by Alexa Aston
Geoffrey began pacing, feeling he’d been thrust back into his prison cell.
“Merryn, I . . .” His words trailed off.
A course of action came to him. He hadn’t known what to say in order to keep his word to Hardie. He stopped and met her eyes.
“I cannot remember what happened. Where I’ve been. How I came to be here.”
He sank to his knees and lowered his head. Inside, he screamed, ready to go mad. He loathed lying to her. Yet, it seemed the only way . . .
Geoffrey felt her drawing near. For some reason, he couldn’t imagine her gentle touch trying to soothe him. She should be disgusted, by his appearance and his obvious falsehoods.
He leapt to his feet and stepped away. Her outstretched hand fell away. He saw her shock. Disappointment. Hurt.
“Geoffrey?”
He turned, immediately recognizing the familiar voice of his best friend.
His cousin, Raynor, stood a few feet behind Merryn. He’d grown even more handsome since he’d served as Geoffrey’s best man on their wedding day.
“It’s truly you?” Raynor took a few steps forward. “By Christ, where have you been?”
“I don’t know.”
Raynor looked to Merryn and back at him.
In that moment, Geoffrey knew that Raynor loved Merryn. Loved her deeply.
Merryn recovered first. “Come,” she said softly. “Let us return to Kinwick. We shall—”
“Nay! I prefer to wait. Until dark. I do not want others to see me in this state.”
Once again, his wife and cousin looked at one another. Unspoken words passed between them.
“I see. I will return for you once night has fallen,” Merryn said.
“You do not need to be about in the dark, Merryn,” Raynor protested. “I shall stay with Geoffrey until night comes. We can wait until everyone has bedded down to avoid any . . . uncomfortable conversations.”
“I don’t wish to be seen,” Geoffrey reiterated. “By anyone.”
“Then I shall return and bring a cloak for you. You may cover your head and most of your face with it,” she promised. “I’ll bring food, too. Raynor, you will stay with him until I return?”
“Aye. I will remain with my cousin. But let me escort you to the meadow,” Raynor suggested. He took her elbow and looked back over his shoulder. “You will wait here, Geoffrey?”
Geoffrey nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He watched them depart.
And then followed noiselessly at a distance.
They remained silent until they reached the edge of the forest. Once there, they halted. Geoffrey moved close enough to hear what they said.
“How did you even know him, Merryn? By the ever-living Christ, he is unrecognizable in those rags and his wild hair and long beard.”
“He frightened poor Alys to death.” She hesitated. “Do you think . . . do you think he’s gone mad?”
Geoffrey watched Raynor and considered her question. “No. But his reluctance to come into Kinwick surprises me. Why wouldn’t he be eager to receive a welcome from his people?”
“I have witnessed something similar before,” Merryn shared. “I know no name for it. Something causes a person to lose all memory. One of our stable boys suffered a severe blow to the head when I was young. He did not know who he was for several days. He didn’t recognize his parents or anyone from Wellbury.”
“But he did remember eventually?”
“Aye,” Merryn confirmed, “after a week’s time. It was so odd. He could recall how to groom a horse and feed himself, but he hadn’t a clue about himself. Father allowed him to continue working in the stables. And then as if he’d been struck by lightning, he suddenly remembered his name and everyone about him.”
Geoffrey saw Raynor mull over her words.
“And you believe Geoffrey may have suffered such a blow?”
Merryn nodded. “Or something like it. But to lose so many years? And to turn up looking like a beggar?” She shuddered. “I don’t know what to say, Raynor. Only that he’s skittish as a newborn colt. My Geoffrey had nerves of steel. This man is but a shadow of the one I married.”
Geoffrey saw Raynor put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I will stand by you through this, Merryn. We shall see if the old Geoffrey is buried somewhere within this man. If not? If he has gone mad? Then we will deal with that. Together.”
Raynor wrapped her in his arms. Nausea rose in Geoffrey as he watched his cousin embrace her as a lover would.
