by Speer, Flora
“Perhaps everyone in your land swims that way,” Charles said. “When your memory returns, I believe there will be much for us to learn from you.”
“If it ever does return.” Michel headed for shore, leading the king and Redmond out of the water.
* * *
By the time the midday meal was over Michel’s head was in truth aching again and he was seething with frustration. Flashes of memory tormented him, moments when he felt completely disoriented, knowing with absolute certainty that he should not be where he was, yet not at all sure where he did belong. His cordial hosts accepted him as a nobleman, but Michel believed in his heart that he was no such thing.
As far as surface appearances were concerned, he experienced no difficulty. After several days of intense practice he could converse in the Frankish tongue without any great effort, and in the relaxed royal court, protocol and table manners were simple. He did find it odd to sit down to a meal eaten with fingers, knife and spoon. It seemed to him that some important implement was absent, but since he could not think what the missing object might be, he soon adapted.
On this bright afternoon, like the other young men among whom he was sitting, he began to tear apart with his hands the small roasted fowl that was served to him. He found the bird’s legs particularly tasty and gnawed the meat off right down to the bone. He was about to begin on the breast meat when he saw Danise talking to Clodion.
Michel told himself there could be no harm in such a conversation, not in the open air with so many other people nearby, not with Charles and Hildegarde, Savarec and Sister Gertrude all sitting close enough to observe what was happening. Clodion was one of Danise’s acknowledged suitors. And yet Michel found something sinister in the way Clodion clutched at Danise with his long, clawlike fingers. Michel thought he saw his own apprehension reflected in Danise’s face.
He knew he ought to express his concern to Redmond rather than take matters into his own hands. Redmond was, after all, Danise’s second official suitor. But Redmond was engaged in a boisterous discussion with two other young men. Interrupting them would require an explanation that might result in embarrassment for Danise if Redmond decided to make an angry protest about the way Clodion had just put his arm around Danise’s waist and attempted to kiss her. A more subtle diversion than Redmond’s anger was required, some clever means of separating Danise from her lecherous suitor.
Michel knew just how to do it. It was time to put into effect the plan he had concocted earlier while swimming. Rising from his seat he began to wend his way among the laughing, talking Franks, who thought nothing of moving from table to table carrying their meat and their flagons of wine or beer with them as they conversed with their friends. Michel paid little attention to the men and women he passed. His eyes were on Danise.
“Surely you would not deny me a kiss,” Clodion said to Danise. “Yesterday I saw you kiss Count Redmond on the cheek.”
“It was purely out of gratitude,” Danise replied. “Redmond has been so kind to Michel.”
“Ah, yes, your mysterious guest. Does he also claim your kisses, while you deny me?” Clodion’s lip curled scornfully, revealing a glimpse of his discolored teeth. His arm slipped around her waist and he bent his face to hers.
“I kiss no man as a lover,” Danise cried, trying to pull away from him. Where was her father when she needed him? Where was Sister Gertrude? Did they imagine this odious man could not seriously harass her in the midst of a crowd? She saw her father talking with the scholar Alcuin and one of his clerks, noticed Sister Gertrude with Hildegarde. Both were too far away for her to attract the attention of either without causing a scene. She did not like Clodion and had quickly decided she could never marry him, but he was too important a noble to offend in public. With a sinking heart Danise realized she alone would have to find a way to free herself from Clodion’s attentions and his clutching hands. She began by trying to reason with him. “Let me go, sir. I wish to return to my chaperon’s side.”
“I remember Gertrude when she was not so strict as she is now,” Clodion said, still holding Danise. “She may protest, but I believe she would understand a man’s eager desire to kiss his betrothed.”
“I am not yet betrothed to anyone.” Danise pushed hard against Clodion’s chest. “I do not want to kiss you.”
Her protest had no effect on Clodion. He lowered his face until his mouth was almost on hers. She turned her head, trying to twist away from him. Just as she feared she would be kissed in spite of her best efforts to prevent it, she heard a familiar and most welcome voice.
“There you are, Danise. I’ve been looking for you.” Michel strolled up to them, the very picture of a relaxed young noble. “Good day to you, Count Clodion.”
“What do you want?” Clodion demanded with a notable lack of courtesy.
“Danise has been helping me in my attempts to regain my memory,” Michel informed him. “Since I want to return to my own land as soon as possible, I am understandably eager to continue our efforts.”
Danise stared at him, amazed to hear him dissemble so easily. She had done nothing at all to help Michel regain his memory. To her great relief, Clodion removed his hands from her arm and waist. At once she stepped away from him.
“So you intend to leave Francia?” Clodion gave Michel his full attention. “Might you take Count Redmond with you?”
“I have thought most seriously of inviting him to accompany me when I go,” Michel replied. The gravity of his expression gave no indication of his thoughts, but Danise was certain that Michel was secretly laughing at her disagreeable suitor.
“By all means, regain your memory,” Clodion said. “I would do nothing to prevent you – or your friend Redmond – from returning to your home.”
“I thank you for your good wishes.” Michel made a deep bow. Danise saw the gesture as mocking; Clodion appeared to accept it as evidence of respect.
