by Anne Herries
As she entered the large hall, which was the heart of the chateau, she saw two men standing together. They turned their heads as she approached. Anne caught her breath, for one of them had skin the colour of polished walnut and the bottom of his face was scarred dreadfully, the skin puckered and discoloured as though he had been burned, his mouth twisted to one side. His dark eyes went over her, his gaze narrowed and thoughtful. Anne felt nothing but pity for him, because she sensed that at one time in his life he had suffered terribly.
‘Ah, the lady Anne,’ Stefan said, inclining his head in welcome. ‘We are glad that you feel well enough to join us at last. This is Hassan, the best friend a man could have. He helped me to pull you from the sea.’
Anne dipped a curtsy to them. ‘Sir, I must thank you as I have thanked others who helped me.’
‘You are welcome, lady,’ Hassan said. There was a slightly puzzled look in his eyes. ‘Forgive me, but as you came towards us I thought that I had seen you before this day.’
Stefan stared at him. ‘You do not speak of when we pulled her from the water. Can you recall where you saw Anne the first time?’ He too had felt that he might have seen her, but could not recall when or where.
Hassan’s eyes were on her. Anne shivered, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement as she anticipated his reply, but he shook his head and she was disappointed.
‘Forgive me, but I do not remember where I saw you. There was something in the way you walked and held yourself, but the memory is not strong. At the moment it eludes me, but it may yet return.’
Stefan looked thoughtful. If he had seen her, it must have been brief and at a time when he was not taking much notice, for she was too beautiful to have slipped his mind had he ever spoken to her.
‘Memory is a strange thing; it eludes us when we try to recall something and returns when we least expect it. If you have truly seen Anne before, it will come to you, Hassan.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Hassan replied. ‘I should leave if I am to reach my destination before nightfall. I wish you well, lady.’
‘Thank you…’ Anne watched as he walked from them. She turned to look at Lord de Montfort. ‘It would be a strange coincidence if we had met before you rescued me, though I doubt it can be so, for I do not think I have been to France before this time. Everything here is strange to me.’
‘You are in Normandy, and my home contains many things I have collected in other lands,’ Stefan said. ‘Why are you so sure that you had not been to France before this?’
‘I do not know. Sometimes I seem to know things instinctively, without truly remembering, but you told me yourself that I speak English better than French.’
‘Yes, that is true. Hassan might have seen you recently, for we were returning from a visit to England when we found you. He is very observant and it is possible he saw you only briefly.’ Possible that he had seen her too—but where?
‘I thought your ship was travelling along the French coast?’
‘We were swept down the coast by the fierce winds and decided to run before them until we found a sheltered cove. Had we made land before the storm hit, we should not have been there that morning.’
‘I was more fortunate than I knew,’ Anne said and shivered. ‘Had you not seen me…’
‘You were close to death. Another hour or two…’ Stefan shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Who knows why these things happen?’
‘Ali would say it was as Allah wills,’ Anne said and her eyes sparkled with mischief. In that moment the shadows fell away from her and she was beautiful, a spirited girl whose smile held enchantment. The change was so marked that it made Stefan catch his breath.
He laughed huskily. ‘I see you have recovered your spirit, whatever else you lack, my lady.’ His eyes went over her with a hint of disapproval. ‘That gown does not do you justice, Anne. It was found in a chest in the storeroom and must have belonged to the late lady of the manor, but all her gowns were black, for I believe she was widowed many years. We must buy some silk and have something new made for you. I believe that a fair has come to a town near by. If you feel well enough on the morrow, we could go there together and choose something from the merchants.’
Anne was pleased that the gown had not belonged to his mistress, though she did not know why it should matter. She smiled at him, her heart beating faster as his gaze intensified. He looked so very different when his features were relaxed by humour. When he actually smiled he became a man she found fascinating, instead of the stern cold master of the chateau who frightened her a little.
‘You have already been generous to me,’ she said, her eyes wide and questing as she met his gaze. ‘It was good of you to lend me your book, for I know such things are costly.’
‘I have many books,’ Stefan told her. ‘You are welcome to read them while you stay here.’
‘You are too good, sir. I do not know what I may do to repay your kindness.’
‘I have done nothing that common decency did not command of me,’ Stefan replied. ‘Ali says that if you save a life you are responsible for that life. Perhaps he is right.’
‘Silk is expensive…’ Anne’s mouth felt dry. She felt as if an invisible bond drew her to him. His gaze was stern, but sometimes his voice was like dark velvet, caressing her, soothing her. ‘I have no money…nothing to offer in return.’
‘Believe me, you have much to offer,’ Stefan said. He moved closer, reached out, tipping her chin so that she looked up at him. ‘If I were less honourable I would keep you with me, make you my mistress. You are a beautiful woman, Anne. I could happily lie with you, but honour demands that I must help you to return to your family.’
