with her. If he told her his name, then she had not known him before. Had he known her?
Every breath hurt. Just moving her mouth to speak took all of her strength. But she had to know…so many things. And she needed to know now, before the panic that pushed in on her from all sides took control and she lost all thought.
She used the pain to focus her thoughts and her efforts. It moved through her in waves, some more powerful than others, but like the relentless sea, it did not stop. More a statement than a question, her words were forced out of her by the torturous anguish.
“I…hurt.”
He did not want to tell her the truth. She read the coming lies in his silver-gray eyes before he spoke the words. Now fearful of knowing, she listened to the sound of his voice and did not pay attention to the content. Her wounds were grievous; she knew that from the inside out. A retelling would simply make the pain more frightening than it already was.
A question filled her mind and she realized it would be the last one she would ask. The strength she had used to push herself back into consciousness was waning quickly. He stood and came nearer, tending to her. He was leaving. He was leaving and she still did not know who she was. Her hand moved on its own to keep him close.
“Who…am…I?”
The words she most feared at this moment were out now. He would tell her who she was and the chaos inside her would calm and she would remember. She would remember her life and her family and her name. She waited.
The confusion she felt now filled his countenance. She watched as he looked over her face again and again. Now he struggled for words and, as she recognized the import of this, the darkness surged forward to claim her. Losing herself to its grasp, she barely heard the words he whispered in answer to her plea.
“I know not.”
She was truly lost.
’Twas not the first time he had felt this helplessness in his life, but he prayed to the Almighty that it be the last. As he watched her eyes close, his gut gripped. Had she died? Her body slumped back as she gave up the fight to speak.
William reached down and removed the bolsters from behind her, laying her flat on the pallet. He watched for the rise and fall of her chest even as his own tightened. It took a few moments, but then he saw it. Letting out his own breath, he watched hers become slower as she slipped further and further into unconsciousness.
This was a fine muckle, as Connor the Scot would say. The burly warrior from north of England’s borders had a saying for every situation.
Had he himself caused her faint with his words? He thought not. Covering her with another layer of blankets, he sat back and thought about this mystery.
William had hoped she would awaken from the sleep of these past weeks, tell him her identity and then he could return her to her people. Well, that was not the complete truth. A part of him was certain that her death was the motive for the attack on her and returning her to her people would not be the safest thing to do. Someone had tried to kill her, had almost succeeded and would try again if her survival was known. The warrior he was knew this for a certainty.
Who would want to kill a woman? And with such savagery?
From the smoothness of her hands, he suspected she might be a noblewoman. But what woman of noble blood could simply disappear and have no one know? If she were titled, someone would be searching for her. Lord Orrick would have known if there was a search being carried out, especially on his lands.
No, he was mistaken about this. Shaking his head, he circled the cottage and prepared for the night. Not of noble blood. Then who? And more importantly, why?
In his travels before settling here in the service of Orrick, he had seen many unfortunates throughout England—women who had been deserted, abandoned or marked for some failure on their part. Divorce was not possible, so men would simply force an unfaithful or unwanted wife from their home, taking everything from her but for the clothing she wore.
And sometimes, not even granting her that much. If marked as a whore, the woman would find no sanctuary and be forced to accept whatever living she could. Although this cruelty was infrequently seen, it existed nonetheless. Orrick did not permit it on his lands, but other less scrupulous lords did.
William sat on the pile of blankets on which he slept and watched her in the low light thrown off by the vestiges of the hearth’s banked flames. He was probably worrying for naught. This first awakening after so many days asleep must simply be one filled with confusion for her. As she regained strength and did not have to fight against the pain he knew coursed through her with every breath, her mind would clear and she would know herself.
Wenda and young Avryl would arrive just after dawn and he would tell them of this brief period of alertness. Wenda would surely know what to do for the confusion that plagued the woman, for the healer knew a potion for all ailments.
Aye, Wenda would know what to do in the morning.
“Royce.”
The strangled whisper of his name was like a scream in the silence of the night. He was up in an instant and at her side before she could say it again. He did not need to see her to know she was awake. He could hear the uneven pace of her breathing and the turmoil in her restless movements.
He lay down beside her and whispered to her. Careful not to lean against her and cause more pain, he gently stroked her forehead and urged her to calm herself. The words flowed easily for he’d said them to her many times before in the darkness and privacy of the night. Softly, over and over, he spoke the words. Finally he felt the tension leave her body and he thought she slept once more.
As he began to move away, her voice pierced the night again.
“Stay?” It came out on a hiss. A plea, not an order.
William settled back on his side and did not move. The morning’s light found him still there.
Chapter Three
“’Tis a good thing then?”
William had moved away from the group of men he sat with at the table and waited to hear Wenda’s advice. Lord Orrick had asked him for a report on the stranger in his care and William did not want to delay. And he wanted to know for himself.
“That she has awakened? Aye, ’tis a good thing.” Wenda nodded. “But this confusion is not.”
“Will it go away? Surely, her memory will return?”
“Mayhap it will and mayhap it will not.” The old woman shrugged at him. “I have seen this but once before and that in a man wounded in the head during battle. He recovered his mind after a few days.”
“Surely it will be so for her?” William was frustrated by the healer’s words more than he was satisfied by them.
“I have heard stories of those who have never regained their memories.”
“Nay!”
His words and tone were a bit more vehement than he had planned so he paced away from the woman and tried to sort out his thoughts. He would not believe that this stranger would live in a state of confusion and without identity
