by Alexa Aston
Still, she felt guilty hiding the knowledge from him of who she believed him to be. Part of her wondered if she did so in order to enjoy his company while he mended.
Before he returned to his wife.
Alys saw the expression on his face change to frustration. “You will regain your memory, my lord,” she said, her voice trying to reassure him.
“How do you even know I am of noble birth?”
“Because the thieves stole every stitch of the finery you wore?” she ventured, hoping her light, teasing tone would ease his burden.
“I might be one of those thieves,” he said. “I might have had a disagreement with the leader and was attacked by the group of them. Mother of God—I might even be the leader of this gang, and they rebelled against my authority.”
She laughed aloud. “You certainly have a creative mind, my lord. No, by your speech alone, I would know you are of noble birth. From your immense size, I believe you are a knight who has returned from the fighting in France. Now that the truce has been signed, you most likely were on your way home to your family and estates when you were attacked.”
“France.” He closed his eyes and grew silent—but continued to hold her hand. Alys never wanted him to relinquish it. His touch brought her a sense of peace. And longing. What she wouldn’t give to brush her lips against his. Be enfolded in his embrace.
The piercing green eyes opened. “I can remember bits and pieces. The sounds on the battlefield. I think you are right, my lady. I fought in France. That feels like something I would do.” He yawned suddenly.
“You’re tired. Now that you have eaten, try to get some more rest.”
“Will you stay with me?” he asked.
“If you wish.”
He gave her a sleepy smile. “And your name, my lady?”
“Alys. Alys de Montfort.”
“Thank you, Lady Alys . . .”
She watched him drift off into sleep. His hand still held hers. She left it, not wanting to disturb him. Oh, who was she trying to fool? She wanted never to let go of him. She wished she could climb into the bed beside him and curl up against his large, muscular frame.
Alys could not believe that, in a matter of minutes, she had gone from a self-assured woman with no thought but to help others to one who puddled in her chair, melting at the touch of this man.
One she knew could never be hers.
A little voice told her, “But he can—even if only for a short while.”
She would take what crumbs she could get. Alys leaned forward and lay her head on the bed next to his hip, her eyes focused on their joined hands. Closing her eyes, she dreamed of what might have been.
*
He awoke again, slowly opening his eyes. A single candle burned low, casting a little light about the room. He was in a bed. And God’s Wounds, he ached everywhere. By the Heavens above, his body hurt beyond anything he had experienced before. At least, he thought that was the case.
War. She had talked of war. With France. He believed her. He could feel a sword in his hand. Knew he had cut down men with it. The sounds came to him. Horses charging into battle. The screams. Cries of agony. They all held a familiarity.
He was conscious of his hand wrapped around hers—and warmth by his side.
He looked over and saw she sat in a chair, but the upper half of her body rested on the bed. She must have stayed with him all night and grown weary.
Alys. That was her name. Gradually, he recalled what she had told him. What had happened to him as he journeyed . . . home? He couldn’t say. No image came to mind of where he lived or what his family looked like. Did he still have parents? Was he wed? Might he have children of his own?
Everything seemed a blur.
He looked down at the chestnut hair that had come loose from her braid. Long strands spilled about her. Even in the dim light, the rich color drew him in. His free hand reached over to smooth her hair. He left it resting against her head. Touching her brought him comfort. Serenity. He viewed the smooth, ivory skin and rosebud lips, finding great beauty in Lady Alys. Her compassion and kindness he was already familiar with, but now his manhood stirred as he focused on her physical beauty. He would love to see her smile again. No, he desired more than a smile. He wanted to plunge deep inside her. Bring pleasure to her. Have that beautiful mouth call out his name.
Whatever it might be.
He removed his hand from her hair, his fingers reluctantly parting from the silken strands. He didn’t want her to awaken and think he took advantage of her in her sleep. He was not that kind of man. At least, he didn’t think so—but who knew?
He drew his eyes away from Lady Alys and studied himself. The linen bedsheet had fallen to his waist. He saw he was a large man. Heavily muscled through his battered chest and arms. He sensed the strength within him despite the punishment his body had undergone. Had it been a large group that had attacked him? She said he had slain four men. He closed his eyes and tried to remember, but he drew a blank.
Footsteps. In the quiet of the castle, he heard them. They paused nearby. Then the door to the bedchamber opened. A woman’s figure silhouetted in the doorway. He raised his hand and motioned for her to enter.
As she approached, he knew her.
“You could be no other than Lady Alys’ mother,” he said softly. “So this is what she will look like as she matures.” The woman standing next to the bed was tall and willowy, with high breasts and a small waist. A few years shy of two score, but still a remarkably beautiful woman with her luminous skin and chestnut hair.
The noblewoman looked down at her sleeping daughter and smiled. “I am Lady Merryn de Montfort. Since you know Alys by name, I suppose you have already spoken with her.”
“Aye, my lady. She told me how the escort party to Winterbourne came across me and what they suspect happened to me during my travels.”
“You don’t remember the incident?”
“Nay.”
