Page 76 of Stay with Me

“I thank you, my lord.” Nicholas situated himself in his saddle. “I shall do my best to remain true to the plan and thwart Simon at Reider Castle on the morrow.” He would see it done himself or beseech Ralph and some of the archers to stake out the castle.

He didn’t wait for Lord Clayborne’s response. Instead, he kicked his steed into a gallop, not bothering with the road but angling toward the Weald and Devil’s Bend with the shortest route possible.

His heartbeat thundered with the rhythm of the pounding hooves, and silently he cursed himself for leaving Sybil behind. He’d believed the isolation and remoteness of Devil’s Bend would be better than riding through the countryside with him evading Simon. But now, he wanted to thrash himself for making such a terrible mistake.

The only thing he could do was frantically pray as he raced through a league of hills and meadows before at last he reached the woodland. Once he was in the thick of the forest, he couldn’tmaintain the same pace and had to go more carefully. But he pushed hard, the fear in his chest propelling him.

He’d ached keenly for her over the days apart. Even when he’d been busy and occupied with the important message he’d needed to deliver, his heart hadn’t felt settled, as if he’d left a part of it behind with her. He hadn’t expected to feel so torn, hadn’t expected his longing for her to grow almost unbearable.

But it had. Not because of his physical needs—although he could admit those were still as strong as ever. But he wanted to be with her because he loved her companionship, her calm presence, her courage, her sense of adventure, and so much more.

Of course he loved her body and how beautiful she was. What man wouldn’t be attracted to someone like her? He’d loved holding her, loved her boldness in touching him, and loved when they kissed.

Was it time to finally acknowledge what everyone else had already seen—that he loved Sybil?

Nicholas scrubbed a hand down his face, only to realize his fingers were trembling. Now that she was his, he couldn’t imagine life without her. He wanted to be with her forever.

Once he had her safely within his arms, he had to convince her to stay, to put aside all thoughts of leaving. He had to make her see they belonged together, were better together, were whole together. Because, yes, he loved her—loved her more than anything or anyone he’d ever known.

As the first signs of dawn began to light the sky, he reached the last section of woodland that led to the heart of the Weald and Devil’s Bend. The scent of smoke stung his nostrils the closer he rode to the village. It started a pounding in his head—one that brought back too many memories of when he’d raced through the night to Rye, to Jane.

The smoke had been thicker in the air the nearer he’d drawn, until at last he’d crested a hill and taken in the town in the distance, his heart halting altogether at the sight that met him: Rye lying in smoldering ruins, demolished and burned to the ground, with the haze of smoke wafting all around like low clouds coming off the sea.

He’d kicked his horse into a frantic gallop, the other king’s archers following on his heels. No words had been needed to understand the direness. With their bows and arrows ready to fend off any remaining enemy, they’d poured down into the coastal city to find that the only structures that remained standing were those made of brick—the monastery, Rye Castle, and the Friars of the Sack.

The lucky citizens who’d had time to take refuge within those buildings had crept out to dig amongst the ruins. As Nicholas and his fellow soldiers had made their way through the devastation, they’d been forced to listen to the tales of the French attackers looting and raping before leaving and setting the town aflame.

When he’d arrived at the tenement where Jane, Eric, and their mother had resided, he hadn’t found their bodies amidst the rubble, had held out hope. But when another of the citizens had discovered more dead along the shore, mostly women who’d been taken as prisoners to serve the French soldiers’ lusts, Nicholas had stumbled upon Jane’s battered body there, the waves ebbing around her as if to draw her out to sea.

He’d fallen to his knees in the wet sand. That’s where Walter had found him, clutching Jane’s lifeless body and nearly incoherent with grief. Nicholas wasn’t sure what he would have done if not for Walter’s calming presence. As it was, as soon as they’d buried the dead, Nicholas had gathered his archers and set out for revenge. He’d taken his fill at Dover, repaying the French and forcing them to retreat from England’s shores.

He shook his head to dislodge the memory. Nothing like that had happened to Devil’s Bend. Surely not. Surely God would spare him from going through the same nightmare twice in his life.

But would God really? Hadn’t Walter spoken of the hardships and difficulties shaping them into stronger and better people? Maybe he hadn’t said so in those words, but that was the general idea.

Could he hold to such inspiration no matter what he found when he arrived at Devil’s Bend? Could he trust that though the difficulties wouldn’t ever get easier, he would learn to bear them better?

With a final kick of his heels into his horse’s flank, he burst out of the woodland into the meadow. Even in the shadows of dawn, the evidence of the destruction was all around—the outline of the rubble where cottages had once stood, glowing embers in the heaps of ashes, smoke hovering throughout the barren grassland.

The truth hit Nicholas as sharply as a dozen arrows striking all at once. He was too late. Simon had already attacked Devil’s Bend.

~ 28 ~

Nicholas charged forward, dread pushing him.At his approach, several of the men raised bows, their arrows at the ready.

“My wife?” he called as he thundered across the meadow.

As the men recognized him, they lowered their weapons, and others rose from a center firepit where they’d been sleeping. A few, pulling on their tunics, ducked from the cottages that had escaped fire.

No one answered his question. But their silence and the gravity in their faces told him all he needed to know. Simon had Sybil.

He had the sudden and overwhelming urge to rear his horse around and ride directly to Reider Castle, storm inside, and murder Simon.

But he guessed that was exactly what Simon wanted. Lord Clayborne had assessed Simon’s tactics correctly. His brother hadn’t been able to locate his whereabouts, even with a generous bounty. So Simon had resorted to a more barbaric tactic—holding his wife captive and demanding he hand himself over in her stead.

’Twas obvious that not only had word spread about his marriage to Sybil, but rumors had also abounded about his affection and desire for his new wife. Clearly, Simon knew him well enough to understand they were alike in their passion for women—that such passion would drive him to do just about anything.

As he neared the village, Nicholas clenched his jaw. His fingers tightened around the reins, and his muscles turned rigid. He had to resist falling into Simon’s clutches again. He wouldn’t profit Sybil if he allowed himself to be captured. Then his brother would have no reason to negotiate for her release. Simon would keep and kill them both, perhaps conjuring up treasonous charges against Sybil as well.

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