Love Lost in Time

by Cathie Dunn

  “There was a battle, just north, on the banks of the Orbiel.”

  “The Orbiel? Why on earth would there be a battle? There is nothing to gain.” Facing the crowds, she called out, “Everyone who is hurt, come into the hall now. I will see to your wounds.”

  Proud of his wife, he waved over a few of Guillaume’s men who were hesitating. Some of their own also urged them forward.

  Hilda held the door open. “Bellon, could you fetch Amalberga, please? I ordered the boys to stay up there on penalty of being grounded, but they’ll be right glad to see you.”

  He grinned as the last of the injured warriors filed past. “And I’ve been wondering why the scoundrels haven’t come out yet.”

  “Well, I didn’t know what had happened. I don’t want them to mingle with strangers.”

  “Wise as always. And then I must inform the families of our killed men of their loss…” He kissed her cheek, then took the stairs to their private quarter two at a time, silently thanking God for his family.

  ***

  Late that evening, Hilda sat by the fire, a cup of red wine in hand and her thoughts wandering. She had tended to the injured warriors for several hours before they had eaten a hurried meal of meats and vegetables. Bellon had given orders that nobody was permitted to leave, not even to hunt. With the Saracens prowling the vicinity, the danger was too great.

  It hurt her that she had lost two men whose injuries were too severe, and she could not save them. Before her eyes, they had bled to death. Silently, she had intoned the God and Goddess to welcome them. Outwardly, she had joined Bellon and Guillaume in prayers.

  With the casualties settled for the night in another tower, Amalberga had gone to bed, exhausted. Hilda could not blame her. At over three score years, her companion needed more rest than before. And with her sons growing fast into young men, they had no need of an elderly maid. Now being educated to read and write by Peter, the priest at the fortress, it would soon be time for Guisclafred to join his father. She shuddered.

  At least her daughter, Alda – named after Hilda’s mother – would stay with her for longer. Safe in Rotlinde’s capable hands, her now eight-year-old daughter knew already how to wrap the knights of Carcassonne around her little finger.

  She’s one to watch!

  Smiling, it comforted Hilda that none of her children had to face any battles yet. But the day was approaching fast. Bellon wanted to take Guisclafred with him, but the lad’s recent injury to his leg incurred in training – barely more than a scrape, truth be told – had seen her win the argument. Thinking of all the men they had lost this day, a shiver ran down her spine.

  It could have been my son.

  “We must attack them before they arrive outside your gate.” Guillaume’s raised voice reached through her musings.

  She briefly closed her eyes. The duke had been in a bellicose mood ever since their arrival, and she feared that Bellon would soon lose his temper. It took much to rile him up, but the pompous fool who Charles had put in charge of the duchy of Tolosa was getting close.

  She looked up. “Perhaps that is what they’re expecting of you? To rush out to meet them, leaving Carcassonne open to attack?”

  Guillaume glared at her. “That’s all you care about, eh?! Your little fortress here, in the middle of nowhere.”

  Bellon sent him a sharp glance, and she laid a hand on his arm.

  “Our little fortress, as you call it, is a vital stronghold halfway between Narbonne and Tolosa – which is now yours to defend, is it not? So if,” she held up a hand to stop him from interrupting her. “So if Carcassonne fell, what would be their next target, do you think?” She returned his stare defiantly.

  “You’re talking nonsense, woman. Know your place!”

  “Hilda place is at my side, Guillaume.” Bellon’s voice was suspiciously calm, and she pressed his arm lightly. “Besides, her skills helped many of your men tonight.”

  The duke grunted. Did he always insist on being right?

  “A woman’s focus is on her home. She should leave the politics to us.”

  “My perception of your political games is as astute as any man’s. Don’t forget that my father taught me.”

  “A big mistake.”

  “I do not wish to seem unwelcoming, but it’s time for my wife and me to retire. We have a long day ahead, and there may be trouble during the night. I trust you will find your way to your lodgings?”

