The Norman's Bride Read online

  “Would you like to rest?” he asked, ready to stave off his curiosity until she was stronger.

  With obvious great effort, she shook her head slightly and mouthed the word no. She swallowed again and tried another word.

  “I…hurt.”

  Her voice was strained and husky from disuse and probably from damage, as well. He noticed that her left hand clutched the blanket as she tried to speak.

  William looked at her, examining her once more and seeing the bruises and scars as though for the first time. She did not need to know everything at this first moment, he decided. He did not want to scare her into a faint with the extent of her injuries.

  “Your face was cut and a few ribs were broken. The worst of it is your leg, but Wenda says it is set well and it should heal as straight as it was before.”

  Her face lost more of its already pale color so he stopped detailing what had been done to her. “I am tiring you. You must rest and then we can talk again. I am certain you have more questions and I have some for you.”

  He leaned down to straighten her covers. The touch of her hand on his surprised him—her grasp was stronger than he would have thought she could have accomplished. William did not pull from her, but waited. Her mouth moved several times as though she could not choose the words she wanted. Then she spoke.

  “Who…am…I?”

  The darkness threatened to claim her once more, but she needed to ask that one question. Upon regaining consciousness a wave of panic moved through her, removing any coherent thoughts. Only this man’s voice had calmed her mind and spirit. It sounded familiar and soothing and safe. But nothing else she could see or hear did.

  As he finished feeding her and moved from behind her, she followed his instructions. The pain was so great that truly she had no choice, but his gentle handling made it easier to put herself in his control. ’Twas as he was staring at her that she realized she did not know who she was.

  Searching through the thick fog of her memories, there was only black. She saw no faces, heard no voices and smelled no aromas. Only a black void existed where her life should have been.

  She needed to know her truth. Who was she? Where was she? And who was this man holding her and caring for her? Was he her husband? Brother? It had been his voice speaking in the hellish darkness; his voice guiding her and soothing her. Why?

  The first word she could form and force out had really been about herself, but the man misunderstood and gave his name.

  Royce.

  A kingly name for this rough warrior before her. Then another wave of darkness surrounded her as she realized the importance of him sharing his name with her. If he told her his name, then she had not known him before. Had he known her?

  Every breath hurt. Just moving her mouth to speak took all of her strength. But she had to know…so many things. And she needed to know now, before the panic that pushed in on her from all sides took control and she lost all thought.

  She used the pain to focus her thoughts and her efforts. It moved through her in waves, some more powerful than others, but like the relentless sea, it did not stop. More a statement than a question, her words were forced out of her by the torturous anguish.

  “I…hurt.”

  He did not want to tell her the truth. She read the coming lies in his silver-gray eyes before he spoke the words. Now fearful of knowing, she listened to the sound of his voice and did not pay attention to the content. Her wounds were grievous; she knew that from the inside out. A retelling would simply make the pain more frightening than it already was.

  A question filled her mind and she realized it would be the last one she would ask. The strength she had used to push herself back into consciousness was waning quickly. He stood and came nearer, tending to her. He was leaving. He was leaving and she still did not know who she was. Her hand moved on its own to keep him close.

  “Who…am…I?”

  The words she most feared at this moment were out now. He would tell her who she was and the chaos inside her would calm and she would remember. She would remember her life and her family and her name. She waited.

  The confusion she felt now filled his countenance. She watched as he looked over her face again and again. Now he struggled for words and, as she recognized the import of this, the darkness surged forward to claim her. Losing herself to its grasp, she barely heard the words he whispered in answer to her plea.

  “I know not.”

  She was truly lost.

  ’Twas not the first time he had felt this helplessness in his life, but he prayed to the Almighty that it be the last. As he watched her eyes close, his gut gripped. Had she died? Her body slumped back as she gave up the fight to speak.

  William reached down and removed the bolsters from behind her, laying her flat on the pallet. He watched for the rise and fall of her chest even as his own tightened. It took a few moments, but then he saw it. Letting out his own breath, he watched hers become slower as she slipped further and further into unconsciousness.

  This was a fine muckle, as Connor the Scot would say. The burly warrior from north of England’s borders had a saying for every situation.

  Had he himself caused her faint with his words? He thought not. Covering her with another layer of blankets, he sat back and thought about this mystery.

  William had hoped she would awaken from the sleep of these past weeks, tell him her identity and then he could return her to her people. Well, that was not the complete truth. A part of him was certain that her death was the motive for the attack on her and returning her to her people would not be the safest thing to do. Someone had tried to kill her, had almost succeeded and would try again if her survival was known. The warrior he was knew this for a certainty.

  Who would want to kill a woman? And with such savagery?

  From the smoothness of her hands, he suspected she might be a noblewoman. But what woman of noble blood could simply disappear and have no one know? If she were titled, someone would be searching for her. Lord Orrick would have known if there was a search being carried out, especially on his lands.