Anne’s pulses raced. For a moment she could not breathe. She ached for something, but did not know what she craved. What was this feeling he had roused in her? She thrilled to his smile and the sound of his voice, and yet he scared her so much. Her eyes widened, innocent and inviting. Stefan bent his head and kissed her softly on the mouth. Her body swayed towards him, and he made a harsh sound in his throat, pulling her hard against him. His kiss intensified, his tongue seeking entrance as her lips parted beneath his, a sensation so sweet and heady sweeping through her that she was ready to swoon. She wanted it to go on and on for ever, and she wanted something more, though she knew not what she longed for. When he let her go abruptly, she almost fell.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Your eyes invited and I took advantage of your innocence. I shall not sully that innocence with lust, for you must know now that I can never love you. All that was tender and innocent died in me a long time ago, Anne. I am not fit to be the husband of any gentle woman—and especially one like you. I should not have kissed you.’
Anne touched her fingers to her lips in wonder. Instinctively, she knew that it was the first time she had been kissed in such a way. No man had ever made her feel this way before, she was certain, and felt the invisible bond that seemed to fasten itself about her heart.
‘I liked it,’ she said, for there was no artifice in her. ‘Why do you say you are not fit to be my husband?’
‘I have lived as a mercenary for many years. Have you any idea of what that means?’ Anne shook her head. ‘It means that I fought for money. I killed men… and sometimes women; even children died in the cities we stormed and the ships we sent to the bottom of the ocean. I did not fight for honour or for my country, but for the gold it earned me and because of the hatred inside me. Do you understand what I am saying? I have seen things that no man should see and done things that shame me. There is blood on my hands, Anne. I do not think you would want such a man to be the father of your children.’
‘But they told me…Sulina told me you rescued her and Ali.’ Anne’s voice shook because his words conjured up pictures of horror that made her shudder. ‘They said you were a good man.’
‘A few good deeds amongst the bad,’ Stefan said, his coldness shattering her illusions. ‘I doubt they will be enough to save me from the fires of hell. No, littl
e one, I am not for you. I promise that you are safe from me. That kiss was a moment of weakness, nothing more. Run away now and find something to amuse yourself with, Anne. I must speak with my steward. Tomorrow we shall visit the fair and buy silks for your new gowns.’
Anne stared after him as he walked away. Tears burned behind her eyes. Her mind was in turmoil and she did not know how she felt. When he kissed her she had experienced wonderful sensations that made her want to stay in his arms for ever, but then his harsh words made her tremble.
What kind of a man was Stefan de Montfort? His expression as he spoke of his past was so harsh, so angry, that he had frightened her. He described himself as a man who had taken life wantonly, and she saw pictures in her mind of burning cities and ships on fire, women and children screaming as the ship sank beneath the waves. He had lived by the sword, his life harsh, cruel and unforgiving.
How could she want to be the wife of such a man? And yet when he had spoken of buying her a new gown, when he had said that he could happily lie with her… when he had laughed with her about the physician…her heart had sung for joy. She felt confused, distressed, her heart pulled two ways.
Anne shook her head as she went out into the garden. The sun was shining and the air was heavy with the scent of roses and lavender. The sheltered gardens of the chateau were guarded with high walls and a thick hedge all around. It was warm and safe here and the pictures of hell and damnation Lord de Montfort had conjured up faded as she walked amongst the flowers.
She began to pick lavender stalks, smoothing the flower heads between her fingers and inhaling their scent. Now was the time to harvest some of nature’s bounty before all this beauty went to waste. She would make lavender bags to place in chests of linen. It was her mother’s habit every summer and a job she had always enjoyed.
In her mind, Anne saw a woman smiling at her. They were in a garden much like this, but more open, and they were picking flowers.
‘We shall make some lavender essence,’ the woman told her. ‘There is nothing so helpful when one has a headache.’
Anne felt tears begin to trickle down her cheeks as the picture faded. She was sure the woman was her mother. They had gathered flowers and herbs together every year to make the essences that her mother used in her stillroom.
Why could she not remember her own name? Why did she not know where she belonged? Anne felt a deep longing to go home. She was afraid that, if she stayed here in the chateau, the Lord de Montfort might break her heart.
Chapter Three
Anne found it easy enough to find work once she began to look. Opening the linen chests, which were stored in one of the upstairs rooms, she discovered that much of it was in need of some care. Most was in good condition, but sheets and cloths had lain unused for years and had turned yellow. Gathering an armful, she took it downstairs and asked a startled Sulina where the washhouse was to be found.
‘Such work is not for you, lady,’ Sulina told her. ‘The village women wash the linen, but where did you find so much?’
‘These have lain unused for years,’ Anne said. ‘Linen should be used in rotation so that the wear is even, and the chests should be checked every year so that anything that needs it can be washed and aired.’
‘But they will not be used,’ Sulina said. ‘These are the best linens and they are kept only for the guest rooms. The servants have their own and I do not use them, nor does Hassan or Lord de Montfort.’
‘But how do they sleep?’
