Reclaimed By The Knight

He left to save his family...

Now he’s back!

Nicholas of Mei Solis swore to do anything to protect his home—even going away to fight for it. This meant leaving beautiful Matilda, too. Now Nicholas has returned briefly to lay to rest the ghosts of his past. But one look at Matilda, now widowed and with child, changes everything. Suddenly Nicholas is compelled to stay...and to take back the future they both thought they’d lost...

Lovers and Legends miniseries

Book 1—The Knight’s Broken Promise

Book 2—Her Enemy Highlander

Book 3—The Highland Laird’s Bride

Book 4—In Debt to the Enemy Lord

Book 5—The Knight’s Scarred Maiden

Book 6—Her Christmas Knight

Book 7—Reclaimed by the Knight

“Locke’s latest entry to her Lovers and Legends series is a beautifully written tale of loss, faith and the magic of love between a scarred maiden and the deadly mercenary she rescues.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Knight’s Scarred Maiden

“Locke doesn’t disappoint. Her Christmas Knight is empowering and romantic with a darker undercurrent... I absolutely recommend. It’s just so good!”

—Goodreads on Her Christmas Knight

NICOLE LOCKE discovered her first romance novels in her grandmother’s closet, where they were secretly hidden. Convinced that books that were hidden must be better than those that weren’t, Nicole greedily read them. It was only natural for her to start writing them—but now not so secretly.

Also by Nicole Locke

Lovers and Legends miniseries

The Knight’s Broken Promise

Her Enemy Highlander

The Highland Laird’s Bride

In Debt to the Enemy Lord

The Knight’s Scarred Maiden

Her Christmas Knight

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Reclaimed by the Knight

Nicole Locke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07405-6

RECLAIMED BY THE KNIGHT

© 2018 Nicole Locke

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to the wonderful, brilliant,

marvellous editors who have helped me along the

journey in the Lovers and Legends series. For

Linda Fildew, who took a chance on me, for

Nicola Caws, who shared her friendship and

showed me the ropes, and for Ann-Leslie Tuttle,

who welcomed me on my transition to the US.

But especially this book is dedicated to Laurie Johnson,

who stuck by me this troublesome year. Nicholas,

Matilda and I wouldn’t have our happily-ever-after

without your unfailing encouragement. I thank you

with all my heart and with all my fingers, finally…

and happily…dancing across the keyboard once again.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

September 1295

The baby kicked low in her belly and Matilda gasped.

‘What is wrong?’

She looked at Bess, who was still gleaning the fields and finding any grain that might have been missed in the late harvest. They couldn’t spare any food, but even so Matilda was always deeply satisfied when her bag was full. As if she’d been on a treasure hunt and could now feed her family and friends.

‘She’s kicking me again.’

‘It’s a girl today?’

Matilda thought about the sharp pain when she’d climbed out of bed that morning, the constant turning of the baby inside her, so that she’d barely been able to get bread down during breakfast, and now the deep thumping, like a rabbit in the woods.

‘Unquestionably, the baby is a girl.’ She pushed herself off the ground and pressed one hand to her lower back.

It wasn’t the first time she had been punched on the inside today, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. The gleaning forced her to remain in the same position, and the baby demanded that she stretch. Her giving in to the kick was a compromise she happily made, though the reprieve wouldn’t last long.

There was more work to be done, and the fields were full of families who were stuffing their sacks. Nearby Agnes, the cordwainer’s only daughter, was crawling on the ground. Unlike the other children, however, she was taking the wheat shafts and stacking them like houses. Matilda wondered which of her brothers would ruin her creations first.

Bess stood and stamped her feet. ‘If your reasoning holds true, the baby will be a girl.’

‘You think my certainty is ridiculous?’

‘Unlike you, I listen to our healer, Rohesia, who insists you’re carrying too low in your belly for a girl. Plus, the only reason you hold this belief is because of your own mischievous past and Roger’s temperament—’ Bess clamped her mouth shut.

‘Do not worry,’ Matilda said.

There was only one reason why worry ever crossed Bess’s face, and that was if she believed she’d hurt another. Matilda did hurt, but not because her friend had remarked on her husband. She hurt because he was gone.

‘Forgive me.’ Bess clapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘I keep forgetting.’

Matilda saw Bess’s dismayed face and felt her own emotions turn inside her again. She was familiar with it. Grief that she hadn’t dared release.

