When he thought she would turn into his palm, she stepped back. A frown deepened on her brow and her eyes narrowed. “I have made one decision.”
“And that is?”
“If nothing changes, if I remember nothing more, when summer is ended, I will move to the convent where Lady Margaret’s sister is.”
“Move to the convent?” Louder than he’d planned, his comment drew some undesired attention from the others in the room. He cleared his throat and began anew. “Is that wise?”
“Wiser than staying here with no clear past or future.”
“Isabel,” he said, reaching out and grasping her hand. With her back to the room, no one could see his touch. “Make no commitment to this for now. Please.”
“I have made none. Yet.”
William now felt not only the walls inside him, but also the underpinnings of his world of these past few years, crumbling into dust. All the detachment he’d worked toward, all the distance he’d placed between himself and others, all the indifference he’d cultivated toward life in general was disintegrating beneath him. Could he survive if he reached out to her now? Could he survive if he did not?
“Give this some time. Give us—” he entwined their fingers and stroked her palm with his thumb “—more time?”
Isabel’s body tensed and shivered in response to his touch and he was glad for her reaction. She had not closed her heart to him yet. There was still time. Still time for…what?
“I would speak to Orrick and then we must talk more. Give me a few days?”
“Isabel?” Lady Margaret called from across the room. It invaded the private moment they were sharing, but William knew they could go no further here, now. He needed to undertake some arrangements before he could make any offers or promises to her.
“Coming, my lady,” Isabel answered as she release his hand. “Lady Margaret has urged me to keep an open mind about my future. And since you have asked the same, I will do so.”
She walked away and William found it difficult to breathe, the heart he had thought dead long ago pounded in his chest until he believed it would burst. And in spite of the strangeness and discomfort, he liked the feeling.
Chapter Nineteen
It happened as she was walking through the village, returning from an errand for Lady Rosamunde to Wenda’s cottage. Isabel noticed a smaller lane leading off in a direction she’d not seen before. The sun shone down brightly and she had no desire to rush back to the keep, so she decided to follow that path and see who lived on it.
Only a few small thatched-roofed crofts lay beside it and Isabel was turning back when the voices came out of the nearest.
“You stupid cow! ’Tis your failing, after all.” An older woman berated someone. “If you were a better wife, this would not happen.”
Isabel could not stop herself and in a moment she stood outside the cottage from where the voices came. Closing her eyes and hoping she’d be forgiven for eavesdropping, she listened.
“But, Mother, I try to be a good wife to your son. Truly,” answered a younger woman.
“A good wife? A good wife? See how you behave to me? No wife of my son should be arguing this and not to me.”
“But…” A slap ended the younger woman’s words.
“You are too haughty. You do not obey. You resist your husband’s attempts to correct you. You are not a good wife to my son.”
There was a pause, however this time the younger woman did not answer back. She was learning.
Isabel could not breathe. She remembered the endless berating, the relentless breaking down of her will, her resolve and even her self. More words broke into her reverie.
“If you would comply, if you would not look at him with such challenge in your eyes, if you were not such a failure then mayhap God would not be punishing him and us like this. You must put yourself under my son’s dominion if you want to take this sin from you.”
Isabel lost her balance and reeled back. Stumbling away, she could not see or hear but for the words and sights coming from inside her. This old woman had spoken the same words as…as…her husband’s mother.
“You come here with such pride and such condescension in your eyes. Think you are so much better than he? Than us?”
“No, my lady. I do not.” She could not help raising her eyes and meeting his mother’s. The stinging slap did not surprise her this time.
“You treat him with disrespect. You treated his family with disrespect. ’Tis another of your failings before God and before us.”
“I do not—” Her words were cut off by another blow. She could feel the tear in her lip where the lady’s ring cut it and the warmth of the blood as it began to flow.
“Do not speak to me with such arrogance. You are nothing but what my son makes you. You have nothing but what he gives you. Listen to my counsel and learn that quickly.” She was tempted by anger alone to reply, but the woman’s eyes had taken on a dangerous glare. “He has urged me to teach you the ways of a good wife. It begins now.”
“I am a good wife,” she argued, unable to keep the words in.
Her mother-by-marriage delivered another strike that was belied by her short stature. “First, you will seek the forgiveness of God, then you will seek it from my son. Some solitary time of contemplation will aid you in seeing the errors of your sinful ways.”
Servants caught her arms and dragged her from the solar, down corridors and steps until she was far below in the belly of the castle. No one helped her as she struggled and called out. The servants would not; even her own maid had been sent back to her family. She was alone.
Soon she found herself in a small, cold, wet cell. Her husband’s mother stood outside the door and glared at her. With her nod, the door was pulled shut and she heard the bar drop into place on the outside. Glancing around this cruel chamber, she saw no candles, no bedding but for matted straw in the corner and a bucket that could only be for…
“Pray. Think about your sins. Ask God to grant you his forgiveness so that you come to my son with a clean heart and a willingness to submit to him in all ways.”
