Alone in the parlor with tea and cakes and absolutely no idea who she was, where she was going or what she would do next, Tess sat by the window and watched the darkness slowly fade from the sky.

      The mind was a singularly empty thing when one had no memory. The only images that would come to her were of the horror she had found upon awakening amidst the carnage of the caravan, of her struggle to save the little girl and herself, of the riders who had rescued her. And of them she had only snatches of memory, because exhaustion had taken her so deeply.

      Exhaustion or shock.

      At least language seemed to be coming back to her, albeit slowly, words that belonged to this time and place, to judge by her brief talk with Sara, and words that came from elsewhere.

      Those other words were doubtless a clue to her origins, but so far no one had seemed to recognize them except herself.

      And even now they seemed to be growing dimmer in her mind, fading bit by bit as they were replaced by new words, words that were growing increasingly familiar.

      She must have suffered a severe blow to her head. Somehow she had jangled her brains, and perhaps for the last few days she had been babbling nonsense that only seemed to make sense.

      She counseled herself to patience, for if her memory of words was returning, surely her memory of other things would return, as well?

      But before the instant when she’d awoken amidst the caravan, there was only a huge darkness in her mind, as if everything had been erased.

      As if nothing had ever been there. As if she had been born only three days before.

      Panic rose within her, and she had to force herself with steady calm to regain her self-control. What was she going to do? Run out into the frigid night until she collapsed and froze to death in the snow?

      No, she could only wait.

      Turning from the window to survey the lantern-lit room around her, she spied a mirror. It wasn’t a very good mirror, although how she knew that she couldn’t be certain. Hesitantly she rose and walked over to it, wondering what she would do if she didn’t recognize herself.

      Closing her eyes at the last moment, she took the last step and faced the mirror. Then, by exerting every bit of her will, she opened her eyes and looked.

      A surge of relief passed through her. She recognized the face as her own. Blue eyes, small nose, delicate mouth and oval chin. Yes, that was her, although she couldn’t have said why she thought her hair was longer. Much longer. But at least she hadn’t forgotten her own face.

      And the clothes…Taking a few steps back, she looked at the beautiful white garments that had been given to her and felt somehow that she was used to different attire. Perhaps something plainer and more simple? Something less expensive and beautiful?

      Finally she could look no more. The only answer the mirror gave her was that she hadn’t forgotten her own face.

      She didn’t know what she would have done if a stranger had looked back at her from the glass.

      Spreading her hands before her, she recognized them, as well. Including a small scar between her thumb and forefinger, though she had no idea how she had come by it.

      But at least not everything had been stolen from her.

      Feeling a little better, telling herself that soon all her memory would come back, she returned to the table by the window and poured a cup of tea.

      Everything would work out somehow. She had to believe that.

      There was a creak from behind her, and she turned quickly to see the stranger who had rescued her, the tall man with the gray eyes.

      “My lady,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her.

      She wanted to argue with him that she was nobody’s lady, but the words stayed frozen in her throat.

      This morning his cloak was gone, revealing garments of leather and wool. His black hair fell to his shoulders, thick and shiny. He was not armed, so his leathern tunic fell straight around his hips. His boots, unlike hers, were heavy and thickly soled.

      Finally it dawned on her that he was staying on the threshold because he didn’t want to frighten her. With effort, she found the words.

      “Please. Come have tea and cakes.”

      A faint smile softened his austere features. “You have remembered how to speak.”

      “A little.”

      He nodded, apparently finding this to be a good thing, and joined her at the table, pouring himself a cup of tea, then reached for one of the thick sweet cakes.

      “I’m sorry about your child.”

      She shook her head slightly. “Not mine. I found her.”

      He nodded. “I’m still very sorry. I could tell how much you wanted to save her. Can you remember anything of the attack?”

      Her throat tightened up as she thought of the child, of finding her in all that gore and blood, of the unimaginable carnage that was her first memory of life. “I remember nothing before I woke up afterward,” she said finally, her voice thick with unshed tears. She turned her face toward the window, seeking signs of a brightening day, hoping for anything that might alleviate the darkness that surrounded her and filled her.

      Right now she didn’t even have a foundation on which to stand. Nothing but emptiness behind her. She wasn’t even sure how old she was.

      “Nothing?” he said finally. “You don’t remember anything?”

      “Nothing,” she repeated. Let him think she spoke of the savage attack. She wasn’t ready to admit to anyone at all just how vulnerable she felt, how vulnerable she was, knowing nothing at all of her past.

      He drained his tea, swallowed the last of the cake and said, “I’m going below. Today we’ll ride back there and see what we can learn. If you remember anything to tell us before we go….”

      She compressed her lips and nodded. He strode from the room as if he were master of all the world. If that man had ever known a moment’s fear, she couldn’t imagine it.

      Which made him that much less approachable to a woman who right now could feel nothing else.

      5

      The funeral was a sad little affair at midmorning. Several men had dug the grave in the cemetery outside the town walls, then volunteered