by Anne Herries
There was no time to be afraid, no chance to do anything but press her face against Stefan’s back as they plunged through the trees at a speed that astonished Anne. The huge horse seemed almost to fly as both she and Stefan ducked their heads to avoid low-hanging branches. She knew that this wood was on one boundary of the estate and when they reached the other side they would be nearly home. She was not sure if Stefan’s men-at-arms were following, but she heard some yelling and screaming behind her and thought that perhaps they were fighting, covering their master’s escape.
On and on they went through woods so thick it would be impossible to find the way unless one knew the trails. All sounds of pursuit had ceased. Only the silence of the woods remained and the occasional call of a bird from deep within the forest. After what seemed a long time, Stefan slowed his pace, then stopped, looked back and listened.
‘We should be safe enough now. Eric and the others will have led them astray. Some of the ground is marshy here and, if they wandered into the bogs, they will not get far.’ He slid from his horse’s back and lifted her down, gazing at her face. ‘Are you all right? I am sorry if you suffered some hurt.’ He touched her face where a branch had caught it. ‘You are scratched, but there is no blood. Forgive me. I would not have had that happen to you.’
‘Who were they?’ she asked. ‘Did they want to rob us? What kind of men would lie in wait and try to trap you like that? They must have known you would come this way.’
‘I did not think he would dare follow me here,’ Stefan said and frowned. ‘There is a man who hates me, Anne. He would do anything to destroy me, but I did not believe he would come here. An attempt was made on my life when I was in England, and there have been others—but here near my home.’ His expression was harsh, angry. ‘He has declared war and I must respond to the challenge.’
‘Why does this man hate you so much?’
‘Because what he has belongs to me by right,’ Stefan said. ‘He knows that I shall not rest until I have my revenge for what he took from me and my family.’
Anne shivered as she saw the ice in his eyes. He was so cold, so angry. She did not know this man and she was not sure that she liked him.
‘Come, I must get you back to the house and raise the alarm,’ Stefan said. ‘Eric and the others may be hurt. We must go in search of them. They protected my back so that I could get you away.’
Anne looked up at him as he gave her his hand. ‘You would have fought them had I not been there, would you not?’
‘To the death,’ Stefan said. ‘I have sworn that either he or I shall lie beneath the earth before this year is out.’
Sickness swirled inside her as she looked into his eyes. They were dark with hatred. There was no softness or love in this man. She had believed that he was a man she could trust…even love, but he had become a stranger.
Anne did not put her arms about him as they rode the last few leagues to the chateau. She hardly looked at him as he lifted her down, turning her face from him as she ran ahead of him to the chateau. What kind of a man was he that his enemies pursued him to the gates of his home? What kind of a man had vowed to kill another or die in the attempt?
Stefan de Montfort had warned her that he was a mercenary, and that he had killed men in battle. He had told her that sometimes innocents had died too in the aftermath of war. She had tried to put those pictures from her mind, because a part of her was drawn to him and when he kissed her she had wanted to stay in his arms—but what had happened today had brought the horror of death too close.
Stefan rallied more of his men and returned to the woods. Anne spent some time alone in her chamber. She paced the floor, feeling restless until sounds from the courtyard told her that the men were returning. Running to the window, she looked out and saw that at least twelve men were dismounting. A body was slung across one of the horses and when it was lifted down she saw that one of the men who had accompanied them to Cherbourg that day had been killed. Several others had been wounded.
Anne could not see their master. Her heart caught because she feared the worst. She hurried from her chamber, running down the wide stone steps to the hall below. Stefan was not with his men! Surely they would have brought him back had he been killed or injured?
She found Ali in the hall. The physician was going from one injured man to the next, examining their wounds. He turned and beckoned to her as she hovered uncertainly.
‘Does the sight of blood offend you, lady?’
‘No, sir,’ Anne replied. ‘I shall be glad to help you if I can.’
‘I have sent Sulina for water, salves and linen. The linen must be torn into strips and the wounds of these three men bound with salves and clean linen. I shall attend to the more seriously wounded, but if you can tend these men it will ease them sooner. The slight sword wounds are easiest dealt with, but a bolt from a crossbow can be deadly, and some of the men may have burns from gunpowder, though such weapons are seldom accurate enough to kill.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I think I can do that, for it would not be the first time I have bound cuts and bruises.’ Anne was too concerned about the men who had been hurt to notice the way the physician looked at her.
Sulina and another serving girl brought pewter bowls and cans of water, also soft white linen and salves. Anne poured water into a bowl and began to wash away the blood from the head of one man who had been slightly hurt in the battle. The cut was not deep and she applied salve and a bandage, working deftly and as gently as she could.
‘You should not take harm now,’ she told him. ‘I am sorry if I hurt you.’
‘You did not, lady.’
Anne passed on to the next, who had a cut hand, and the third, who had suffered a slash across the face. She asked each of them if they had seen Lord de Montfort but all of them shook their heads, seeming surprised that he was not with them.