  Bellon stood and took her hand.

  At that point, the door opened and Dagobert entered, deep lines etched into his face. “Lord?”

  Guillaume had risen, too. “Are we under attack?”

  “No, lord duke.” Dagobert shook his head, then turned to Bellon. “But our scout has returned.”

  “Did he see where the Saracens are going?” He gripped Hilda’s hand tighter, and she sensed his inner tension. Even though he did not wish to show his concerns in front of their visitor, she could read him easily.

  To their surprise, Dagobert grinned. “He did indeed. They have taken the road to Narbonne.”

  “Narbonne?” Guillaume’s voice was full of doubt. “Why would they go back whence they came?”

  Bellon nodded. “Simply to see what’s here. They’ve beaten us, and now they are spreading word of our defeat. That will worry the people of Narbonne.”

  “Then we must go to their aid.”

  Hilda stepped forward. “I would not do anything in a rush.”

  “I’m inclined to agree. Could the curs have spotted our scout?”

  Dagobert shook his head. “No. Alric was certain they had not seen him.”

  “So we stay tonight, and in the morn we shall ride to Narbonne.”

  The duke agreed. “It sounds sensible. But you are keeping watch?”

  Dagobert bristled, and Hilda bit her tongue. “Of course, lord duke. We always do.”

  “Thank you,” Bellon said. “I will join you later.”

  The captain nodded and left.

  “Tell your men to prepare for an early departure, Guillaume, and then get some sleep. We’ll leave at sunrise.”

  Hilda climbed the stairs to their room, with Bellon following closely. She quietly opened the sturdy door and slid in, not wishing to wake the children. Bellon took off his boots by the door, then tiptoed behind the screen where Guisclafred and Oliba slept soundly.

  She smiled when she looked at their bed where Alda lay stretched across the covers. Gently pulling the blankets from beneath her daughter, Hilda shifted her towards the edge, tucked her in, then sat on the other side. A moment later, Bellon joined her.

  She stroked his face, looking worn and tired after a long day, and he wrapped her into a tight embrace.

  “You will be keeping watch tonight?”

  Extracting himself, he nodded. “Yes, but only later. I will rest awhile with you and this one…” He pointed at Alda, grinning. “She takes liberties already, stealing our bed!”

  Hilda suppressed a giggle. “I know. Let me help you get out of these sodden clothes.”

  The fact that he let her help remove his tunic and hose without a dry retort worried her. Bellon was more exhausted than she had thought. But then, battles were no games…

  She took a small cloth from a shelf and dipped it into a bowl of water by the narrow window. Then she quietly washed him down. After she had rinsed his back, he lay down and let her wipe the water off his arms and torso.

  Then she quickly undressed, and they slid under the cover, moving slowly as not to wake Alda. He pulled her close, and she wrapped her arms around him. Nestling her head onto his shoulder, she whispered, “Why are you going with Guillaume to Narbonne?”

  “I have to.”

  She sighed. “But it could lead you into a trap.”

  “Yes, it could.” His voice sounded resigned. “But we have to know where our enemies are.”

  “Of course, you do. We shall be safe here. Dagobert is a capable captain.”

  “He is. I trust him wit
h my life – and my family.” He turned his face to her and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “But you have to promise me something.”

  She furrowed her brows. “Me? What?”

  “That you do not venture outside the fortress until we are certain that all Saracens have truly left the area.”

  Hilda swallowed. “But hasn’t Dagobert said they did?” Confinement to her home was not what she had envisaged. If there was an emergency in one of the villages…

  “Yes, but it could be a ruse. Promise me. No visits outside these walls for now. I want to know you’re safe.”

  “But I am—“

  “At home. I shall have your word!” He sat up.

  Resigned, she sighed, avoiding his imploring gaze. “Yes, Bellon. I promise.”

  But in her heart, she knew she would always follow a call for help.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Early May, 2018

  So Jérôme had returned, and he clearly meant a lot to Elizabeth. Maddie set the wine glass down and took a deep breath. Her hands were shaking, and she blinked away the tears before reading on.

