The Norman's Bride. Terri Brisbin
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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?
“Royce. Last night, you told me you were called Royce.” She frowned as she spoke and he realized that all was well. Had his panic shown? He pushed his hair from his face and nodded. He must move away and focus the attention back on her.
“Shall we try a few more names? Mayhap one will trigger a memory?”
“I do not think so. Avryl has been doing the same thing each time I wake.”
“Really?” She nodded slightly, pain still clear on her face. “Would you simply like to pick a name you’d care to be called until we find out who you are?”
“Isabel sounded nice when Avryl mentioned it.”
“Well, then, Isabel is it.” He smiled and let the name settle in his mind. “Isabelle.” He repeated the way he used to say his mother’s name.
“You speak French?” she asked.
He cleared his throat and nodded. No use denying he spoke the language of the court. Many did, not just the nobles who existed within its hierarchy. He gave away nothing by admitting the truth. Then she shocked him by speaking to him in that language.
“Have you always lived here?” she asked in flawless French. Then she blinked several times, surprised at the words she’d spoken. “I speak French?” she asked in English once more.
“Apparently.” He turned the conversation back to her instead. “Do you remember traveling there or speaking it?”
She—nay, Isabel now—closed her eyes and sat quietly. Myriad emotions crossed her face, none staying for more than an instant. She shook her head. “No.”
William felt the disappointment as she uttered that single word. Surely, when her injuries healed, her memory would return. Surely.
“Do not dwell on that. For now, rest and regain your strength.” He stood and prepared the cottage for the night. She said nothing as he moved from spot to spot, placing his sword and sharpening stone on the floor next to his sleeping place and wrapping a rope around the knob on the door.
“Would you like to sit or should I help you lie back down?”
“I would stay up for now. Will it disturb your rest?” she asked.
“Nay. Sit as long as you’d like. I have to work on my sword, so I won’t go to sleep right away.”
He sat down and gathered his tools closer. Wrapping the well-oiled cloth around the blade of his sword, he wiped it clean. Then he picked up the stone and began to smooth away any roughness caused in the day’s practice. Over and over, he slid the stone down the length of the sword in even strokes, putting a fine edge onto the steel of the weapon.
The movements tended to soothe her as she watched the motion of his hand and the sword in the shadows thrown off by the hearth’s low flames and allowed her thoughts to roam more freely. She had many questions she wanted to