“You and I will speak again later, Danise.” Clodion moved off into the throng of nobles near Charles and his queen.
“Is aught amiss here?” Savarec approached his daughter and Michel. “Danise, I saw Clodion with his arm about you. You should not allow such familiarity in public unless you intend to accept his suit.”
“I did not allow it,” Danise began, hurt that her father could think she would be so careless with her reputation. Michel interrupted her protest.
“It was a minor misunderstanding,” he told Savarec, and then changed the subject before Danise’s father could ask what the misunderstanding was. “Savarec, I would like your permission to go alone with Danise into the forest. I want her to take me to the exact spot where she found me. Perhaps something there will stir my memory.”
“Alone?” Savarec considered this proposal. “For appearance’s sake I should go with you. Or Sister Gertrude.”
“Neither of you was present when Danise found me,” Michel said. “I would like to repeat exactly what happened when I was first discovered.”
“Then you should have Clothilde with you,” said Savarec.
“It is my understanding that Danise sent Clothilde away at once, to find you,” Michel replied. “I don’t think it will take long, Savarec. If I am to remember anything, I believe it will happen at once. This request is vitally important to me, so I ask your indulgence. I promise to return Danise to you unharmed.”
“My daughter is precious to me,” Savarec began.
“I know it,” Michel told him. “I honor Danise as my rescuer. You have my solemn word, I will not harm her.”
“Well,” Savarec wavered.
“Will no one ask my opinion?” Danise looked from her father to Michel. “I will help you. I know how much it will mean to you to have your memories back again.” She did not add what she was thinking, that it was just as important to her to know who he really was, to know if he was married or if he had children.
“Very well, then,” Savarec said. “Do what you can for him, Danise. However, you must not stay in the f
orest too long. You and I may know that Michel is an honorable man who will keep his word, but if Clodion realizes you are gone and becomes annoyed, he may impugn your virtue, and some folk here at Duren will listen to him. Not to mention what Sister Gertrude will say to me if she hears of this project.”
“Thank you, Father.” Danise looked at Michel. “Let us go at once, so we can return before we are missed.”
“Lead the way and I will follow,” he responded.
Danise did not hesitate. She walked first to Savarec’s tents and then began to retrace the path she had taken into the forest on the day when she had found Michel. It was not long before they were enclosed by trees and underbrush, sheltered by the canopy of newly unfurled leaves. The sound of voices from the camp was but a distant murmur muffled by the foliage. Nearer were the pleasant sounds of occasional bird calls and of water trickling along over stones and exposed tree roots.
“This way,” Danise said. “Clothilde and I followed this little stream.”
“Wait a moment, please.”
“Michel, are you in pain again?” Seeing him with both hands at his head, Danise stopped walking. “Perhaps you should rest. We can do this another day.”
“We’ll do it now. I can’t rest until I know who I am.” He took his hands from his forehead to look at her, weariness etched on his face. “The bright sunshine and the reflections from the river hurt my eyes. The noise made by so many people talking all at once, the smells of the food, the strangeness of it all – sometimes it’s overwhelming.”
“You are not completely well yet.”
“If I am not well, why did you desert me?” he burst out. “Why do you refuse to talk to me?”
“I am talking to you now. I am trying to help you.”
“I know. I do know.” He gripped her shoulders, hurting her. “I have been experiencing moments when I remember – something. Unfortunately, those moments never last long enough for me to make any sense of them. It’s unsettling.”
“I am sure it is. Come now, the spot you want to see is only a short distance away.” Her heart pounding, her own thoughts awhirl, Danise moved out of his restraining hands to lead the way along the path taken by the stream until they reached a clearing.
“Is this it?” Michel looked around as if he could not believe he had ever been in that place before.
“You were lying there when I found you.” Danise pointed to a rock half buried in dry leaves. “We decided you must have hit your head on that stone. We thought you were in the tree just above before you fell.”
He looked up into the green height of the tree in question, then down at the rock. He dropped to his knees in the pile of leaves. Shaking his head, he looked at her.
“I was so sure coming here would jog my memory, but I recognize nothing I see, and I feel nothing unusual,” he said. Grasping her hand he pulled her downward. “Show me exactly how I was lying when you first saw me.”
To do as he wanted it was necessary for her to push his arms and legs into the position she remembered. She also remembered bathing those same limbs while he lay naked and helpless beneath her ministering hands, and while she tried unsuccessfully to convince herself it was his very helplessness that tugged at her heart.
“Where were you when you found me?” he asked, his voice somewhat muffled because he was lying face downward. “What was the first thing you did?”
“I was here.” She sat beside him. “I turned you over, this way.” And there he was again, lying on the ground, gazing up at her from unbelievably blue eyes just as he had done on the first day she had ever seen him. The man before her now was anything but helpless. Her reaction to him was far more intense than on their first meeting, and the strength of it frightened her. She knew only as much about him as he knew about himself, which was little, indeed. Who he really was did not matter. Her heart recognized him. Having loved once, she could not be unaware of her feelings now. She ought not to let him affect her this way. Her father would not approve and worse – oh, far worse than Savarec’s opinion – what she was beginning to feel toward Michel was disloyal to…
“Danise.” He was holding her hand, drawing her closer. When she put out her free hand to keep them apart, she rested her palm on his chest, where she could feel his warmth and the beating of his heart.