“I won’t be long,” she promised. “I will bring clothes for him to wear and a cloak. Food, too, enough for both of you.”
Geoffrey hurried back into the woods.
*
Merryn’s heart raced as she journeyed back to the castle.
Where could Geoffrey have been?
She had mixed emotions. On one hand, her beloved husband had returned from the dead. In his arms for those brief moments, Merryn believed everything would return to normal. Yet, apart from their kiss, Geoffrey seemed to have changed so much. Whatever he had gone through, whether he remembered it or not, the experience had profoundly altered him.
What would their life together be like with him so changed?
She had so many things to tell him. First, he must know that his father had passed away nigh on three years ago. Geoffrey would now be lord of Kinwick.
If he could assume such a duty.
Merryn had made all the decisions regarding Kinwick and its lands and people since Lord Ferand’s death. She acted on behalf of Ancel, the heir to Kinwick, whom they’d thought held the title. She rendered the verdicts on Judgment Days. She decided what crops to plant. She ran the estate without question, allowing Lady Elia to manage the household since she was far too busy to consider domestic duties.
Would Geoffrey be able to take over such a monumental task in his fragile state of mind?
And first and foremost, she must consider the twins. How should she introduce them to a father they had always been told was dead? How would they respond to such news? Alys already feared him. How would Ancel react?
It hit her then—the king must be told at once. All his plans for creating a union between her and Sir Symond Benedict must be scuttled. For how could she consider marriage with a man in the king’s guard when she already had a living husband?
This worried her. Edward was far too volatile to take news such as this in stride. She must be delicate as she worded her missive to him, especially since she knew so little about the situation.
Merryn waved to the gatekeeper and entered the outer bailey of Kinwick. She would gather food and clothing and get it to Geoffrey as soon as possible. Then she would return to the castle and write the most important letter of her life.
“My lady?”
She turned and saw Tilda coming toward her. “Yes?”
“You have a visitor. He arrived an hour ago.”
“A visitor?” The news baffled her. No one was scheduled to arrive at Kinwick until the king and his court, but that was not until next month.
“Yes, my lady. ’Tis Sir Symond Benedict. He’s awaiting you in the great hall.”
Chapter 17
Handling a suitor for her hand in marriage was the last thing Merryn wanted to deal with as she entered the great hall. She would have to determine a way to break the news to this knight that he no longer had a claim to press. Until Geoffrey returned to the keep and made his presence known, she would have to put off the king’s man.
The room was empty except for their guest. She smoothed her skirts and tried to collect her thoughts.
Sir Symond Benedict stood next to the hearth. He was as she remembered him, fair-skinned, with a thick beard and a head full of red hair.
“Lady Merryn.” He bowed, his eyes meeting hers and then looking away. She remembered how shy he’d been on his last visit to Kinwick.
“Sir Symond. I am surprised to find you at Kinwick. We were not expecting you until the king’s arrival in June.”
> He nodded, reluctance in his brown eyes. “The king sent me ahead. He wished for me . . . that is, for us . . . to spend some time together.” He shuffled uncomfortably, his eyes falling to the floor. “The king thought I might enjoy seeing the castle and lands and . . . getting to know you.”
“I see. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Your servants have already served me.”
The silence between them stretched on.
“We must prepare a room for you,” she proclaimed, glad to have an activity to focus on.
“Your servant has readied one for me,” he shared. “But I have yet to see it.”
“Ah, that is good.” She hesitated. “Have you come from very far?”
He nodded. “I rode a good way.”
“Then I insist that you rest this afternoon.”
He looked startled. “Nay, my lady. I’m not one for being idle.”
What was she supposed to do with him? She needed to gather food and clothing for Geoffrey and take it to him. She had no time to entertain a surprise visitor.
Especially one that assumed he would soon marry her.
At that moment, fate intervened. Ancel came dashing in, running full speed. He waved about the sword that Raynor had whittled for him.