“My lady. Please do not do this. I am a good wife.”
As the light and people disappeared from the hall, she sank to her knees, unable to fight the tears, the weakness inside her any longer. Curling over, she whispered in her pain.
“I am a good wife.”
Stunned by these memories, Isabel sank to her knees on the ground. She could not control the rolling of her stomach or the dizziness it brought. The heaving went on for a few minutes before it calmed and she waited for its end. She tugged off her veil and barbette and let the breezes cool her overwarm face and neck.
Her legs trembled so she did not attempt to stand. Sitting up, she dragged herself to the nearest tree and leaned against it. Royce had urged her to think on these memories while they were still new in her mind, so she closed her eyes and listened again to the scene she’d relived. Not only were the words still fresh, but so was the pain they caused.
Once more it all came back to her weakness, her failure as a wife. These memories showed her that her sin was known by many more than just the man she thought was her husband. His family knew of whatever dishonor she’d caused and joined in his fury at her over it. It was her fault.
Now it was the feelings that flooded back on her. The pain and the weakening. She’d been kept without food or even water for days in the cell before being returned to her chambers. But more than the thirst or hunger, the thing that had scared her the most was that she’d given in and begun to believe their accusations.
It had not happened at the time of this memory, for Isabel could feel that this was early in their process of intimidation. No, it had been later. After believing herself stronger than them and their methods of tearing her down, at some time many months or even years later, she had accepted their accusations as truth and accepted that she was not worthy of her husband’s respect and esteem. That she had failed and could not be forgiven for
her lacking. That she deserved their treatment of her because of her sin.
She did not know how much time had passed, but when she spied the small leather pouch she had fetched from Wenda for Lady Rosamunde, Isabel knew she must return to the keep or she would be missed. Regaining her feet, she took several deep breaths trying to release some of the tension that filled her. Looking around, she saw the beginning of the path that would lead through the center of the village. Picking up her veil and barbette straps and the herbs procured from Wenda, she headed in that direction.
Still overwhelmed by the memories, Isabel thought on Wenda’s words about why she could not remember. Was she hiding from the truth with this loss of memory? Thinking back on all the memories she had regained, she seemed to be looking at two different women—the happy one who lived among a loving family and the beleaguered one who lived with a controlling and manipulative husband and his family.
Who was she? Which of these women? And which one did she go back to when the rest of her life was recovered? Walking back toward the keep, she did not need to fret over that question, for it was the easiest of all she’d asked herself to answer. She would choose the first self. And, living here, with the support of Orrick and Margaret and the love of Royce would be the closest she could come to reclaiming that type of life if her memory did not return.
Isabel reached the center of the village and the well that was its lifeblood. Many women gathered around it, filling buckets and jars with water for their chores and their needs. Without her veil on to cover her scar, Isabel drew one of her braids over her shoulder and forward.
“Are you well, my lady?” one woman asked at her approach.
“I am overly hot and came to seek a drink of cool water on my way back to the keep.”
The group closest all nodded in understanding since the sun glared down on them now. A younger woman leaned over the edge of the well and pulled up the bucket within it. Taking a beaten metal cup from a ledge in the stone, she filled it with water and offered it to Isabel. She drank it down, letting its chill soothe her burning throat.
“You look ill, my lady. Have ye no maid with you?” One of the women motioned to a young girl from nearby, took her hand and led her to Isabel. “Would ye like her to walk back to the keep with ye? She be a good girl and knows the way, she does.”
Isabel was about to accept the aid when his voice called out to her.
“I will take you back, Isabel.”
She shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun and looked up to see Royce sitting on his horse, watching her at the well. How long he’d been there or how much he’d seen she knew not, but his presence was the comfort it always was to her. He reached out his hand and beckoned her.
“My thanks for your kind offer—” Isabel tried to remember the woman’s name from their previous meetings “—Maude. But I will avail myself of…”
She could not think of what to call him to the common folk. At the knowing glances and speculative winks, she simply stopped trying to explain and walked to him. Royce leaned down and lifted her to a place in front of him on the horse. Seated in his lap, she felt his arms surround her as he took control of the reins.
“Come, Isabel. The cool ocean and the beach call to me.”
She did not object to this change in plans and, with his invitation, lost all thoughts of urging a return to the keep. He pushed his horse to a fast walk and directed it to the path leading to the beach. Isabel permitted herself the guilty pleasure of leaning against his chest and feeling the security of his arms about her.
The sand was still packed down from the receding tide when they dismounted, and it was easy to walk upon it on their way to the water’s edge. They walked wordlessly to an outcropping of rocks and he pointed out the driest one for her to sit on. It was already absorbing the warmth of the sun and was pleasant to sit on with the ocean breezes rustling past them.
