Cedric stopped. He was not much taller than she, and more stout than the Scot, though some would say handsomely formed. His hair was dark, almost black, and his beard was black as well.
“The Charlton gave me permission to pay court,” he said.
“’Tis too soon. I still mourn Will.”
“Your daughter needs a father. A woman needs a husband.”
“I am not ready.”
“The Charlton has given you long enough to mourn. He grows impatient. The cottage should house a man, a soldier.”
“It was my husband’s.”
“And a widow has no right to it. The land reverts back to the Charlton.”
“Will meant for me to have it.” She knew her protests would make little difference, but she had to try.
“A refreshment,” he said, suddenly coaxing. “A glass of ale. We can talk.”
He was a different man—or was trying to be—than the one who had prodded her two nights ago to steal from the dead. Will had always disliked him, had always said he wore many faces.
“I told you my daughter sleeps.”
“Ye cannot avoid me forever.”
“I have no feelings for you,” she said desperately.
“They come in time, Kimbra. I am lonely. I want a son.”
He wants the cottage. And Magnus.
He might want her as well, but she doubted whether love—or even affection—had anything to do with it.
“Please leave,” she said. “I have promised some herbs today, and I must get them ready.”
“You would not have to work so hard, were ye my wife.”
Harder, more likely. She glanced down at Bear who was eyeing her visitor balefully. If she gave the word, the animal would charge Cedric and probably die in the doing.
“But I am not your wife, and I do have chores and a daughter that will be waking shortly. Mayhap later.” She hated pleading with him but was afraid to antagonize him too far. He might well barge into the cottage.
He frowned. He did not want to accept rejection, and she knew he was weighing possibilities. Should he force her? Then a marriage would be a necessity.
But she knew she had the Charlton’s affection as had Will. Cedric would be taking a risk, and he seemed to her a cowardly man.
“I will leave, but I will be back,” he finally conceded. “Think about all I can give ye. Ye would have my protection against raiders. I can provide for ye. Most women would be grateful for my attentions.”
He ran his finger beneath her chin and tipped her head upward. His finger moved along her cheekbone, but there was little gentleness and much possessiveness in the gesture. Before she could move away, he turned and mounted his horse. She opened the door for Bear, then she stepped inside before Cedric changed his mind and returned.
Cedric would not be deterred. He’d made that plain. Mayhap she would visit Thomas Charlton on the morrow and make her own plea. But how could she leave the Scot alone in the cottage? What if Cedric paid another visit? Walked in? She would not put it past him.
She had to wait until the Scot could leave the cottage, or at least move up to the loft.
She went to the window and watched as Cedric rode away.
“Audra,” she called.
Audra peeked out from the loft, then climbed down the ladder. “Who was it?” her daughter asked.
“Cedric.” Kimbra leaned down and checked Bear. There was a gash at the side of his neck, but it was not bad, and she didn’t believe it needed stitching. Still, it must have hurt. She would make a paste and spread it on the wound.
“Ah, brave Bear,” she crooned.
Bear preened as if he understood every word. Audra was looking at the blood on Bear with horror, then she gave the dog a huge hug, careful not to touch the wound. Tears filmed her eyes. “Why would he hurt Bear?”
“Mayhap he was afraid of him.”
“Bear would not hurt anyone.”
“He would if he thought you in danger, love.”
“But I wasn’t.”
“Nay, but Bear did not know that.”
Audra put her head against Bear’s fur. “I do not like Cedric.”
She wanted to tell Audra that she shouldn’t say such a thing, nor even think it. But she couldn’t. Not when she felt the same way.
“Go outside,” she said, “and I will see to the . . . Howard.”
She’d almost slipped and said “the Scot.” That’s the way she thought of him.
She watched as Audra and Bear went through the door. In seconds they were chasing each other around the yard. Though Bear was gentle with Audra, Kimbra knew the dog would protect Audra to the death if anyone tried to touch her.
Pain twisted inside as she watched Audra. Cedric was a cruel man. He used sharpened spurs on his horse, and the wound on Bear was only a small indication of what he might do if he had mastery here.
ROBERT Howard.
He said it over and over again. It had been urgent to the woman, and he tried to make it real on his tongue.
But it had no familiarity. Neither did any other name. The more he tried to remember, the denser the cloud in his mind became. The more he struggled for memories, the more elusive they became.
Desolation filled him. The desperate loneliness of not knowing who he was, of feeling so thoroughly alone, rolled over him in waves. Pain pounded in his head, ached unbearably in his chest, and raged in his leg. But the greater torment was the recurring emptiness of anything before pain. Before the long night and day in the smoke-seared woods. Before the haunting cries.
He’d been fighting in battle. For whom? For what reason?
He did not understand any of it. He didn’t understand why the woman tended him. He did sense the fear under all that bravery in bringing him here.
He struggled to sit. Blood rushed to his head, and the agony from his chest was nearly more than he could bear. Only too aware of his nakedness, he reached for the clothes the woman had left on the foot of the bed. His world instantly went dark as waves of new pain assaulted him. After a moment the intensity lessened, and he managed to pull the clothes toward him.
He did not want to take what had belonged to the woman’s husband. She had kept them. They must have meant something to her.
But he had no choice. Vaguely he remembered her cutting cloth from him. His own clothes must still be on the battlefield.
He’d heard the knocking that took her from his room. Her urgency had told him to remain silent, and there had been apprehension, even fear, in her movements. He worried it had something to do with him. He could not allow someone to suffer on his behalf. If someone entered the room, she would be compromised. He knew that, even though he didn’t know how he knew it.
If he were dressed, he could always say he forced her.
