shall resolve when I accept that what God and the D’Argents made of you cannot be changed—and turn my efforts to helping you better control it.”
She pushed onto her elbows. “I am learning to control it. You know I am. But do you know how difficult it has been? Beyond difficult. If you think your patience tried, imagine mine!”
He did not mean to smile, but he had no choice. “I dare not.”
Eyes widening, mischief brightening the green peering into his brown, he thought she would make his smile seem the stub of a candle compared to the pillar of hers, but she lowered her lids and her chin.
Feeling the flattening of his mouth, he said, “Nicola?”
“Had I tried harder to control my words and actions,” she said softly, “Zedekiah would live.”
Here was something they should discuss—indeed, what he had thought they might when he came abovestairs. “Though in the beginning, much I faulted you for his death, long I have known that just as you were not the beginning of his downfall, you were not his end, Nicola.”
She looked up. “He said you would blame yourself.”
“He knew me well, and yet after what you did for him…” Recalling the missive delivered by Maël whose instructions had likely been carried out, his throat tightened. “It gave me much to think on during the ride to Wulfen. My decisions have affected others more than your own have done, and though I believe most have been for the good, some have not. Unfortunately, as one cannot know all that lies ahead, decisions must be made based on what is known of the past, known of the present, and the little known of the future. That is as I strove to do. Did my successes outweigh my failures?” He shrugged. “The Lord will judge me, but I believe that more than my decisions, yours, and Zedekiah’s, my friend is dead because of the decisions of others.”
“William’s invasion.”
“Aye, and what came before and after. Thus, it seems the best one can do is learn from their decisions, repeating the good and not the bad.”
“As told, I am learning,” she said, “and determined to gain control of this unseemly D’Argent.”
He set a hand on her jaw. “I would have you learn better control, but not so much you stop being Nicola whose unseemliness—nay, let us call it daring—made a difference to little Ardith, the women who are no longer the playthings of De Warenne’s men, Zedekiah whose desecration has been righted as much as possible, and your husband who is here with you and certain his friend would not regret his sacrifice to make it so.”
He thought she might smile, but she averted. “I know you love me, Vitalis. I do. But…”
Though upon entering here, he had thought himself nearly as fatigued as on their wedding night when he had not corrected what she believed of the depth of his feelings, it must be done now. “At Red Castle, you told you would try to accept that I may never love you as much as I love another,” he said.
“I did, and you answered that when we were far from there we would decide how to proceed with this marriage.”
“You are thinking you would like to decide that now.”
“I would, especially since…” She looked up. “…Hawisa is more certain of your feelings for me than I am.”
That they had spoken of him nearly angered, but he was at fault. To discourage Nicola, he had answered her profession of love by claiming Hawisa was his first and last love. When she came to him in his cell at Red Castle, he had admitted he cared for her but it would never be love. Though he had accepted he did love her, it was she who named that emotion. And he had left her in suspense as to how it compared to what he felt for Hawisa. Now that they were to dwell within the same walls as the Lady and Lord of Wulfen, this must be resolved.
“What does Lady Hawisa believe of my feelings for you?” he asked gently.
A breath of relief fanned his face. “When I said you had loved her very much, she replied that just as she wants no man other than Guarin, she believes you want no woman other than me.”
“She is very observant.”
Her eyes widened. “Then?”
“Though I did not love as soon as you loved, so great is what I feel for you, I do want only you, but not you being