by Alexa Aston
Then somehow he knew. “She is dead, I think. Something tells me she is.”
Alys nibbled at her bottom lip. “Aye, she is. She passed away some six years ago. I left London at that time and returned to Kinwick.”
His curiosity grew. “What was she like? I feel in my bones that I might have seen her before. Or even the king.” A picture came to his mind of one with regal bearing. “A strong man. Virile. Shrewd.” He thought a moment. “With a quick temper.”
“You have certainly described King Edward. He is a most intelligent man and powerful ruler but mercurial in his moods. The queen was his opposite. She was slow to anger and patient to a fault. No one could talk the king out of a foul mood as Queen Philippa could. They were a good match and very much in love.”
“In love, you say?” The thought of the king acting like a lovestruck fool didn’t fit the image in his mind of the monarch.
“Very much so. Though the marriage was arranged, their relationship grew from one of strangers to mutual respect and then finally love.”
He caught the tender look in her eyes as she spoke of this royal couple—and of love.
“So you believe in love?” he asked, wondering if he did.
She nodded with enthusiasm. “I do. My parents loved each other from their childhood. Raynor, the cousin I mentioned, met his wife, Beatrice, and fell madly in love with her—even though he believed her to be betrothed to another.”
Alys sat up, a sweet smile lighting her features. “And one of our knights, Michael Devereux, fell in love with my cousin, Elysande, as they delivered a foal.” She laughed, the sound a merry tinkling to his ears. “Michael did not even know her name and yet knew he wanted to wed her. And my other cousin, Avelyn, met her husband when he escorted her home from London. They, too, became a true love match and wed.”
“You would have me believe that falling in love runs in your family.”
“Wouldn’t you say so after hearing about all of those couples?” Her heightened color brought out the blue in her eyes and made that rosebud of a mouth infinitely more tempting to him. “Of course, I realize that it’s the rare couple who marry and fall in love. Marriage is a duty and a way to unite family fortunes and gain political affiliations. Often, it’s arranged to strengthen bonds at court and throughout the nobility.”
She sat back in her chair and sighed. “But I have witnessed love firsthand. I believe in it. I hope for it.”
“You are not married?” he asked, praying she was not.
“Nay,” she said softly. “Nor have I a betrothed.”
“That’s unusual,” he replied. “May I ask your age?” He wondered how old he himself might be.
“I am seven and ten for another four months.”
“Why have your parents not chosen a husband for you?”
Alys worried her full, bottom lip again, causing a wave of desire to ripple through him.
“The queen was going to choose a husband for me before she passed. When I came home after her death, marriage was the last thing on my mind.” She looked about the room as if searching for an answer. “And I have been content at Kinwick these past years. Father and Mother haven’t pressed me to wed. Mayhap I am not meant to.” Her last words came out just above a whisper.
“But you must,” he insisted. “You are a well-bred, beautiful, interesting woman. You would make an excellent wife, my lady. Just look how well you have cared for me.”
She gazed at him a long moment, as if she plunged into the depths of his very soul. “I will know when I have found the right man to wed. It will be a love match for me—or none at all.”
Alys rose. “I have kept you from your rest long enough, my lord. Mayhap if you sleep, you will be strong enough in body and mind to defeat me when we next play chess.”
The playful light in her eyes and ghost of a smile teased him. A hot wave of fresh desire poured through him again as he imagined her naked, entwined in his arms.
“Then I shall rest all the harder, knowing I won’t be entirely well until I can claim victory through checkmate.”
“I bid you goodnight, my lord.” She slipped from the room and closed the door behind her.
How could he rest when his mind swirled so?
He slammed a hand down on the bed and gasped at the ripple of pain that sprouted from his broken ribs. He wondered how long they would take to mend. He fingered the stitches along his thigh. These, at least, seemed familiar to him. He knew he’d gotten them before, for already the itch at the place of the wound was something known to him. A week had passed since he had been brought to Kinwick. Though the bruises had begun to fade, he could see a few scars upon his flesh where he had suffered prior injuries.
That led him to believe he was a soldier. Alys spoke of the men he’d downed when attacked. Again, vague shadows of him raising his sword crossed his mind. He closed his eyes and could envision himself riding on a horse as he approached—no, charged—a line of men. Flashes of sunlight glinting on his swinging sword flittered by. Then all went dark, as if his mind shielded him from remembering the way he had been injured.
He pushed a hand through his hair and opened his eyes, searching the room. He’d been placed in a large bedchamber, much larger than he had known. That was what he believed in his foggy mind. He lay in a bed, and two smaller ones faced opposite it. He couldn’t remember anyone else sleeping in the room since he’d been brought here. Either its occupants had been encouraged to sleep elsewhere, or they were not present. He guessed this room might belong to the siblings Alys had mentioned. The twin brother. Ancel. The younger two. Hal and Edward.