“Mother! I—”
“Are you supposed to run with a sword in your hand?”
“No, but—”
“Cousin Raynor has told you this sword is not a toy, Ancel. You must treat it with care. You don’t want to fall and hurt yourself or others with it. ’Tis an important tool to learn from.”
Her son hung his head. “I am sorry, Mother.” He raised his eyes. “Who is this? You look like a knight, good sir.”
Benedict smiled, all visages of shyness gone. “I am, my boy,” he stated, pride evident in his voice.
He visibly relaxed in the child’s presence. It gave her an idea.
“Sir Symond Benedict, allow me to introduce my son, Ancel de Montfort. Ancel, Sir Symond is a knight in our king’s royal guard.”
Ancel’s eyes lit up. “I met the king. When I was a little boy.” He puffed up like a peacock. “And he’s coming again to Kinwick.” He waved his wooden weapon about. “I shall show him my sword.”
“Don’t challenge him to fight,” Benedict warned. “Our king is a fine warrior. The best I have seen with a sword. Just because you’re a mere boy, he would not go easy on you.”
Ancel thought on his words. “Could you teach me to fight? My cousin made me this sword, but he’s only shown me a little bit.”
Benedict nodded thoughtfully. “I could do that.” He looked to Merryn. “If your mother approves.”
“Oh, Mother, please. Please. Sir Symond is an important knight. I’m sure he’s fought in all kinds of battles, just as Father did. I want him to teach me.”
Merryn knelt and put her hands on her son’s shoulders. “I trust that if Sir Symond decides to act as your tutor in swordplay, you will listen carefully to him.”
“Aye!”
“And no matter what he says, you will do as he asks?”
“Aye!”
She gave him a squeeze. “Then why don’t you take him to the training yard. He can show you some of—”
“I want to learn swordplay, Mother,” a voice called out. “May I go?”
Merryn stood as Alys eagerly ran to join them. “Sir Symond, this is my daughter Alys. She has voiced her interest in learning to defend herself.”
“You don’t have a sword,” Ancel taunted.
“I can share yours!” she cried.
“No, ’tis mine,” her brother said stubbornly. “Raynor made it for me. Not a girl.”
“But Mother said Raynor can make me one. And I can share yours until he does. Isn’t that right, Mother?” Alys’ blue eyes pleaded her case as much as her words.
“It’s a fine idea for a girl to know how to defend herself,” Benedict interjected. “And I can tell Ancel is a good boy who will be a decent brother and allow his sister to learn alongside him. Brothers should always look out for their younger sisters.”
“I’m older than Ancel,” Alys informed him.
“By a minute,” Ancel said.
“But I’m still older.”
“Children,” Merryn said sternly. Both quieted immediately. “Sir Symond is our guest. Neither he nor I will put up with arguing of any kind. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mother,” the twins mumbled.
“If Sir Symond agrees to take you both on, you will follow his instructions without question.”
They nodded, their eyes hopeful.
She looked at their guest. “Are you capable of handling them both, sir?”
He gave her a smile. “Indeed, Lady Merryn. I handled the French and they were more argumentative than these two.” Benedict looked down at the twins. “You may show me the place where we can train. And we shall walk. No running allowed.”
Immediately, each twin took one of his hands.
Merryn laughed. “I think in an hour you might choose to take a bit of that rest I recommended.”
“I may, my lady.”
She watched the children lead him off, chattering away.
Now she could see to her tasks at hand.
*
The evening air chilled Merryn as she headed through the inner and outer baileys and toward the gate. She tightened the cloak about her.
It had taken her longer to return to Geoffrey and Raynor this afternoon than she had hoped. She had been interrupted several times before she was finally able to rejoin them in the woods. She hadn’t stayed to see Geoffrey dressed and fed. Too many duties at Kinwick needed her attention and she’d returned to the keep in haste.
