The Norman's Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  William lit a candle and placed it on the table. Sitting with his back to Isabel, he opened the box, took out the top letter and, with the greatest of care, smoothed it open. The reverend mother’s words of greeting gave way to a report on the status of his sister Catherine. Although her physical recovery was wonderful news to him, the rest of the letter tore him apart, for he was the one whose actions had destroyed Catherine’s life and made her the target of the evil machinations of a dark prince of the realm.

  If only he had given in without a struggle, Prince John would never have sought out Catherine as a weapon of control over him. If only he had stood up to John and revealed his plans to the Earl of Harbridge, Gaspar Montgomerie. Montgomerie had strong allies and could have, would have…

  William leaned on his elbows and cradled his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes and pushing his wet hair back. He had made so many mistakes and so many others had paid for them. Now, his chance to let them live their lives and the chance to somehow redeem himself was threatened by the presence of a woman who could not know how great a danger she was to him and all he had put in place over the last three years.

  He owed it to his sister, his former betrothed and to their daughter to never let anyone know of his existence. The price of their lives was his death and he would continue to honor his agreement with the new earl. Rereading the indignities and dishonor his sister had to accept in her life, being passed off as the orphaned cousin of the countess instead of the heiress and pampered daughter of a noble family that she was, William renewed his own inner strength.

  Isabel would be ready to move to the keep and take a place within Lady Margaret’s circle of women until her memory came back. Her future would be out of his hands, her life no concern of his. And his future? William looked once more at the reverend mother’s letter and knew the answer.

  William de Severin would remain dead and buried and Royce of Silloth would simply continue to exist on the fringes of the English kingdom. There was no future for him at all since any exposure could endanger Catherine or Emalie or…

  No future at all.

  Sleep did not come easily or well for Isabel. Mayhap it was another reaction to Wenda’s brew or mayhap the memories of the girls on the beach had stirred something deep within her. Whatever the cause, her restlessness even scared Royce’s dog away. She turned once more and faced the open space of the cottage, limited though it was, and let out a sigh.

  As exhausted as she was, the thoughts in her confused mind would give her no peace. She tried to simply relax and let the physical exertions of the day force her to sleep, but that hadn’t worked. And even more than the vague memories that tugged at her from an unknown place within, Isabel could not erase the expression on Royce’s face when he’d first entered the cottage that morning.

  In some way known to women, she’d read the stark wanting in his eyes. And Isabel had felt it when he gently touched her cheek and slid his thumb over her lips. But it was so much more than simple physical desire; ’twas as though she offered him everything in the world he wanted…and could not have. And it tore her up inside that just being here somehow caused such pain to the man who’d saved her very life.

  Soon her jumbled thoughts drifted off and she saw the girls on the beach once more. The cold water splashed on her feet and legs and she gathered the edges of her gown to try to run faster. The sun that had shone down now turned dark, and the crashing of the waves receded in the darkness. Looking around for her sister, Isabel knew she was alone.

  Instead of the beach, she now stood in the spongy murkiness of the marshes. The black mud pulled at her legs and gown and she struggled against it. When she peered down at its surface she saw the legs of a woman and not a child. Through the fog, voices called for her, but they called another name she could not understand. She only knew she must flee.

  The fiery pain in her leg and the dizziness in her head kept her from moving fast enough and soon they found her. Circling her, they taunted her with daggers and fists until she fell into the nearest men. Fists pummeled her and she was passed from one to another until she knew she would faint. Even her screams did not deter them. Then one of them drew out his dagger and, grabbing hold of her gown, slashed at her. The knife’s point tore her skin and then her dress and then skin again. Only losing her balance and falling away into the deeper water saved her from further attack.

  She knew that she must have appeared dead or they would have made it happen, so she let her body drift into the water, hoping and praying that they would not follow. A man’s words came to her in the terrible darkness.

  “Let the creatures of the swamp finish her now. Then her death will not be at my hands. Come, my brother will give us more sport than this.”

  Sinking into the mud and knowing she must remain silent, she cried out in her thoughts for someone to save her.

  Save her.

  At that moment, the words poured forth and she woke herself up screaming them. Sweat poured over her even while icy chills raced up and down her spine. The panic that she’d managed to keep at bay for days and weeks pulsed through her, stealing her breath and making her heart pound furiously. The muscles in her injured leg seized as terror filled her. When the arms encircled her, she fought them with all her might. Then his voice broke through her darkness and called her to calm.

  “Isabelle, fear not.”

  Her soul recognized the voice that had spoken to her in the void of unconsciousness. Her soul accepted the safety his voice and his embrace offered. But it was her heart that knew this was a turning point for them. Then her body accepted the solace and protection he offered and fell into sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  She knew not the first thing when it came to cooking. Oh, Avryl was pleasant enough about it and made light of her ineptness, but nothing about cutting vegetables or chopping salted or fresh meat or deboning slimy fish and making a stew or soup was familiar to her. Or something she wanted to do again and again. Following Royce’s example, cleaning their bowls, spoons and the table after meals did not rouse any memories or feel as though she had performed the tasks before, either.

