Chapter Nine

“I believe you to be noble-born and that you have a sister. With blond hair,” he added with a smile. “I think you lived on the eastern coast of England as a child.”

“Noble-born?”

“’Twould explain much, although I thought that mayhap you were some nobleman’s by-blow or leman.”

“What? You think me a b…?” She could not say the word.

“You have the soft ways and speech of a noblewoman, and your hands show no signs of working. You gave hints of being familiar with wealth and with power. You know of knights and you speak Norman French, the language of the court.”

“As do you.” She winced as the words escaped.

“As do I.” He nodded his acceptance of her challenge. “I have simply changed my suppositions a bit. I think you are a noblewoman, not a b—”

“Fine!” she said with a bit too much vehemence. “Then why is no one looking for me?”

He smiled with a look of satisfaction. “Ah, the very quandary I have been thinking on.”

She took her cup in hand and swallowed all that remained in it in one mouthful. It would not be good information he was about to share. Indeed, something scary was coming in his words. Her fears were confirmed when he took her hand in his.

“You are a noblewoman with at least one enemy. An enemy powerful enough to have planned your death and one who believes he was successful in his plan.”

“Why?” was all she could force out. Her thoughts were jumbled at the idea of someone wanting her dead.

“Why do you have this enemy or why do I believe you do?”

His hand smoothed over hers as she leaned against the back of the chair. The roughness of his thumb drawing circles on her skin soothed her in some small measure and she treasured the attempt to calm her that he was probably not even aware of.

“Why do you believe this?”

“No one has searched for you. Lord Orrick said nothing in the letters he’s received from the surrounding landowners mentions a missing woman. If you are noble and not where you are supposed to be, someone, your father or brother or husband, should be searching.”

She stared out the window, not really looking at anything, as her mind was filled with more questions. A strong shiver pulsed through her. Someone had tried to kill her. Others must think her dead. Did anyone miss her?

“Unless your family believes you dead. Or was convinced by someone that you died.”

“But why? Why would someone plan my death?” Tears burned in her eyes as she knew the truth for what it was.

“You must stand in the way of something important. Wealth? Land? Powers? Heirs? Those are the usual goals of subterfuge and machinations.”

His words hit too close to the mark for both of them. His voice had trailed off.

“You describe the reasons for marriage, Royce.”

He met her eyes now and nodded slowly. “Those are the reasons for most decisions in the world. Someone wants something that he could not or would not or should not have, but covets it anyway. ’Tis simply the way of it.”

She thought he was not speaking in general terms now but about something very personal to himself and his life.

“Am I safe now?” She looked around the small cottage and wondered at her ability to ever be safe again. No wonder he had reacted that way earlier when he found this place empty of her.

“So long as you are thought to be dead, you should be.”

“Does Lord Orrick know this?”

He nodded.

“And he agrees with you that I should move to the keep?”

“You mistake me again, Isabel. ’Tis the Lady Margaret’s plan that you should be part of her women and thereby disappear into her realm. Only when your memory returns will you be in any danger.”

“So, that which I want the most could be to my biggest detriment?” Knowing herself could bring knowledge of the one who had planned her death. Could she face that knowledge?

“I fear so. But do not fret over that now. Life within Lady Margaret’s circle of ladies should offer you some diversion from the existence you have been living here. No cooking, but there will be plenty of embroidery to keep your hands busy.”

His smile warmed her heart, for they both knew the sorry results of her attempts to help Avryl. “Working with needle and thread is good.” She smiled back, their even footing now recaptured for the moment.

“Lady Margaret will see to your comfort and you can trust her with any concerns you might have.”

“Why do they do this? For all we know, I could be the daughter or sister or wife of their enemy?” She was feeling worn down by this lack of self and lack of history and of life itself.

“They are good people trying to help someone in need. Give them that chance.” Royce stood and pushed the bench back to the table’s edge. “I also came to share an invitation with you.”

“An invitation?” She’d been so long in this one place that her excitement over this grew quickly.

“Wenda lives on the edge of the village and she thought that with the aid of Corwyn’s crutch, you might want to try to walk there and share the evening meal with her and Weorthy.”

“Is that her husband? I have not met him yet.”

“Well, he is not exactly her husband.” She must have shown the puzzlement she was feeling on her face for he continued. “They do not share the bonds of marriage, but do share bed and board. Is that a reason for you to not share their meal?”