Merryn ate the evening meal with Symond Benedict by her side, sharing her trencher. He did not make much conversation and she was thankful. Ancel and Alys made up for the lapse of talk by telling her of their lesson with Sir Symond. She’d told him how grateful she was for his interest in the twins.
“I am interested in everything about Kinwick,” he’d murmured softly, sending dread through her.
She hadn’t time to worry about the mess being created. And she hadn’t found a spare moment to pen a letter to the king, informing him of Geoffrey’s remarkable return. That would have to wait until tomorrow. Her priority was to see Geoffrey safe within the walls of Kinwick.
Now Merryn waited for her husband and Raynor to join her.
She heard a voice call out and the response from the watchtower. After a moment, the gates began to open.
Geoffrey kept his face covered in the folds of his cloak while Raynor pushed his hood aside so the gatekeeper could easily recognize him. They walked quickly as Merryn motioned them to come with her. She wondered what ran through her husband’s mind as he ascended the steps of his home after so long a time away.
They entered the keep and passed the doors leading to the great hall. Out of a long ago habit, Merryn took Geoffrey’s hand. He stiffened at her touch but didn’t shake free. A small victory considering he’d shied away from that in the forest.
Surely, he experienced the same feelings she did, that spark of tenderness they’d once shared.
She led him upstairs and Raynor stopped at the door to his chamber. Merryn gazed at him and he inclined his head to her and then disappeared into his room. She tightened her grip on her husband’s hand.
They passed the solar, where Elia still slept. After Ferand passed away, Elia offered her the solar. Merryn refused to give up the bedchamber she’d briefly shared with Geoffrey.
Merryn opened the door and went inside, but Geoffrey didn’t follow. It took a tug to get him to move and she closed the door behind them. A cheery fire warmed the bedchamber. Earlier, she’d placed a flask of wine and two pewter cups on the table, along with some fruit and cheese. It reminded her of what Geoffrey had done on the night of their wedding.
He let go of her hand and moved to the fire. She watched him unlace the cl
oak and drop it to the floor as he squatted. He raised his hands, basking in the heat.
Merryn came to stand behind him. She was shocked at how filthy his hands were. The dirt seemed embedded like a second layer of skin. She hadn’t thought to bring water for him to bathe. First thing in the morning, she’d get her husband in a tub and help scrub the grime from his body.
“Are you tired?” she asked.
He nodded.
“We should ready ourselves for bed.” Filthy or not, she had waited years to lie next to her husband. Merryn would not be robbed of the pleasure of his weight in the bed, his head pillowed next to hers.
Facing her, he said quietly, “I cannot sleep with you.” He swept his hands up and down his body. “I would ruin the bedclothes.”
Geoffrey’s sleeves rode up as he motioned. Though the chamber was dimly lit, even in the faint light Merryn could see the deep scars circling his wrists. She dug her nails into her palms and bit her tongue before she could cry out.
Oh, Sweet Jesu. Who did that to him?
“I shall lie here.” He indicated the floor. “Next to this welcoming fire.”
“I have food and drink for you.”
“Nay. I had my fill with what you brought in the woods. I . . . I am not used to eating much. I shall partake of that on the morrow.”
So mayhap he did remember something, whether he realized it or not.
Geoffrey looked at her solemnly. “Thank you. For not . . . running from me.” He paused. “I saw my image reflected in a pond. I realize . . . I realize I am . . . not the man you remember.” Sorrow tinged his voice. “You have been most kind to me, my lady.”
Merryn blinked back the tears that formed. It was if Geoffrey spoke to her as a stranger.
“Then let me get you pillows. A blanket.”
“Nothing for me, my lady. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.” He lay down and pulled the cloak over him.
She wanted to weep as she watched him. Her throat grew tight.
Finally, she said, “My name is Merryn.”
“I know,” he whispered.
She wanted to go to him. Smooth his hair. Kiss his cheek. Let him know how happy she was that he’d returned. She had dreamt of this very day for an eternity. Instead, a strange reality existed. It confused her. They had barely begun a life together before it was snatched away from them.
