The Rogue. Ana Seymour

leaned over to the girl again. “But I’m not as bad as all that,” he told her with a grin.

      Winifred made no reply and continued staring at her soup.

      The meal seemed to last forever.

      His anger did not boil over until the moment when the baron and Winifred were leaving. Winifred had already offered thanks to Constance and had touched Nicholas’s hand with fingers that were not any warmer than when she had first arrived, in spite of the built-up fire and the hot food. She then descended into the yard to allow her manservant to help her into the small covered cart in which she had traveled. It was hard to picture fragile Winifred mounted on a horse, Nicholas realized.

      A stableboy brought up the baron’s horse, but Hawse lingered a moment to speak with Nicholas. “I’ve made you a fair proposition, boy. One that any knight in the land would jump at in a frog’s croak, hey? I know you’ve just returned and are still getting your land legs, but if you let this thing go on much longer without an answer, I’ll have to start considering it an insult.” His eyes narrowed. “And I’ll warn you, I don’t suffer insults lightly.”

      Nicholas had had enough of listening to Baron Hawse stand in the Hendry family home and tell Nicholas what he had to do. “If ’tis to be settled at once, Baron,” he said, “then I’ll have to turn you down. You are correct. Any daughter of yours must surely be considered a prize, but I’m not ready to take a wife. Nor am I sure that Winifred is entirely in favor of the proposition.”

      The veins on the baron’s face seemed to bulge. “Winifred will favor what I tell her to favor. And you’d be wise to do the same. Otherwise, you’ll be left with nothing.”

      Nicholas said calmly, “I’ll take your advice under consideration. For the time being, I’ll continue to enjoy my single state.”

      “Your father was right,” the baron spat. “He’d have been better off to have bred no son at all.” He whirled around, let his manservant boost him up on his horse, and rode off at a gallop, leaving his daughter’s cart in the dust behind him.

      His parting words seemed to hang in the cold evening air. They could have been merely the product of the baron’s venom, but in his heart he knew that his father had probably uttered that exact sentiment.

      Winifred’s cart lurched and headed off down the road after her father. For a long time after the dust from their departure had settled, Nicholas stood without moving in the chilly stableyard, staring at the black night sky.

      Chapter Five

      Constance pulled her cloak more tightly around her against the raw spring wind and made her way across the stableyard. Nicholas had left the house before dawn and had not returned all day. It was past the dinner hour. A furrow of worry creasing her smooth forehead, she looked off to the darkening western sky.

      Her concern was no less than it had been when Nicholas had been a boy and had disappeared regularly to seek out friends and activity in the village. It had been one more stone to the constant weight she bore over the fact that she’d not been able to provide him with brothers and sisters for companionship and support.

      She peered into the dark stable. The light of a single lantern filtered from somewhere in the back. “Nicholas?” she called.

      “Aye. I’m back here.”

      Picking carefully through the straw, she walked between the stalls toward the light. Nicholas was seated on a bench, his armor spread around him. He was rubbing some kind of cream into a breastplate that gleamed in spite of the dimness. “I’d grown concerned,” she said without chiding. “You’ve not eaten this day.”

      Nicholas looked up. “Forgive me, mother. I’m not hungry.”

      “’Tis past sundown.”

      “I’d lost track of the time.”

      His black eyes were uncharacteristically dull. “You’re not ill?” she asked.

      “Nay.” He looked down at the metal in his hands and continued polishing.

      “Then what’s amiss?”

      He looked up again. This time there was a spark of anger. “I’ve traveled to the ends of the world and back all by myself, Mother. I’ve no need of a nursemaid.”

      Constance gave her foot a little stamp of frustration. “I’m not your nursemaid, I’m your mother. And that I’ll be until you travel to your grave and beyond. Whether it pleases you or not.”

      Nicholas gave a reluctant smile. “Forgive me, Mother. In truth, I know not what ails me. I only know that nothing is as it should be any more. I’d thought to return to Hendry a changed man. Instead, I find ’tis this place has changed, while I remain the same.”

      Constance frowned. “Life changes things, Nicholas. Your father could not help his dying.”

      “Nay, nor could he help the fact that he never was able to love his only son.” There was no longer any anger in his voice. He set the breastplate next to him on the bench and reached for a gauntlet which he began to polish with the same mechanical precision.

      His mother studied him, her eyes full of pain. “You are wrong, Nicholas. Your father loved you as much as he was capable of loving.”

      “According to Baron Hawse, he loved me so much that he wished that I had not been born.” His hand continued its monotonous circles on the metal.

      Constance gasped. “I can’t believe the baron would have said anything so cruel. And so false.”

      “Deny it if you will, Mother, but the tale has the ring of truth.”

      Neither spoke for a moment. Finally, Constance sighed. “I wish your father was still here, Nicholas.”

      “Aye. So that he could sign away my birthright before my very eyes?”

      “I’ve told you, his actions were to protect me and the people of Hendry.” A single tear dribbled from her eye and slid down her cheek.

      Nicholas looked up, saw it and stopped his work. “Now I’ve made you cry. You see, mayhap Father was right. In any event, I’ll trouble you no more.”

      “What are you talking about?” There was alarm in her voice.

      “I’m a soldier now, Mother, and ’twould seem to be the best life for me. I was good at it, you know, in spite of what Father might have predicted for me. I’d thought to leave that life and find a new one here, but it appears that fate has other plans for me.”

      “The Crusade is over. Your place is here.”

      “The Crusade is over, but the continent is full of land barons who pay goodly sums for the services of a battle-seasoned warrior.”

      Constance shook her head and reached to pull the iron gauntlet out of his hand. “’Tis said there’s a mind sickness comes upon those who’ve followed the cross, my son. You must give this thing time. Come into the house and have some good beef stock. Tomorrow will dawn a brighter day. And the next still brighter.”

      Nicholas stood and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Your beef stock can make the dead walk once more among the living, Mother, but I fear it will not cure my ills. But, I’ll come with you, just the same. And I’m sorry for making you grieve. Soon you won’t have to trouble yourself over me.”

      “I’ve not seen you brooding this way since your sister passed over,” Phillip told his daughter. “You must get Nicholas Hendry out of your head.”

      Beatrice knew that her father’s advice was sensible, but how could she put the newly returned knight out of her mind when she saw his reflection every time she looked at his child? With every tender moment she spent with little Owen, she wondered if Nicholas Hendry’s return meant that she might lose the right to raise him?

      She