At least he’d finally discovered that she was unwed—and unattached. He sank back into the pillows and allowed himself to think of her. She wore her thick, chestnut hair in a long braid every day. His fingers itched to undo the complicated plait so he could rub the silken strands between the pads of his fingers. Her eyes, a vivid blue, seemed kind—yet sometimes they danced with mischief. Her heart-shaped face called for him to cup it in his hands. He longed to stroke those porcelain cheeks with his thumbs.
More than anything, her mouth called to him. Those pink lips cried out to be kissed. He wished to brush his mouth against hers while he explored the sweet curve of her breasts and hips. Yet how could he act in so coarse a manner? Lady Alys had rescued him. Saved his life. He would never repay her by pawing at her.
For all he knew, he might be betrothed—or wed.
He sensed he must be older than she was. That meant it was possible that he possessed a woman in his life. He couldn’t allow his physical yearnings to override good sense when he might not be free.
But what he would give for one night in Alys de Montfort’s bed.
He shook his head to clear those wicked thoughts. At least the action no longer pained him, as the lump on the back of his skull had dwindled rapidly, even if it remained sensitive to his touch. He needed to assess his situation.
What did he know?
He knew war. His gut told him as much. With the truce he’d learned about, he must have returned home to England. He would ask Lady Alys where Kinwick lay. For some reason, he could picture London. The streets. The crowds. Wait . . . he knew the royal court. He hadn’t simply glimpsed the king and queen. He could imagine ladies in their finery and courtiers dressed in rich, vibrant colors. He knew exactly what King Edward looked like because he’d seen the monarch in person. Up close. And the queen. Sadness welled in him, knowing she was no more.
Think.
He brought up the king’s image clearly. This time, a newer one came to him. That of an older man, but still imposing. Now another likeness came to him, one that bespoke of age, even frailty. The king was no longer a strong man. Age and sickness marked his appearance.
But if he knew of the sovereign at different times, did that mean he had been to court often? Could he have possibly grown up there or even fostered with a nobleman who spent time at the royal palace?
All this thinking made his head
throb. He touched the small, swollen knot at the back of his skull. Still tender. He brought his hands to his face and touched it gingerly. It was a bit puffy and no doubt bruised. A lump over his left brow bowed out. He could imagine what he looked like. He had probably given Lady Alys and her mother quite a fright.
Yet as they tended to him, neither seemed jarred by his appearance. Both women had a competent, light touch. Their assured manner and frank words led him to believe they hid nothing about his injuries from him.
He pulled the linen sheet up and shut his eyes as weariness descended upon him. Sleep would help restore his battered body and aching head.
That . . . and another visit from Lady Alys. That would be the best medicine possible.
Chapter 8
Alys knocked on Kit’s chamber door and wasn’t surprised when he opened the door to admit her. He began restlessly pacing the room as she set down the tray she had brought him so he could break his fast.
“I see that you are ready to be up and about, my lord.”
He pushed a hand through his thick, brown hair. “I’ve spent more than a week in bed. I am ready to stretch my legs and see something of your estate, my lady.” He looked sheepish. “If you feel I won’t frighten anyone with my appearance.”
His battered face still held a few bruises from the attack but wasn’t affected as much as his body. The garish colors she had predicted covered his torso and limbs in a variety of hues as he healed.
“Your face appears almost normal. I can fetch a small hand mirror for you if you would care to see yourself.”
He brightened. “I would. That might help spark my memory.”
“I will bring it at once while you break your fast.”
Alys left the bedchamber, her heart pounding in her chest. She should have thought to let him view his image. She knew she was being selfish, keeping his identity from him—for she had determined he must be Kit Emory. Though she’d had but a single conversation with him years ago, he had left an indelible print on her memory. The more she spoke with him, the more she could see the young man he had once been.
The one she longed for with all her heart.
She wavered between telling him who he was and believing he should come to the realization on his own. If she told him now that she had known who he was all along, she couldn’t predict what his reaction might be. Nay, she could, for she knew what hers would have been. She would be furious with the person who kept her very name from her. She would lash out at him or her. Curse them.
And never forgive them.
That was why she had kept her secret, for with each conversation she had with Kit, each moment she spent in his company, she became more drawn to his intelligence and quick sense of humor. Alys liked that he treated her as an equal. Many men would not have done so. She enjoyed his company immensely and did not want him to leave Kinwick.
It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. Alys knew she should speak up. But every time she tried to, she became lost in his emerald eyes. Bewitched by his handsome face. Drawn to him as she had been to no other man.
She knocked on the solar door but received no answer. She supposed her parents remained in the great hall, breaking their fast after mass. Alys entered and went inside the bedchamber. She lifted her mother’s mirror to her own face and studied herself, something she rarely did. Her cheeks had color in them. Her eyes looked bluer than they normally did. She wondered what Kit thought of her looks.
That thought made her tear her eyes away from her image. Nay, she should not think in this manner. Kit was married to Richessa. It did not matter if he thought her pretty or interesting looking. He had a wife and probably children by now. Selfishly, she was keeping him from his family and home.
The sudden thought of him returning to them—leaving her alone at Kinwick—caused her knees to buckle. She dropped to the ground. Hot tears sprang to her eyes.
“Alys?”
