Page 37 of Stay with Me

The truth was, the longer he was with her, the more things he liked about her. In fact, the list was growing quite lengthy.

Did he dare contemplate Ralph’s declaration that he marry her once they arrived at Devil’s Bend? Ralph hadn’t needed to say aught for Nicholas to understand the man’s reasoning. The time alone in the cave had damaged Sybil’s reputation, especially because they’d been in a state of indecent attire. He’d made things worse by practically jumping on top of her.

In addition, his own reputation was at risk. He’d spoken against men using women to sate their lusts, had opposed and punished archers who did so during warfare, and made sure that no outlaws remained in the deep Weald who abused women.

If he didn’t marry her, would he be guilty of violating his own rules? Would he lose the respect of those who held him to a higher standard?

Why not wed her this very night?

Heat circled low in his gut at the prospect of sharing another night with her, but this time as her husband, with nothing holding him back from letting his hands roam where they pleased and kissing her anytime he wanted.

But even as his desire twisted within tightly, he despised himself for having such feelings and thoughts. He’d resolved not to marry a woman to fulfill his own urges. And here he was, selfishly considering it.

No, if he made Sybil his wife, he’d allow for mutual affection to develop, and he would wait until she was comfortable with him before consummating.

After all, he’d waited three years for Jane. Surely he could be patient now, too, so that he didn’t turn into a brute.

She fiddled with her cloak, scratching her neck where the wool rubbed. He could tell she wanted to take the cloak off, had even started to at one point as the day had grown warmer. But he’d stopped her with a touch to her arm and a nod toward Father Fritz.

“Since you weren’t an outlaw until recently, how did you become connected with the deep Weald and Devil’s Bend?”

“I grew up in the Weald—”

“The real reason, Nicholas.”

Her directness always sent a strange thrill through him. But not this time. This time, he didn’t want to answer. How could he? The truth was too complicated, too horrific, too devastating.

Splashes of sunshine broke through the leafy canopy overhead as if to dispel his dark thoughts. The chatter of the thrushes and blackbirds softened the tension within him as did the sight of the wildflowers in the meadow ahead. If only someday he could have a home in a place like this. He could easily picture a manor house tucked away on the edge of the meadow with sheep grazing nearby. He’d have goats and geese and a cow. And he’d have tenants to grow crops and help with the shearing.

He wanted a simple life away from the peril that threatened on every side, a place where he could keep his family safe, a refuge he could finally give to his mother, a home where he could prevent anyone from hurting those he loved.

“It has to do with the woman you lost.” Sybil spoke quietly and with certainty.

She’d already guessed about his lost love during a prior conversation. He might as well admit it. There was no reason not to. “Yes. It has to do with her.”

“And you loved her?”

“Very much.”

Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t awkward. Instead, just the small amount of sharing seemed to have lifted a portion of the burden he’d been bearing by himself. What would happen if he gave himself permission to share it all? She’d said she was a good listener.

As they crossed the meadow and plunged into another portion of the forest, his stomach gurgled with hunger pangs that had been increasing with every passing hour. Except for the one meal his mother had brought to him in the dungeons, he hadn’t eaten in days. Although Sybil hadn’t complained, he guessed she was hungry too.

“In addition to horse riding,” she said, as he maneuvered the horse up a rocky ascent, “you must teach me how to use a bow and arrow.”

The incline pressed her more fully to him, and he relished the weight of her body against his. “What if I am a terrible at it?”

“Then you wouldn’t be leading a band of archers.”

“Ralph is the leader—a Cheshire bowman, one of the best in all the land. His father was recruited by the Black Prince as one of the first mounted archers, and he helped bring victory to the English in Poitiers. ’Tis said the archers drew so fast and furiously that the sky became dark with the thickness of the arrows.”

“I didn’t know arrows were effective against plate armor.”

“An ordinary bow, no. But a longbow is powerful enough to pierce iron, leaving knights at the mercy of a skilled archer. That makes a bowman worth ten regular soldiers.”

As they reached level ground, she continued to recline against him, clearly lost in thought, probably processing all that he was telling her and drawing conclusions of her own.

He liked her interest in the subject. But it was unusual to be having this kind of discussion with a woman. “Ralph’s father claimed that in the Battle of Crécy, the longbow archers killed two thousand French knights and the English lost only fifty men.”

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