The Norman's Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  This joining, with him behind her, was different than their first. Instead of raw passion, this one was made of softer touches, heated kisses and a quieter moment of completion. And when he drew from her at the end, she understood why. This was a farewell for them. His words of love were saying goodbye and she accepted what he had tried to tell her from the start, from the moment when they became aware of each other as man and woman.

  He left with the excuse of getting the bucket of rainwater from outside so she could wash before dressing, but even with a reason, the parting was painful. She gathered her clothes and the new memories she would carry with her and prepared to return to the keep.

  As predicted, his men arrived with horses not long after dawn. Edlyn was with them, but she had finished dressing and needed no help. Her gown and bliaut were stiff and uncomfortable, but Edlyn assured her that a hot bath and fresh clothing awaited her at the keep.

  If any of them thought that something untoward had occurred, they gave no sign of it. Connor gave Royce a full accounting of all the damage wrought by the storm and of Lord Orrick’s plans for repairs. The men were boisterous and anxious to get back so Royce helped her onto the horse brought for her and mounted his own. With his belongings in sacks tied to the horses’ saddles, they left for Silloth Keep.

  Isabel tried to pay attention to the route they took, but several times they changed direction because of downed trees and branches. When Royce caught her eye and nodded at one such broken tree, she knew it was where he had found her. She shivered as she noted the size of the branch that had fallen from above.

  The rest of their journey took only minutes, for once they reached the larger paths of the village, they could move with more speed. Soon they approached the keep, rode through its gates and into the courtyard. By the time they dismounted, Lady Margaret was there.

  “Royce, my lord awaits you at the stables. He asked that you join him there after breaking your fast.” Royce handed off his horse to one of the boys and then turned to both of them.

  “By your leave, I will go there now.” At Lady Margaret’s nod, he looked at Isabel with a closed expression that she not read. “Be well, Isabel.”

  They watched in silence as he walked away and then the lady clapped her hands. “Rosamunde, please go to the kitchens and tell them to bring food for Isabel to my solar. Jehane? Is the bath ready? See to it now for Isabel stands here looking ready to collapse. And Edlyn, gather clean clothing for her.”

  The women named scattered as she called out their orders and soon it was only Isabel and Lady Margaret standing at the steps to the keep. The lady’s astute eyes examined her several times before she spoke.

  “Something is different, Isabel. Are you well?”

  “I am well, my lady.”

  “Royce saw to your care?”

  “Aye, my lady, he did.” Isabel knew she was probing. She did not have the strength to face questioning now. “May we speak more after my bath?”

  “And after some food as well. At least you look well rested.”

  Isabel almost laughed. The lady would find out what she wanted to know or would guess until the truth was admitted to her. Isabel just did not know which would come first.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The interrogation did not happen as quickly as Isabel had suspected it would due to the large and widespread damage caused by the storm. As far as the abbey to the southeast and the salt lathes to the east and north, Orrick’s lands had been pummeled by the ferocious storm. Isabel heard many of the old ones talking about not remembering a stronger one. Arguments ensued since this was not the longest-lasting squall to hit, but it was declared the most powerful.

  One and all joined in as the keep and village buildings were put back into good condition. For six days, the repairs went on and the regular pace and schedule of their days was thrown off by what needed to be accomplished. Isabel did not believe that she participated much, except to trail behind Lady Margaret and carry out her instructions.

  She did feel comfortable during her assignment in the keep’s gardens, which had sustained some damage from fallen trees and broken branches. With the help of two sturdy servants, she was able to put it back in order and minimize the loss of many of the needed herbs and plants.

  She saw little of Royce during that time. A glimpse of him here or there as he went about his duties was all she gained. Since even the meals were not served as usual, there was no chance to share one with him. She heard from Lady Rosamunde that Royce accompanied Sir Gautier to Abbeytown to assist the good brothers in some repairs.

  At least the busy days kept Lady Margaret from pursuing answers for the many questions she had. Time and again, Isabel would spy the lady staring at her, as though searching for something about her person that was different. She did feel different, resigned, but it was not time to confide in Lady Margaret as to the cause of it.

  And resigned she was. Isabel had decided to give her memory until the end of summer, another month, before she could impose no longer on these good people. Then if no more of her life before the attack was revealed to her, she would ask Lady Margaret to sponsor her to the convent of her sister. Mayhap there, in contemplation and prayer, her life would be given back and she could gain an understanding about her flaws and failings that had led her husband to plan her murder.

  She fell into bed thoroughly tired but woke completely refreshed. The nightmares had ceased now that she remembered. There were other dreams, of Royce and of their time together. Sometimes she would awaken out of breath from the heat of them. Those she did not want to cease.

  After about a sennight, normalcy was restored to Silloth Keep and it did not take Lady Margaret long to pounce. The summons to the solar came one night after the evening meal and Isabel knew it was time. The servants and other women were dismissed with a word and she waited for the questioning to begin.

  “You are well, Isabel? The work this past week has not hurt you?” Margaret’s stern gaze moved over her, looking for weaknesses. “You are sleeping?”

