by Anne Herries
Morwenna was smarting inside. As if she would tell even if she did know! She didn’t answer him, but simply filled a jug with clean water before following Bess from the room. Behind her there was silence. Michael was waiting until she was safely out of earshot before telling his men whatever he did not trust her to hear.
She felt a little resentful and yet she knew that he probably thought he was protecting her. If she could truthfully claim she knew nothing of his darker activities, she might escape should he and the others be caught.
Pray God it would not happen! She did not wish either of her brothers to die a cruel death or the men who sailed Michael’s ship—but Jacques was the only one she truly felt close to, the only one who ever took any thought for her. Michael took her service for granted, forgetting that she should have been waited on instead of waiting on them.
She thrust the thought of Michael’s secrets to a tiny corner of her mind as she went into the room in which her patient was lying. He appeared to be peaceful, his eyes still firmly closed. Touching his forehead, she was relieved that he did not appear to be suffering from a fever as yet, though he could of course develop one in the next day or so.
She poured some water into a bowl and dipped a cloth into it, then she bent over her patient and bathed the wound at the side of his head. It had bled quite a bit, but was not deep enough to have opened his skull. He had been lucky, because she’d seen men pulled out from amongst the cruel rocks with their heads cracked open and their brains spilling out. There was never any hope for them and if they still lived Michael despatched them with his knife. It was quick and less painful than seeing fatally injured men suffer a slow death.
‘You were lucky,’ she said as she bent over him, noticing that he was a fine-looking man. Jacques was right to say he looked like gentry. ‘If we had not found you, you might have lain there all night and died of cold.’
For a moment his eyelids flickered, but they did not open. Morwenna poured some of her water into a horn cup and set it on the chest beside the bed. Then she took the salves she had stored in this room and a strip of linen and bound his head. Once again, his eyelids flickered, but did not open.
‘You are safe here,’ she said, though she was not sure he could hear her. ‘My brother Jacques brought you here and Michael has given me permission to nurse you. I’m not sure if you can hear me—but be careful, sir. My brother does not care for strangers. Do not go wandering about the house at night or you may find yourself in trouble.’
The man gave no sign that he’d heard her.
‘I shall leave you and return later,’ she said. ‘I do not know who you are but be careful.’ Leaving him to rest, Morwenna went out and closed the door behind her.
She hoped that Jacques had not helped her carry a spy into her home. It would not be the first time the militia had sent someone to try to discover the truth about her brother’s activities. If Michael discovered that this man was one of them, he would not hesitate to kill him—and that would be a shame, as well as dangerous for them all.
Her brother claimed he was not a murderer, but if he acted in defence of his family he would not consider it murder. He had learned to be ruthless since their father died and he’d been forced to seek his living from the sea. Yet at times she could still see in him the brother that had carried her on his shoulder when she was too tired to climb the cliff to their home.
Even so, she would not like anything bad to happen to the stranger.
Morwenna smiled to herself. She was used to the company of strong handsome men, but she liked the look of the stranger and she would not have harm come to him if she could prevent it.
Chapter Two
Morwenna woke as a hand shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see that Bess was bending over her and struggled to sit up.
‘What is the matter?’ she asked groggily. ‘Have the Revenue men come?’
‘Nay, lass. ‘Tis the stranger you brought from the beach. He’s burning up and calling out loud enough to waken the dead. ‘Tis as well your brothers have not yet returned.’
‘Why?’ Morwenna leapt out of bed and pulled on a wrapping gown that lay over the chair. ‘Michael sleeps like one of the dead and Jacques is the same.’
‘Aye, well, best they don’t hear what I think I heard him call out.’
Morwenna looked at her curiously. ‘He must have been having a nightmare. What did he call out?’
‘Your name and then …’ Bess glanced cautiously over her shoulder ‘… I’m not sure what he said then for ’twas slurred, but I think he said “Nest of traitors,” but I can’t be certain.’
‘If Michael heard that then he would think the worst. Yet on the beach he asked my name and I told him. It might just be that it was all that came to his mind. Mayhap you imagined the rest, Bess.’
‘I might have done for ’twas not clear.’
Morwenna went ahead of her servant into the bedchamber where her patient lay. Bess had left a lantern burning and she saw immediately that the man was ill. He had thrown off his covers and she could see his body was covered in a fine layer of sweat. Going to him at once, she touched his forehead.
‘He is in a bad fever, Bess.’ There was no doubting that he was ill now. ‘I must bathe him with cool water. Brew the tisane you use when any of us is ill, please. We’ll do our best for him, whoever he is.’
‘You’ll have to keep him quiet once Michael returns or all your good work will be for nothing.’
Morwenna didn’t answer, but a cold shiver ran down her spine as Bess left the chamber. If Michael suspected the man had come here to spy on them he would show no mercy. Gazing down on him as she began to bathe his body with cool water, Morwenna felt something protective stir inside her. She did not know who this man was and he could mean nothing to her, but he was a human soul and entitled to her care whilst ill.
‘Morwenna Morgan … no …’ he muttered suddenly, flinging his arm out in an arc. ‘Jane … please don’t leave me …’
‘Rest easy, sir. You are safe now,’ Morwenna said, stroking his damp hair back from his forehead.
‘Nowhere … no place to hide …’ the man muttered. ‘Alone … she’s gone, nothing left … Morwenna … Morwenna …’ He cried out in anguish, ‘I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to kill him … it wasn’t my fault … please …’ He was tossing in agony, clearly suffering from the dreams or memories that plagued him. ‘Forgive me … forgive me …’
Morwenna’s heart wrenched. ‘You are forgiven. Hush now.’