“That might be for the best. If Alys didn’t tell you, you are at Kinwick Castle, home of the de Montforts. My husband, Geoffrey, believes you are a soldier. He recently returned home from Belgium, where he helped negotiate the fragile truce between England and France. Are you also returning from the continent, my lord?”
He sighed. “I am uncertain.” When she frowned in confusion, he told her, “I fear I do not remember my name, Lady Merryn. I know not where I rode from nor where I traveled to.”
She nodded. “That doesn’t surprise me. You suffered a severe blow to your head. I’ve seen this a few times over the years. When we were children, my brother was thrown from a horse. For two days, Hugh was vague on what had occurred and looked at everyone about him as a stranger. He recovered his memories quickly, though. And I tended to a servant once who had climbed into a cart. He stepped backward and fell out, striking his head against the ground. He remained confused for several days, not knowing his name or what had happened leading up to the incident.”
“But he regained that knowledge?”
“Aye. It took over a sennight, but everything came to him at once.” She chuckled. “He never volunteered to jump up in a cart and remove goods from the village after that. He was content to have others hand items down to him so that he could carry the goods inside the keep.”
Lady Merryn nodded reassuringly. “You will be fine, my lord. Alys and I shall take excellent care of you. Your memories will return, and you will be on your way home or to wherever you need to go.”
“Your daughter said you—and she—are healers.”
“A woman named Sephare trained me early in the healing arts. I have done the same with Alys. I believe her knowledge now surpasses mine.”
“Then I trust I am in good hands with the two of you.”
Alys stirred, a small sigh escaping from her. She raised her head, blinking sleepily.
“Mother?”
“Good morning to you. I’ve been speaking with our guest.”
Alys looked at him sheepishl
y. “I am sorry I fell asleep.”
“I did the same. And if I had need of something, I could have awoken you.” His stomach grumbled loudly. “It sounds as if the bread and broth you fed me were not enough to keep my belly filled.”
“Let me go to the kitchens and retrieve something for you, my lord. It would do me good to stretch my limbs.” She frowned and twisted in the chair.
As she stood, she pulled her hand from his. Instantly, a sense of loneliness descended upon him. Her hand belonged in his. He longed to bring her to him and kiss her, long and slow.
“I’ll return soon with plenty for you to eat,” Alys promised him.
Lady Merryn tucked a hand through the crook of her daughter’s arm. They began discussing what to do for him next as they left the room.
He watched the swing of Alys’ hips as she walked away and caught the sweet curve of her breast as she turned to the side.
Had he ever wanted a woman more? Flashes of couplings with others danced through his head—but none brought the desire that flickered in him for the beautiful woman who had just left the bedchamber.
He believed himself cautious by nature. It was a sense he had of himself. Yet he would throw caution out the window in order to lay himself at the feet of Alys de Montfort. He wondered why a woman he’d only met had such an effect on him.
The one thing he did know—he couldn’t let on regarding the attraction he felt to her. He might not be free to forge an alliance with her. Worse, she might have a husband of her own. It wouldn’t go well if the man came in and found his wife kissing her patient.
He would bide his time. Figure out who he was. Hope that he might be free—and that Alys was, as well.
If so?
The first thing he would do is kiss her senseless.
Chapter 7
“Checkmate,” Alys proclaimed, her sapphire blue eyes sparkling with her victory.
“Surely, I can’t be as poor a player as I have demonstrated,” he said in frustration. “I know how to play the game. I remember the rules. But for the life of me, I cannot seem to defeat you, my lady.”
She lifted the chessboard from the bed with ease, balancing the pieces carefully despite their heavy weight. He watched her walk to a nearby table and set the game board down. Though tall and slender, she seemed strong for a woman. Though he could not say what his experience with women had been in the past, he believed they were physically frail creatures.
But not Alys de Montfort.
As she returned to her chair, he commented, “That board and its piece are quite heavy. I am surprised you carried it with such ease.”
She grinned. “I may be a woman, but I’m quick and strong. I often carry food and medicines to the workers on our estate, so I’m used to hauling heavy baskets about. I collect herbs and plants from our gardens or gather them from the nearby meadows and forests and grind the herbs with my mortar and pestle, which also takes strength. And I train every week with my sword.”
Her words caught him by surprise. “You train with a weapon? As a soldier does?”
Alys nodded. “When we were five or six, my father’s cousin, Raynor, crafted a wooden sword for Ancel, my twin brother. He thought himself quite the little knight and went about swinging it every which way in a very superior manner. I begged Raynor for one of my own. At first, he didn’t want to provide me with one, but Mother insisted. She thought it important that I learn to defend myself.” She paused. “Even if it was from my demon of a brother.”
He laughed. “I would have liked to see you then with your sword. Or now,” he added. The thought of Alys de Montfort slicing through the air with a sword sparked his interest in her even more—and he had not thought that possible.
“My blade is now of steel. Gilbert, our captain of the guard, puts me through my paces at least twice a week. The weapon is smaller and lighter than one a man yields, but if I needed to defend myself or Kinwick, I wouldn’t be embarrassed by my performance. I have begun giving my younger sister, Nan, lessons, as well. Raynor crafted her a sword not too long ago, and she has taken up the practice with a skill I did not believe possible in one so young.”