There were many reasons why those in the lower classes did not marry. Isabel blinked, wondering from where that thought had come? Did she object? Everything was so new to her, she thought not.

“I would share a meal with them. If she was good enough to save my life, I certainly could not refuse her invitation, could I?”

“I would hope not. She is a good woman.”

“You will come with me?”

“I would not allow you to go this first time without an escort.” He looked around the cottage and then at her. “If you are rested enough after your adventure to the stream, we could leave now and not have to rush.”

“Do I need to bring anything with me?” Since nothing here belonged to her, she did not know what she could offer, but Isabel knew that hospitality should be returned.

“Nay. Only your determination.”

“That I always have.” She laughed as she stood and gained her balance. “At least as long as you are with me.”

Before she could say any other foolish words, she put the crutch under her arm and supported her weaker leg as she walked out the door and waited for Royce to show her the way.

“How many here know of me?”

’Twas a question that had bothered her throughout their meal and conversation with Wenda and Weorthy. Some plans, organized by Lady Margaret had been put in place and would result in Isabel’s arrival at the keep on the morrow as a woman sent by Lady Margaret’s sister at the convent. No explanation would be given other than that, since none was expected.

Her past, or rather lack of one, was being kept secret from the people here. As Isabel thought about it, it was the best hiding place—out in the open. Those under Orrick’s control would see a woman sponsored by his wife. Those who may visit would see only another woman in the group that served the lady.

The one aspect that bothered her was what would be thought of her since no explanation was forthcoming. She would not be presented as noble, since they knew not if she was. She would not be presented as serf, since they were certain she was not. This vagueness would give the impression of illegitimacy, as many bastards of nobles were raised in gentle surroundings with comforts and servants to see to their needs. Even good marriages could come for them.

This round-and-round was giving her an ache in her head. Pressing her fingers onto her forehead, she sought to soothe the pain. Closing her eyes, she tried to let go of it.

She and Royce had arrived back at the croft after a wonderful but challenging visit to Wenda. Although feeling stronger with each passing day, the distance between the two cottages was more than she had attempted over an entire day. Her leg would throb through the night, but the journey and the testing had been worth it. The food and company had been exceptional.

Royce had still not answered her question. She opened her eyes to look at him. “How many?”

“Very few. Orrick and Margaret. Wenda and Weorthy. Avryl, her mother, John and Corwyn. Your presence here was not an open discussion.”

She was tired. She was being called on to play a role when she already felt as though as she was playing one. It took so much concentration to get through a day and deal with only one or two people, how could she manage in the keep and in the village?

“Do not worry on this, Isabel. Lady Margaret’s plan is simple and will be easy to follow. She will expose you to various tasks and duties to see if you remember any of them. Just follow her lead if you are unsure.”

“And if someone asks me a question?”

“Follow your own inclination in answering it. Isabel, this will work. It is best for you.”

“The villagers? The serfs? The servants?”

“Have no place to question anything the lord and lady do. They answer only to God, his bishops and the king.” He approached and lifted her chin with his fingers. “No one will question this.”

She tried to smile but could not. Now that her emotions had broken through this afternoon, she found that there were many she’d held under check since her awakening. Even though they signified life and a returning vigor within her, it was difficult to stay calm and not react with fear or worry or anger. How many of these feelings were simply reactions to her situation and how many were part of her own person before this, she knew not. Isabel looked at Royce’s re assuring smile and decided not to battle against herself at this point.

“’Tis difficult, Royce.”

“I do understand how much so, Isabel. As I told you, you are on the lands of a good man. You could not have found yourself a more fortuitous place than this one. Lady Margaret assures me that your turning up here is part of a larger plan and I dare not disagree with her.”

Royce stepped back and picked up the large pitcher on the cupboard. “I will fill this for the morning. Why do you not get settled for the night?”

When he returned a few minutes later, she was already on her pallet and could feel sleep drawing her down. But this was her last night here and she did not want to sleep yet.

“Will you go to escort Lady Margaret back from Carlisle?”

He moved around the cottage, finishing tasks. “Nay. Lord Orrick sent Richard and his troop to bring her back. I have been given other duties for now.”

“Lady Margaret spends much time at the convent?”

“She travels there about six times each year. Richard or I usually see to her safety.”

“She is a pious lady, then? I hope not to insult her practices with my lack of them.”

“Not particularly pious, but of strong faith. Her sister is prioress of the convent she visits.”

