by Alexa Aston
Merryn opened the door and went inside, but Geoffrey didn’t follow. It took a tug to get him to move and she closed the door behind them. A cheery fire warmed the bedchamber. Earlier, she’d placed a flask of wine and two pewter cups on the table, along with some fruit and cheese. It reminded her of what Geoffrey had done on the night of their wedding.
He let go of her hand and moved to the fire. She watched him unlace the cloak and drop it to the floor as he squatted. He raised his hands, basking in the heat.
Merryn came to stand behind him. She was shocked at how filthy his hands were. The dirt seemed embedded like a second layer of skin. She hadn’t thought to bring water for him to bathe. First thing in the morning, she’d get her husband in a tub and help scrub the grime from his body.
“Are you tired?” she asked.
He nodded.
“We should ready ourselves for bed.” Filthy or not, she had waited years to lie next to her husband. Merryn would not be robbed of the pleasure of his weight in the bed, his head pillowed next to hers.
Facing her, he said quietly, “I cannot sleep with you.” He swept his hands up and down his body. “I would ruin the bedclothes.”
Geoffrey’s sleeves rode up as he motioned. Though the chamber was dimly lit, even in the faint light Merryn could see the deep scars circling his wrists. She dug her nails into her palms and bit her tongue before she could cry out.
Oh, Sweet Jesu. Who did that to him?
“I shall lie here.” He indicated the floor. “Next to this welcoming fire.”
“I have food and drink for you.”
“Nay. I had my fill with what you brought in the woods. I . . . I am not used to eating much. I shall partake of that on the morrow.”
So mayhap he did remember something, whether he realized it or not.
Geoffrey looked at her solemnly. “Thank you. For not . . . running from me.” He paused. “I saw my image reflected in a pond. I realize . . . I realize I am . . . not the man you remember.” Sorrow tinged his voice. “You have been most kind to me, my lady.”
Merryn blinked back the tears that formed. It was if Geoffrey spoke to her as a stranger.
“Then let me get you pillows. A blanket.”
“Nothing for me, my lady. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.” He lay down and pulled the cloak over him.
She wanted to weep as she watched him. Her throat grew tight.
Finally, she said, “My name is Merryn.”
“I know,” he whispered.
She wanted to go to him. Smooth his hair. Kiss his cheek. Let him know how happy she was that he’d returned. She had dreamt of this very day for an eternity. Instead, a strange reality existed. It confused her. They had barely begun a life together before it was snatched away from them.
And now they had both grown older—and the man in this room was no longer her friend and lover. A stranger had taken Geoffrey de Montfort’s place. One that she could not touch—much less nurture—for fear of frightening him away.
Instead, she crossed the room, slipped off her shoes, and crawled into bed without removing her clothes.
Sleep refused to come. Merryn wept in silence.
Chapter 18
Merryn watched Geoffrey’s chest rise and fall as he slept. She’d only gotten a few hours of rest herself. Her jumbled thoughts kept her mind racing. When sleep finally did come, it didn’t last for long.
Because of Geoffrey’s anguished moans.
He’d tossed and turned throughout the night. Several times low, harsh groans escaped from him. In them, she heard pain and sorrow.
Wherever he had been—whatever had happened to him—she realized it had damaged Geoffrey to the depths of his soul.
And it was up to her to heal him.
Merryn rose while he slept and dressed in a fresh smock and kirtle. She chose a light blue cotehardie and lifted it over her head. Geoffrey had always liked her in blue. She pulled on fresh hose and shoes and fastened his sapphire brooch to her clothing.
She decided to let Geoffrey sleep and quietly left their chamber.
As she started down the corridor, Raynor stepped from the shadows.
“How is he?”
Merryn saw the concern etched into his face. She motioned for him to walk with her. Raynor slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and fell into step with her.
“I left him sleeping. On the floor.”
His brows shot up. “The floor? Why?”
She shrugged. “He claimed his filth would stain the bedclothes. He gathered his cloak about him and curled up next to the hearth like a cat.”
“I’ve never seen such grime on a man, even after battle. It’s almost as if he were buried alive.”
“That’s not our only problem.”
They reached the stairs and began their descent to the main floor.
“You mean him wanting to hide and not let anyone know he has returned?”
“Much worse,” she said.
“Good morn,” someone called out.
Merryn stopped in her tracks and gripped Raynor’s arm.
“A good morn to you, Sir Symond.” She felt Raynor stiffen next to her. She pulled him down the remaining steps and paused in front of their visitor.
“Sir Raynor Le Roux, I would like to introduce you to Sir Symond Benedict. He’s a member of the king’s guard. Raynor is a cousin to the de Montforts.”
The men greeted each other.
“I hoped to escort you to mass and then break my fast with you, Lady Merryn,” Benedict told her.
“Aye. Exactly what I had in mind.” She pulled her hand from Raynor’s arm and took Symond’s. She allowed the knight to lead her to Kinwick’s small chapel. Raynor followed them inside.
Merryn’s mind raced during the mass. She needed to keep Symond occupied again today. She hoped Raynor would help her in this endeavor.