  Embroidery did, though, as did the simple sewing of garments. Wenda provided her with borrowed gowns and some additional material and thread and she was able to fashion another chemise and outer gown for herself that fit reasonably well. Sitting in her chair, using the light coming in from the open door, she worked for hours in peaceful oblivion.

  Isabel was not happy with the uneasy situation between Royce and her. The feel of being held in his arms through the night had stayed with her over these past few days, although not a word passed between them about it. Or about his obvious discomfort at being found by Avryl the next morning. He’d run like a sinner trying to escape the devil’s clutches when the gasp of the young woman had startled both of them from sleep.

  She smiled to herself over that sight. Try as he might to slip from their embrace of tangled limbs, he stammered over an explanation. In her own opinion, no explanation was necessary and if Avryl sought one, she had not come to Isabel for it.

  A summer breeze blew through the cottage, cooling it and refreshing it with the earthiness of the forest. The dog, sitting at her feet, roused from his favorite position and then fell back again when convinced that nothing deserved his attention. Isabel lifted the heavy braid off her neck to cool the sweatiness caused by the heat and the weight of her hair. Remembering Royce’s mention of how close the stream was, Isabel toyed with the idea of walking out to it to seek its coolness from the heat of the day. And to wash her hair again.

  Feeling bold after her recent daily improvements, she placed her sewing aside and grasped the newest gift from John’s father. Taking a long moment to evaluate her ability to accomplish this, she leaned on the crutch and took the first step. Although the dog looked as though he did not believe she could do it, she tested her leg and found the pain not unbearable.

  Realizing she would need a jug and some soap if she was goi
ng to carry out this mad idea, she stumbled to the cupboard and took the small pottery bowl of Wenda’s soap and the smallest empty jug she could find. Putting one in the other, she stuffed them into the large side pocket of her gown and looked around for anything else she needed. Tugging a length of linen from inside the cupboard, she threw it over her shoulder and faced the door.

  More than once she almost turned back. Her leg ached with each step and the folly of her plan became quite clear to her before she had traveled even to the edge of the forest. But each time her resolve wavered, she listened for the sound of the stream, its cool waters flowing nearby. Mopping her face with the linen, she continued toward the rushing brook, one slow and painful step after another.

  Royce’s dog sat at the open doorway to the cottage and moaned at her progress. He did not follow her but begged that she return and that it be now. She laughed at him as she neared her goal. She laughed again when she walked into the covering of the forest and again as she spied the stream through the trees. Trying to pace herself, she made her way over to its edge and sought a place that would suit her needs. A few yards from her, the water formed a shallow pool and she knew that was the place.

  With the dog’s mournful noises still calling her from the croft, Isabel maneuvered down to the ground and slid closer to the edge. Testing the waters, she decided to rest a bit before attempting the rest of her plans. Pulling the edges of her gown up to her knees, she unwrapped the splint on her leg and laid it aside. Then she rolled down her stockings, loosened her shoes and slipped them both off. With a great deal of care, she let her legs slide into the pool of water and then could not stop the moan of absolute pleasure at the sensations that pulsed through them.

  Isabel knew not how much time passed. She sat with her legs dangling in the cool water and her head thrown back, letting the breezes soothe her from her exertions. Now, taking a deep breath, she readied herself for the next task. Drying off her injured leg, she placed her stocking and then splint back on and wrapped it securely to give it support as she moved. Turning onto her knees, she arranged herself and her supplies and then leaned over as far as she could without falling in. Using the soft soap and jug, she washed her hair, enjoying every laverful of water that she poured through it.

  It was as she was twisting the water out of her hair that she noticed the dog’s barking. Louder and more intense it grew and Isabel hurried to finish her ablutions and get to her feet. Things did not go well, for she lost the linen she needed to wrap around her hair and then the crutch slipped from her grasp. The insistent barking was now replaced with something else, something that sent fear into her heart and made her stumble.

  “Isabel!”

  Royce’s voice carried through the trees. Fearing that she was in danger, she stood and looked about for a place to hide. Taking one step and then another, she heard someone crashing through the trees behind and prepared to scream. She would have, but her very breath was knocked from her by the force of the impact…of a large body…a large, hard body…a man’s large, hard body. The force carried them both into the water, but she was saved from real harm when he turned and took most of the impact on himself.

  Gasping from the cold water and the fall, Isabel pushed away and tried to sit up. Royce’s arms surrounded her and he would not let go. Finally he let go of her and she discovered that she was sitting on him, in the water. Then, abruptly, he sat up and pulled her out of the water with him. Still not understanding why she was in the water, she pushed her soaked hair out of her face and looked at him.

  “Are we in danger? Has someone attacked?”

  “Attacked? No, why would you think that?” Royce stood and carried her to the bank of the stream. Water poured down from both of them.

  Cold water. The prior cooling breezes now caused her to shiver. He noticed.

  “You yelled my name as though I were in danger. You knocked me into the water.” Sometimes men could be so…male. But it was good that she remembered that much.

