wcEND.rtf (30 page)

Not a good situation to be returning to, and an even worse one to condemn someone.

Isabel quickly snuffed the little flame of hope trying to fire her insides. Even if she could bring herself to disregard every argument against remaining in
Détra’s
body, Isabel would forever live in fear that Détra would find a way to make the swap. It was hard enough for her to think
of leaving Hunter now. How much harder would it be to lose him later, maybe even years down the road, when they had grown even closer, more in love, perhaps even having had a child together?

The mere thought of losing a child again made Isabel nauseated. She had no choice. She had to leave now and the sooner the better.

Silently, Isabel rose in the dark as Hunter lay in peaceful slumber. She searched his clothing for the key to his chamber in the garrison's quarters and found it easily enough. Too easily. Maybe fate was telling her something.

As soon as morning broke, Hunter was supposed to leave on a scouting trip. Isabel would use the opportunity to search his private room for the chalice. If her guess was right, and she was sure it was, she'd find the chalice in his war chest.

Isabel heard Hunter stir and swiftly climbed back in bed, hiding the key under her pillow and hoping Hunter wouldn't notice its absence until it was too late.

Sleep eluded her. Having memorized every nuance of his handsome face Isabel remained awake, watching him in the dark. She would make a painting of him as soon as she was back home. Sorrow squeezed her heart with an iron fist and a tear rolled down her face when she realized a picture would be all she would have of Hunter. A picture and the memory of the man she loved and could never have.

******************

DAWN ARRIVED WITH ITS ASHEN RAYS INFILTRATING the room through the open shutters of the window. Isabel had slept little and fitfully, but was once again awake when Hunter rose silently. She unobtrusively watched him dress, then feigned sleep when he approached and kissed her softly before leaving the room.

Isabel waited until she was certain he was gone before rising from the bed and dressing in a hurry. Now that she had the key, she was afraid that if she waited a moment longer her courage would desert her and she'd be forever condemned to a life of uncertainty and guilt.

Maude arrived with her morning tea to find her already up and dressed. Isabel gulped down the tea without even tasting it, and then she hugged Maude.

"Thank you so much for all your help and understanding," Isabel said. "In the next days I will need you more than ever, Maude. Please point me in the right direction. Do not let me forget my obligations to Hunter and remind me there is no hope for a relationship with Rupert. Will you do that for me?"

Maude lifted a confused gaze at Isabel. "My lady, you frighten me."

"I know and I am sorry, but swear to me you will do what I ask you."

Maude nodded.

Isabel walked to the door.

"Where do you go?" Maude asked.

"I shall be right back."

Good-bye, Maude!

With the key burning a hole in her hand, Isabel left the bedroom and hurried down the stairs, to step into a great hall that was beginning to stir to life. Servants collected the pallets they'd slept on, opened trestle tables, and then set them on the floor. Isabel crossed the hall silently and undisturbed and stepped outside into the awakening day. In the weak light of morning she could see Hunter at the gates conversing with the guard
s
—
m
aybe giving them a few last minute instructions before he left.

She waited until he crossed the gate, then dashed across the bailey to the garrison's quarters. A few men washed their faces in a trough on the outside wall and an
uninhibited one relieved himself not far from them. Isabel ignored them all and entered the small hall. A few heads turned a surprised and shocked gaze at seeing her there.

"Good morning," she said. As if this was her morning routine, she marched to Hunter's private room. No one stopped her or questioned her, though many would be wondering what she was doing there. Isabel would let Détra explain her presence in the place later.

She inserted the key in the hole and it turned with a rusty noise. Opening the door, she stole inside. It was dark there and Isabel almost kicked herself for not remembering to bring a lit candle. She still hadn't learned how to produce fire. However, she knew where the war chest was, saw its dark form against the wall, and dashed to it. She opened the heavy lid and began rummaging inside. She didn't need light. She would feel with her hands the chalice's shape. She touched every object inside the chest, moved them around, took them out, but none resembled a chalice. Frustrated, she sat on her haunches. She was so sure the chalice was here. Where else could it be?

"Looking for something?"

Isabel's heart stopped. She turned and saw Hunter standing at the door, his silhouette delineated by the lit candles in the hall behind him.

"I thought you were gone," she said stupidly.

"Evidently." He walked in, pulled her up to her feet, lit the oil lamps on the wall, and then closed the door. "What do you seek, my lady wife?" he asked, facing her.

For a moment she thought about finding an excuse, but she was getting tired of that. It was time to put the cards on the table. She might never find the chalice otherwise. And she couldn't remain in this body a moment longer.

Isabel straightened her shoulders and, looking right at him, she said, "I search for the chalice I asked you about some time ago."

Dead silence greeted her words. Hunter stood there with a blank expression and stiff posture,
l
ike a condemned prisoner waiting for the firing squad to end it all for him.

Well, at least he hadn't immediately denied the chalice's existence.

Encouraged, Isabel continued, "I believe the chalice has something to do with my loss of memory."

"A simple chalice?" He sounded nonchalant, but by now Isabel knew Hunter would show only the emotions he wanted the world to see.

