Robin had wanted to go to her, to explain that Rhys was angry because he loved her, because he had come so close to losing her. Somehow the words had never made it past his throat. He had wanted to be gentle with her, to be tender and kind. It had been impossible. How could he have comforted Anne when all he wanted to do was throttle her?
And for precisely the same reason his father had?
“Can’t sleep?”
Robin almost fell overboard in surprise. “By the saints, you startled me,” he said weakly.
Nicholas leaned on the railing. “Mooning, Rob?”
“Feel like a swim, Nick?” Robin snapped.
Nicholas only smiled pleasantly, his gray eyes twinkling with amusement. Robin blinked his own gray eyes and wondered, not for the first time, just how it was he and Nicholas had come to look so much alike. Perhaps it was that they had spent so much time together. At least Nicholas wasn’t repulsive to look at—or so Robin supposed, not being much of a judge in such matters. Robin suspected that if he’d had to look like someone, ’twas better to look like his brother than someone far uglier.
“Mayhap that swim would serve you better than me,” Nicholas remarked. “You look positively bewildered.”
“Damn you, Nick, leave me be,” Robin grumbled. “I cannot stomach your foolish words. I’ve had almost a se’nnight of them already.”
“Stop being so prickly, Robin.”
“I am not being prickly!” Robin exclaimed, giving Nicholas a heated glare. “I just needed some fresh air. And some peace,” he stressed.
Nicholas sighed and turned his face forward. “You’ve been in a foul mood for months,” he said. “In fact, you’ve been impossible since we left England. I don’t know if you’ll remember this, but except for a miserable trip or two to court and that disastrous journey to Canfield for the fortnight which we won’t discuss in detail, we haven’t been back in almost five years. How is it possible you’ve been so testy for so long?”
Robin scowled. “I’ve had much weighing on my mind.”
“Such as?”
“Hard to believe as it is, Nicholas, even I give myself over to the contemplation of life and its mysteries now and then.”
Nicholas laughed. “Ah, Rob, I know you’re not truly as shallow and uncaring as you seem to be.”
“Do you want me to toss you overboard? Or do you take your life in your hands simply because you are destroyed that you could no longer satisfy your mistress and she pitched you?”
“That was not the reason she left,” Nicholas growled.
Robin almost smiled. Ah, how sweet it was to know at least one thing that could disturb his brother’s enviable calm. It was difficult to ruffle Nicholas, but always immensely entertaining.
But before Nicholas could either retort or retaliate, Robin held up his hand in surrender. He had the feeling his brother’s revenge would cause him a goodly amount of discomfort and he had no more stomach for that than he did for Nicholas’s words.
“I know that wasn’t the reason,” he sighed. He turned again to stare out over the moonlit water. “I won’t provoke you further.”
“No doubt very wise,” Nicholas agreed. “The saints only know what I would be tempted to do to your pretty visage otherwise.”
Robin only grunted.
“Why don’t we speak of your vats of troubles instead of mine?” Nicholas asked. “Surely that will entertain us for quite some time.”
As tempting as it was to unbend far enough to speak his heart truly, Robin was too much in the habit of keeping that poor heart protected. He rarely admitted the truth of his feelings to himself in the stillest part of the night. How could he possibly admit anything aloud? He felt his brother’s gaze boring into the side of his head, but he ignored it. The last thing he needed was to discuss his innermost secrets with his dreamy-eyed sibling and hear the laughter that was sure to follow.
“Very well,” Nicholas said pleasantly. “If you’ve no mind to bring them up, I’ll aid you. Let us speak of Anne.”
Robin gritted his teeth, but said nothing.
“Why do you think she stayed away for so long?” Nicholas asked.
“I don’t know and I couldn’t care less.”
“Don’t you have any feelings for her at all?”