  Over the following two weeks, Elizabeth and Jérôme met every day. He’d wisely moved into another hotel, so she wouldn’t risk losing her job as things started to become more…serious.

  “So that’s it! He must be my father,” Maddie whispered, her heart pounding in her ears, as she turned the page. A feeling of elation surged through her. “But why had Mum never mentioned him?”

  To her surprise – or perhaps not, given how much time they spent together – the gaps between entries grew wider. But still Elizabeth’s love story continued. Until…

  14th August, 1983

  Oh, it’s tough. Business is heaving, with August being THE month for family holidays in France. Fortunately, the heat of July has passed a little, but we’ve been rushed off our feet all day.

  Just as well that Jérôme had to return home after an amazing fortnight here. We speak on the phone every evening, but it’s not the same. I miss him terribly, but he has to work, too. His family own a large vineyard in Burgundy, and they soon start their vendanges – harvesting the grapes ready for turning them into wine. He might be able to sneak off for a couple of days here and there, but it’s such a long journey by train he wouldn’t have long to stay.

  Oh, the phone rings!

  2nd September, 1983

  I’ve taken three days off to meet Jérôme in Nîmes, roughly halfway. He kindly paid for my train journey, even though I can afford it, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  What an incredible place this is! So full of history. Our time will just fly by.

  4th September, 1983

  As much as I adore Nîmes, the fact that they have bull-fights here disgusts me. Jérôme too. He told me he wanted to become a vet, looking after animals, but his family decided he should join the business, even though he’s their second son. His parents are retired now, but they sound very old-fashioned, not brokering any opposition, and his brother is the head of the vineyard. Apparently, the family is French nobility.

  So now, instead of healing pets, he’s supporting local animal charities. Can I just love him a little more for that?

  As nice as Nîmes is, we agreed next time we’d meet somewhere else. Now I’m on the train back to Toulouse, and I’m missing him already.

  Maddie yawned and looked at her watch. Five after midnight. Part of her felt like an intruder, reading about her mother’s romance, but if Elizabeth hadn’t wanted her to see these journals, she’d have destroyed them before she fell ill.

  “Time for a coffee.” She slid out of bed and, taking the empty wine glass with her, went downstairs to the kitchen. The new ceiling light shone a touch too brightly for her tired eyes, but as she looked around, she was pleased with the changes. Maddie put the wine glass into the sink and switched the kettle on. Then she filled her cafetière with ground coffee and waited.

  For some inexplicable reason, she missed the bones below the old tiles. And whilst the new surface was beautiful and modern, something was different. The scent of lavender hadn’t returned in recent weeks, and she felt like she had lost a friend. Had she set the poor woman free by excavating what was left of her? The thought of the cracked ribs and spine made her shudder. Tomorrow, she would enquire when the lab would send the bones back.

  “I’m going to keep the cranium,” she said, more to the dead woman than herself. “I hope you can hear me.” Looking around, the room stayed silent apart from the water boiling in the kettle. No lavender, no moving ground. Nothing. “I’ll bring you home and give you a lovely funeral.”

  Five minutes later, she was back in her bed with a fresh mug of coffee. Was Princess Leia admonishing her for waking her in the middle of the night? She grinned at the space heroine’s pointed look. “Cheers!” And she took a few sips before picking up the next journal.

  15th October, 1983

  Toulouse

  I’m bored. The visitors have gone, and the city is quieter again. Still a lovely place to be, but I’ll need to think of where to go for the winter. I might head to the Alps, to seek some work in the chalets. They’re always looking for English-speakers – or cleaners. I’ll then also be much closer to Jérôme who I haven’t seen in three weeks, and then only for two short nights. He asked me to move to Beaune, to be closer to him. We could even live together. But as his family were so abrasive when he suggested they’d meet me, I’m not sure. Clearly, they think I’m a gold digger. Plus, Beaune is a small place. How would I earn money? I don’t share Jérôme’s optimism that ’something comes up’. Hmm.