“Is she your only sister?” he asked. He was curious about her. Since she seemed in a talkative mood, he determined to learn what he could about her.
“Aye. She is six years of age. Our Nan is already a beauty, and she is smarter than any of us, I believe.”
“You mentioned your brother, Ancel. Where is he? And do you have other brothers?”
“My lord, we discussed my brothers when you first awoke after we brought you here,” Alys reminded him.
He looked a little perplexed. “I fear that my memory is a little fuzzy regarding our first conversation. It must be the effects of the attack I suffered.”
A smile touched her lips. He wondered if he was brother to another and how they felt about him. An emptiness rested inside of him, leading him to believe he didn’t have the type of relationship Alys had with her siblings.
“All three of my brothers live at Winterbourne, to the north of us. The estate is near where we found you. Hal is one and ten and Edward but nine. They foster with the Earl of Winterbourne and serve as pages in his household. Ancel is squire to Lord Hardwin. When Ancel left Kinwick to foster, it was the first time we were separated since the womb.”
A wistful look crossed her face. He had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to touch her in comfort.
Then she continued. “Hal is a whirlwind, into everything, but already a leader. Edward has the sweetest of temperaments and follows Hal’s lead.”
“Whether it leads them into mischief or not?” he guessed.
She laughed. “It sounds as if you have brothers of your own and may have led them astray a time or two.”
He shrugged. “I hope we will soon learn of that possibility. But if your brothers all went to Winterbourne, did you not follow them?”
“Nay.” An odd look crossed her face. She stared at him intently. “I fostered at the royal court. With Queen Philippa.” She paused as if she gauged his reaction.
He frowned. Something tugged at him. A faint memory regarding the queen. Had he ever been in her presence?
Then somehow he knew. “She is dead, I think. Something tells me she is.”
Alys nibbled at her bottom lip. “Aye, she is. She passed away some six years ago. I left London at that time and returned to Kinwick.”
His curiosity grew. “What was she like? I feel in my bones that I might have seen her before. Or even the king.” A picture came to his mind of one with regal bearing. “A strong man. Virile. Shrewd.” He thought a moment. “With a quick temper.”
“You have certainly described King Edward. He is a most intelligent man and powerful ruler but mercurial in his moods. The queen was his opposite. She was slow to anger and patient to a fault. No one could talk the king out of a foul mood as Queen Philippa could. They were a good match and very much in love.”
“In love, you say?” The thought of the king acting like a lovestruck fool didn’t fit the image in his mind of the monarch.
“Very much so. Though the marriage was arranged, their relationship grew from one of strangers to mutual respect and then finally love.”
He caught the tender look in her eyes as she spoke of this royal couple—and of love.
“So you believe in love?” he asked, wondering if he did.
She nodded with enthusiasm. “I do. My parents loved each other from their childhood. Raynor, the cousin I mentioned, met his wife, Beatrice, and fell madly in love with her—even though he believed her to be betrothed to another.”
Alys sat up, a sweet smile lighting her features. “And one of our knights, Michael Devereux, fell in love with my cousin, Elysande, as they delivered a foal.” She laughed, the sound a merry tinkling to his ears. “Michael did not even know her name and yet knew he wanted to wed her. And my other cousin, Avelyn, met her husband when he escorted her home from London. They, too, became a t
rue love match and wed.”
“You would have me believe that falling in love runs in your family.”
“Wouldn’t you say so after hearing about all of those couples?” Her heightened color brought out the blue in her eyes and made that rosebud of a mouth infinitely more tempting to him. “Of course, I realize that it’s the rare couple who marry and fall in love. Marriage is a duty and a way to unite family fortunes and gain political affiliations. Often, it’s arranged to strengthen bonds at court and throughout the nobility.”
She sat back in her chair and sighed. “But I have witnessed love firsthand. I believe in it. I hope for it.”
“You are not married?” he asked, praying she was not.
“Nay,” she said softly. “Nor have I a betrothed.”
“That’s unusual,” he replied. “May I ask your age?” He wondered how old he himself might be.
“I am seven and ten for another four months.”
“Why have your parents not chosen a husband for you?”
Alys worried her full, bottom lip again, causing a wave of desire to ripple through him.
“The queen was going to choose a husband for me before she passed. When I came home after her death, marriage was the last thing on my mind.” She looked about the room as if searching for an answer. “And I have been content at Kinwick these past years. Father and Mother haven’t pressed me to wed. Mayhap I am not meant to.” Her last words came out just above a whisper.
“But you must,” he insisted. “You are a well-bred, beautiful, interesting woman. You would make an excellent wife, my lady. Just look how well you have cared for me.”
She gazed at him a long moment, as if she plunged into the depths of his very soul. “I will know when I have found the right man to wed. It will be a love match for me—or none at all.”
Alys rose. “I have kept you from your rest long enough, my lord. Mayhap if you sleep, you will be strong enough in body and mind to defeat me when we next play chess.”