  No, he was mistaken about this. Shaking his head, he circled the cottage and prepared for the night. Not of noble blood. Then who? And more importantly, why?

  In his travels before settling here in the service of Orrick, he had seen many unfortunates throughout England—women who had been deserted, abandoned or marked for some failure on their part. Divorce was not possible, so men would simply force an unfaithful or unwanted wife from their home, taking everything from her but for the clothing she wore.

  And sometimes, not even granting her that much. If marked as a whore, the woman would find no sanctuary and be forced to accept whatever living she could. Although this cruelty was infrequently seen, it existed nonetheless. Orrick did not permit it on his lands, but other less scrupulous lords did.

  William sat on the pile of blankets on which he slept and watched her in the low light thrown off by the vestiges of the hearth’s banked flames. He was probably worrying for naught. This first awakening after so many days asleep must simply be one filled with confusion for her. As she regained strength and did not have to fight against the pain he knew coursed through her with every breath, her mind would clear and she would know herself.

  Wenda and young Avryl would arrive just after dawn and he would tell them of this brief period of alertness. Wenda would surely know what to do for the confusion that plagued the woman, for the healer knew a potion for all ailments.

  Aye, Wenda would know what to do in the morning.

  “Royce.”

  The strangled whisper of his name was like a scream in the silence of the night. He was up in an instant and at her side before she could say it again. He did not need to see her to know she was awake. He could hear the uneven pace of her breathing and the turmoil in her restless movements.

  He lay down beside her and whispered to her. Careful not to lean against her and cause more pain, he gently stroked her forehead and ur
ged her to calm herself. The words flowed easily for he’d said them to her many times before in the darkness and privacy of the night. Softly, over and over, he spoke the words. Finally he felt the tension leave her body and he thought she slept once more.

  As he began to move away, her voice pierced the night again.

  “Stay?” It came out on a hiss. A plea, not an order.

  William settled back on his side and did not move. The morning’s light found him still there.

  Chapter Three

  “’Tis a good thing then?”

  William had moved away from the group of men he sat with at the table and waited to hear Wenda’s advice. Lord Orrick had asked him for a report on the stranger in his care and William did not want to delay. And he wanted to know for himself.

  “That she has awakened? Aye, ’tis a good thing.” Wenda nodded. “But this confusion is not.”

  “Will it go away? Surely, her memory will return?”

  “Mayhap it will and mayhap it will not.” The old woman shrugged at him. “I have seen this but once before and that in a man wounded in the head during battle. He recovered his mind after a few days.”

  “Surely it will be so for her?” William was frustrated by the healer’s words more than he was satisfied by them.

  “I have heard stories of those who have never regained their memories.”

  “Nay!”

  His words and tone were a bit more vehement than he had planned so he paced away from the woman and tried to sort out his thoughts. He would not believe that this stranger would live in a state of confusion and without identity for the rest of her life. Last night had been her first time awake in weeks and this fog must be normal, a natural part of healing. But if it were that, the nagging thoughts in his head told him that an experienced healer such as Wenda would know of it.

  “Royce,” Wenda said. “We must simply wait to see if she continues to heal or if this is a pause in a decline. Time will tell us something more with each day.”

  “And is that what I tell Lord Orrick?”

  “That is all we can tell him for now.”

  William let out the breath he held and looked toward the high table where the lord he served was at his meal. Orrick was a fair man and would not begrudge a stranger a small measure of care after an attack such as she had suffered. Once she was stronger, her thoughts would clear and she would know herself. Once she was stronger, she could move to the keep and be tended by the women there. Once she was stronger, he would lose her.

  Shaking his head at his own foolish thoughts, he thanked Wenda and walked forward at Orrick’s behest. Her recovery would be a slow one and be filled with pain and struggle. It would be best if she was moved as soon as possible since his many duties for Orrick took him away from the village frequently. ’Twould be easier for all if she were not in his cottage. He thought himself convinced so no one was more surprised than he when his first words to Orrick were a request to keep her where she was.

  The rest of the day moved too slowly for him and he found himself wondering how she would be when he returned home. Wenda said that Avryl would continue to come each day to take care of her needs while he was at his duties. Wenda would visit often and Orrick had given his permission for things to be this way until the stranger either recovered enough to give an accounting of herself or until she succumbed.

  Finally his duties were finished and he took up his weapons and walked through the village toward the stream. Following it for a few minutes, he soon stood in the doorway of his small croft. It was quiet within. Young Avryl stirred a pot on the hearth and his guest lay sleeping. He fought a smile when he noticed that her hand rested on the head of his also-sleeping dog. She had found a champion after all.

  William dropped his sack next to the door, gaining the attention of the girl before the fire. Avryl was really older than a girl, nigh to ten-and-seven if he remembered correctly. He watched her graceful movements as she used the edge of her skirt to shield her hand from the heat of the pot and then poured some of the stew into a bowl on the table.