As if he would babble the like to his brother! “Anne of Fenwyck is feisty, opinionated, and contrary,” Robin said. That at least was truth. “When I do take a wife—and the saints pity me when that unhappy day arrives—I’ll have a woman who’ll obey me, not give me her opinion at every turn.”
“I see,” Nicholas said wisely. “Then you haven’t the stomach for Anne’s fire.”
Robin could only grunt in answer.
“A meek, obedient woman is the one for you,” Nicholas continued.
“Aye.”
“Just like Mother.”
“Aye.”
Robin regretted the word the instant it left his lips. His mother was anything but obedient and his father loved her all the more for her spirit. But he’d be damned if he’d let Nicholas trap him so easily.
“You’re nigh onto pushing me too far,” Robin said, mustering up what irritation he could—and that was never difficult when it came to Nicholas poking and prodding him. “I don’t need your opinions and I don’t want your advice. When I feel the need of a legitimate heir, I’ll saddle myself with a quiet woman who won’t vex me when I take a mistress, nor trouble me when I ignore her for years on end, which I fully intend to do.”
“And Anne is not lovely,” Nicholas said, slowly. “I suppose that is something you also consider.”
“Beauty does not matter to me.”
“And, to be sure, Anne does not possess any of it—”
Robin glared at his brother. “There is naught amiss with her face and if you tell her differently, you’ll answer to me.”
“And her temper,” Nicholas continued with a shudder. “Passing unpleasant.”
“There is naught amiss with her temper either!”
Nicholas looked at him appraisingly. “Why, Robin, I think you love the girl.”
Robin’s lunge almost sent them both overboard. Nicholas laughed weakly as he lay on the deck with Robin sprawled over him, his hands at his throat.
“That was close,” he said.
“And you are as giddy as a mindless milkmaid,” Robin snapped.
“Am I?” Nicholas asked, still grinning like the idiot Robin knew him to be.
But it was a knowing grin and somehow just that much more terrifying for the knowledge behind it. That was all he bloody needed—to have Nicholas babbling what he supposed to be Robin’s heart to anyone who would listen. Best disabuse the fool of his idiotic notions whilst he had the chance.
“I give Anne less thought than I do what color tunic to wear each day. She’s as skinny as a boy and about that handsome,” Robin growled. He was lying, of course, but it sounded convincing so he kept to his tack. “If I wanted a woman, I’d choose someone with a bit of meat on her and a face that I could look at without wincing.”
A blinding pain in his face made him instantly release his loose grasp on Nicholas’s throat. He was dumped onto his back and banged his head smartly against the deck. Before he could think to start cursing his brother, he was hauled to his feet.
“Don’t say anything else,” Nicholas bit out softly. “Think what you like about her, but don’t say it out loud. And for pity’s sake, don’t say it to her. If you do, I’ll make you regret it.”
“I never would,” Robin grumbled, shoving his brother away from him. He rubbed the back of his head in annoyance. “Go to bed, Nick. Mother will see those dark circles under your eyes, think my fist caused them, and take a switch to my behind for my trouble.”
Nicholas paused. “And leave you here to stew alone?”
“Begone, dolt. I need not your aid.”
Nicholas pursed his lips. “Don’t pace all night. Anne will worry if you look too haggard.”
“Just
go, would you?” Robin ordered crossly. He heard his brother’s retreating footsteps and leaned against the rail with a sigh.
Of course Anne wasn’t uncomely. And Nicholas was a fool if he thought Robin would ever say anything to hurt her. He might have possessed but a little chivalry, but he knew when to trot it out. Besides, he would never comment on Anne’s appearance because he would never have the chance. How could he when he never planned to be in the same chamber with her, much less speak to her?
Aye, that was the wisest course of action. He bloody didn’t care for her. He never had. She was obstinate, and disagreeable and she had a perverse fondness for doing exactly the opposite of what he told her to do. How could anyone expect him to endure that for the rest of his life?
Anne wasn’t the cause of his problems, but she certainly wasn’t the solution either. It was best he stay completely away from her.