The service ended and they made their way into the great hall which was bustling with activity.
“I should like to see some of the grounds if you are free today,” Benedict said.
“I would be happy to show Kinwick to you,” Raynor interjected. “I know how busy Merryn is on Wednesdays with the candles.”
“Aye,” she said, glad Raynor had thought so quickly of an excuse. “We make candles every Wednesday. You would be surprised how many are needed to keep Kinwick lit. It’s a lengthy task, but I cannot leave it to others. My help is needed.”
“Must you spend your time this way?” She heard the disappointment in his voice. “I had hoped to have the pleasure of your company today.”
“Even in domestic duties, I prefer to supervise my servants carefully,” she replied. “I am very particular about my candles. How they are made is a reflection on me and Kinwick.”
Raynor added, “Merryn expects perfection. I would enjoy showing you the castle and the surrounding area, Sir Benedict. I am a frequent visitor at Kinwick and feel more than adequate to serve as your guide.” He thought a moment. “We should ask Diggory, the steward, to join us.”
Merryn stood. “I shall leave you men to decide how to manage your day. I will see you at the evening meal.”
She gave a quick curtsey and hurried away, grabbing hold of Tilda as she passed her.
“I need hot water brought to my chamber at once. At least triple what is normally sent. The buckets are to be left outside my door.” She thought a moment. “And food. I find myself hungry. Ravenously hungry.”
The servant eyed her. “Does this have anything to do with the king’s man? Is he the one you must wed?”
“Please do as I say, Tilda. And if anyone asks, tell them I am busy all day. Making candles.”
Tilda’s eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
Merryn returned to her chamber, drawing the bar across the door. She leaned against it to support her shaking body.
Geoffrey had finally awakened. He stood, fingering one of the pewter cups on the table, his face full of longing. Witho
ut looking at her, he said softly, “’Tis the cup from our wedding night.”
“Aye.” She crossed the room and lifted the other cup, smiling as she stroked the etchings along the side.
“They have been a part of this room since that night,” she told him. “I kept everything the same.” Her eyes met his. “It helped me to feel close to you.”
Merryn set the cup down and then removed the one from his hand, placing it on the table.
“I didn’t change the bedclothes for a long time, for they carried your scent—our scent.” She took his hand, entwining her fingers around his.
“I left your clothing in the chest. I heard your voice and saw your face every time I closed my eyes. I wore your brooch as a reminder of the love you had for me. Sometimes, I pretended you’d gone away again to war and that you might return at any moment.”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “I never forgot you, Geoffrey. Though, eventually, we referred to you as dead instead of gone, that was for the children’s sake.”
Raw emotions surfaced inside her. “Our twins are the best thing in my life. They have been the only thing that kept me going during years of doubt and loneliness. And now that you have returned, I long for them to get to know you. For us to be a family. United in every way.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him to her. Their lips met briefly. His beard felt so foreign.
Then, Geoffrey jerked away. He grabbed the flask of wine and poured it into a cup, draining it quickly. He drank a second serving.
Merryn wanted to fight through the protective layers that surrounded him but didn’t know how. Geoffrey needed time to adjust to her and being back at Kinwick again.
To remember the love they shared.
A knock sounded at the door. “Hot water, my lady. And plenty of food. Anything else you be wantin’ for now?”
She walked to the door and spoke through it. “Thank you. This is all I require.” She waited for the servants to retreat before she unlocked and opened the door.
Merryn lifted one of the buckets of water by the handle and turned.
“I’ll take that,” Geoffrey said, grabbing it from her hands. “And I can bathe myself. Please go once the buckets are in.”
She glared at him. “I will help you. I would do so for any guest and I intend to do this for my own husband.”
“No.” Geoffrey stared at her, a hardness in his eyes. “I cannot . . . I would not have you see me this way.”
Merryn picked up another bucket and shoved it at him. Water sloshed out. “You were always stubborn, Geoffrey de Montfort. But I have learned to be more so,” she warned. “So shed your clothing and get yourself into that tub at once. I refuse to take no for an answer.”
She narrowed her gaze, her voice stern. This was the tone she took when the twins proved naughty. She never backed down and was not about to give in to Geoffrey over something as simple as a bath.
Especially when her hands longed to stroke his body.
Without a word, he marched the bucket to the tub and dumped the water into it. He dropped the pail on the floor, then turned his back to her and began fiddling with his clothing.
Merryn breathed a sigh of relief that she’d won this small battle. She took a vial from her trunk and poured it into the water before bringing the remaining buckets inside the room. She also gathered the tray of food and took it to the table before bolting the door again as a precaution.
By the time she finished her tasks, Geoffrey was in the tub. She poured hot water over his head, wetting his hair and beard. She then gathered soap and cloths to wash him with after she had scrubbed him with the strongest brush she owned.
He took the brush and soap from her and attacked his skin with vigor, scouring until it became raw and red. Merryn simply watched. In the light, she saw the angry scars on his wrists and ankle as he lifted a leg and propped it on the edge of the tub. Instinct told her he’d been caged like an animal, kept far away from humanity.
