Beloved Stranger

by Patricia Potter

  She had drawn the tower for him, but she had not drawn the letters. Mayhap those words would have stirred something.

  Virtue Mine Honour.

  Fine words for a noble. Her experience was otherwise, and yet her Scot seemed to reflect them. But then she warned herself that it may have been simply because he was made senseless by a blow to the head. Did character change with a loss of memory?

  She was unsure whether to try to ride back this night or not. The sky was cloudy, and the night would be black, too dangerous to ride, even on established roads. But she did not have enough money to rent a room, and even if she did, to do so would be dangerous. Inns put their travelers in common rooms. She did not fancy sleeping in the steel helmet with ten or twelve soldiers.

  Mayhap once out of the town, she could find a secluded place to rest until morning. She had the cloak for warmth.

  Her decision made, she started back toward the battlefield and all its violence and tragedy. And mysteries. How many families would never know what happened to their sons and fathers and brothers? At least, she had buried Will, had told him she loved him.

  Would the Scot’s wife, if there was one, ever know the truth?

  She swallowed hard. She had tried her best to discover his identity. Now she feared the only way to do it was to surrender the crest. His escape might well mean the loss of her own.

  Chapter 13

  ROBERT Howard limped across the small room.

  The more he used his leg, the stronger it became, though the pain was excruciating. He knew he would probably always have a limp.

  His host had made it clear that while a guest he was also a prisoner. He spent most of the time walking back and forth in his room and on the third day was able to walk without the crutch.

  He searched for memories, but they continued to elude him. When he looked out the long, narrow window at the wall below, another wall would dart into his mind. A thicker wall, and higher. But as he sought to hang on to the memory, it faded away. It was like grabbing a handful of fog.

  And the nightmare. The same one over and over again. The man on the ground. The terrible guilt.

  While the nightmares plagued his night, Kimbra haunted nearly every waking moment. She and her daughter. Was she all right? If he were to make a mistake, it would be Kimbra and Audra who paid the price.

  Then on the third evening, the Charlton visited him.

  The Charlton regarded him with something akin to wonder. “’Tis miraculous,” he said.

  “Aye,” Robert Howard agreed.

  “The physician was convinced ye would be dead by now.”

  “So he told me, if I did not let him bleed me.”

  “Why did ye not?”

  “I had been bled enough by the Scots,” Robert Howard said. “I needed no more by my countrymen.”

  The Charlton grinned. “I have often made the same charge. Kimbra is a better healer, but she is reluctant to do anything but provide herbs. Except for Will. And,” he added thoughtfully, “you.”

  “I am grateful.”

  “One of my riders returned from the Howards. No one knows of an auburn-haired Howard.”

  Robert Howard shrugged. “I would not be surprised. I have never met them. Neither do I know whether my mother was blond or redheaded.”

  “Sim was known to have bastards,” the Charlton said thoughtfully. “What family did ye foster with?”

  Robert Howard had a ready answer from Kimbra’s coaching, a family that had feuded with the Charltons for years, despite the fact that they were both English. “The Forsters. John Forster.”

  The Charlton grumped his displeasure.

  “I was happy to leave them,” Robert Howard added.

  “Cedric is suspicious of you,” the Charlton probed.

  “I did not like him, either,” Robert Howard said. “I heard he did little fighting during the battle.”

  Charlton shrugged. “He fights for gold. He sees no honor in anything else.” He paused. “Ye must feel the same, having fought in France.”

  “And Spain,” Robert Howard said. “I like adventure.” He thought he probably had. He found he did now. If it were not for Kimbra’s safety, he may well have enjoyed this challenge of matching wits.

  The Charlton left then, but Robert Howard—the man he was now—knew he had not entirely satisfied his host.

  The next day, the Charlton appeared again with a servant carrying a tray with a pitcher of ale and two cups. In the Charlton’s hands were a chessboard and a wooden box containing intricately carved chessmen.

  “Do ye play chess?”

  God’s tooth, but he wasn’t sure. Yet the board looked familiar enough. Why could he remember things and not remember his name, or his family’s name, or from where he came?

  He nodded, wanting the company and the challenge, even as he realized every moment he spent with the man meant risk.

  “God bless ye, lad. No one around here is a challenge.” The Charlton put the board down on the table and opened the box. His gout-swollen fingers moved the chessmen rapidly into place, but no more rapidly than Robert Howard did. He knew where every piece went. King. Queen. Rooks. Bishops. Knights. Pawns.

  Robert had the white and moved the first pawn. The next move came automatically, and his mind sped several moves ahead, as his opponent took time to consider his.

  How did he know how to play? Who had taught him?

  In fifteen more moves, he knew he could checkmate the Charlton. He was not sure he should do that.

  “Do not humor me,” the Charlton said as if he knew exactly what his opponent was thinking. “I do not like losing, but I like being patronized even less.”

  Robert Howard took him at his word. “Checkmate.”

  The Charlton looked at the board with amazement, obviously trying to figure out exactly what had happened.

  “There is a lot of time between battles,” Robert explained, not sure at all whether his explanation was true or not.