He did not love her.
And he certainly wasn’t going to wed with her.
And he wasn’t going to dream about her ever again.
Five days later, Robin reined in his mount and stared at the castle in the distance. He could have likely coerced the captain into sailing farther north, which would have saved him a grueling pair of days on horseback, but he hadn’t wanted to alert his family to his arrival. Better to have it seem as if he had just come in from the lists. His family would be about their various daily tasks and he would walk in and feel as if he’d never left.
Except that five years had passed since he had last seen his home. How much had it changed? How much had his loved ones changed?
Nicholas cleared his throat. “Ready?”
“Aye.”
“Mother likely won’t be expecting us for at least another se’nnight.”
Robin nodded, then looked at his brother. “She won’t recognize you. You’ve filled out a bit whilst we’ve been away.”
“So have you,” Nicholas replied solemnly. “Save that empty space between your ears.”
Nicholas was away before Robin could reconcile himself to the fact that he had reached out and grasped a fistful of air, not his brother’s tunic. He spurred his mount into a gallop, trying to catch up to Nicholas.
By the time they reached the outer gate, Robin had forgotten why he had his brother’s death on his mind. His heart lifted with every stride his horse took toward home. He had been away too long. Perhaps he would stay longer than a fortnight. After all, Artane would eventually be his. It might behoove him to remain a bit closer to home for awhile. He did have other fiefs in England to where he could escape if necessity warranted it. But to France? Not again quite so soon.
Perhaps it was a weakness, but he loved his home. Artane was a magical place and he greatly suspected it was his family that made it so.
He raced Nicholas up the long road from the outer gate, laughing at the direness and variety of curses he received from his father’s men as they hastily moved out of his way. He slowed as he neared the inner walls and then walked his horse into the courtyard. Robin sat back and breathed deeply. Ah, to actually sleep a night in a bed that was his, eat at his father’s table, relax in front of the hearth in the great hall without having to keep one eye over his shoulder.
Just as he was contemplating how best to enter the house and achieve the desired results, the front door opened and his father stepped out, rubbing his arms and stomping his feet to ward off the chill. Rhys blinked a time or two, then began to smile.
Robin dismounted and watched Nicholas walk by their sire with naught but a negligent wave. Rhys was just as busy paying him little heed. Perhaps to an outsider it would have seemed strange indeed, but he and Nicholas had decided upon the like long ago. Nicholas greeted their mother first and their father last; Robin the opposite. It had worked out so well after the first try they had kept to it. Robin walked up the steps and was immediately enveloped in a fierce hug. Robin gave his father a hearty kiss and slapped him on the back.
“Good to see you, Papa. What’s for supper?”
Rhys scowled. “And to think I actually told your mother that I missed you . . .”
“Can we carry on this tender reunion inside? It’s brutally cold out. I’d forgotten what a bloody frigid place England is.”
“You swear too much,” Rhys grumbled, pulling Robin inside. Once there, he hugged Robin again, until Robin thought his ribs just might pop. “Damn you, Robin,” Rhys said hoarsely, “you didn’t have to stay away so long.”
“I had to,” Robin said, feeling his eyes burn with an unwelcome kind of fire. “I had things to prove to myself. Things I couldn’t prove here at home.”
Rhys didn’t answer, but Robin flinched at the affectionate slaps he received on his back. Rhys pulled away finally, blinking rapidly.
“Looks like you’ve grown a bit,” he said.
“You saw me last year at court,” Robin said dryly. “How much could I have grown since then?”
“Well,” Rhys said, “it seems as if you have. Don’t contradict me while I’m feeling so sentimental.”
Robin straightened his cloak over his shoulders. “Care for a wrestle now so you can determine the true extent of the change, or shall we wait until I’ve had something to eat?”
Rhys took him by the back of the neck and shook him. “After supper. You’ll enjoy your meal much more before your thrashing than after.”
