restored to them,’ he said. ‘You should know that there is no room in my life for a woman…especially one like this. Her hair will be beautiful once it is washed free of the salt and sweat, and her hands are soft. She has never done manual work.’
‘A lady,’ Ali agreed, nodding wisely. ‘Do you not wonder why Allah brought her to you, my lord? These things are for a purpose. She has some place in your life, otherwise it would not have been so ordained.’
‘I would not offend you or Hassan,’ Stefan said, his features set in harsh lines. ‘But I have no God and I see no purpose for a woman in my life. I have lived by the sword and shall doubtless die by it. Lord Cowper is responsible for my father’s untimely death, and for the life I have led. I have sworn vengeance and when I am ready I shall return to England and take back what is mine. By the end of this year either he or I will lie in the earth. This I owe to my father’s shade!’
‘Your wound is not yet completely healed,’ Ali said, ignoring this speech for the most part. He knew as well as anyone that Stefan had suffered too much injustice, and that he had reason enough to be bitter. Yet he had never allowed this to interfere with his compassion for others. Ali was not the only one to have benefited; Stefan de Montfort had rescued and taken in more than one casualty of life. ‘It would be foolish to confront your enemy while you are at a disadvantage, would it not, my lord?’
‘And?’ Stefan’s gaze narrowed.
‘Who knows?’ Ali asked, deliberately obtuse. ‘The girl is here and she needs your help. I do not believe you would desert her.’
‘Once she knows who she is, I shall return her to her family. As that is probably in England, she may accompany me when I return to confront Lord Cowper.’
‘In the meantime, it is best that you rest, my lord,’ Ali said. ‘The young woman must also rest. Perhaps in time you may learn the reason she was sent to you.’
‘It was chance,’ Stefan said, ‘and the tides.’
‘Ah, chance and the tides.’ Ali smiled as he turned away. ‘Who but Allah controls the tides…’
Stefan was no longer listening. A low moaning sound came from behind him. He turned and looked at the bed. The woman was stirring, her eyelids fluttering. He bent over her, stroking the damp hair back from her forehead with hands that were surprisingly gentle for such a man.
‘Do not fear, mademoiselle,’ he said softly, the timbre of his voice deep and caressing. ‘You are quite safe here. You have been very ill, but you will soon be better now.’
The woman opened her eyes, which he saw were a deep blue-green, like the changing waters of the Mediterranean Sea on a sunlit day. She stared at him for a moment, looking bewildered. Her hand reached towards him and her lips moved, then her hand dropped and she closed her eyes once more. He had the oddest feeling that he had seen her before, though he could not place her in his memory.
‘What is wrong?’ Stefan asked of the physician. ‘Is she better or not? Her skin feels cool…and she opened her eyes for a moment.’
‘She is sleeping because she is exhausted,’ Ali said as he looked down at her. ‘She will live, my lord, but her recovery may be slow—and she will need your help.’
Stefan looked down at the woman. He had saved her from the sea and brought her to his home for Ali to nurse. She was beautiful, it was true, but he had seen lovely women before; he had taken those he desired to his bed but none had touched the inner core he guarded. This one was no different. She had tugged at something deep inside him as she lay hovering between life and death, but once she was well he would help her to find safety and then forget her.
‘We are sorry to learn of your tragic loss,’ Comte St Orleans said as he welcomed Harry to his home in Normandy. ‘Your late arrival made us wonder if something had happened and when your letter came my daughter was much affected by the tragedy.’
‘I thank you for your kind words, sir,’ Harry said and glanced at the young woman standing just behind her father. She was as beautiful as always and his heart caught with love, and yet his grief was still so raw and so terrible that he could not summon a smile for her. ‘I was delayed, for I have employed agents to search for any sign of Anne. I know there is little hope of her being found alive—we could see no sign of her in the water. However, if her body were found, I could at least tell our family that she rests in peace.’
Claire came forward, a look of such sorrow and sweetness on her face that Harry caught his breath. She was all he could ever desire in a wife, and he loved her so! ‘We are happy to have you here while the search continues, are we not, Father? And if there is anything we may do to help you, we should wish to be of service.’
‘Your kindness overwhelms me,’ Harry said and took her hand. He held it briefly, but made no attempt to kiss it, as he would have had they met under other circumstances. The gallantry and experience of a handsome courtier had fled before the tide of grief that possessed him, and he could be no more than the man he was at heart. ‘I fear it is an impossible task, but I have asked that any news should come to me here for the next few weeks, and I shall avail myself of your kind offer, made-moiselle.’
‘You must refresh yourself and rest after your journey,’ the Comte said, nodding his approval. He had not been certain that the young man they had met at the English court would do for his precious daughter, but now he saw that the polished manners of a popular courtier hid an honest heart, and one that grieved sincerely. It would be interesting to see what developed between the two over the next weeks, for the Comte would not influence his daughter one way or the other. Claire was free to decide for herself. ‘I shall also send out messengers for I may know more of the tides than you, Sir Harry. Between us, we should be able to find news of your sister if there is any to find…’
‘I pray that one of us is successful,’ Harry said. ‘Anne is my younger sister and I feel responsible for what happened to her.’
Claire rested her hand on his arm. ‘The sea is a cruel mistress, sir. You must grieve for your sister, but the blame does not lie with you.’
She opened her eyes, whimpering as the light hurt them. Her body felt so sore and painful, as if she had been punched and kicked, and her head ached. She put up a hand to touch her face and then her hair. It was matted, tangled and stiff, as if it had not been washed for a long time. She did not like the feel of it that way and shuddered, because something was terribly wrong, though for the moment she had no idea what it was. She tried to sit up, but fell back as the dizziness overcame her. She was too weak and she cried out for help.
‘So, you are awake at last,’ a man’s voice said and someone came to the bed. The sun had darkened his skin and his eyes were black like little jet beads. However, there was something reassuring about him. ‘Do not fear me, little one. You have been ill for a long time and I have tended you. Soon you will be better, but for the moment you must rest. A serving woman will bring you some nourishing soup. You must try to eat it because it will help build your strength.’
‘May I have some water?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course.’
The man went to a small walnut chest-on-stand at the far side of the room, filled a cup with water from a pewter ewer and brought it back to her. He supported her as she took a few sips, but the effort exhausted her and she fell back against the pillows once more.
‘As I said, you must rest. Your strength will come back soon.’
‘Who