  Nodding, Isabel answered dutifully. “I am well. The work has done me no harm. I am sleeping well.” Not as well as she did when in Royce’s embrace, but well enough.

  “Now that we have the preliminaries out of the way, let us proceed to the heart of the matter.” Her directness startled Isabel at first, but then she thought she appreciated it. Subterfuge took too much strength and time.

  “Ask what you will, my lady. You deserve the truth.”

  “Royce told me that more of your memory has returned. Can you speak of it to me?”

  “I will tell you what I can. It does not frighten me the way it once did. Now that the whole of it has returned, it troubles me not.”

  Isabel recounted the tale of the attack and what she could remember of her attackers. Margaret paled at the descriptions, but asked a few questions to clarify the incident. When she finished, the lady rose and poured them each a cup of strong wine. After a few minutes, Margaret spoke again.

  “He also told me something you did not say. About the words this man, probably your husband, spoke to you. He said they deeply hurt you?”

  “My lady, I would rather not speak of them. It is too fresh.”

  “The very reason we must speak now. Do not give these accusations power over you by hiding from them. And, if they are as Royce led me to believe, do not give them substance they do not have.”

  “Is there anything he did not tell you?” A bit of sarcasm entered her voice.

  “Actually, yes, there is. In spite of Orrick’s questions, Royce has this exasperating habit of crossing his arms over his chest and glaring instead of answering, at least when he chooses not to answer.”

  Isabel smiled then. This was the Royce she’d met. So many of her questions went unanswered in those first few weeks. If they were about him, he would do exactly as Margaret had described.

  “And then did he try to distract you?”

  Lady Margaret smiled then. “Just so. Men can
be so stubborn, Isabel. Sometimes they can be misinformed. But other times they are just plainly wrong. Tell me what your husband said and let us discern which is the case.”

  If the subject was not so serious, she would have laughed at Lady Margaret’s assessment of men’s behaviors. But even thinking of her husband’s words brought pain to her heart.

  “I was to blame for his plans.”

  “How so? What do you remember?”

  Isabel wiped her hands on her gown and tried to calm the shaking that had begun to overtake her. “I could feel his hatred. His eyes were filled with it. And he did not direct it at the one who held the sword covered in his blood. He hated me.” She shivered as she could once more see his face.

  “The one who attacked him? The one who called himself ‘brother’?”

  “Aye, my lady. Although I am not clear on that. I cannot imagine a brother killing a brother.”

  “Then you have no knowledge of the Plantagenets. They have fought brother against brother, brothers against father and so many other combinations that it would make you scream. Believe me, Isabel, when enough is at stake, it is each for themselves.”

  “But my lady, what could be at stake with me?”

  “’Tis always the same with women and men of noble birth—lands, power and heirs.” Margaret reached out and took her hand. “Mayhap you stood in the way of an inheritance? Or you failed…?”

  “Failed to produce an heir?” Isabel waited for an onslaught of feelings to guide her in this. Surely, if that was the cause of her husband’s hatred, she would remember it now?

  “’Twould be an explanation, but it holds no memories for me. This is hopeless. And I confess, my lady, that I am not anxious to remember such a flaw in myself that could cause the hatred it did.” Isabel stood and walked around the chamber. She could not sit still now.

  “I do not mean to agitate you in this way, Isabel. Let us talk of something else since this is not fruitful. Tell me of your stay with Royce during the storm.”

  “Can we not speak of needle and thread instead?” Isabel stood near the loom holding the tapestry and pointed at it. “I would rather not speak of the time with Royce.” She felt the tears burning her eyes and did not want them to fall. Blinking, she turned away from the lady’s further scrutiny.

  “Did he dishonor you, Isabel?”

  She did cry then. Nothing within her could keep the tears from pouring out. “Nay, my lady, he did not.”

  Isabel never heard the lady’s approach, but she felt Margaret’s arm come around her shoulders to support her. “What happened there, Isabel? I will keep your confidence.”

  “He showed me what was possible and what could not be.”

  “’Twould seem you are a widow. More things are possible for widows than unmarried women.”

  “How do I know if these memories are true? Could these be just some images my mind has made up to fill in the gaps? Mayhap I am still married? This may not have been my husband at all, but a brother or someone else?”

  She turned to face the lady. “I cannot make plans or accept his love without knowing my truths. And I do not know when or even if that will happen.”

  Lady Margaret reached up and wiped her tears with a piece of linen. “You show remarkable sense, child, in the face of all this uncertainty in your life. Waiting is probably the best choice at this time.” She accepted the handkerchief and finished wiping her eyes.

  “I had thought to give myself another month before making any decisions. If nothing changes, I may follow your suggestion and seek refuge at that convent you mentioned. Until then, may I continue to accept your generosity?”

  “As I told you before, Isabel, once offered, Lord Orrick’s hospitality is not withdrawn. Royce has been here three years and there has not been talk of him leaving. Connor the Scot, Sir Richard, Sir Hugh and many others have sought the sanctuary that this place offers. Even I have been here a score of years and Orrick has not asked me to leave yet.”

  Isabel laughed at her words. A tinge of the truth lay there, along with a hint of the lady’s own interesting history. She did not have the right to ask of it and would not chance insulting someone who had given her so much already.