  The Charlton’s gaze pierced him. “Ye had little to wager, but ye won, and ye may choose a boon.”

  “A book.” A book in English for Kimbra.

  By God, he would see her again.

  “Ye can read then?”

  “Aye.”

  “How?”

  He wished to the devil he knew.

  “A priest taught me.”

  “Ye are a man of many talents, it appears.”

  Robert Howard said nothing.

  “So be it. And ye will join us in the hall this night for supper.” The Charlton rose, considered him for a moment, then said softly, “I hope ye do not disappoint me, Howard.”

  KIMBRA stayed away from the tower as long as she could.

  She visited Jane and heard that the Howard was still at the tower. Cedric had returned from searching the border for fleeing Scots. The English soldiers were leaving the area. A brief truce had been declared locally, allowing Scots to come and carry off their dead.

  Scots. There would be Scots in the area.

  Was her Scot aware of that?

  Mayhap one would know the crest.

  As always, the thought brought mixed emotions. For his sake, she wanted him to find his family. But then he would no longer be her Scot.

  “Is naught being said about Mr. Howard?” she asked.

  “Oh, Cedric has a great deal to say, especially since the Charlton has invited Howard to sup with him, but he is careful. It appears, according to Jock, that the Charlton has taken a liking to yer guest.”

  She probably should be surprised, but she wasn’t. Hadn’t both she and Audra been taken with him? Cedric hadn’t, because he’d sensed a threat to himself and his ambitions. But there was a very real danger to the Scot as long as he stayed at the peel tower, particularly if the Charlton was taking an interest in him.

  She had to see him.

  She left Jane’s with Audra, and the two of them rode home on Magnus. It was noon, two days after returning from Branxton. She hurriedly gathered some herb
s for the Charlton and folded Will’s jack into a bundle.

  Would the Charlton recognize it as once belonging to Will?

  But so many on the border looked alike.

  She would have to take a chance. If the Charlton did recognize it, she would merely say that Robert Howard’s armor had been destroyed beyond repair.

  She had just enough time to reach the Charlton tower and return before dark.

  Audra was joyful at the possibility of seeing her friend again. She paced restlessly, Bear beside her, until Kimbra lifted her into the saddle.

  Kimbra’s heart raced ridiculously as they neared the tower. She feared doing something that might expose him, yet she had to judge for herself how well he was doing.

  The first person she saw on entering into the barnekin was Cedric, who was mounting his horse. His eyes undressed her as he rode over to her. “I was on my way to visit ye.”

  Bear growled.

  “Ye still have that hound?”

  “He is my daughter’s dog. No one will touch him.”

  He arched an eyebrow, and she knew she would have to watch the dog.

  “I wanted to warn ye. The Armstrongs are raiding again now that most of the king’s army has left. Ye should not be alone. Ye should think of yer daughter.”

  “I am,” she said sharply.

  “Ye best not have interest in the Howard,” he said.

  “I have no interest in anyone.”

  “There is something wrong with him, and I will prove it to the Charlton.”

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  “Ye will,” he said, then added, “I will wait for ye and accompany ye back to the cottage.”

  “We need no such assistance.”

  “I think the Charlton would want to know ye are safe, Kimbra.”

  “I will be a while.”

  “All the more reason for a guard. It will be nigh onto dark.”

  Better alone in the dark than with him.

  A groom came out then and took Magnus’s reins. Kimbra lifted Audra down, then dismounted. She untied the jack from the back of the saddle.

  Be indifferent, she told herself. ’Tis only the return of an item. Nothing more.

  She was escorted up to Thomas Charlton’s room, while a maid took Audra to the kitchen for a sweet. “Hope ye brought something to soothe him,” said his man. “He be in a foul mood.”

  The Charlton was indeed scowling when she reached him. His ankle was stretched out in front of him, swollen and red and obviously painful. “I brought you some more bay leaves. I will brew some if you like.”

  “I would,” he said. “Bloody leg. I cannot even ride.”

  “I also brought Robert Howard’s jack. He was not given the chance to take it when your men came for him.”

  “I will see that he gets it.”

  “I would like to check his wounds.”

  “He is well. Ye are a good healer.”

  “I am not a healer.”

  “I never thought the Howard would live. We need yer skills, Kimbra.”

  She shook her head. “I could not save Will. I should have given him to the care of your physician.”

  “Nay. Nothing could save him once his blood was poisoned.”

  She did not say anything. Guilt was still a living pain in her. Why had she not been able to save her husband but could save an enemy?

  “This Howard,” the Charlton said, “he does not say much.”

  “He had a head wound. I think he forgot some things.”

  “He remembers enough to defeat me at chess.”

  She must have shown some surprise because he gave her a sly smile. “Not many around here can do that. I wanted to take measure of him. He apparently has little loyalty to the Howards. I can use a man like that. Since Will died . . .”

  She was stunned. Of every possible outcome she’d imagined, this was not one of them.

  “What about Cedric? His brothers?”

  “They do not have the loyalty or trust of my men.”

  “You know nothing about Robert Howard.”

