The Norman's Bride. Terri Brisbin
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added last time.”
Isabel nodded at him, lifted a spoonful of the thick stew to her mouth and savored its well-cooked taste. After a few minutes of silent eating, she wanted to talk to him.
“I have been eating Avryl’s cooking, or that of her mother, for all these weeks and have yet to taste two of her fish stews or soups that are the same.”
“’Tis true. They are good at cooking.” He shoved another spoonful of stew into his mouth and chewed it.
“Fish is plentiful here?”
“It is a mainstay of our diet. Even the fish-days of Lent are no hardship, as the women here lack not in ways to cook it.”
“Because we are near the coast?” Wenda had explained where the lands of Lord Orrick were located and the general surroundings of the area.
“Aye, and because Lord Orrick owns most of the sea lathes to the north where salt is produced. So, fresh in summer or salted in winter, fish is always on our tables.”
“I think I like the sea.” Isabel could see an image in her mind of the ocean, with its salty scent and its waves crashing wildly onto a sandy beach. Then she could see two young girls frolicking on that beach, one with black hair and one with blond. They splashed along the edge of the ocean, their gowns dragging on the wet sand as they ran in the shallow water. They were held back from running in completely by the stern warning of—
“Isabel?”
She closed her eyes, knowing that she wanted to keep the scene she’d watched in her memory, for it was important in some way. But, to her despair, the sounds and sights grew dimmer until it was gone.
“Isabel? Are you well?” Royce touched her hand and she opened her eyes.
“I saw…I remembered.” Her throat clogged with tears and she could not get the words out. He held her hand under his and squeezed it gently.
“Do not fight these memories, Isabel. Let them flow over you when they happen. Grasping too tightly simply forces them away.”
She swallowed to clear her throat. “How know you of such things?” Did he not speak of his past because he could not remember it? Was that how he could seem to understand her every struggle against this overwhelming darkness?
“A very wise person counseled me about this. I yield to her knowledge, not my own.” He nodded at her and lifted his hand from hers. Returning to his meal, he did not speak again.
Her knowledge. Wenda? But, if Wenda was this wise person, why had he not simply called her by name? Because he spoke of someone else. Someone in the past that he held close to him and that he shared with no one here in Lord Orrick’s estates. She was certain of it.
They finished the rest of their meal in silence. It felt so different to her to be sitting up at the table and eating instead of reclining on her pallet. It felt wonderful.
“So, you are happy with your successes this day?” His voice was deep, even when lightened by his tone.
“I am. I was able to get to my feet alone, to stand and even to walk a few steps from chair to table and back again. I expect to be battle ready by the end of the week.”
He laughed at her nonsensical boast and she looked at his face as he did. Most of the time he wore a frown, deeply troubled by something or worried over something. His manner was always intent, focusing on his duties or the activity that held his attention. The laugh altered his countenance and showed her a man much younger than she had thought him to be. Her curiosity won and she blurted out her thought to him.
“You are a score and ten?”
His gaze narrowed on her and she thought he would not answer, but he did.
“Nigh to that. And you?”
“A score and five.”
He nodded at her words and then she began to tremble. She had not considered his question at all before answering it. The words had simply escaped from her. His hand on hers, when it happened, was comforting against the fear.
“I have five and twenty years,” she repeated, now more sure that it was true when the words came out.
“And?” he asked.
She tried to search her memory but it was dark. Nothing came to her. She shook her head.
Royce stood and moved the table back to its place by the side of the hearth, near the cottage’s lone window. She watched as the task was accomplished with little effort on his part. The strength of a warrior. Then he pulled a bench next to her chair and sat on it, leaning down and closer to her.
“Tell me what you remembered before. We spoke of the ocean and you were watching something in your thoughts.”
She was almost undone by the kindness in his manner and tone. She felt the tears gathering in her eyes when he took her hands in his and held them.
“Fear not, Isabel. Simply close your eyes, take a breath and tell me of your ocean.”
She did as he told her and thought once more about the ocean and its waves. Soon the scene from before filled her mind and she watched as though she were on the shore. Isabel saw the two girls with their gowns growing wetter as they ran along the length of the rocky beach. Darting into the water and out again, they raced each other, always laughing and screaming at the coldness of the water on their bare legs.
“Tell me what you see,” he whispered.
“Two girls, one with black hair and one with pale, running on a beach.”
“How old are they?”
“They have not ten years yet.” She watched as they darted among the boulders that crept up to the ocean’s edge. She smiled. “They run like the wind.”
“Tell me of the day.”
Isabel looked around the scene before her and noticed that the sun was hovering above the sea, gaining strength. “’Tis only after dawn, for the sun just now rises over the edge of the sea. We sneaked away to play pretend on the beach.”
Royce noticed the change in her view, for now it was “we” and not “the girls.” “What do you pretend you are?”
“Maidens running from Viking warriors. We pretend that we can see far out to sea and watch their ships approach from the north and east.”
She was on the east coast of England. And, if she was correct, she had a blond-haired sister, although many people whose hair was light as children darkened with age. He suspected that it was her sister who played pretend on the beach.
William nearly let out a laugh of his own when he realized that his own Viking forebears would have licked their lips over such a prize unguarded on an English beach.
“Who is with you on the beach?” He watched as her eyes moved behind closed lids. He still held her hands in his.
“My sister and our maid. See her there?” Isabel turned her head to one side.
William marveled at her ability to see these scenes. ’Twas then he noticed her empty cup on the table. Were Wenda’s herbs causing this? Could this be a way to encourage her memory to return?
“Isabel, what is your sister’s name? Call out to her now.” William waited for a response. If he discovered the name of her sister, it might be possible to trace her family after all.
Her face lightened first as she began to call out a name, but none came, no words were said, no names called. She turned her head from side to side as though seeking someone.
“They’re going!” she shouted. “They’re going away,” she whispered mournfully. Tears glistened as they rolled down her cheeks. “Please…”
Her sorrow and frustration tore at him. He had thought to help to guide her to some memories, but had only caused her more pain. William released her hands