  2nd December, 1983

  Chamonix

  I’ve arrived in the French Alps, and what a beautiful sight the mountains are! Such dramatic scenery. This morning, sleet greeted me, beating against my window shutters. How exciting! And after living in a city for months, it feels wonderful to breathe in the fresh air.

  I have a job at a local hotel reception. We work shifts, which I’m used to, but I won’t need to do any cleaning. That suits me fine, as I’ll be happy dealing with people. And I only work four days out of seven. I can then set aside time to meet Jérôme. He finally accepted that I didn’t want to be near his home – yet. His mother threw a tantrum when he told her of his plans to rent a small house he’d spotted in Beaune. It appears she has her own ideas and keeps introducing him to eligible young ladies. I have to laugh. He looked so fed up when he told me about this last week and said he would find a way. But for now, he’s going to visit me in a fortnight. We’ll go hiking on my time off. I can’t wait!

  18th December, 1983

  I’m exhausted! Two full days of trekking in the mountains have proved to me that I’m definitely not the fittest. Jérôme is! And whilst he has no problem covering sharp inclines, I’m gasping for breath after a few hundred yards. We laughed so much! But it’s hard to describe the beauty of the scenery here, the sharp, snow-capped peaks in the distance, and the serene calm. I’m shattered and would love nothing but lie in bed, but we’re going to try a Swiss meal tonight: raclette! I’ve seen it served, but never had it. So cheesy, I won’t be able to move afterwards. But we deserve it!

  Maddie smiled. She remembered having raclette in the winter in Normandy. The perfect hearty meal for cold, damp nights. They had been inventive with the accompaniments to the melted cheese: apart from crusty bread they had cauliflower, potatoes, salami and cut-up sausages, even Brussels sprouts! It was always a fun meal that lasted for hours. Perhaps she could look for a raclette set and enjoy it with Léon…

  She skipped through the next few pages with Elizabeth’s tales of working in a bustling ski resort. They met regularly, but still his parents’ refusal to meet her hung like a cloud over their relationship.

  Then her eyes caught a word: ’accident’. What had happened? The handwriting looked unsteady. Had her mother had been in shock.

  14th March, 1984

  Just a quick note before I get up. I can’t wait to see Jérôme late
r. He’s arriving in two hours, and we’re going to have three wonderful days exploring again. But I also have news, and I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. I’m going to share them over dinner tonight, to make it special…

  News? Maddie wondered and counted back the months from her birthday in early October. Could it be? She read on quickly.

  15th March, 1984

  If only I’d have gone with him! Dear Goddess, why? I can barely hold my pen, but write about yesterday’s events I must. I just don’t know what to do, or where to go from here. Jeanne has been very supportive and drafted in another colleague from her break. She has sent me home to my small flat and made sure I had tea and cookies. She’d also made an appointment for me for tomorrow with her doctor.

  Yesterday, Jérôme and I had planned to head for the hills again. But because a colleague was sick, I had to go into work after all, so Jérôme left for a hike on his own. We know the slopes up in the mountains are slippery with melting snow and recent rain, and he never veered off the path. He should have been safe!

  So…how can it be that my Jérôme fell down a ravine which is several yards away from the track? He wouldn’t have risked coming down that way; he’s far too experienced. I don’t understand it. It makes little sense.

  Now my wonderful boyfriend, the kindest man I’ve ever known, lies cold in the mortuary with a broken neck. The mountain rescue said he must have died immediately. Died!

  I can’t believe he’s gone.

  Maddie blinked back the tears and put the journal down beside her. There was the answer to her question: her father was dead. Deeply sad about the fact that she would never meet him, she let the tears flow. Tears she’d held back for decades; for the chances that never were. Eventually, she wiped her face with the back of her hand, then took a few sips of coffee to steady herself.

  After a deep breath, she picked up the journal again.