"A magic chalice," she corrected.

Hunter moved to the war chest and with one knee bent, the other on the floor, he began putting back the objects she had taken out. "What makes you believe the chalice is magic?"

Expecting him to laugh at her suggestion, or even dismiss it with derision, Isabel was surprised he considered the possibility. Again, the feeling Hunter knew more than he led her to believe assailed her.

"I know the chalice was in the room that morning I fell and struck my head," she said.
"
Though I do not believe that was what truly happened."

He rose, pivoted, then faced her again. He didn't seem angry, almost resigned, in fact. "What do you believe happened?" he asked.

"I am not sure," she said evasively. How far should she go with the truth? She had to make Hunter believe she truly needed the chalice and the only way to do that was to prove it was indeed magical. That is, if he didn't already know that.

"All I know," she said, "is that something decidedly odd concerns that chalice. I remember warmth seeping from it into my fingers, I remember its blue stones glowing like stars and a blue mist enveloping me before I lost
consciousness." Here she hesitated. Should she speak of the vision? One thing was for sure, had Détra seen it she wouldn't have been happy about it. Had she rejected it? Could that, coupled with Isabel's wish, have been the true instigator of their body swapping?

Isabel didn't have to go there right now. "When I woke up I did not know who and where I was," Isabel continued. "I believe the chalice is responsible for what happened to me, and if I find it, I will also find the answers I seek."

"Are you so displeased with your life that you want it changed?" he asked.

She shook her head. 'That is not it."

"Then what is it?" he asked, taking her into his arms.

Isabel stepped out of his embrace, albeit reluctantly. If he kissed her now they would end up making passionate love and Isabel would be once again derailed off her mission. She'd been delayed long enough.

"I need my memories back. Please, Hunter, humor me in this. If you know the chalice's whereabouts, please tell me."

Looking displeased she had evaded his touch, he said, "Unpleasant memories are better left buried."

"We cannot run away from who we are," she said, anguish chafing her
th
roat. "The past has a way of catching up with us."

Hunter knew that all too wel
l
.

Sooner or later
Détra
's memory might return. How would she react when even after he had professed his love for her he continued to mislead her? He might be doing more harm man good at this point by keeping the truth from her.

After all, he could not deny Détra's changed ways since that fateful morning the chalice had shown them both the vision of his heart wish. Had she not proved it
by accepting his bastardy? Would knowing her old feelings for him end the understanding they had found together?

Suddenly Hunter realized it was not the truth he feared so much anymore, but the possibility the chalice could revert this Détra he loved more than his heart could ever have wished into the lady of old.

When the chalice had erased Détra'
s
memory, it had given Hunter a chance to win her heart. Their marriage was now consummated and his hold on Windermere guaranteed. And he was so close to winning her heart. She had yet to profess in words her love for him, but she had done thus in so many other ways. Hunter was not about to risk all he had achieved with Détra, but he would te
l
l her what she wanted to know.

"If the past matters so much to you," Hunter said, "I shall give it to you, but I offer no apologies for loving you, though I have misled you to believe all was always well between us."

With a sigh, he closed the lid of his war chest, then perched on it. Détra moved to the cot and sat on it. They faced each other.

"You were very unhappy to be wedded to me," he confessed. "In fact, that very morning you
l
ost your memory you had told me in no uncertain terms I was beneath you."

A bastard son of a village witch shall never be my lord nor husband.

Hunter could not repeat such painful words. And yet, when he had confessed his bastardy to
Détra
she had not only been unfazed by it, but also accepted him with no reservations.

Dormant hope filled his heart.

He plodded on. "You were holding the chalice that morning when you fell." It would be best to leave the
chalice's powers out of it. Best for her to believe the fall had been the perpetrator of her loss of memory. He wanted Détra to be satisfied with what he told her and desist of demanding what could forever change their lives.

"When you awoke remembering naught, I let you believe all was well between us."

He rose, then reaching her with one large step, knelt by her feet, and took her hands into his. "For that I beg your pardon."

He waited for her reply, seeking her grim countenance for a softening toward him.

"I cannot tell you how the old me would react to such confession,"
Détra
said
.
"I will not say you were justified in lying and making the choices for me that I should have made for myself. Love is trust, Hunte
r
—" Her voice choked with emotion and Hunter felt like a knave for his half-truths.

After a moment, she continued, "What I will say is that I understand mere are times in life we do things we are not proud of."

"Does that mean you forgive me?"

"It means I will not stand as judge over you. However," she added, "not knowing what was in my heart and in my mind in the past, I cannot stand before you with my naked soul and therefore we cannot be ever assured of our true feelings for each other."

"I want you just
the
way you are now, Détra. I have no doubts of my feelings for you and I know not what you mean by such words."

Was the woman denying him? The thought made his insides tie into a knot. Had he been overly trusting in her change?

"I mean that sooner, rather than later, we should tell each other the deepest truth of our hearts. We should clear every doubt that poisons our minds. We should forgive
each other's shortcomings and then we should pledge our love anew. Only then will our lives be fulfilled."