“I am dislocated,” he said. “Only when I am with you does any of this make sense. Only when I see you do I feel as if I am in the right place. Everything else is confusion and frustration.”
“Do you feel that here you are where you should be? Here, where I found you?”
“Only because you are here, too.” He let go of the hand he was holding, to catch the back of her head. He pulled her downward, his other arm around her waist as Clodion had held her just a short time ago. How different Michel’s embrace was from Clodion’s, how warm and strong and tempting. The hand with which she had been pushing against his chest was now trapped between their bodies. Though her knees were still folded up beneath her, she was all but lying in his arms and she found it altogether too pleasant an experience. His mouth brushed across hers.
“No, Michel, please.” If he heard her, he paid no attention to her feebly whispered protest. He held her firmly and kissed her hard. Danise found herself succumbing to the heated delight of his lips on hers, letting him do what he wanted and responding to him as though she had no obligation to anyone but herself and him. She felt his tongue against her mouth. When she parted her lips in surprise at this pressure, he thrust into her.
All her thoughts fled away. Danise wanted only to stretch out beside Michel and feel the length of his manly frame along her body. She wanted him to go on kissing her, and kissing her, and then …
“Danise.” Michel sat up, still holding her in his arms. His lips caressed her forehead. His arms tightened again. She knew he would kiss her once more.
“No.” She began to struggle, pushing at him. He let her go at once. She faced him with an anger made all the stronger because she knew she wanted that next kiss. “Michel, you have broken your word to my father. You promised him no harm would come to me.”
“I have not harmed you. You did not fight me,” he said. “It was only one kiss.”
“Not one kiss. Two kisses. How could you do this to me?” Shame and remorse flooded over her. “How could you make me forget? Make me disloyal?”
“Disloyal to whom?” he asked. “To your suitors? To Clodion? I don’t think so. To Redmond? Do you love him? Is he the one you want?”
“No, no, you don’t understand.” Oh, Hugo, how could I kiss another man? How could I betray you so easily?
“Perhaps I could understand if you would explain,” Michel said. “I honestly thought you wanted me to kiss you. I thought you enjoyed it as much as I did. You seemed to enjoy it.”
“Stop it!” She was on her feet, her hands over her ears to shut out his words. It was true, she had welcomed his kisses, but her pleasure only made things worse, only made her feel more guilty and more disloyal to Hugo. She could not stay where she was, not with Michel’s blue gaze probing into her heart until she believed he must see what a callous, dishonest woman she was.
Danise began to run, dodging among the trees, tripping, then catching herself so she could run on, run anywhere, so long as it was away from Michel and the temptation he represented.
He followed her. She could hear him crashing along behind her. And because he was stronger and faster it was not long before he caught her. He grabbed her by the shoulders once more and pushed her against a tree trunk and held her there.
“Now,” he said, “you are going to tell me what is wrong. You are too sensible a woman to carry on like this without a good reason. You know we both wanted that kiss. Why are you so upset about it?”
“Not one kiss,” she said again, sniffing to hold back incipient tears. “Two.” She saw laughter in his eyes at her insistence on the exact number.
“All right, two kisses. The first scarcely counted. It was only t
o test if you wanted a real one.” As quickly as it had come, the flicker of amusement vanished from his face. “Your eyes are haunted, Danise. You speak of disloyalty because you enjoyed my kiss – sorry, my kisses. Both of them. A few days ago you refused to tell me why you are sad. I have a right to know.”
“What right?” She made the mistake of looking into his eyes and found she could not look away. She could feel her will bending to his.
“You know what right,” he said. “You know why I kissed you. Answer me, Danise.”
Still she was captured by his eyes as firmly as she was by his hands. She knew he would not let her go until he had the answer he sought. She had to speak.
“Hugo loved me,” she whispered, “and I loved him. We hoped to marry. You are the first man to kiss me since – since he died.”
“I am sorry. I didn’t know.” Suddenly she was no longer pressed against the tree. His arms were gentle, holding her, and she did not protest the embrace. “How did he die? How long has it been?”
“He marched into Spain in May of last year and died in August, at Roncevaux, on his way home to Francia. Many others died there, too.”
“Last August?” he repeated. “And it’s May again now? Then it has been an entire year since you’ve seen him. There’s no reason for you to feel guilty, Danise. Many women do not mourn their lovers for so long a time.” She thought he could feel the way she stiffened in resistance to that idea, for he released her and stepped back a pace. Danise leaned against the tree trunk, not sure she would be able to stand without its support.
“Do you feel disloyal when either of your suitors kiss you?” he asked. “Or is it only with me?”
“They have not kissed me, not the way you did. I just told you, you are the first since Hugo.”
“Do you intend to refuse to marry both Redmond and Clodion out of loyalty to Hugo? If so, you ought to tell them now and not keep them dangling in suspense. Clodion, especially. I have a feeling the man could turn nasty if he’s thwarted.”