  She would not meet his eyes as he thanked her for the meal, and William noticed the blush creeping up her neck and face. He remembered Avryl’s mother trying to make a match between them after his first year in Silloth in the service of Orrick. A new bachelor in the close-knit community, especially one high in the esteem of Lord Orrick, was fair game for any unmarried woman. He had done his share of dodging those who would try to tie him into matrimony.

  He could afford no entanglements of that nature. Nothing that endangered his anonymity or threatened to reveal his past could be allowed. He became practiced at brushing aside the matchmaking. He waited for her to finish putting food and drink out before turning his attention to the woman lying on the pallet.

  “She has been awake for some hours today,” Avryl answered the question before he could ask it.

  “Does she know herself yet?” William crouched down to be nearer to the woman and inspected her for signs of worsening.

  “Nay. But she spoke a few times to Wenda and to me.”

  “Has she eaten?” William looked at the bowl of steaming food. It was probably too hearty for her.

  “Aye, she had something not long ago. Wenda gave her a potion for the pain and said she might sleep the night through.”

  William nodded at the information and stood. “My thanks for your care of her.”

  “I could stay longer…?” Her voice softened with a question and he did not miss its true meaning.

  “’Tis been a long day for both of us.” William pushed the door open and stood next to it. “Would you like me to walk you back to the village? The dark is growing deeper.”

  Avryl gathered a few items together and put them in her sack. Slinging it over her shoulder, she shook her head. “I can go back by myself.” He could also hear her unspoken words.

  Looking at this young woman who invited him to walk with her, William felt much older than his years. In another life, he would have been seeking out young women, wooing and bedding and marrying an appropriate one. Avryl would have been suitable for the wooing and bedding but not the marrying, if he’d stayed in his former life. Now, she was suitable for someone in his station.

  He sighed, letting out some of his frustration. He was now the one not suitable for marriage, so he took his pleasures discreetly when he felt the need. Never with the wife of another man. And he never encouraged any of the women in the village or within the purview of Lord Orrick to expect anything more.

  William would not let her work go unappreciated, so he walked to the stream with Avryl and waited for her to make her way a good distance before returning to the cottage.

  Looking around his home, he noticed that Avryl had been busy during her time there, and not just in tending to the sleeping woman. His stores of oats and other food supplies kept in jars were neat and the shelf that held them was now clean of any crumbs. His floor was swept clean and a pile of clothing lay on the table neatly folded. Busy, indeed.

  “She likes you.”

  He turned at the words and found his guest looking at him. How long had she been awake? He moved closer to aid her in sitting up, but she shook her head slightly.

  “Eat.”

  “Do you need something? Water? Broth?”

  “You eat.” Her focus turned to the table and the bowl of hot stew sitting there.

  William nodded and sat on the bench next to the table. It placed his back to her, but he did not move it. He concentrated on the meal and finished the thick stew, chunk of bread and cup of ale in a few minutes. Then he cleaned out the wooden bowl and cup and placed them up on the shelf in the corner. Lifting the pot from the hearth, he placed it on the floor to cool. Covering it with a battered lid, he knew that there were at least two more meals left within it.

  When no other tasks lay before him, he paused before facing her. Nervousness grew inside him and he knew not the cause. This was the feeling that usually accompanied a new challenge
or going into a fight, but he had neither planned. He only needed to face this unknown woman who was in his care. In his home.

  Aye, that must be it, he thought. No other woman had spent the night here since he first moved from the keep. And he had not slept beside a woman in a very long time. Especially to sleep only. He had done that last night and now confusion over the way he felt about it filled him.

  Finally he turned to his guest and found her watching his every move. He pulled the bench from the table, placed it next to her pallet and sat down. How do you begin when someone has lost all memory?

  “Catherine?” He paused to see if she reacted. None. “Alyce? Emalie? Mary? Eleanor? Margaret?” None of the names elicited more than the lifting of her brow and a blank stare as she listened.

  “I do not remember,” she whispered. “None sound like my own.”

  “What do you remember? Any faces? Anyone else’s name?” How did you go about helping someone regain their memory?

  “Would you help me up? I want to sit for a while.”

  Her voice was soft and refined. Once more the suspicion that she was noble reared itself in his mind. The dog roused and moved away as he reached down and supported her head and shoulders to help her to sit. After packing the blankets behind her to keep her steady, he moved away and let her settle.

  She clearly battled pain, for she held her breath and bit down on her lip. He watched her hands clutch and release the blankets over and over again. Since he could do nothing for her, he waited for her to gain control. A minute or two passed in silence as she gained some measure of relief in not moving.

  “Voices?” He tried again to focus her thoughts.

  “I know only you and those who were here today,” she replied.

  For a moment, his heart threatened to stop beating. She knew him?

  “Me?” He must know. An icy chill shivered through him as he waited. Had they met before?