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ Matilda said. ‘It’s been barely two full moons.’

She’d hurt more if no one mentioned Roger at all. That man, her childhood friend and her husband, deserved to be remembered. He had certainly deserved more than her as a wife. But there was no wishing for that now.

Bess exhaled and shook her head. ‘I’ve made it worse.’

Only for a moment. The least Matilda could do, was give her daughter her father’s even temperament. To that end, she was determined her daughter would know no sorrow, and that included her mother’s.

Swallowing hard, Matilda said, ‘As usual. Now all I have to do is wait until you say something truly grievous.’

Bess’s lips twisted wryly. ‘Give me a few moments.’

Matilda clasped her friend’s hand. ‘I’m gladdened that you forget he is gone. It will keep him alive when the baby comes.’

Bess’s eyes softened as she glanced at Matilda’s swollen stomach. ‘Anything you wish.’

‘Good. Though I try to be calm, I fear she’ll need all the gentle temperament she can get. She would do well to remember her father.’

Roger, her best friend and her husband, had been the exact opposite of her. Whereas she, in her youth, had always been taking risks and pulling pranks, Roger had been helpful and protective. Ever easy with his smiles and his care, Roger had been the absolute antithesis of the person she’d been, but she’d wanted his calmness in her life, and he...he’d wanted her.

Any moment she’d be crying, and then her friend would believe she had in fact hurt her.

A couple of blinks of her eyes and she saw a familiar figure on the horizon. ‘Louve’s on his way here.’

Bess turned. ‘It’s too early for the men to break from the harvesting.’

Glancing towards the sun, Matilda said, ‘Apparently not.’

‘Then something must be wrong.’

Feeling the same sense of urgency, Matilda placed her hand on her belly and locked her legs. There’d be no running for her.

‘There’d be others with him if there was something amiss,’ Matilda said.

Even after all this time it went against her instincts to hold still, but when Roger had died, for the sake of her baby, she’d vowed she’d be more like him. To set an example that would serve her child well and never to never turn out like her mother. Foolish. Heartbroken. Alone. Twice now.

Bess lifted her skirts. Despite her girth, she’d be able to run if there truly was an emergency. ‘Maybe they couldn’t be spared.’

‘And Louve can?’ Matilda answered. ‘At this time of day he must want to discuss the usual problems. Some argument or a missing tally stick.’

‘You do too much, and with only two of you now overseeing everything it’s not tenable.’

‘We’ll find a replacement soon enough.’

Until Roger’s death there had been three on the estate who oversaw the operations. Now there were only two—herself and Louve, who was both steward for the state and reeve to oversee the crops. She saw to the management of Mei Solis as well as helped settle disputes. Although since Roger—

No. In the fields all day, she thought too much of her lost husband.

Giving in, she strode towards Louve, hoping her mud-caked skirts would slow her enough to give the impression of serenity.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

Louve indicated behind him. ‘I came to warn you. Storm’s coming from just beyond that hill.’

She looked over his shoulder towards the field, where the men were cutting the stalks. If there was a storm, the hill disguised it. All around her were clear blue skies. And even if there was a storm, it shouldn’t bring Louve here.

Their arrangement was unconventional, but it worked. When lord of Mei Solis manor Nicholas had left to seek the fortune the estate so desperately needed, it had seemed reasonable to leave his friends and Matilda, his betrothed in charge. After all, he had intended to return within two years.

That had been six years ago, and in that time he had broken their betrothal. Despite this, they had kept to the managing arrangement because the manor, families and friends had prospered. She had married Roger, and even if her reputation had been whispered about, her authority on settling disputes and ensuring that Roger and Louve could come to terms had never been questioned.

‘Tell me why you’re truly here,’ she said.

Maybe Bess was right and something was wrong. On a day like today every man was needed to harvest the last of the crops. Louve was one of the strongest and quickest at the sickle, and every reaper was required.

‘I see no storm, and even if there was one, one of the boys could run and tell us that.’

Louve shrugged. ‘None of the boys wanted to protect their hands from blisters. I, however, have many reasons to pamper my hands.’

‘For the hordes of women after you, no doubt,’ Bess interjected.

Matilda almost snorted.

‘Exactly. I’d be useless to the women if my hands were wrapped,’ he said, with a curve to his lips.