She had finished her work when she heard a cheer and turned her head to see Stefan walk in. He was carrying a man in his arms and seemed near exhausted as others hurried forward to help him lay his burden down on a blanket. Anne saw it was the man Eric and she knew at once that he must have become detached from the others as they sought to lead the enemy astray. He had been shot in the chest by a bolt from a crossbow, the tip of which was still protruding from his chest.
Ali finished bandaging the man he had been helping and went to look at Eric. He made a thorough examination before glancing up at Stefan.
‘He is alive,’ he said. ‘But I shall have to cut that iron tip out and he will bleed a great deal. We shall need the opium juice, otherwise he will not bear the pain.’
‘Do whatever you must,’ Stefan said. ‘Where do you want him?’
‘You must place him on the board there. Clear everything else away and scrub it first. And I shall want boiling water for my instruments. I can remove the tip, but he may not recover from the shock, my lord.’
‘Do your best,’ Stefan said grimly. ‘He deserves his chance. He has served me well and I could not leave him to die alone in the forest.’ Stefan glanced round, frowning as he saw Anne. She had blood on her hands and her cheek. ‘You should not be here. Such sights are not for a gentle lady.’
‘I am not afraid of a little blood,’ Anne replied with a proud lift of her head. ‘I shall help Ali if he wishes it.’
‘Eric will fight us,’ Stefan said, his mouth thinned, eyes stony. ‘Go to your chamber. If we need you to help when he is recovering, you will be asked.’
Anne’s cheeks were on fire. How could he be so harsh to her when she had merely tried to help? Was he blaming her because his men were injured? She knew Eric and the others had covered their escape and she felt guilty because one man had died and another looked close to death. Walking away, her head high, Anne hid her feelings of distress. For a time that morning she had believed Stefan might care for her, but his manner since had made it quite clear that she was nothing but an extra burden he could well do without.
She held
the tears back until she was alone in her chamber. Sinking down on the edge of the bed, she wept then, feeling terribly alone. Lord de Montfort had rescued her from the sea, but she was nothing to him. He would be glad when she remembered who she was so that he could send her home.
She wished so much that she could supply a name for him. If she still had a family, she would rather be with them than live here in a house where she was not wanted. She did not know what to think of a man who could be kind one moment and an avenging devil the next. If only she knew who she was so that she might leave this place and never be forced to see him again.
Stefan knew that he must apologise. Ali had said nothing until they were alone, but then he had spoken out in defence of the young woman who had come instantly to offer her help.
‘I do not know what ails you, my lord,’ Ali told him. ‘Why did you speak so unkindly to the lady when she had done so much to help me? I have seen her work and she makes a good physician’s assistant. Sulina will hold a bowl for me if forced to, but she cannot bring herself to touch a bloodied limb. The lady Anne deserves your thanks, not your curses.’
‘I did not curse her!’
‘You sent her away without thanks, and your looks were harsh. What has she done that so displeases you?’
Stefan had not answered him—he knew that Anne had done nothing to deserve the way he had behaved to her since their return from Cherbourg. It was he who was at fault. Anne was not to blame if he had lustful thoughts of her! Stefan knew that he was fighting a battle with himself, and that his harshness to Anne was a result of his fear that the saner half of him was losing the war. He wanted her more with each hour that passed, and yet he knew that to take her as his mistress would wrong her. Anne was a lady, even though she did not know her name. If he wanted to lie with her, he should wed her in all honour.
The thoughts chased themselves through his mind like a puppy after its tail. How could he ask a gentle, lovely woman like Anne to marry him when his life might be forfeit at any moment? They had beaten off one attack, but they had not caught all Cowper’s men and he himself was not amongst the dead or the prisoners.
Ali was even now tending the wounded amongst Cowper’s men who had surrendered rather than die, and a detachment of Stefan’s men were directing the burial of the enemy who had died. A priest would say prayers for them over the woodland graves.
It was night now and Stefan was conscious of a need to speak to Anne. He was not sure if she would be sleeping and he paused outside her door before knocking softly. No answer came. Lifting the latch, he discovered that her door had not been locked and, after a moment’s hesitation, opened it and went inside. One small candle was set on a table at some distance from the bed. The light was dim, but Stefan could just make out her face as she lay in the great bed. Her pale gold hair was spread about her on the pillows, one arm flung out, and another tucked beneath her face as she slept.
She made a little whimpering sound, rolling from her side to her back. Clearly, she was dreaming and her dreams disturbed her. When she cried out, Stefan bent over her. His hand was reaching towards her when she called a name.
‘Harry…Harry…’ she cried. ‘Help me…’
Stefan stared down at her, withdrawing his hand. Who was Harry? Was he her lover or just a friend? Had he been on the ship when she was washed into the sea? Surely if he cared for her he would have gone in after her even if he drowned in the attempt to rescue her!
