Terri Brisbin - The Norman's Bride

Who would want to kill a woman? And with such savagery?

From the smoothness of her hands, he suspected she might be a noblewoman. But what woman of noble blood could simply disappear and have no one know? If she were titled, someone would be searching for her. Lord Orrick would have known if there was a search being carried out, especially on his lands.

No, he was mistaken about this. Shaking his head, he circled the cottage and prepared for the night. Not of noble blood. Then who? And more importantly, why?

In his travels before settling here in the service of Orrick, he had seen many unfortunates throughout England—women who had been deserted, abandoned or marked for some failure on their part. Divorce was not possible, so men would simply force an unfaithful or unwanted wife from their home, taking everything from her but for the clothing she wore.

And sometimes, not even granting her that much. If marked as a whore, the woman would find no sanctuary and be forced to accept whatever living she could. Although this cruelty was infrequently seen, it existed nonetheless. Orrick did not permit it on his lands, but other less scrupulous lords did.

William sat on the pile of blankets on which he slept and watched her in the low light thrown off by the vestiges of the hearth’s banked flames. He was probably worrying for naught. This first awakening after so many days asleep must simply be one filled with confusion for her. As she regained strength and did not have to fight against the pain he knew coursed through her with every breath, her mind would clear and she would know herself.

Wenda and young Avryl would arrive just after dawn and he would tell them of this brief period of alertness. Wenda would surely know what to do for the confusion that plagued the woman, for the healer knew a potion for all ailments.

Aye, Wenda would know what to do in the morning.

“Royce.”

The strangled whisper of his name was like a scream in the silence of the night. He was up in an instant and at her side before she could say it again. He did not need to see her to know she was awake. He could hear the uneven pace of her breathing and the turmoil in her restless movements.

He lay down beside her and whispered to her. Careful not to lean against her and cause more pain, he gently stroked her forehead and urged her to calm herself. The words flowed easily for he’d said them to her many times before in the darkness and privacy of the night. Softly, over and over, he spoke the words. Finally he felt the tension leave her body and he thought she slept once more.

As he began to move away, her voice pierced the night again.

“Stay?” It came out on a hiss. A plea, not an order.

William settled back on his side and did not move. The morning’s light found him still there.

“’Tis a good thing then?”

William had moved away from the group of men he sat with at the table and waited to hear Wenda’s advice. Lord Orrick had asked him for a report on the stranger in his care and William did not want to delay. And he wanted to know for himself.

“That she has awakened? Aye, ’tis a good thing.” Wenda nodded. “But this confusion is not.”

“Will it go away? Surely, her memory will return?”

“Mayhap it will and mayhap it will not.” The old woman shrugged at him. “I have seen this but once before and that in a man wounded in the head during battle. He recovered his mind after a few days.”

“Surely it will be so for her?” William was frustrated by the healer’s words more than he was satisfied by them.

“I have heard stories of those who have never regained their memories.”

“Nay!”

His words and tone were a bit more vehement than he had planned so he paced away from the woman and tried to sort out his thoughts. He would not believe that this stranger would live in a state of confusion and without identity for the rest of her life. Last night had been her first time awake in weeks and this fog must be normal, a natural part of healing. But if it were that, the nagging thoughts in his head told him that an experienced healer such as Wenda would know of it.

“Royce,” Wenda said. “We must simply wait to see if she continues to heal or if this is a pause in a decline. Time will tell us something more with each day.”

“And is that what I tell Lord Orrick?”

“That is all we can tell him for now.”

William let out the breath he held and looked toward the high table where the lord he served was at his meal. Orrick was a fair man and would not begrudge a stranger a small measure of care after an attack such as she had suffered. Once she was stronger, her thoughts would clear and she would know herself. Once she was stronger, she could move to the keep and be tended by the women there. Once she was stronger, he would lose her.

Shaking his head at his own foolish thoughts, he thanked Wenda and walked forward at Orrick’s behest. Her recovery would be a slow one and be filled with pain and struggle. It would be best if she was moved as soon as possible since his many duties for Orrick took him away from the village frequently. ’Twould be easier for all if she were not in his cottage. He thought himself convinced so no one was more surprised than he when his first words to Orrick were a request to keep her where she was.

The rest of the day moved too slowly for him and he found himself wondering how she would be when he returned home. Wenda said that Avryl would continue to come each day to take care of her needs while he was at his duties. Wenda would visit often and Orrick had given his permission for things to be this way until the stranger either recovered enough to give an accounting of herself or until she succumbed.

Finally his duties were finished and he took up his weapons and walked through the village toward the stream. Following it for a few minutes, he soon stood in the doorway of his small croft. It was quiet within. Young Avryl stirred a pot on the hearth and his guest lay sleeping. He fought a smile when he noticed that her hand rested on the head of his also-sleeping dog. She had found a champion after all.

William dropped his sack next to the door, gaining the attention of the girl before the fire. Avryl was really older than a girl, nigh to ten-and-seven if he remembered correctly. He watched her graceful movements as she used the edge of her skirt to shield her hand from the heat of the pot and then poured some of the stew into a bowl on the table.

She would not meet his eyes as he thanked her for the meal, and William noticed the blush creeping up her neck and face. He remembered Avryl’s mother trying to make a match between them after his first year in Silloth in the service of Orrick. A new bachelor in the close-knit community, especially one high in the esteem of Lord Orrick, was fair game for any unmarried woman. He had done his share of dodging those who would try to tie him into matrimony.

He could afford no entanglements of that nature. Nothing that endangered his anonymity or threatened to reveal his past could be allowed. He became practiced at brushing aside the matchmaking. He waited for her to finish putting food and drink out before turning his attention to the woman lying on the pallet.

“She has been awake for some hours today,” Avryl answered the question before he could ask it.

“Does she know herself yet?” William crouched down to be nearer to the woman and inspected her for signs of worsening.

“Nay. But she spoke a few times to Wenda and to me.”

“Has she eaten?” William looked at the bowl of steaming food. It was probably too hearty for her.

“Aye, she had something not long ago. Wenda gave her a potion for the pain and said she might sleep the night through.”