Matilda smiled. She had suspected that she was pregnant again, though outwardly her slim waist hadn’t thickened an inch, so she wondered how Jeanne could tell so easily. But she was happy. This time she would stay at Bramber. Nothing would induce her to travel after William as she had done before. There was to be no possibility of the evil eye being directed at her unborn child. She took Jeanne’s hands and kissed the old woman again on the cheek. The black mist-covered mountains of Wales and their unhappy memories seemed very far away.
Giles, her second son, was born in April the following year, as the heavy scented air of Sussex drifted like balm through the open windows of Bramber Castle, bringing with it the slight tang of salt from the hazy channel, floating in from the saltings below, and, from the fields and Downs, the heady perfume of apple blossom and bluebells. As the child was laid, sleeping peacefully, in its crib, Jeanne slipped silently to the glowing hearthstone and there laid wine and water and fresh towels for the fairies. With their blessing the child would grow strong and lucky. Matilda felt a sudden shiver of fear. There had been no such magic for baby Will. Dimly she remembered as a bad dream from the past the vision she had had at her eldest son’s birth and she crossed herself, afraid for him. Then, even as she tried to recall the meaning of the vision, it blurred and slipped from her and she saw that Jeanne was watching her with strangely narrowed eyes. Matilda fought to look away but somehow she could not move. The memory grew dim and she saw only the reflection of the sunlight glinting on the ewer of water by the fire, and then again she slept.
In her bed at Abergavenny Jo stirred in her sleep as the dream faded. The moonlight touched her face with cold fingers and she flung her arm across her closed eyes and shivered before lying still again.
“I want you to listen to me carefully.” Sam sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of Nick, his eyes on his brother’s face. “You trust me, don’t you?”
Imperceptibly Nick nodded.
“Good. And you know I would do nothing to harm you-and I think it would harm you, Nick, to take you back into the past too soon. First I must prepare you. I must warn you who you were in that life, long ago…” Sam paused, a flicker of grim humor straying across his face. “You were not Richard de Clare, Nick, and you have good reason to be jealous of him. He was your friend and your adviser. And he was your rival. You and he both loved Matilda de Braose. But Richard won her. It was to him that she turned. She despised you. She feared you and hated you. She was your enemy, Nick. Do you remember?” He paused, watching Nick’s face closely as his brother shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face somber. His gaze had strayed from Sam toward the lamp once more, his eyes fixed on it, the pupils pin-size in the brilliant blue of the floodlit irises. Hanging down toward the carpet at his side, one of his hands twitched involuntarily as he clenched and unclenched his fist.
Sam smiled, wondering for a brief second if what he was saying had a grain of possibility behind it. Where had the violence in his brother come from? One day he would find out for sure, but not today. Today he was setting the scene.
“I think perhaps you do remember, Nick,” he went on quietly. “You were a prince when you first saw her. She was beautiful and tall and charming. A lady. And you were a snotty boy. Do you remember? You were born too late. She was the first woman you ever desired and she was already another man’s wife and the mother of his child, and you were too young still even to screw the serving wenches you caught in the dark corners of the palace. You made do then with pinching their breasts and thrusting your hand up their skirts, but later it was different. Later you could have any woman you wanted. And you took them. Peasant or lady. Willing or not. Your reputation has echoed down through the centuries. You took them all. All save Lady de Braose. Her scorn unmanned you. When she looked at you, you knew she still saw you as a sniveling child. And your love began to sour. You determined to bring her to her knees, do you remember, Nick? You told her husband to control her better, but he was weak.” His jaw tightened momentarily. “She needed William’s help and he failed her. When he should have whipped her and bridled her shrewish tongue, he let her speak. He let her walk into your trap, when he could have saved her.” He stopped, unable to go on for a moment, sweat standing out on his forehead as he watched Nick’s face. “You hated her by then, and you determined she would pay for her scorn with her life.”
He sat forward on the edge of the table, hooking his forefinger into the knot of his tie and pulling it loose while behind him the sky was losing its color, the sunset fading as the glare of streetlights took over outside the open window.
“And now, Nick,” he went on after a pause, “you and she have been born in another century and in another world, and this time you are not a child. This time she sees you as a man, a man she finds attractive, a man to whom she has submitted. But you cannot trust her. Your hate remains. You have not forgotten, Nick. And you have not forgiven. You swore vengeance against Matilda de Braose eight hundred years ago and you are pursuing it still.”
He stood up abruptly and turned away from his brother. “And this time, my friend,” he murmured, “when she calls on her husband for help, it will be there. I shall not let her down again. I have waited for the chance to make amends, and now at last I have it. Now at last we are all once more on the stage together.” He turned. “You will love the role I’ve given you, Nick. You always were a conceited little bastard-so self-assured. So clever. So sure every woman will fall for you. And they all do, don’t they? But Jo is beginning to see through you. She has tasted your violence now. She no longer trusts you, and if you hit her again, Nick, she will come to me. She will always come to me, I shall see to that. And I shall comfort her. She’ll return to you for more because there is something of the masochist in Jo. Violence excites her. She may even tempt you to kill her, Nick. But I shall be there.” He smiled evenly. “And this time I shall be the one in charge. This time I shall have men to help me. And you will crawl away,
He walked toward the tray and poured himself half a tumbler of whisky. He drank it down at a gulp and then poured another.
“Have you been listening to me, Nick?” He turned slowly.
For a moment Nick gave no sign of having heard, then slowly he nodded.
“And have you understood what I have told you?”
Nick licked his lips. “I understand,” he said at last.
Sam smiled. “Good,” he said softly. “So, tell me what your name was, Nicholas, in this past life of yours.”
“John.” Nick looked at Sam with alarming directness.
“And you know what you must do?”
Nick shifted in his chair. He was still staring at Sam but there was a clouded, puzzled look on his face.
Sam frowned. He put down his glass. “Enough now,” he said slowly. “You are tired. I am going to wake you soon. You must ask me to hypnotize you again, little brother. You find that hypnosis is soothing. It makes you feel good. You are going to forget all that I have told you today with your conscious mind, but underneath, slowly, you will remember, so that when you are next with Jo you will know how to act. Do you understand me?” His tone was peremptory.
Nick nodded.
“And one other thing.” Sam picked up his shirt and began carefully to straighten the sleeves. “A favor for a friend. Before Jo comes back you must go and see Miss Curzon. Make your peace with her, Nick. You like Judy, remember? She’s good in bed. She makes you feel calm and happy. Not like Jo, who makes you angry. Go and see Judy, Nick. Soon.” He smiled. “Now I want you to relax. You are feeling happy now and at ease. You are feeling rested. That’s good. Now, slowly I want you to count from one to ten. When you reach ten you will awake.” Slowly