And yet Stefan had discovered that the agitated man Anne had seen from the window of the inn had indeed been searching for a young woman who might have been pulled from the sea half-alive. In his heart Stefan knew that Anne must be the woman the stranger sought. He owed it to her to make further inquiries concerning this man. If Anne had family, she must be restored to them.
He knew well enough that if she came from a good family it was unlikely that his suit would be welcomed, even if he were to ask her to be his wife. He would be a fool to allow himself dreams that could never be fulfilled. Far better to keep his distance. He had wanted to apologise, because he knew that she had not deserved his harshness, but perhaps it was better this way. If he told her he was grateful, she would smile at him and he was not sure that he could resist her. He turned away, leaving the room and closing the door softly.
Anne gave a little start as the door clicked to, opening her eyes and looking about her. She felt that someone had been in her room, but no one was here. She knew that she had been dreaming of the night that she was lost at sea. She had felt the swell of the sea and seen the huge waves coming at her, and then she was lifted from her feet and swept into the sea. After that there was nothing but darkness in her mind.
Anne could not even be sure that what she had seen in her dream was true. She thought that there had been a man in her dream and that she had called out to him, but now that she was awake she could not remember him. Who was he—and what did he mean to her? Could it have been the agitated stranger she had seen from the window of the inn? Had he been asking people about her?
Anne wished that she had made some sign to him. If he had been looking for her, surely he would have known her? She longed to regain her memory so that she could remember the people who had loved her—surely someone must have loved her?
Perhaps the Chevalier Charles Renard and his sister would know something of him. If he had been looking for her, Anne might be able to send a message to the stranger…though if he were looking for her he would not be a stranger. Was he her brother or her lover?
Instinctively, Anne knew that she did not have a lover. She would not have these painful tortured feelings for Stefan de Montfort if that were so. Perhaps the stranger was her brother.
The thought made Anne tingle at the base of her spine. Did she have a brother? Something told her that she did and perhaps a sister too. All the things she felt about keeping a good house must mean that she had a loving family. Someone had taught her about being the chatelaine of a large house, because she instinctively knew what needed doing here—and that person must have been her mother.
‘Why can I not remember?’ she asked herself.
Anne threw back the covers and got out of bed. The night was warm and sticky and she thought with longing of the bathing pool in a secluded part of the gardens. The custom had been brought from the east, Anne knew, because Sulina had told her so when she showed surprise the first time she saw it.
‘It is not for washing,’ the Arab girl told her, ‘but for refreshing yourself when it is hot. There is another small pool within the house that the master uses to bathe. He likes the ways of the east and it is common there to bathe for pleasure.’
The idea seemed strange to Anne. She was certain it was not her way, though she liked to use a hip bath in her chamber sometimes. She washed all over herself every day, though she did not believe it was the custom in her own country. Many people did not bathe or wash as often as they might, but Anne had noticed that Stefan always had a clean fresh smell about him.
Slipping on a silken wrap, Anne put on flat slippers and went downstairs. She would walk in the cool of the night air; if no one was about, she might take a swift dip in the outdoor pool.
Anne felt much better when she was outside. Her restlessness fell away. Some sweet perfume floated to her on the air and she tried to place the night-blooming flower that was the source of the scent. Walking through the maze of rose bushes that guarded the pool from anyone who might chance to disturb the privacy of the bather, Anne was thoughtful. She was beginning to enjoy living here and it would be a wrench when the time came to leave, though she knew she must as soon as her memory returned. Her family—her mother would be worried about her. She had a feeling that her mother was in great distress because she feared Anne lost.
When she came suddenly upon the pool, Anne was not immediately aware that someone was in the water. It was not until he stood up and began to ascend the graduated steps that led from the shallow pool that she saw him properly.
Ste
fan de Montfort was a handsome man when dressed, but in the moonlight his body had the pale gold perfection of a statue made from some polished stone. He stood for a moment at the edge of the pool unmoving, completely unaware that he was being watched.
Anne could not take her eyes from him, even though she knew she must leave. It was wrong of her to stare so, but her heart was thumping wildly against her ribs and she was aware of a hungry longing deep inside her. As he bent down to retrieve a long robe made of some striped material, wrapping it about his nakedness, she suddenly found that she was able to move. Turning, she hurried back the way she had come. She had no right to be here in Stefan de Montfort’s private place! If he knew she had seen him, he would be angry!
Going straight back to her own chambers, Anne found that once again she was being torn in two. A part of her longed to be home with her family, wherever they were, but the other part of her wanted to stay here with the master of this chateau for the rest of her life.
Chapter Four
Sulina came to her the next morning as she was dressing. She brought a message from Ali asking if she would help him to tend the wounded, who were housed together in the great hall. Several of the men had developed a fever, and lay moaning on their pallets when Anne went down a little later to join the physician.
‘I need to change all the dressings and to administer a healing draught, but there are so many of them,’ Ali told her. ‘Could you give each man a measure of this mixture if I show you exactly how much is needed?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Anne told him. ‘You know that I am more than willing to help—if Lord de Montfort does not object.’