Her mother’s voice undid her. The tears began to flow rapidly, spilling onto the stone floor.
Wordlessly, her mother’s arms came about her, bringing her close. She gave in to them as her mother stroked her back, murmuring sounds of sympathy and encouragement. Alys cried till she had nothing left. She took a cleansing breath and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“It’s this stranger,” Merryn said. “You have feelings for him.”
“Aye,” she admitted, her voice a hoarse whisper. “And I should not.”
Her mother drew Alys to her feet. “You cannot contain your feelings, my sweet. It’s like saying you could control the wind or the rain.” She kissed Alys’ forehead. “I hope he will remember who he is soon. Then we can explore whether the two of you could have a future together or not.”
Alys clung to her mother. She should tell her mother that she knew who Kit was. That he was not free. That she lied by omission and kept the truth from him.
But she couldn’t. Shame filled her at what she had done. She had never disappointed her parents in any way. She was embarrassed to admit she had kept such a wicked secret.
Her mother drew back. “I see you have a mirror.”
“Aye. He thought if he saw himself, it might help his memory return.”
“It could. That and all the ginger we have given him to eat. Sephare always told me that would aid a person’s memory. I hope she was right.” Merryn cupped Alys’ cheek. “Bathe your face in some cool water before you go back to him. And remember, whatever happens, you know your father and I love you and will support you.”
“Even if I choose not to marry?” The thought sprang to her head. If she couldn’t have Kit as her husband, she didn’t want any other man.
Her mother frowned. “Why would you say that, Alys? You nurture everyone about you. You will make a fine wife and mother someday.”
She swallowed. “I may wish to return to court. To be a healer. For the royal family and those who reside there.”
Disappointment flickered across her mother’s face. “I know the king would be happy to have you back. Your skills now outshine my own.” She paused. “But do you truly want to go back into court and all the politics?”
“I am only considering it.”
Her mother nodded wisely. “You believe this man might have a family. And you have fallen in love and believe you could be happy with none but him.”
Alys bit her lip and held back her tears. “You know me well, Mother.”
Merryn put an arm about her. “No decisions need to be made yet, my love. We must first find out who this man is. Where he comes from. Then we will go from there. Now splash that water on your face. You will feel better for it.” She pressed another kiss to Alys’ cheek and left the room.
“I should have told her,” Alys muttered once the room was hers again. “I should tell him. I will tell him,” she determined. “If he cannot remember who he is by May Day, I will tell him his name and suffer the consequences.”
That gave her today to enjoy his company—if he didn’t recall he was Kit Emory before then. Then she would let him go to live his life with Richessa, and she would make a new one for herself—one without Kit in it.
Calmly, she washed her face and took another glimpse at herself in the mirror. She seemed much as she had before.
Alys steeled herself and returned to Kit’s bedchamber.
*
He paced the chamber nervously, wondering what took Alys so long in retrieving a mirror.
It struck him that she had none of her own.
To think that a woman of her beauty had no idea how she moved him. He knew women—many of them. The last several nights he had dreamed of women. Had flashes of memories of his limbs entangled with other female ones. Even though he couldn’t remember his own name, his gut told him that he had been with a score of women over the years.
Yet none could hold a candle to Alys de Montfort.
No matter whom he had encountered in his past, whatever his relationship had been with them, he wanted only one woman now
.
Alys.
He heard her steps in the corridor and looked up as she entered his room. Instantly, he knew something was wrong. She was paler than when she had left, her eyes puffy.
She had been crying.
Without thought, he crossed quickly to her and cupped her face in his hands. He almost bent to comfort her with a kiss, but her eyes widened and she pulled away. Her arms crossed protectively in front of her, as if to ward him off. He saw the hand mirror clasped between her fingers.
He wanted to ask what had upset her, but he didn’t know how to deal with whatever answer she gave him. Instead, he held an open palm out. She understood and placed the mirror in it. He stepped away and turned his back to her. Somehow he didn’t want her to watch as he viewed himself.
His hand rose slowly, bringing the mirror to eye level. He brought it closer and moved it around, curious as to what he saw. Thick, dark brown hair. A high forehead, the knot over his brow now a bump. Brilliant green eyes. A strong jaw. A mouth that would enjoy kissing.
But no recognition came, no response from his body or brain. He studied the image dispassionately, as if it were a stranger before him.
Lowering his arm, he faced Alys. He could not read the odd expression upon her face. Wordlessly, he shook his head and stepped to her, returning the mirror.
“It stirred nothing?” she asked. “No memories?”
“None.” His voice was flat. He hid the disappointment and hurt that began to well inside him. “I had hoped seeing myself might spark some recollection. It didn’t.”
She looked at him a long time, as if she tried to come to some decision. Then she brightened.
“I think you are ready to get some fresh air,” she declared. “You must be tired of being cooped up in your sickroom.”
“I am more than ready to fly my coop, my lady, if you will but join me. Might I see something of your family’s estate?” He saw the flash of consternation cross her face. “I don’t mean to ride yet, but I would enjoy a long walk. I need to regain my strength as much as my memory.”