“Lord Orrick is lenient to allow so many visits. Even if the purpose is prayer and contemplation, my father would allow only…” Her words trailed off and she tried to let them flow.

“How many visits was your mother permitted, Isabel?” She heard Royce’s voice come closer. “How many?”

“Two each year. She was permitted to go once during Lent and once on the anniversary of my eldest brother’s death.”

She struggled to sit up. “Royce, I have a brother.”

“Two from the way you said it. ‘Eldest’ usually implies a younger.” He seemed to back away from her now, taking a seat on his own pallet near the door and looking at her across the darkened cottage. “And a sister.”

“And parents,” she added. An overwhelming sense of loss filled her and threatened her control. “Why are they not seeking me? How can I not mean anything to them?”

His voice filled the darkness but still he moved no closer to her. Part of her ached for his arms to close around her and offer the protection and solace that he had many times before.

“I believe they would, if they knew or even suspected you to be alive. They have been fooled by someone they have no reason to disbelieve.”

“Thank you for that,” she whispered, truly grateful for his efforts.

“I wish I could offer you more, Isabel.”

There was more to his words than that simple declaration. He spoke so clearly of more than just words. His words gave her a glimpse into the part of him that longed for more than he had here. He wanted more than this solitary existence that she’d fallen into, but he would not grasp for it. What did he fear so much that living, existing, this way was preferable? She dared much but asked her question anyway.

“Have you no family, Royce?”

The space between them filled with so much tension that she knew she had crossed a tenuous line. He would not speak, had never spoken freely, of his own past. Isabel slid down once more and listened to the sounds of night that surrounded the cottage, hoping that they would calm her enough to allow rest.

Her thoughts were filled with the new memories she’d discovered—a brother alive, a brother dead, a mother and father and a sister. She could see only her sister and then but as a child, running on the beach with her. Caught up in her own thoughts, his words surprised her.

“I had a sister.”

“Is she dead?” She held her breath, waiting for some explosion from him for treading too far into his life with her questions. The softness of his denial tore into her much more.

“No. She is not dead.”

Isabel sensed there was more, but it came not. Quiet once more ruled and Isabel found herself drifting to sleep.

But I am.

The crack into his control, into the emptiness, was growing deeper. Not content with making him feel things he’d not permitted in almost three years, now she forced words from him to confirm things he did not want known. To anyone.

Determined to ignore any more of her dangerous questions, he turned away and cursed himself in his thoughts. He had withstood any number of challenges in these past years. So many times, the reverend mother’s words made him want to return to Harbridge and to take his sister away from those who would demean her. So many times, the anger and the loneliness had crashed in on him and he thought to go back and challenge the prince, to clear his name and to return to Catherine all she had lost, all he had lost. So many times that he’d lost count of them.

’Twas a good thing that Isabel was leaving on the morrow. He needed time to rebuild the walls around himself so that he could continue on his chosen path. Wanting more, wanting someone he could not have, was too dangerous.

She was a hazard to be avoided. Her memories pointed to a plot to kill her, and to her own nobility. He could afford to be involved in neither the vengeance that her attack demanded nor the trappings of the life she left behind. Once her identity was revealed, actions would need to be taken and not by him. For exposure to anyone associated with or familiar with the Plantagenet courts could reveal his existence. Too many barons and earls and counts and knights knew him and would report his survival to John. The hedonistic, vengeful, distrustful, unstable scion of the royal house would not cease until an insult was answered and the insult William had dealt him would never go ignored.

How could he fight her incursions? How could he resist the lures of a woman in need and a woman who had no idea of the appeal she offered him? In another time, in another life, they would have been perfect for each other. Now there was no hope of more than this passing alliance. For, in the end, he knew she was a noblewoman and he was damned.

Turning onto his back, he listened to her breathing, even and deep. Content to know she slept, he planned out the next two days and considered how to strengthen his guard against her. Satisfied that she would soon be ensconced in Lady Margaret’s solar and out of his path, he startled at her scream. He sat up and watched her fighting something, someone, in her dreams. Her pleas grew stronger and more impassioned until he could not stop himself from going to her.

Gathering her in his arms, he lay down next to her and held her while the nightmare terrorized her. She turned to him and burrowed next to him, clutching at him. He held her, soothing her with soft words until she quieted.

This would be the last time he held her. She would leave and he would never have her this close again. He could let go later, but he decided to allow himself this passing pleasure for the night. Then he would go back to his dead life.

Alone.

Secure.

Empty.

Safe.