Everything about Louve tended to be irreverent, even in the direst circumstances. It was part of his frustrating charm. That coupled with his exceptional blue eyes and black hair made him the most pursued male she’d ever known. Though lately his attention seemed only for the widow Mary.

‘I know exactly what the women would think about your uselessness,’ Bess quipped. ‘They’d be overjoyed not to be harassed by the likes of you.’

‘Ah, Bess, still pining for me, as always.’

Bess and Louve had been teasing each other like this for years. Bess, older than them both, was already married with a grown child.

‘That’s me—still waiting for you to get some sense. It appears I’ll have to keep waiting.’

‘Well, you know where to find me.’

Bess nodded. ‘Lazily talking with us when you should be reaping the wheat like the other men.’

Somewhere along the way Louve had picked up Matilda’s bag and swept more grain into it. It was then that his intent became irritatingly clear. ‘Are you here for me?’

Louve’s mouth quirked. ‘I’m here to save the grain. Storm’s coming.’

Louve was doing her work. The skies were still blue; there was no storm coming. ‘You can’t do this.’

Louve smiled ruefully. ‘You’re working too hard now.’

‘And the baby is kicking,’ Bess added.

‘Are you on his side now?’ Matilda said. ‘I’m working because there’s work to be done. Crops are better this year, so there’s more gleaning.’ A fact that had them all breathing a sigh of relief.

‘That sack’s getting too heavy for you to carry.’

She looked at the ground, thought of running horses to try and calm herself. When that didn’t work, she narrowed her eyes on Louve. ‘I’ll say this differently. I won’t have you do my work for me.’

‘Roger would have—’

Matilda held up her hand and shook her head firmly.

‘Oh, dear,’ Bess whispered.

But Matilda ignored her friend for now. She would also ignore all references to her husband. He was too recently gone, and though she wanted her baby to know of him, her baby couldn’t hear yet. Right now she didn’t want to be reminded of Roger’s protective nature when he could no longer protect.

‘It may be true...what he would have wanted...but I’m here now, and my crawling on this ground is a duty I need to fulfil. I’m not helping with the binding. I’m here with the children, gleaning.’

‘Stubborn as usual. What kind of reputation will I have if I can’t move a pregnant woman? I’ll never hear the end of it,’ Louve said.

‘You ruined your reputation when you were four years old, Louve, and you know it,’ Bess said. ‘And it appears—

Shouts came from behind them. A young boy was racing over the hill. His cries were carrying on the autumnal breeze.

‘Did he say we have company?’ Bess said.

Matilda turned her ear to the boy’s words, but they were still too faint. No one visited the estate. Up until this year they had been the ones who travelled to other villages and other markets to sell their wares. However, if the crops stayed this plentiful that would change. Until then...

Panting, the boy stopped in front of them.

‘We have guests arriving?’ Matilda cradled her belly, supporting the baby, who was blessedly still now that she’d given her room.

‘Visitor,’ the boy clarified. ‘With two giant horses behind him!’

The world...the ground underneath Matilda...shifted.

‘Steady,’ Bess whispered, grabbing her elbow.

‘How far out?’ Louve asked the boy.

‘Just outside the barren fields.’

If they could see a rider coming in that direction it meant he came from the east.

Louve glanced from Bess to Matilda and then back. ‘I’m closer than the others. I’ll get a horse and greet him before he reaches the trees.’

There was nothing to be discussed. It was the only choice, given all the men were in the opposite direction and she couldn’t move her legs.

Matilda kept her eyes on Louve’s long stride, taking him to the stables. ‘I will be well,’ she whispered. ‘Just give me moment more.’

Bess kept her hand where it was. ‘You knew this day would come.’

Matilda placed her hand on top of Bess’s. It was true. She had always known this day would come. Like a storm and the changing seasons. Like the endless rising of the sun and the setting of the moon. Like the certainty of time. She had known she’d see Nicholas again.

‘Always.’

Chapter Two

Nicholas rode guardedly towards his home, his father’s prison and the cause of his death. Mei Solis Manor. Ridiculous name: My Sun.

It had been a grand gesture from an impoverished knight to his new wife, Helena of Catalonia, the sixth daughter from a family who’d gained wealth in maritime, but no title. His father, a mere knight with a crumbling manor, had had favour and connections with the English Court, and thus had been able to wed a woman of some means.