She supposed his mind protected him from whatever agonizing experience he’d suffered through by wiping away his memory.
She would deal with that. And she would tend to him when those memories came crashing back—for she knew they would. Whether today or in a sennight, or even a year from now, Geoffrey would be forced to live with and understand what had happened to him.
Any anger she’d felt dissipated. Her heart filled with determination to make things right between them.
Merryn allowed him to cut through as much of the filth as he could, occasionally rinsing him with clean water. She poured scented oil across his skin and then tenderly used the cloths to bathe him.
She sensed him holding his breath, her own heart quickened at their very nearness. But she did not want to rush him into anything.
Least of all, love play.
Next, she washed his hair, massaging his scalp with longing, hoping her fingers told the story of her deep affection. She found herself wanting to kiss every inch of him.
“I should like to shave you while the water has softened your beard,” she said, trying to gain control of her emotions.
He frowned. “I can do that myself.”
Merryn tapped her foot impatiently. “Geoffrey, your beard is quite thick. I can see much better than you.” She wrinkled her nose. “And trim your hair. It’s grown much too long to please me.”
He didn’t protest. Merryn brought the stool closer to the tub and gathered his razor. She had sharpened it once a week, hope beating in her breast each time she did so that one day her husband would come home and use it.
Lathering up his beard, Merryn held his chin steady with one hand as she dragged the razor across his skin. Geoffrey kept his eyes closed the entire time. She was glad. It would have distracted her if he watched. This way, he remained free of cuts from a slip of her nervous hand.
She finished and rinsed his face with the last of the clean water, then gently blotted it with a towel. He almost looked like the man she had married, only an older version.
“Now let me loose upon that hair,” she declared. A quarter-hour later, she had cut it to the length he always wore it. She ran a brush through the thick, dark waves.
Geoffrey finally opened his eyes.
Merryn rewarded his patience with a tender smile.
She passed him a small metal mirror.
“Go ahead,” she prodded. “You may praise my handiwork once you’ve seen yourself.”
He lifted the mirror, moving it around to glimpse all of him.
And for the first time since his return, Geoffrey de Montfort smiled.
Chapter 19
Geoffrey explored the bedchamber after Merryn left him alone. Studying his reflection in the mirror again, he saw how he’d aged during his imprisonment. He would never be the Geoffrey of old again.
Resting the mirror on the table, he resumed pacing. He paused at the bed and stroked the smooth sheets, then leaned down to inhale his wife’s scent on the pillows. The sweet smell of vanilla drove him half-mad during his bath.
Despite being almost strangers, he knew love still existed between them. He felt it in her touch each time her fingers brushed against his skin. He heard it in her voice. Thankful her anger had disappeared, Geoffrey knew it would return with his refusal to account for his whereabouts since his disappearance.
Geoffrey couldn’t blame her. If Merryn had vanished, he couldn’t guess how he would have survived a single day—yet alone, years spent without her.
He lifted her brush from a table and turned it in his hands, longing to run it through her long, chestnut hair. He returned the brush to its place.
Looking down at the black pants and hose she’d given him to wear, he smoothed the dark brown gypon and cotehardie. His old clothing proved loose on his frame, but to wear something familiar after so many years took him back in time. Geoffrey opened the chest where Merryn had pulled the clothes from. Items he’d worn in the past were neatly arranged inside.
Including
what he’d worn on their wedding day.
He shook off the dark mood that threatened to overtake him. He must start living life one day at a time and appreciate his newly found freedom.
Yet, he had no idea how to behave when he met his children.
Merryn had left him alone to dress and said that she would return in an hour with Ancel and Alys. She seemed to sense he needed time to himself, though God knew he’d spent nearly every minute alone for many years.
Before she left, Merryn stressed to him that the twins were her chief concern. If he frightened them, she would escort them from the room with haste. She explained that his return would be challenging for them to accept since they’d always been told he was dead. Taking his hand, Merryn told him that he must be patient with the twins if they did not warm to him immediately.
The look in her eye let Geoffrey know of the fierce, protective love she had for their children. If it came down to making a choice, Merryn would push aside her love for her husband and keep her children safe.
Geoffrey understood that he was a stranger to his own children and wife. In truth, he was a stranger to himself.
Geoffrey took a few bites of the bread and cheese Merryn had brought up with his bath water. His thoughts returned to the precious moments soaking in the water’s warmth. Such small things mattered. One thing he hoped to teach his children—never take anything for granted—for it could be snatched from you in the blink of an eye.
He sat in the chair, strumming his fingers along his thigh, tapping his foot. He’d never been this nervous going into battle. But the thought of seeing his own flesh and blood nearly undid him. Geoffrey wiped away the tears with his sleeve and took a comforting sip of wine.
A rap at the door startled him. He sat up expectantly, smoothing his cotehardie again. The door opened and Merryn led the twins in by their hands. Ancel immediately pulled away and ran toward him, curiosity written across his face. Alys waited until Merryn shut the door and then guided her further into the room.
“Good morn to you,” Geoffrey addressed them.