Chapter Fifteen

H e prayed as he never had before in his life to the God who always seemed to ignore his pleas when he saw the lightning strike above her and knew he could not reach her in time. Royce followed the dog’s barking and could not believe that Isabel stood there, in the raging storm screaming out his name.

Luckily the dog jumped on her, knocking her to the ground and out of the way of the falling branch. Drawing his sword, he hacked his way to her side. She was incoherent when he found her, her eyes wild, darting over his face and fixing on his sword. He swung once more and she was freed.

She was also unconscious.

He sheathed his weapon and scooped her from the ground. The wind tore into him as he decided that the cottage was the safest place to wait out the worst of the weather. Calling the dog to his side, he ran back down the path and to the croft. Pushing the door open and then shut with his foot, he carried her to the pallet and laid her down.

Her skin was frigid and ghostly pale. She moved not at all and he called out to her several times, trying to wake her. Her breathing was uneven and she shivered as he removed the coverings from her face and hair. Peeling off the veil and barbette from around her chin, she saw for the first time in weeks the scar that encircled one side of her face.

He knew now why she chose this head covering—it hid not only her hair and the solid white splash that grew from her scalp, but also the scar. William smoothed the hair from her face and called to her again. She did not react.

She needed to be dry and warm so he began to unlace her bliaut and pulled it off over her head. Soaked through to the skin, he realized he had to also remove the undergown and her shift. He found two blankets in the storage chest he’d left behind and, after carefully undressing her, he wrapped one around her and laid her back on the pallet.

Damn, but the rains had started before he could bring in more dry peat, so there would be no fire to warm her. He wrung out her garments and spread them over the table and bench and chair. And then knew he must do the same with his clothes, for they were just as wet. He divested himself of mail, hauberk, tunic and trousers. With the other blanket around him, he lay down next to her and brought her close.

Tremors racked her as he held her. He began to rock back and forth, holding her nearer and willing the heat in his body to warm her. Whispering to her as he had those weeks before, he called to her and, God forgive him, he told her of his love for her. He even allowed himself to kiss her softly on the cheek and forehead as he urged her to wake.

After a while, her shivering slowed and her breathing became more regular. William continued to hold her, checking her skin for its color and warmth. A deep shudder and gasp told him she had awakened even before her eyes opened.

“Shh, Isabel, fear not.”

“Where…?” Her lips trembled so much that more words did not come out. William adjusted the blanket higher and tighter and rubbed her cheek gently.

“We are safe from the storm’s fury in my cottage. I found you in the forest.”

“The dog…” Her teeth chattered as she spoke. He lifted his leg, draped it over hers and pulled her nearer. It would kill him, but she needed his warmth.

“The mutt saved you, leading you here and getting my attention with his whining and noises.” The dog whined from his place in the corner of the cottage.

“My chest hurts.” He felt her hand move to her chest inside their cocoon of blankets. Every touch, even a glancing one, created more heat in him. Holding her this close, almost skin to skin, was pure torture and both punishment for his sins and reward for his deprivations.

“The dog jumped at you to push you from the broken branch’s path. He may not be big, but the force with which he hit you was greater than his size.”

“He saved my life?” Her eyes searched his face for the truth.

“He did just that. And brought me to you. And I brought you here.” A frown marred her face and he decided she must have become conscious of their position and lack of clothing.

Would she object to his embrace? Would she be horrified when she comprehended their state, or rather his state? Another wave of shivers passed through her, moving from her head and face through her body and down to even her feet. She clutched at him and moved herself closer.

What had sent her in such a condition of agitation to seek him out during a dangerous storm? Isabel was overwhelmed even before the rains soaked her thoroughly. What had driven her out of the safety of the keep? To him?

“Isabel, why did you leave the keep?”

“I had to find you. I had to tell you…” She shivered again and he rubbed his hands down her arms and back up again, trying to cause some heat.

“Tell me what? What was so important that you risked your very life coming out in this storm?”

“I was confused, Royce. I tried to sleep as Lady Margaret suggested, but the dreams have been so terrible.” She leaned her head against his chest and remained there for a few moments. He waited for her to go on and fought the urge to kiss her head while she was awake and would feel it.

