pushed herself up against the pillows, holding the covers to her naked breasts. Stefan de Montfort was a large man, powerful and impressive, a little frightening. He was not smiling as he looked at her. She wondered if he was angry with her, but did not know in what way she might have offended him.
‘I have been well cared for,’ she whispered. ‘I have been told that you saved my life, sir.’
‘I pulled you from the sea, but it is Ali who hath made you well again.’ His expression was almost stern as he gazed down at her, her hair freshly washed and spreading over the pillows in soft waves of corn-coloured silk. She was, as he had suspected, very beautiful now that she was awake. ‘Ali tells me that you do not know your name or from whence you came?’
‘I can remember nothing…at least, I know things, but I do not know who I am, where I came from or where I was going.’
‘That is unfortunate—I had hoped to return you to your family as soon as you were well enough to travel.’ He looked thoughtful, almost stern. ‘Well, it cannot be helped. I shall make inquiries about a vessel that sank and see if your family is trying to trace you.’
‘Supposing I have no family…supposing they were lost as the ship went down?’
‘We shall face that if the time comes. My house is large and you will find a place here for the moment, but you are not a prisoner and may leave whenever you wish.’
‘You are kind, sir.’
‘Kind?’ A harsh laugh escaped him. ‘I would not describe myself in that manner.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘You should have a name. Since we do not know your true name we must discover one that suits you. What would you call yourself? Maria, Elizabeth, Roseanne…’ His brows rose as her hand moved towards him. ‘You have remembered something?’
‘I am not sure, but Roseanne…no, Anne. I like the name Anne. It seems familiar to me, though I cannot remember where I heard it or if it was my name.’
‘But you like it, therefore it shall be your name. Anne—yes, it is a good name for you, lady. It suits you. I shall call you Anne.’
She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to recall something, but the curtain in her mind remained in position. At the mention of the name Anne she had almost seen something…a face…faces and a house, but they had faded in seconds.
Tears caught at her throat, but she fought them. ‘Ali says that I shall remember one day. Do you think it is true, my lord?’
She gazed at him as he stood there, a powerful man, feet apart, arms crossed. He was dressed in a nobleman’s gown of some deep blue cloth braided with rich gold, his dark blond hair touching his shoulders, his face tanned by the sun. He was not exactly handsome, but striking, his features carved, almost harsh.
‘Ali understands many things that affect the body, but I do not think anyone truly understands the mind,’ Stefan answered honestly. ‘How can we know what makes one man clever and another stupid? You are an intelligent woman. Everything about you tells me that you come from a good home and family, and you speak English better than French. In time we may discover who you are or your memory may return. Until then you must make yourself at home here, Anne.’
‘But what shall I do if I never remember?’ Her eyes were wide and dark with fear.
‘Then your life begins here,’ Stefan told her. ‘When I was a young man, about your own age, I was forced to leave all that I knew and loved. I found a new life and a new identity as a mercenary. My life was stolen from me, as the sea has robbed you of yours. I shall help you, Anne—and somehow you will find the courage to become yourself once more.’ His harsh features softened slightly and she saw a man who was very different. She wanted to be comforted by his words, but it was so strange not to remember her own name.
It was frightening to think that she might never know who she was, never remember her mother or father…or if she had sisters and brothers. The future seemed dark, terrifying, and yet she sensed that she was safe here in this house. Sulina and Ali had told her that Stefan de Montfort had sheltered others who needed a home and a protector. He had said that she must think of it as a new beginning…that her life began here. A part of her mind protested, because she wanted to know who she was and where she came from, and yet another part of her felt reassured by his words.
‘Will I be a servant like Sulina?’
‘Sulina chooses to serve me,’ he replied. ‘Others also choose to serve, but they are free to leave as they please. You will be a guest. You are a lady, Anne, a woman of gentle birth. Everyone in this house will treat you as such.’ His voice had at that moment a deep, rich timbre, its softness like velvet, reassuring and comforting.
‘Thank you. I do not mind working if I can be of help…perhaps sewing. I am not as clever with my needle as Catherine, of course, but—’ Anne broke off and stared at him.
‘You have remembered something?’ Stefan’s eyebrows rose, his eyes narrowed and intent.
Anne hesitated, then shook her head. ‘I remember there was once someone called Catherine and she helped me with my sewing, but it was a long time ago.’
‘Was Catherine your mother?’
‘I do not know,’ Anne replied and looked bewildered. ‘How can I know that Catherine was a better needlewoman than me, but not know who she is?’
‘I do not know,’ Stefan said. He turned as the door opened and someone came in and he saw the physician. ‘She is awake and we have decided that her name is to be Anne—at least for the moment.’
Ali came forwards so that Anne could see his face. ‘I see you are well, lady. I shall not disturb you—unless you have need of me? You are not in pain?’
‘I am quite well, thank you.’
‘I shall leave you to rest, lady.’
‘And I shall go too, Anne,’ Stefan said. ‘It is not fitting that I should be in your room. I came only to see for myself that you were well. I shall not see you again until you are able to join us in the hall downstairs. Goodnight, lady. Do not fret too much. You are safe here and in time you will remember all you should.’ He turned to Ali. ‘Come, my friend, share a cup of wine with me. I have something I wish to discuss with you.’
Anne lay back against the pillows as the two men went out together. She closed her eyes, struggling to remember something…anything that would tell her who and what she was. A tear slid from the corner of her eye, but she dashed it away with her hand. She would not weep tears of self-pity. Lord de Montfort had told her she was safe here and for some reason she believed him. She must be content to stay here until she remembered who she was. The name Catherine was at the back of her mind. She tried to put a face to the name and failed, but something told her that Catherine had once been important in her life.
‘Do you believe that she has truly lost her memory?’ Stefan asked of the physician. ‘She picked the name Anne for herself. It seemed to please her. I think it may well be her own name.’
‘It is possible, my lord. Her memory may come back in little strands like the mists in a forest, weaving between the trees, revealing clear spaces where the canopy is broken, and concealing the rest.’
‘You do not think that she is pretending that she cannot recall her name?’
‘Why
