Page 49 of Stay with Me

Not that the girl’s infatuation with him was anything worth fretting about. He hadn’t noticed Gemma once, not even in passing.

“I’m interested to see who wins the contest.” Sybil tore her attention from Nicholas as if she could somehow prove Gemma wrong. She could take her eyes off him whenever she wanted. He held no sway over her.

But even as she cast a glance at Gemma, her sights wandered back to Nicholas. As he aimed, his tunic—now covered by a vestlike garment called a doublet—stretched tightly around his arm. His fingers gripped the hilt with practiced proficiency. His strong, skilled, and sturdy fingers.

She could almost feel them splaying across her lower back and sliding through her hair from their kiss. His lips had clashed with hers, like a knight commanding an army, thrusting in and taking her prisoner in one swoop. She hadn’t put up any resistance, had capitulated, had let him willingly invade. In fact, she’d eagerly welcomed him, surrendering herself. She was even embarrassed to admit that if he’d swept her up in his arms and continued to kiss her, she would have let him. She wasn’t sure how she would have had the strength to stop.

Even now, the imprint of his mouth seemed to linger upon hers. And every nerve was attuned to him, the need inside her like a barely contained fire greedy for oxygen.

She willed him to look her way, wanted to see if his longing matched hers. But since their parting ways after the wedding in front of the chapel, he’d been busy with the men and hadn’t sought her out, almost as if he’d forgotten she existed.

If only she could as easily put him from her mind. But it was as if the more she watched him, the more she wanted him. She’d always scoffed when other women became obsessed with a guy.But now it had officially happened to her—she’d gone crazy over a man.

Falling for Nicholas had happened fast—maybe too fast. But she was a grown woman and knew what she liked in a man... and Nicholas was more than she’d ever expected.

“To be honest,” Gemma said almost wistfully, “I’m surprised he’s taken an interest in you.”

Nicholas’s knife hit the center yellow band, one of five colored rings, with red next, then blue, white, and finally black on the outside circle.

“Your appearance is nothing like Jane’s. And neither is your temperament.”

At the mention of Jane, Sybil’s attention snapped to Gemma. The young woman was waiting for Sybil’s reaction, a sad smile upon her lips—one that wasn’t entirely genuine.

Had Gemma known Jane personally? For just a second, Sybil was tempted to ply Gemma with questions about the mysterious love of Nicholas’s life. But if and when Nicholas was ready to talk more about Jane, he would.

“I’m not replacing Jane in his life.” She’d never ask him to stop loving Jane. “Maybe Nicholas likes me because I’m different and don’t remind him of her or his past.”

“Or maybe the rumors are true that you seduced him.”

Sybil clamped her lips together to keep from saying anything else. Gemma was immature and jealous, or maybe she was trying to protect Jane’s memory. Either way, Sybil didn’t intend to give the girl the satisfaction of seeing her riled up.

Ralph threw his knife next, embedding it into the target close to Nicholas’s. As the two retrieved their weapons, Ralph’s stern voice carried toward them. “Since it’s your wedding day, I let you win. Didn’t want to embarrass you with your bride watching.”

Sybil held her breath, waiting for Nicholas to shift his gaze and seek her out amidst the women. In the middle of sheathinghis knife, his attention snagged directly on her without having to search. Even though the glance was only a second long, it was enough for her to see his interest.

A sweet sense of satisfaction settled inside her.

He was more cognizant of her than he was letting on. Maybe he wasn’t as hyperaware of her every move the way she was of his, but he was most definitely keeping track of her whereabouts.

Throughout the rest of the evening and as darkness fell, she did her best to minimize staring at Nicholas. Beatrice was a helpful distraction, never without something to talk about, mostly gossip about each of the families who lived in Devil’s Bend.

“Nicholas, he does his best to uncover the truth about each man.” Beatrice sat on the bench beside Sybil as they finished their meal.

One of the matrons across the table pushed aside her wooden plate. “He’s getting one more confession from those who are vouching for my Kenric’s innocence before taking the case to the hundred court.”

Over the course of the meal, Sybil had learned that Kenric, with his wife and two children, had fled into the Weald after he was accused of stealing fourteen bushels of wheat from the abbot of St. Augustine’s. The bailiff had been the one to orchestrate the thievery but had placed the blame on Kenric—merely an innocent bystander who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Kenric had no way to refute the charges, so he’d run away before the bailiff could arrest him. The poor man had been hiding in the Weald for the past year with no hope of clearing his name... until Nicholas had taken up his cause. Nicholas had found witnesses who had been with Kenric on the night of the crime as well as others who knew of the bailiff’s stealing and were willing to speak out against him.

The more Sybil learned about Nicholas and his kindness to the people of the Weald, the more she admired him. He had no reason to involve himself with their cases, no reason to defend them, no reason to see justice brought about. But he did so anyway, without accepting compensation.

Of course, as the women unfolded their tragic stories, Sybil had learned that some—like Beatrice and Ralph—would never be able to leave the Weald. Even though Nicholas had tried to help them, they had no way to prove their innocence.

“Poor Nicholas,” Beatrice said as she licked her fingers clean from her second portion of mutton. “He’s been helping everyone else find justice. But now there’s no one to help him.”

Nicholas stood near the firepit where the other men were congregated, now drinking a home-brewed alcohol that was stronger than the watery ale everyone consumed in place of water—which Sybil had learned wasn’t purified or safe for drinking.

He was listening to one of the men and was as powerful as always with his arms crossed, feet spread, and head slightly inclined toward the man. The firelight illuminated the strong lines of Nicholas’s face and the gravity of his expression. She guessed the man was sharing another tale of injustice and that Nicholas was trying to figure out a way to solve the problem.

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