Reclaimed By The Knight. Nicole Locke

of Catalonia, the sixth daughter from a family who’d gained wealth in maritime, but no title. His father, a mere knight with a crumbling manor, had had favour and connections with the English Court, and thus had been able to wed a woman of some means.

      Such happy news upon his father’s return. His father had been beaming with pride, knowing that with silver the rich soil estate would prosper with the right management and supplies.

      Nicholas, six years old at the time, remembered the day Helena had arrived. His father had toiled for months before, and the estate had never looked better. When the carriage had stopped, his father, eschewing custom, had assisted his new wife in alighting from the carriage.

      Chin raised, a tight smile on her face, she had stood next to his father. Her gown, almost white, had seemed to glow, made of some fabric he had never seen before. His first and only thought at the sight at his new mother had been, The sun’s light never stays.

      He had been right. Helena had had only a modest income from her doting family, and had shared most of her dowry with her new husband and his estate. The remainder had been used for her return to London and Court, where she had remained despite his father’s attempts to make the manor more hospitable for her and his pleading messages. She had stayed there despite his own curt message regarding her husband’s sudden death.

      After his father had died Nicholas had seen Helena a few times at Court. She had always been surrounded, but they had exchanged polite greetings given the agreement between them. After all, his father had paid with his life to keep the estate running, and Nicholas had paid Helena with his coin ever after to keep her well-dressed.

      It was an arrangement made by his father that he continued. It was his sentence and his prison, too. As long as he paid Helena there would never be enough coin.

      There’d been clear blue skies since he’d left London to travel west to his home, but the easy weather and the ride hadn’t alleviated the tumultuousness of his memories or the brutal facts. It had taken him six years to get enough coin. Six years during which he’d lost everything. His friends, his eye, his only love.

      In the distance, a different shape arose from the empty peaks and valleys. At first it was too small to comprehend, but as it grew he recognised the lone rider. A friend to greet him.

      Not that any greeting would be welcome. He’d never intended to return here. He wouldn’t be here at all except that he’d made a promise to a fellow mercenary to repair his past.

      However, the only repair he could conceive of was to exact revenge on the three who had betrayed him. Something, no matter how much pain had been caused to him, he had never been able to bring himself to do.

      Yet here he was, travelling alone on a road he’d never wanted to take, intending to do just that. All because his friend had reclaimed his past, found happiness, and requested that Nicholas do the same.

      He’d stay the winter at his former home with its ridiculous name, find some justice from the people who’d blindsided him, and then be gone again. With any hope he’d be free of the painful memories of betrayal and be able to find his future.

      So revenge he must have. The acts done to him were far past reparation and apology. His hatred of those deeds was the only emotion that had fuelled him for the last three years. There was nothing to reclaim or repair for him. Anything of worth in his past had been lost. He could gain nothing from nothing. Mei Solis was a vast emptiness to him. My Soulless.

      Even recognising his childhood friend, Louve, as he neared wasn’t enough to gladden him. Not when he saw him pull up short, causing the horse to skitter backwards. Louve was a master horseman. The only reason for this lack of control was because he’d got a good look at Nicholas’s face and it had shocked him.

      His scar. For years now he’d had it. A sword-swipe that had begun across his belly and moved up to his chest, and then the flick of an enemy’s wrist that had projected the sword-tip across his face and destroyed his left eye.

      All sewn and beautifully stitched now, it was only a slight silvery shadow of the horror it had once been. The horror it still was, since his left eyelid would never rise again. But it was also a blessing, because it permanently covered the fact that he could no longer see on that side.

      It was a battle wound that had made his sword-training fiercer and his battle mien more menacing. In the mercenary business, such a scar benefited him. But here, as the lord of a genteel manor, it was a liability. Now he would have to suffer questions, skirt the truth, or tell lies about how he’d received it. There would be gasps of dismay and horror, and—worse—pity.

      He knew this, and though he’d worn no patch since his accident, he wore one now, for the trip home. The patch covered the worst of it, and yet still Louve’s horse skittered at the sudden jerk of his master’s reins.

      He’d only just set foot on his land and had a fair distance to go before he reached the manor. He’d hoped for a brief reprieve until then, so he could see how his land fared. Instead, one of his oldest friends—one of those who’d betrayed him—had ridden out to greet him and almost toppled his horse as a result.

      He didn’t want this.

      Nicholas held his horse steady as Louve settled his. Neither man lowered his gaze. When Louve dismounted, so did he. For just that time Nicholas let Louve gawk at his injury.

      He studied Louve as well, and noticed minor changes. His dark hair was longer, and he had more strength to him. But the irreverent look in his eyes, the way he held himself as if the world was a joke—that was painfully familiar.

      Another moment passed and then Louve’s lips pursed and he whistled low. ‘You dumb bastard. You’ve returned but you’ve forgotten your eye.’

      Nicholas was a liar. He was damned glad to see Louve—but that didn’t mean he liked it. Whatever friendship they had once shared had been battered away.

      But what to do about it? Strike him down? Shove a sword through his guts? Nothing. He would do nothing right now. The disquiet coursing through him over coming here was gone, only to be replaced by a burning frustration at the injustice of liars and thieves.

      ‘Well, I can’t go back for it,’ Nicholas said, gauging this man’s reactions. Louve wasn’t Roger, or Matilda, but still he’d played his part. Something would have to be done.

      ‘I suppose we’ll have to take you as you are?’ Louve asked.

      And there was the crux. He was the lord of this manor, and he’d been sending coin to make Mei Solis prosperous again. But he’d given the control of his home to two men and a woman. Despite the law, this man did have a say as to whether he could return. Which was one of the reasons why Nicholas had not written to inform anyone of his intended homecoming.

      When Nicholas shrugged, Louve took the steps necessary to pound his aching back and shake him—briefly and far too roughly.

      Unexpected. Unwanted. Nicholas stepped away from his touch.

      Louve’s easy manner fell, and he gathered his horse’s reins.

      Refusing to ease Louve’s feelings, Nicholas grabbed his horse’s reins and stepped in beside him.

      ‘Could you look any worse?’

      A joke. Did Louve think to make light talk, as if six years didn’t separate them? What was his game?

      ‘I asked the bastard to take the other eye, but he couldn’t because I’d killed him.’

      Louve raised one brow. ‘So you decided to wear some pauper’s unwashed clothes to finish the look instead?’

      Wearing a rich man’s clothes would get him killed. ‘I’ve travelled far.’

      ‘Alone?’ Louve eyed the other tethered horses, which carried large satchels.

      Nicholas knew Louve would guess there was coin in there, and he was right.

      ‘Just since London.