Such happy news upon his father’s return. His father had been beaming with pride, knowing that with silver the rich soil estate would prosper with the right management and supplies.

Nicholas, six years old at the time, remembered the day Helena had arrived. His father had toiled for months before, and the estate had never looked better. When the carriage had stopped, his father, eschewing custom, had assisted his new wife in alighting from the carriage.

Chin raised, a tight smile on her face, she had stood next to his father. Her gown, almost white, had seemed to glow, made of some fabric he had never seen before. His first and only thought at the sight at his new mother had been, The sun’s light never stays.

He had been right. Helena had had only a modest income from her doting family, and had shared most of her dowry with her new husband and his estate. The remainder had been used for her return to London and Court, where she had remained despite his father’s attempts to make the manor more hospitable for her and his pleading messages. She had stayed there despite his own curt message regarding her husband’s sudden death.

After his father had died Nicholas had seen Helena a few times at Court. She had always been surrounded, but they had exchanged polite greetings given the agreement between them. After all, his father had paid with his life to keep the estate running, and Nicholas had paid Helena with his coin ever after to keep her well-dressed.

It was an arrangement made by his father that he continued. It was his sentence and his prison, too. As long as he paid Helena there would never be enough coin.

There’d been clear blue skies since he’d left London to travel west to his home, but the easy weather and the ride hadn’t alleviated the tumultuousness of his memories or the brutal facts. It had taken him six years to get enough coin. Six years during which he’d lost everything. His friends, his eye, his only love.

In the distance, a different shape arose from the empty peaks and valleys. At first it was too small to comprehend, but as it grew he recognised the lone rider. A friend to greet him.

Not that any greeting would be welcome. He’d never intended to return here. He wouldn’t be here at all except that he’d made a promise to a fellow mercenary to repair his past.

However, the only repair he could conceive of was to exact revenge on the three who had betrayed him. Something, no matter how much pain had been caused to him, he had never been able to bring himself to do.

Yet here he was, travelling alone on a road he’d never wanted to take, intending to do just that. All because his friend had reclaimed his past, found happiness, and requested that Nicholas do the same.

He’d stay the winter at his former home with its ridiculous name, find some justice from the people who’d blindsided him, and then be gone again. With any hope he’d be free of the painful memories of betrayal and be able to find his future.

So revenge he must have. The acts done to him were far past reparation and apology. His hatred of those deeds was the only emotion that had fuelled him for the last three years. There was nothing to reclaim or repair for him. Anything of worth in his past had been lost. He could gain nothing from nothing. Mei Solis was a vast emptiness to him. My Soulless.

Even recognising his childhood friend, Louve, as he neared wasn’t enough to gladden him. Not when he saw him pull up short, causing the horse to skitter backwards. Louve was a master horseman. The only reason for this lack of control was because he’d got a good look at Nicholas’s face and it had shocked him.

His scar. For years now he’d had it. A sword-swipe that had begun across his belly and moved up to his chest, and then the flick of an enemy’s wrist that had projected the sword-tip across his face and destroyed his left eye.

All sewn and beautifully stitched now, it was only a slight silvery shadow of the horror it had once been. The horror it still was, since his left eyelid would never rise again. But it was also a blessing, because it permanently covered the fact that he could no longer see on that side.

It was a battle wound that had made his sword-training fiercer and his battle mien more menacing. In the mercenary business, such a scar benefited him. But here, as the lord of a genteel manor, it was a liability. Now he would have to suffer questions, skirt the truth, or tell lies about how he’d received it. There would be gasps of dismay and horror, and—worse—pity.

He knew this, and though he’d worn no patch since his accident, he wore one now, for the trip home. The patch covered the worst of it, and yet still Louve’s horse skittered at the sudden jerk of his master’s reins.

He’d only just set foot on his land and had a fair distance to go before he reached the manor. He’d hoped for a brief reprieve until then, so he could see how his land fared. Instead, one of his oldest friends—one of those who’d betrayed him—had ridden out to greet him and almost toppled his horse as a result.

He didn’t want this.

Nicholas held his horse steady as Louve settled his. Neither man lowered his gaze. When Louve dismounted, so did he. For just that time Nicholas let Louve gawk at his injury.

He studied Louve as well, and noticed minor changes. His dark hair was longer, and he had more strength to him. But the irreverent look in his eyes, the way he held himself as if the world was a joke—that was painfully familiar.