  “I found the cottage empty, you gone and the dog barking and running in this direction. I thought you were being attacked again!” She watched as he set his teeth on edge and clenched his jaws. And she could not help blurting out how absurd his reaction had been.

  “So you pushed me into the water to save me?” Isabel felt her own chin push out in challenge. Royce responded by gently placing her legs on the ground and holding on to her until she stood on her feet.

  “I saw you wobbling and falling toward the water. I did not push you in. I tried to keep you from falling in. You can be daft sometimes, Isabel.”

  His voice softened, as did the expression in his eyes as he looked over her from head to toe. He reached out and gathered her hair in his hands and twisted it to release the water. Of course, this brought him closer to her and his arms surrounded her shoulders as he worked on the mass of sopping curls.

  Shivers raced through her again, this time caused not by the chill of the water but by the heat in his eyes. She was torn by the urge to reach up to run her fingers through his hair. Then he leaned in and she thought he meant to kiss her, and for a moment she could not decide whether that was a good thing or bad. Her hands clutched at his wet shirt and she waited.

  The moment was broken by the growling of the dog next to them. When she glanced down, she found the mutt wrapped in the linen she’d brought to dry her hair and dragging it to them. She burst out laughing at his antics. Royce released her and chased the dog for the cloth. It was then that the humor in the scene struck her. Royce, finally victorious over the dog, brought the cloth to her and looked as sheepish as the hound.

  “I am sorry, Isabel. I thought that you were…” His words trailed off as she took the linen. “Did I cause you further injury? Is your leg hurt?” He looked down at her sopping clothes and for a moment it appeared he would lift her skirts and inspect her leg himself.

  “My leg is fine,” she said, smoothing the soaked gown against her legs. Now that she thought of it, he had controlled their fall so as not to hurt her. “You thought I was in danger?” He nodded. “I but sought to enjoy the pleasures of the stream…I thank you for your concern.”

  “Lady Margaret said we should be responsible in our care of you.” His gaze became intense again and her breath caught in her chest. “And allowing you to stand here in a wet gown is not following her orders. Here,” he said, as he reached down and lifted her into his arms. “Let me take you back to the cottage so you can change.”

  Isabel decided this was not a bad way to travel and, since the weight of her gown would have made it nigh impossible to walk back, she accepted his assistance. With the dog nipping at his heels, Royce carried her the short distance to the croft.

  She tried not to notice the strength of his arms as she sat quietly in them. She tried not to notice the muscular chest that she found herself leaning on. And she tried not to let herself dwell on the fact that he had come to her rescue yet again. Even more, she tried to ignore how easy it was becoming to allow him to be her protector.

  “Wait!” He paused and looked at her. “I left everything at the stream. Your jug and my soap and shoes and crutch.”

  “I will fetch your things once you are settled.”

  He did not stop until he stood before the hearth and her chair. She did not sit when he put her down for fear of getting the chair wet.

  “Undress,” he said, handing her a blanket. “I will spread your garments outside in the sun to dry.”

  Without pause or another word, he left. Isabel watched out the window as he walked back into the forest, all the while talking to himself, for no one accompanied him. The worthless mutt who had caused most of the misunderstanding stood whining at the doorway.

  She disrobed of everything except her shift and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Sitting in the chair, she removed the bindings on her leg once more and waited. Royce returned with the jug, soap and her crutch.

  “My cottage is filling with Corwyn’s handiwork. Does this
work?” he asked as he held it out to her.

  “I made it to the stream using it.” She carefully slipped her hand out of the covering and grabbed the crutch. “And it would have been a wonderful weapon had I been under attack.” She could not help but tease him. Smiling, she waited for his reaction. Royce began to laugh. A deep vigorous laugh that she had not heard from him before and her heart felt lighter in hearing it.

  “I fear that I did overreact. My apologies for knocking you in the water.” He nodded to her.

  “And I ask your pardon for my part in this. I did not expect you back so early and thought I could accomplish what I wanted before you returned. Thinking on it now, it may not have been the best plan.”

  “For many reasons it was not. But we have both survived.” He walked to the storage chest, took out dry garments and some linens for them both and laid hers on the table. “I will be outside if you have need of me.”

  Isabel made quick work of slipping the dry gown over her head and then, using the crutch, she stood and went in search of more bindings to use to put the splint back on her leg. As she passed the window, she could see Royce at his tasks outside. Their garments were strewn over bushes along the cottage and with the heat outside and the strong sunshine beating down, they would dry quickly. She had begun to turn away when Royce loosened his belt and scabbard and dropped them to the ground. Once he reached for the edge of his shirt, she could not force her eyes to look away.

  Even though her hands had run over the muscles of his chest and shoulders as he lifted or carried her in these past weeks, Isabel lost her breath at the sight of him naked from the waist up. A sprinkling of black hair began below his waistband and spread upward toward his shoulders, thickening over his chest and making Isabel’s hands itch to touch it. His muscles were well-defined and developed from years of training and working with weapons. Although she had never seen him wield his sword, she imagined it would be a magnificent sight.