‘I have a mattress on the floor and use only a blanket,’ Sulina said. ‘It is what I have been used to all my life. I could not sleep in a bed as you do. Hassan and my master have their couches. I do not think they use sheets or blankets—perhaps a cloak if the night is cold. It is the way they have become accustomed to sleeping.’
‘Well, this linen should be washed or it will soon become unfit for use,’ Anne said. ‘Perhaps if the bed were made up in Lord de Montfort’s room he would use it. He is a gentleman and must have slept that way once.’
‘The washhouse is this way,’ Sulina said. ‘But I do not think my master intended that you should do such work.’
‘You can help me,’ Anne replied. ‘Together we shall make light work of it. However, it will be best to leave the linen to soak for a few hours, because the yellow stains will not come out if we simply wash them.’
‘Give them to me,’ Sulina said with a sulky look. ‘I shall put them to soak in the tubs. It is a lot of work for nothing, for as I told you they will not be used.’
‘We shall see,’ Anne said. ‘If Lord de Montfort has guests, they may be needed.’
‘He never has guests, except you,’ Sulina said. ‘Give me the cloth you have in your hand if you want them all put to soak.’
‘This is torn. I shall use it for lavender bags. When the sheets are stored once more, the lavender will keep them fresh and sweet. I have found a sewing box; if you insist on taking the linen yourself, I may as well begin at once.’
Sulina went off with the linen, still muttering to herself. Anne smiled as she took the torn cloth into a small parlour she had discovered at the back of the house. The windows here were larger and the view was of the garden where she had picked lavender and roses. She had used some of her harvest for bowls of potpourri, and the scent was already drifting through the house. She sat down on a wooden bench with a high, smooth back and took the sewing box she had found stored in the linen room. She was smiling, humming to herself as she began her work.
Stefan saw the Arab girl as she was hanging some linen out to dry on bushes in the kitchen gardens. It was an unusual sight for most of the washing was sent to women in the village, and he had not seen quite so much since they first came here.
‘You have been busy, Sulina?’
She turned and saw him, pulling a face. ‘She would insist that it all be washed, my lord. I told her it was a waste of time, but she says that linen must be washed and aired every year to keep it sweet. She is making bags with lavender to put in the chests and the house smells of it everywhere.’
‘My mother made them every summer,’ Stefan said, an odd expression in his eyes as he remembered a home that smelled of lavender. ‘And Anne is right about the linen. I remember that my mother’s maids had the same task every year.’
Stefan missed the girl’s look of annoyance as he walked on into the house. He caught the smell of roses and lavender as he entered and breathed it in, a smile on his lips. He was reminded of a time when he was a child. His mother had been making lavender bags and she smelled of it as he ran to her. She lifted him into her arms and hugged him. Her skin had been soft to the touch and he had loved her. It had been a house filled with laughter and love while she lived. The change had come later after she died. Lord de Montfort had become harder, angry…bitter. He had turned against his elder son for some reason and they had drifted apart.
Hearing the sound of a woman singing, Stefan turned towards it. He realized that Anne had discovered the parlour that had belonged to the last mistress here. He had never used it, because it was too comfortable, too soft, furnished in the French style. He was more at home in the great hall or his own chambers, which he had furnished in the eastern style—a style he had adopted during his time as a mercenary.
Anne had her head bent over her work. She had not heard him coming and her face wore a dreamy expression. The smell of the lavender was strong, wafting towards him, nostalgic, haunting. Anne became aware and turned her head. She stopped singing, uncertain for a moment, and then smiled as she saw him.
‘I have been making these for the linen chests,’ she said. ‘You have a fine house here, my lord, but it is sadly in need of a woman’s touch. I have thought of several items we need from the merchants. Once we have them, the silver and pewter may be cleaned properly and the furniture polished with beeswax.’
Stefan advanced into the room. ‘I saw that Sulina had been washing the linen and putting it out to dry. I remember it was always done at ho
me when I was a child and my mother lived.’
‘Not afterwards?’
‘No. My father did not bother about such things. The servants did what was necessary and no more. I had forgotten such things existed…’ He picked up one of the lavender bags and fingered it, feeling the grains of lavender move beneath his fingers and catching their fragrance.
‘You were born a gentleman, I think, and I have seen some lovely things as I explored the house. Many of them are strange to me. Did you buy them on your travels?’
‘I acquired some, a few I bought,’ Stefan agreed. ‘I fought for princes and merchants, protecting them as they transported their merchandise through dangerous lands. Some paid me with goods rather than gold. When I decided to settle here, I asked the French King for permission to live in this country. He granted me this manor for gold and favours rendered.’
‘Are you of English birth? I am not certain. Your name could be Norman or English, I believe?’
‘My ancestors went from Normandy to England with Duke William,’ Stefan said. ‘They were granted lands in England for services rendered and settled there. I might have lived there yet had certain events not changed the course of my life.’
Anne put down her needle, looking at him curiously. ‘Why did you become a mercenary?’
‘You ask too many questions. I was forced to leave my birthright and make my own way in the world. You do not need to know more than that, lady.’