“You are safe. Tell me of the dreams.”

She let out a deep breath and spoke. “It was the attack that I remembered. I was with a traveling party when a small group broke off and headed down a road we had not used before.”

“Do you remember where you were going to or coming from?” He hoped his small nudges would help her remember some of the details. She shook her head.

“They stabbed the man. I saw the sword go through his body. Then the blow came, knocking me from my horse and onto the ground.”

“What man did they stab?” Her eyes had glazed over as she once again watched the events she described to him.

“It was my fault, he said. My failures had brought him, us, to this. I do not know who he is, but he was surprised by the attack, too. He landed next to me and whispered that it was my fault.”

This accusation pained her; he could feel it in her voice as she said it to him. She had been blamed before and had accepted that she was the cause. Of what?

“What was your fault, Isabel? Do you know?”

She shook her head. Her eyes were still focused elsewhere and he waited for more of the tale. Another tremor overtook her and he waited for it to pass.

“I knew they would kill me, so I ran. I could not see much for the moon had gone behind the clouds and I knew not the road we were on. But I could smell the marshland nearby.”

Her body was shaking now, but he thought from fear and not cold. William gently rubbed his hands on her back, trying to soothe her as she tried to put the pieces of this memory together again. “You are safe now. I will protect you.”

“There were many of them, mayhap six or seven, and they followed me. I did not know how close they were until the club broke my leg and I fell.”

He flinched at her words, for she spoke in a cold and unfeeling voice. The horror of this was real to him as Isabel continued. “I dragged myself up, knowing that death was at hand, and I tried to get away. I could not.” Another shudder. “They surrounded me and passed me one to the other, hitting me with their fists. Then, one came into their midst and drew a dagger.”

“Isabel,” he said, even as he dreaded asking her to dwell on this any more than was necessary. He asked because, while fresh and clear in her mind, she might remember more now than when this had passed. “Do you recognize any of them? Are any familiar to you?”

He watched in dread as her eyes moved around those she saw in these memories. One by one, she stared at them and shook her head. Then she did not move her gaze and he could tell that she was looking at someone she knew.

“Who is he?”

“His brother.” She began shaking again and he urged her to speak of what she saw. “He slashed at me, not trying to kill me, just…”

He knew what this man was doing for he had done it himself in battle and in challenge. He was playing her, weakening her, tiring her out for the kill. “Go on,” he whispered.

“I kept trying to run, but my leg would not hold me up. I dragged it and struggled away until he kept striking with the dagger. He cut at my gowns until my arms bled, then he aimed at my face.”

He could not help himself this time. He pressed his lips to the ragged scar and kissed her there. William held her close, touching his mouth to her forehead and waited for her to calm enough to tell the rest.

“As I saw the determination in his face, I struggled with myself. Part of me wanted to live, but part of me was in so much pain that I wanted to surrender to it. I confess that I wanted to die then. I knew he was not done and I did not think I could face any more of it.” She leaned back and looked at him now; she was with him. “I know it is a mortal sin, and may God forgive me, but I wanted to die in that moment.”

The church taught that it was a sin. William had accepted long ago that the many times he’d wanted, nay invited, death to visit him had simply added to the blackening of his soul. He feared he was past the point of redemption.

“’Twas the fear in you, Isabel. It overwhelmed you. Surely God knows that and will forgive any transgressions.”

“But Royce, if this attack was my fault, how can I be forgiven?”

He shook his head. “Do not believe that, Isabel. Ruthless men will say what they must to avoid taking the blame for their actions.”

Guilt stabbed through him as he knew he spoke of himself and his own transgressions of the past. He had blamed those who challenged him or those who had tried to resist Prince John’s desires or those who had encouraged his misdeeds. Anyone but himself. For accepting the blame meant acknowledging that he was wrong, that he was guilty of sinful acts and grievous misconduct. It had taken losing everything and everyone he cared about before he could accept that blame. His throat was thick with emotions he thought he had banished when he asked her his question.