“No doubt,” Robin said. He would indeed take his father on after supper and show him that five years of warring had turned his son into a man to be reckoned with.
The hall was deliciously warm compared to the air outside. Massive logs were burning in the hearth and various members of the family were gathered close, fussing over Nicholas at the moment. Robin felt his palms begin to sweat and cursed himself. By the saints, he had no reason to be nervous.
But that didn’t stop him from glancing about likely more than he should have. There were many souls coming and going in the great hall. There was surely no sense in not taking a look at them to see who they were. He looked back at the hall door, then turned and blinked in surprise. A young woman was rushing across the hall toward him. He thought she just might be his sister.
“Oof,” he grunted as she launched herself at him.
“Oh, Robby!”
Robin gasped for air. “By the saints, Isabelle, you weigh more than my horse!”
Isabelle clung to him. “I’ve missed you so much, Robin. What’d you bring me from France?”
Robin let her slip down to the ground and looked at her in astonishment. When had his youngest sister grown up? She had been ten-and-one the year he left. He hardly recognized the slender girl who was certainly no longer a child. Had she been betrothed already?
“Presents, Robby,” Isabelle reminded him.
What had he missed by not having watched her grow? The regret that washed over him, for he suspected this was not the first thing he had missed that he shouldn’t have, was almost enough to make him weep. Then his sister began checking him over for baubles.
“Isabelle,” he managed, “I watched Nick spend a fortune on presents for you and another fortune sending them home.”
“A most generous brother,” she said, industriously investigating the depths of his cloak.
“Why in the world would I have watched all that, then found myself fool enough to see more gold spent on you by me?”
She smiled up at him and the sweetness of her smile almost brought him to tears in truth. “You did bring me something,” she said with a happy sigh.
“I brought you nothing, you greedy wretch,” he said, giving her a fierce hug. He closed his eyes and prayed he wouldn’t embarrass himself by an unmanly display of emotion.
“Robin . . .” she complained.
He lifted her face and kissed her quickly. “Did you miss me truly?”
“Aye.”
“Come, you can do better than that.”
She considered. “Desperately?”
“I may have brought you a trinket or two.” br />
“Robin, I hardly slept a wink for missing you all this time. See the lines of worry on my face?” she said earnestly.
“Very well, I brought you several things, none of which you will see until I’m ready to show them to you.” He was prepared to give her a further lecture on greed—for indeed he could see how else his guiding influence had been missed—but he saw another sight that deserved attention. “We’ll discuss this further when I have time. Now I see that my favorite little slaves are waiting impatiently for their audience.”
Isabelle moved just in time to avoid being trampled by Montgomery and John. The twins hugged Robin until he pretended to gasp for breath. Now these were children who had changed. They had to be at least ten-and-three by now. Robin remembered vividly holding both boys up over his head, one with each hand, countless times and their howls of laughter from the like. How he loved his youngest brothers. They were little imps, stirring up mischief even he had to admire. Now he wondered if he could possibly hoist them both any distance at all off the floor. Five years had done a goodly work upon them both.
“Move, little lads.” The deep voice was accompanied by two arms that took the boys by the backs of their tunics and hoisted them away.
Well, apparently someone was still equal to that task. Robin felt his jaw slide down.
“Miles?” he asked.
“Who else?” Miles said, setting the twins aside and making Robin a low bow. “At your service, spurs in hand.”
Robin laughed. “Saints, but you’ve grown. I seem to remember picking you up when last we met.”
“I doubt you would succeed now,” Miles said, flexing an arm for Robin’s benefit. “If you’d care to try?”
Robin caught sight of his mother. She was coming toward him purposefully, though he could already see the tears streaming down her face. “Later,” he said, pushing his brother aside.
He reached her just as she had launched into a thorough scolding of him, and pulled her over to the hearth. No sense in not having the rest of him be warm while his ears were being blistered.