He wore his chain mail, its hood resting on his shoulders. Tugging off his leather gloves, he tucked them under his belt and reached for her hand. The anticipation of the touch of his mouth on her wrist was exquisite and Isabel felt shivers move through her as he turned her hand and kissed her there. His gaze caught hers as he did and she stared back, imagining the touch of his mouth in all those other places, the ones that tingled now as she watched him.
Royce ended his intimate touch and placed her hand between both of his. “I would have you with me, Isabel.”
She swallowed several times, trying to ease the tightening in her throat. Before she could speak, he did once more.
“I would have you with me always. If you would have me.” His voice was gruff, the way it had been when he spoke of anything between them. Was he offering her marriage?
“And I would be with you, Royce, but…” Her words trailed off as she considered his offer. “I cannot promise myself to you while my past hangs over my head.” He looked ready to argue, but she continued with another deep concern of hers. “And what of your past? You remember your life before Silloth, sometimes too well, I think. Would you share that past with me even as you ask me to share your future?”
His face grew serious and his eyes darkened at her request. “Isabel, I seek to forget my past as you seek to remember yours. Can you not accept what I am now?” That admission cost him much, she could see that now. The pain and fear in his eyes told her more than his words, but the glimmer of hope there tore her heart apart.
What could she say? The cowardly part inside her wanted to scream acceptance of him and his offer. Having glimpsed the pain of her life in the memories today, she wanted nothing so much as to leave behind the pale, terrified woman she had become under her husband’s hand and return to the happy, alive one she knew she had been before her marriage. And the one she knew she could be with Royce.
“Do you offer marriage?”
“I am free to marry, Isabel. There is no impediment preventing me from taking those vows. Can you believe me on this?”
This was new to her. She had seen him angry or patient, hungry or satisfied, even imperious or cooperative. She had heard him ask questions, make requests and even issue orders. But she had never heard him beg for anything. He was risking so much of himself, so much of his heart for her. She did believe him. There were many things in his past he refused to tell her, but she would wager her soul that he did not lie to her now.
“Do you swear on your honor as a knight?” She guessed about this, but she wanted some sign of his commitment, some piece of his past. She was on dangerous ground as she tested him in this way.
“I cannot. I wish that I could, but there was no honor in the knight I once was.” The bleak look in his eyes caused her to look away. He stood and took a few steps from her. He faced the ocean with his eyes closed now and the urge to run to him was great.
She slid from the rock and walked to him. Knowing that she was taking a great step, she reached up from behind him and encircled his waist with her arms. “Can you promise me on the man you are now?”
He turned and gathered her closer. “What man is that?” His face was blank now, as though he had pulled all of his strengths and weaknesses inside to avoid the coming threat. She reached up and stroked his cheek as he had done to hers many times.
“The man who Orrick and Margaret trust. The man who saves strangers and stray dogs and boys. The one who I love.”
He kissed her with a fierce determination and one that spoke of promises and possession. But she could not relinquish control yet. “You have not asked for my promise yet?” He released her and waited on her words. “You may not like it when you hear it.”
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“Aye, that I do, Royce. But I can only promise to consider your offer. I cannot promise more than that until I know more.”
“Do you know of an impediment between us? Is not the man you know to be your husband dead, leaving you free to marry again?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “he is dead.” She knew that for certain.
“Is there something else that stands between us?” When she thought to tell him about what she’d remembered earlier, he shushed her. “And I will hear nothing of these shortcomings you fear. Tell me of something with substance and not the ravings of a man cowardly enough to kill his wife in the dark of night.”
Isabel looked into his eyes and saw the love he had for her beaming at her. “There is nothing but my fears.”
Royce leaned down and she readied herself for his kiss. He stopped just before his lips touched hers and spoke. “I will give you the time you need to accept those fears and me. I will not press you for a decision until the summer’s end.”
Disappointment filled her. She wanted to feel his need for her. She needed his strength and determination, for she knew now that he’d made the decision to seek a new life, she could draw on that in her own weak times. He leaned his head back and roared out his laughter at her expression.
“Do not worry, Isabel. I plan to woo you during this time to make certain I receive the answer I want.”
Woo her? That sounded promising.
“How will you woo me, Royce? What do you plan?” She smiled and for the first time allowed herself to feel some hope of a new life.
“As in any good battle plan, I will not give away my strategy, lady,” he said as he finally touched his lips to hers, reminding her of their time in his cottage. “But I will say that I will woo you ardently.” He wrapped her braids around his hands and pulled her face closer. “Ardently.”
His mouth possessed hers, then. Tasting and touching, lips and tongues met and met again. Just as his hands released her hair and began to slide down over her breasts a sharp whistling caught his attention and took it from her. She turned and followed his gaze up until she saw a guard on the tower waving at them.
“’Tis Connor telling me that we are seen.”
“Seen? From there?” She shaded her eyes and tried to tell if it was truly his man Connor on the roof of the keep. “How do you know it is him?”
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