ’Twas a fever, nothing more. With deep breaths, she forced herself to relax her tense shoulders. She’d not die young like her parents and brother. She’d never understand why God chose to kill so many in plagues and wars. Why He’d chosen to take her family. The only way she could think of them without the ache of loss making her weep was to believe they were in a better place.

I will not leave this earth without attaining my goals. I will have and love a family of my own and give them the home and childhood I was denied.
No one could hear her vow, but she felt better for having made it.

Ginelle poked her head through the curtains. “Thanks be to God. I thought I heard you moving about. Are you feeling better?”

Amice nodded. “A bit.”

Ginelle opened the curtains and handed Amice a wooden tray with bread and a bowl of broth. “Everyone will be happy to hear you’ve recovered. Maybe life can settle down again.”

“At least I won’t be forced to marry Edwin’s cousin, the slimy toad,” Amice said, pushing herself into a sitting position. Though at any time, she could be forced to leave her home.

“But soon you will marry, and someone of the king’s choosing. This one is sure to be handsome and kind.” Ginelle set the tray on Amice’s lap. “Mayhap like Sir Nicholas.”

What would it be like to wed a man like him, close to her age? As Ginelle had said, handsome and kind. The way he’d wrapped his cloak around her made her smile. The way he’d taken control of Harry made her feel safe.

“I’m happy enough on my own. I don’t want to marry unless I can choose my own husband. Would I could find a man to love…that would be ideal.” She sighed. “It’s my own fault. The sin of pride. I should’ve accepted cousin Cromwell’s assistance after my parents died. Because I refused his coin, my suitors were few.”

“Beauty isn’t always enough to snare a man, more’s the pity. You can’t blame yourself for doing what you thought was right,” Ginelle said.

Amice picked at the bread in her hand. “I suppose not. Most men want a bride who can add to their coffers and holdings. A truth I ignored.”

“All marriages aren’t as dreadful as yours.” Ginelle picked up the spoon and handed it to Amice.

“Even in an arranged marriage, there should be things a husband and wife can share. Simple things, like riding together, enjoying a meal.” Amice scooped up some broth and let the liquid trickle back into the wooden bowl.

“Every woman hopes for a good match. You’ll find one this time around, I’m sure. I’ll be back for the tray.”

Amice closed her eyes and rested against the pillows. Thoughts of the past had stolen her appetite.

Her marriage to Edwin had been as lifeless as a plant without water. As a girl she and her friends had dreamed of good marriages, of happy homes. What she’d gotten instead was an old man uninterested in anything but his money and lands.

Ginelle and other girls in the village often giggled and swooned over men, but Amice was convinced they made up stories for fun. Edwin had never praised her beauty. His kisses didn’t make her melt. They made her want to rinse out her mouth. Amice likened lovemaking to farming. Plow the field, sow the seeds and hope something grows.