  “I am a good judge of men. He fought near to his death for King Henry. He meets my eyes when he talks to me.” He grinned. “He can also play chess.”

  She did not reply, but her heart dropped. The last thing either she or the Scot needed was the trust and friendship of a man who did not like being fooled. On the other hand, it might make it easier for him to escape.

  And worsen the sense of disloyalty roiling about inside her. She did not want the Charlton to trust him.

  “Audra would like to see him,” she said.

  “I will take ye there.”

  “But your leg?”

  He shrugged, lifted his bulk to his feet and reached for the cane. “I will send Jock for your daughter,” he said. He led the way down the corridor to a door.

  Jock, a particular friend of Will’s, was standing outside.

  “Jock,” she said with real affection.

  “Mistress Kimbra,” he replied with a smile. “Where is your young miss?”

  “She’s in the kitchen,” Kimbra replied.

  “Is the Howard awake?” the Charlton asked Jock.

  “Aye. Last time he was carving a trail on the floor. Back and forth.”

  “Go fetch Mistress Audra,” the Charlton said.

  As Jock disappeared down the hall, the Charlton opened the door and limped into the room.

  Her Scot was in the midst of turning around, as if startled. He bent his head in acknowledgment of the Charlton, but his face was carefully neutral when he turned to her. Still, she thought she saw the faintest throb of a muscle in his throat. “Mistress Kimbra,” he said.

  “I wanted to see how your wounds were,” she said, “and you left your jack in my cottage.” She handed it to him.

  “My thanks once again,” he said, his eyes meeting hers but revealing little, while her heart was beating far too rapidly.

  She stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say and, in truth, afraid to say anything with the Charlton present.

  The Scot took several steps. He limped, but the steps were solidly made and without a cane. “You did well,” he said, this time with a smile playing around his lips.

  “Nay, I but gave you what God provided.”

  She felt the warmth of his gaze for a fleeting second before he turned to the door as Audra stood there, a broad grin on her face. She ran over to him. He dropped the jack he was holding and lifted her up.

  “Have you been practicing the lute?” he asked, ignoring the sudden pain in his chest.

  “Aye. Bear crawls under the table.”

  “All the better to hear,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.

  Kimbra feared he was too familiar for a man at death’s door just a few days earlier. But there was no preventing Audra from staring at him with rapt adoration.

  “Lute?” the Charlton asked.

  “Mr. Howard is teaching me,” Audra said proudly.

  The Charlton glanced at the Scot.

  “Ye did not tell me that.”

  The Scot shrugged. “I do not play that well.”

  “Like chess?” the Charlton said wryly. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Nay.”

  “I shall leave ye then for a while. Kimbra, you will sup with us tonight. Edith can take care of Audra, and Jock will accompany you home.”

  No Cedric. It was sufficient incentive to say aye.

  “I have no gown with me,” she protested.

  “Claire will show you my wife’s gowns, and you may choose one,” he said.

  Startled, she could only nod. The Charlton had lost his second wife three years earlier, and he had mourned her, much as she had mourned Will. The first wife, she had heard, died in childbirth. The second wife, Mary, had produced a son, who had died of a fever, and a daughter, who had committed the unforgivable sin of marrying a Scot. He had not taken a third wife.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He left the
m abruptly then. She and her daughter and the Scot.

  He put Audra down and reached out and touched her cheek. “I worried about you.”

  Heat coursed through her, and she feared her voice was shaky when she answered, “I can take care of myself.”

  “I fear that you may be in danger because of me.”

  She glanced down at Audra, and he clamped his lips closed. He knelt in front of Audra. “Have you been practicing the lute and your letters?”

  “Aye,” Audra said, and sang his letter song.

  “Very nicely done,” he said. “I have never had such a good pupil.”

  Audra’s grin could not have been wider. Nor his.

  Holy Mother, but she was beguiled by that smile.

  She wanted to reach out and do what he had done: run her fingers down his face. And she wanted much more than that.

  But she had to remember why she had come. “Audra,” she said, “can you run down and see whether the cook has some sweets?”

  Audra looked rebellious.

  “I would like a sweet,” he said, and Audra needed no more encouragement.

  When she left, Kimbra said urgently, “The English army is leaving. Some Scots are coming over the border to claim their dead.”

  “I am watched every moment,” he said.

  She hesitated, then asked, “Have you remembered anything?”

  “A man’s face, that is all. I do not know if it is a memory or a nightmare.”

  “The Charlton said you played chess.”

  “Aye, though I do not remember who taught me.” He pounded a fist in his hand. “It is so bloody frustrating. I can remember skills. I cannot remember people.”

  “But no one suspects you?”

  “I think the Charlton has some doubts.”

  “Not too many, I think. He is thinking about bringing you into the family.”

  He stared at her.

  “He believes he is a good judge of character.”

  The Scot’s eyebrows furrowed together. “He insisted I join the clan for supper last night.”

  “Clan?”

  He looked startled. “I should no’ say that?”

  “No.”

  “Was Cedric there?”

  “Nay, but there were hostile looks from others.”

  “I still feel you should leave as soon as you find a chance.”