Using every bit of strength he still had, he pulled on the rough, woolen shirt. Every movement was agony, but he did not like the sense of helplessness he felt. His nakedness made him feel even more vulnerable.
He couldn’t hear voices. He did not know what was happening as he shook loose the poultice, letting it drop to the floor, and painfully drew on a damp pair of breeches. He stood, swayed slightly and used the wall to move to the door. It was solid, though, and he could hear nothing. He dared not open it. Instead, he looked around for a weapon and found a dagger. He lifted it, balanced it in his hand.
He obviously knew how to use it.
He sat in a chair. He was so bloody weak.
Useless to her if there was danger.
He tried again to remember. He
had
to remember!
The door opened, and the woman returned.
He questioned her with his eyes.
“It was my husband’s cousin,” she said. From the tone of her voice, the visitor had not been a welcomed interruption.
“You should be in the bed,” she said.
“You . . . seemed concerned. I thought . . .” Then he realized he must truly be addled. What would he have done? He would be precious little protection.
“He is gone. You should not have left the bed,” she scolded.
He rose painfully from the chair. In truth, he didn’t know whether he could make it back to the bed or not. His leg wanted to buckle under him, and his ribs . . . he felt as if an anvil had landed on them.
Almost instantly she was at his side, adding her strength to his. She was surprisingly strong for a woman.
He sank back into the bed.
“You do not obey well.”
“I feared for . . . you.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said sharply. “And you cause me more work when you do something foolish. Now I must make another poultice.”
He wanted to say nay. That he would leave immediately. Yet it had taken all the strength he had to dress and take the few steps to the door. The best thing he could do now was heal enough
to
leave.
“Mistress Charlton—”
“Kimbra. Call me Kimbra.”
He smiled slowly. “’Tis easy to do. Like Audra, it is a bonny name.”
He saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes then, making them almost luminous. She turned away from him.
He cursed himself. She was crying. This strong woman who seemed undaunted by anything. He didn’t know what he’d said to provoke tears, but it appeared he had done exactly that.
“My pardon. I did not mean to—”
She turned back to face him, and he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. Her jaw moved slightly as if she were trying to control her emotions. “’Tis none of your doing,” she said.
She obviously wasn’t going to explain further. And there was little he could do to console her.
“Where am I?”
“On the border in Northumberland.”
Northumberland.
It meant nothing to him. A chill invaded him. It should.
It must.
“What happened?”
“A battle between your Scottish king and our King Henry. A great battle.”
“Who won?”
“The English. They say the Scottish king is dead, along with most of his army.”
“The Scottish king? His name?”
“James.”
James.
He had apparently fought for a king. King James. For a fleeting second, he thought it was coming to him. But then, it vanished like smoke. Mayhap he only
wanted
to recognize it. To recognize something. Anything.
“You said a Scot killed your husband.”
“Two years ago. On a raid across the border.”
He looked at her. She was a handsome woman. Not beautiful, but pleasing.
Her eyes were gray, and her hair raven black. It fell in unruly curls to frame a face more interesting than pretty. Her chin was determined, her mouth wide, her eyes taking on different hues of gray according to her emotions. Under a black, almost shapeless gown, her body was slim but strong, her back straight. She’d not smiled once, and her manner seemed deliberately distant. But he’d seen a kindness when she talked to her daughter, and her hands had gentleness in her care for him. It belied the curt speech and short answers.
“Why then—”
“I told you. You might bring a ransom. Or reward.”
Someone might ransom him? Would he not remember someone close enough to do that?
“Why do you think someone would pay a ransom?”
“You were near the king. You wore a fine plaid and fine mail.”
Think!
A plaid. He remembered it, soaking in his own blood. Or was the blood someone else’s? Had he lost a brother? A friend?
The questions pounded at him. From what she said, he was alive when many Scots died. The hunger to know more gnawed at his heart.
“I must look after my daughter,” Kimbra said, her voice unsteady. “Please do not move again. I cannot spend the day making poultices.”
“I am grateful for what you have done.”
“Then stay still,” she said.
And then she left the room, leaving a scent of roses behind her.
’
I
IS a bonny name.
Will used to say that but a little differently. Pretty instead of bonny. She’d liked the way “bonny” rolled off the Scot’s tongue. A flicker of warmth flared inside her.
And regret. The words had sparked too many memories.
The Scot lying in their bed did not help.
God help her, she had almost shed tears. It was the tension. Nothing else. Will had been dead two years now, and she’d grown used to the loneliness. Then why did something as simple as an innocent observation bring on this rush of emotion?
Tired. It was because she was so tired.
She had heard of people losing their memories, but she had never before encountered it. She had no idea what to do, how to bring back bits and pieces of a life.
Still, despite his loss of who he was, there was a quality that attracted her, a gentleness she rarely saw in the borderers. There was also an attraction that stunned her, since there had been none before Will and none after. Why a stranger? A Scot. And particularly someone who apparently was of noble blood?
Nonsense. She should not think of such things. He represented a way for her to be independent, to be free of an unwanted marriage. She had to find out who he was, without anyone else knowing. She could not reveal the crest without someone wondering why she had not surrendered it with the rest of the plunder they’d collected the night after the battle.
He
had
to regain his memory. He had to tell her who he was. Then perhaps whoever cared about him would give her enough money to find a cottage someplace safe, someplace where no one would demand she marry.
She did not have much time. Cedric had made that plain.
She looked out the window. Audra was sitting next to Bear, singing one of her songs to him.
Kimbra went outside and knelt beside her. “Would you pick some comfrey for Mr. Howard?”
Audra nodded.
“Do you want me to show you which it is?”