Ridiculous because why would he get his head swiped off for a woman? Also, this was one of his soldiers making him look bad. Nicholas should be driving him back into the ground. There was no mercy on the battlefield, and little on the practice field. Of course, it was practice and no one died. But it could get bloody.
He should never have sat with her last eve in the great hall. She’d utterly charmed him with her cupcakes and her breathless anticipation to see his library. He wished he’d enjoyed it with her, but news of Richard’s return had taken precedence.
The king was a month early. It must be all this news about Henry Tudor’s escape to France from his exile in Brittany. Things were moving. A battle was coming.
It was the perfect time to step away from the king, let him fight this battle without Nicholas. But that meant the end of the York line. Nicholas couldn’t do it. He’d even advised Richard against fighting a losing battle. Hopefully, Richard would have a son. But until then, Richard was all there was.
Nicholas had to leave in a little over a fortnight. Would Miss Locksley settle in by then? Would she forget her past? Or rather, her future in new York and be safe here?
He swung his mighty blade. He didn’t want to think of Richard or all the support the Yorkists were losing to Henry Tudor.
He wanted to show Kestrel Locksley that he could protect her.
Charlie came at him swinging his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Nicholas parried both strikes, grinding the steel of his blade down his opponent’s, bringing sparks to life. Before Charlie had time to readjust, Nicholas brought his sword over Charlie’ head and whacked the flat of his blade across his lieutenant’s back.
Kestrel covered her mouth with her hand as Charlie landed close to her feet.
She offered his lieutenant a kind smile. “I don’t think anyone would have seen that coming,” she consoled. “He was hard on you. You did well against him.”
Charlie grinned at her. Nicholas looked heavenward.
“Miss Locksley!” he called out. “My lieutenant is not a child. He is a soldier. He does not need coddling.”
Her lips tightened. She was about to open her mouth. He stopped her.
“Perhaps I was wrong to have you watch us. If ’tis too difficult—”
“Commander,” she said through her teeth, “you are the only thing difficult here. You sound like a petulant child—”
She stopped speaking and took a step back when he shoved his sword into its sheath and came toward her.
He didn’t stop to say a word but bent forward and hoisted her over his shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted. “Put me down! You can’t do this!”
“But I can,” he corrected her. “You will not speak to me so in front of my men again.”
“Oh, won’t I?”
“No, you won’t.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!” She pounded on his back.
“You seem to have trouble believing things that are real and make perfect sense.”
“Don’t you dare take me inside like this! Nicholas! Don’t you—” She pinched his side to get his attention.
He smacked her on her behind.
She fought him the entire way upstairs. Good thing his body was well honed, or she would have worn him out. He brought her to her room, dumped her on her bed, and left her alone, locking the door behind him.
He thought he’d have to listen to her wailing and crying all night, but she didn’t utter a sound when he left her room and said very little to Elia when he sent her to Kestrel an hour later.
“She asked me to tell you that she has nothing more to say to anyone. She wishes to be alone.”
“What?” he asked Elia, pacing in his solar. “Alone? What was she doing?”
This woman, more like a mother to him than a maid, gave him a hard look. “I heard about what you did, Nicholas. Why would you treat her that way? I’m sure you humiliated her and now you want to know why she lies in her bed with her head in the pillow. Here is the key to her room. I will not take part in locking her inside.”
He took the key from her hand and started for the room without a word to Elia. He wasn’t sorry. He couldn’t allow her to fight and argue with him in front of his men.
When he reached the door, he drove the key inside the hole and turned. The door didn’t budge. He pushed harder. Something was blocking it.
“Miss Locksley.” He didn’t shout. He wanted to wring her neck. “Kestrel! Open the door.” He looked around. No one was in the hall. Yet. “I wish to speak with you.”
Something smashed against the wood directly opposite his face. He moved back, then scowled hard at the door. “Fine then. Be alone.” He strode away, glaring at Elia as he passed her.
His supper was served in his solar. But he couldn’t eat. She plagued his thoughts. She’d turned things around like a brilliant tactician. He’d locked her in her room, and she’d locked him out. Somehow, he was the one being punished. He missed her company. Surely, she missed him, too. She’d told him she missed texting and talking—whatever the hell the first thing was. She believed she came from a place with millions of other people. She had to be lonely in her room all day. Why had he locked her away in the first place? She was no fool to tell anyone her story.
And why did his blood rush hot through his veins when she’d told him the name on the brooch. Pendragon. It was a name shrouded in magic and legend. Of King Arthur and his…knights.
He pushed his bowl away. Why did he have to be the one to see her on the field? Why had he taken her off