  “And Royce? What of him?”

  “Royce faces his own choices. The difference is that his are of his own making.”

  “And mine are not?”

  “Nay, Isabel, you were nearly killed and left for dead. That was not of your own choosing. So, do not worry over that.”

  “What do I do now, my lady?” She was tired of this struggle.

  “Rest. Eat. Read. Pray. Work on another tapestry with me. Work in the gardens or in the village as you can. One thing we have not tried yet is music.”

  “Music?” Nothing came to mind about her musical abilities.

  “I have a psaltery here that has been neglected in these last months. Mayhap you have the skills and talent to play it?”

  “I know not.” She shrugged. “I will try.”

  “’Tis what I wanted to hear. Be open to these things and I am confident we will find some familiar things for you. I am always here to talk with you, Isabel. No matter the time.”

  “You have my gratitude, my lady.”

  Margaret led her to the door and pulled it open. As Isabel walked out, the lady touched her on the sleeve.

  “I have been praying over this, Isabel, and I am convinced that the Almighty has a plan for you. He brought you here and he will provide for you. Never doubt that.”

  Their first meeting was not as painful as he thought it might be. Asked by Lord Orrick to join him in the solar, he arrived a few minutes early and paused outside the door to listen to the music coming from within. The soft lilt of a pipe, the stronger sounds of the psaltery and the drumming on a tabor produced a tune worthy of dancing. Tapping his foot to the melody, a familiar one, William was surprised when the door opened. Jehane invited him in and closed the door quietly behind him.

  The music continued as he was waved over by Lord Orrick. He was not surprised to find Isabel in this women’s domain, but the sight and sound of her plucking the psaltery was not what he expected. As he watched the small group play, he was once again amazed at her abilities. The song drew to a close and he added his applause to the others.

  At that moment, Isabel looked up from the wooden instrument and caught his eyes. Here, in the midst of the others, she’d become the lady again—she wore a clean gown, her hair lay arranged and covered and not in the riotous curls he’d seen last, and her behavior was polite and appropriate.

  He wanted the woman back. As if she’d read his mind, she gifted him with a smile that told him she was thinking of their time spent together. On his way back to the keep that day, he’d made up his mind not to sink back into the darkness and to enjoy whatever moments they shared in these days before she left. It was time to put his decision into practice, something harder than he thought it would be.

  “Shall we try another, Isabel?” Rosamunde asked.

  At Isabel’s nod, Rosamunde lifted the flute to her lips and began another tune. She slowly played the first notes and then a few more. As he observed them, Isabel closed her eyes and listened. First her head began to move up and down in time with Rosamunde’s tune, then her fingers caught the strings, matching the melody. A few notes later, Lady Margaret added a beat to it and the three played as one.

  ’Twas good to see her enjoy herself. Accepting a cup of ale from one of the servants, William sat on a bench and let the music flow over him. If he let his thoughts go, he could imagine many nights like this one. Isabel and him being part of this household, sharing a life, sharing a love.

  He caught hold of his thoughts before they became too wild and out of control. In doing so, he did not realize he’d been shaking his head, until Lady Margaret gave him a pointed look.

  “You did not like our selection, Royce?”

  “Your pardon, my lady,” he said with a bow. “I was woolgathering while I listened. I am
most impressed by the talents you and your ladies displayed here tonight. Will there be more?” He raised his cup in salute to each of them in turn, ending with Isabel.

  “Shall we try one more?” Lady Margaret asked. “Isabel. Why do you not begin? Just play whatever tune comes to mind and we will follow you this time.”

  She took in a deep breath and released it, trying to relax. He could see the trembling in her hands and admired the courage within her. Of course, as had been with him, Lady Margaret and Lord Orrick’s support, whether vocal or silent, made the difference. Isabel rested her fingers on the strings for a moment and then moved them to some melody she either remembered or felt. The other two women nodded and joined her in the now-familiar song.

  He could like this. After three years of denying himself these comforts of a normal life, his hunger for them grew. Disturbed by how much he could desire those things he had given up, William made his way to the far side of the room and gazed into the brazier that kept the chamber warm.

  Any contemplation of making an offer to Isabel needed the support of Orrick. If he wanted to take this step, it would require that Orrick know the truth and be willing to keep up the charade. He would speak to the lord and gain his acceptance and then approach Isabel. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he did not hear her draw near.

  “Your look is as dark as your tunic, Royce. Was my playing not as good as you said?”

  He spun to face her. “Do not think it, Isabel. I must admit that your abilities surprised me again. What made you try to play the psaltery?”

  “The question should be ‘who made me’ and the answer is obvious.” She smiled and lifted her cup to her mouth. “’Twas one of her suggestions and you can see it had merit.”

  “Do you remember anything when you play?” He moved to her side as he asked. “Do any images or sounds come to you?”

  “As I must always answer, nay.”

  Her face showed a deep sadness and he was not pleased that he had caused it. William tried to stop, but he could not resist reaching out to stroke her cheek. “’Twill come, Isabel. When the time is right, you will remember.”