“Do you know what he accuses you of? Mayhap that would tell us more about you?”

Isabel shook her head. “Nay. I know only that the one killed and the one killing hated me. I could see it in their eyes. As the one lay on the ground after being stabbed, his hatred poured out at me, in his words and in his eyes.” Her tears began to flow and she tilted her head down so their gazes would not meet. He felt her humiliation.

He held her quietly in his arms. She had been deeply hurt by these memories and by the words spoken against her by these men. He suspected strongly that one of these men was her husband, but he did not voice that to her for fear of frightening her even more. William waited a few minutes, listening to her breathing and to the storm raging outside, letting her regain her strength. Her words startled him, for he thought she’d fallen asleep.

“He pushed me back, slashing with the blade. I stumbled as much as I could, but then I began sinking into the mud beneath my feet. I could not move fast enough to avoid his blade and when he struck me in the side with a deep cut, I began to faint. I remember falling backward into the water and feeling it surround me. I began to welcome the blackness that overtook me.”

She paused, taking and releasing several deep breaths. “He laughed then. I heard him clearly through the silence of the marsh. I tried not to scream. I wanted him to think me dead and I wanted to die. Then he said they should seek out his brother for more sport than I had been.”

William tried to distract her from the horrifying truth that brother had killed brother. “How did you get out of the water?”

“I have no memory of that. I kept hearing someone call me, telling me to crawl, to keep moving. I followed that voice.”

He thought she was talking about him in the first days after she’d been found, but he was wrong.

“I think I heard my sister calling to me. Through the darkness and the fear, I heard her voice speaking.”

“Your sister?”

“Did I tell you she is my twin?”

He held her away and looked at her. “Your twin? You did not tell me this. When did you remember her?”

She shook her head. “I do not remember her except as a child, when we ran on that beach. But there is another memory of us holding hands and making a pledge. And I just know we shared the same birth.”

A twin sister. Did she know more?

“Do you remember her name? Do you remember calling out to her—on the beach or after this attack?”

“Nay, Royce. I do not.”

He asked her no more, for he could feel her exhaustion. It had grown dark inside the cottage now. Only bolts of lightning lit up the interior as they flashed outside. The wind battered against the walls and he was glad they had this refuge for the night. Or for however long the storm needed to release its fury.

The silence was companionable for a while, then he felt her begin to shake again. No, not shake. Cry. Her tears were warm where they touched his skin inside the blankets. He turned onto his back and drew her under his arm and next to him. Her cheek rested on his chest now and it was even worse. The sobs grew stronger and her grief deeper as she cried out in reaction to all the memories she now knew.

“He hated me, Royce. I could see it in his eyes,” she said. “Even as he was bleeding to death, he hated me for my failure.”

He said nothing. He was at a loss now, not on the solid ground of reason and strategy. She needed emotions and the support he did not think he could give. William held her and let her cry—’twas the only thing left to him.

“What could I have done that was so grievous that I deserved to die? What failure on my part caused a hatred so deep that he would kill me over it? Why…?” Her words drifted off into sobs again.

“Isabel, do not lash yourself over the words of a killer.”

“Not just his words, Royce. Look at the elaborate planning that was needed to rid me from his life. Mayhap I should have died that night?”

“Never say that again, Isabel,” he said, probably a bit harsher than he needed to, but it pained him to have her take the blame for this. “They did this deed. Let them take the blame for it.”

“I should have died that night,” she repeated, her voice forlorn and hopeless. “Why did you have to save me?”

Her anguish tore at his very soul. These bastards had destroyed not only her life but her being. How many times had he done that? Destroyed innocent lives in pursuing his own goals? Too many. And their faces flashed before his eyes in a reminder that she could have been talking about him in his previous life.

But he knew that she was an innocent and that she did not deserve this. What could he say to make her see that? What words would soothe her and let her know that she did matter? What could he say?

The truth.

The one he tried to ignore even though Lady Margaret had hinted at it. The one he feared and wanted the most. The obvious reason she had not died that night or since.

“I saved you, Isabel, because you were sent to save me.”