‘No, no, she will never forgive me.’
Wringing her cloth out, Morwenna bathed his forehead again. She thought he felt a little cooler but it was clear he was still wandering in his mind. Was her name on his lips because she’d told him who she was on the beach? What was it that haunted him so much?
‘It’s all right,’ she whispered softly close to his ear. ‘You’re safe here with me. Hush now and you will soon feel better.’
His eyes flew open suddenly and for a moment he stared up at her. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said and leaned forwards, as though he would sit up or touch her. Then his eyes closed and he fell back against the pillows. ‘Morwenna … lovely name …’
‘Here, my lovely, give him a sip of this.’
Morwenna turned as Bess entered bearing a tankard of hot liquid. It smelled strongly of cinnamon and she knew it contained brandy and the herbs that were effective for fever.
‘Help me lift him,’ Morwenna said. She took the cup, one arm beneath the man as she and Bess lifted him into a sitting position. ‘Open your mouth, sir. This tisane will help you recover.’
She pressed the edge of the tankard to his mouth, unsure that he would respond or could even hear her. Surprisingly, his lips parted and she was able to tip a little of the mixture into his mouth. He coughed and choked, but when she tried again he allowed her to pour some of the mixture into his mouth and this time he swallowed it easily. When she tried again his hand gripped her wrist, pushin
g her away.
‘Enough,’ he muttered. ‘No, Mother, enough.’
‘He must be sick if he thinks you’re his mother,’ Bess said with a sniff. ‘He looks cooler now. He’ll probably settle. Go back to your bed, lass.’
‘No. If I’d thought he was truly ill I wouldn’t have left him last evening. I’ll sit with him for a while, Bess. You go to bed. If he is ill for a few days, we’ll have to share the nursing and you need your rest too.’
‘So do you, miss, but have it your way. Just watch yourself if he starts to fight—and don’t let him shout out. Your brothers came in a few minutes ago and they’ve gone to their beds.’
‘‘Tis nearly morning. Where have they been all this time—and on a night like this?’
‘The storm blew itself out a while back,’ Bess said. ‘The darker the night the better for the “gentlemen”.’
‘I dare say it was some such business,’ Morwenna said and yawned behind her hand. ‘Go to bed, Bess. In a couple of hours it will be time to get up again.’
Morwenna sat in a solid oak-carved chair with a high back. She had made cushions for its seat and the centre splat had horsehair padding covered by tapestry and studded each side to make it comfortable. The first time Morwenna had brought a survivor to this room she’d installed the chair so that she would at least have some comfort as she watched over her patients. Mrs Harding had been very ill, but Morwenna had nursed her back to health and she’d been overwhelmed by gratitude when she was able to return to London and her husband.
‘We are cloth merchants, Morwenna,’ Mrs Harding had told her as she took an emotional farewell. ‘My husband will always be pleased to have you stay with us. If ever you should be in trouble, think of me, my dear, for I would do anything to help you.’
‘Thank you.’ Morwenna had smiled and kissed her cheek. ‘If ever I am in London, I shall seek you out, at least for a visit.’
Morwenna sighed at the memory. It was unlikely she would ever go to London. Her hopes of making a good marriage had gone when her mother died. Since her father’s death she had been little more than a servant in her half-brother’s house. Michael had resented the woman who had taken his dead mother’s place and she suspected that he might resent her, too.
She would not brood on her life no matter how hard or hopeless it might seem at times. While she had Jacques to make her smile she would find the courage to face each day, though there was little else to make her smile in this bleak house at the top of the cliffs.
Sitting down again, she studied the man in the bed. His hair had dried now and she saw it was dark blond. On the beach he’d looked colourless, but now there was a flush in his cheeks. When he’d opened his eyes for a moment she’d seen they were a greenish blue; his nose and forehead had a patrician look, which gave him a slightly forbidding expression, but his mouth was soft and sensual. She felt tempted to kiss him as he lay sleeping, her cheeks growing warm as she realised her own thoughts.
Was she so starved of love that she would consider lying with a stranger? He had beautiful strong limbs and there was not a part of him that she had not seen as she bathed him with the cooling water. A little smile touched her mouth. She’d nursed her brothers before this, so why was she behaving as if she’d never seen a man naked before?
Time passed and she closed her eyes for a while, woke and realised she’d slept, and then she looked at the bed. Her patient was still there, apparently sleeping peacefully. She’d thought he might have disappeared for surely she’d conjured him out of her dreams. Men like this one did not come into her life often. He was every bit as handsome and powerful a man as her brothers, but there was something about him that made her pulses race. Something about his mouth that made her want to kiss it.
Giving herself a mental scolding, Morwenna laughed softly. She was a fool even to consider such a thing—especially if this man had come here to spy on them.
‘Why are you laughing?’
Her eyes were drawn to the bed and she saw that he was looking at her. Getting up from her chair, she moved closer to the bed. He seemed to be awake, but was he still feverish? Sometimes patients appeared to be normal, but when you touched them they became violent and tried to fight you. Her brothers had often tried to get out of bed while still too ill to stand and she’d had to fight to keep them there.
‘I was thinking foolish thoughts,’ she said. ‘You were ill and I bathed you to take down the fever. Are you feeling better?’
‘I don’t know.’ He stared at her in bewilderment. ‘My head hurts like the devil. I was dreaming … I thought my mother …’
‘We carried you here from the beach. Your ship foundered on the rocks, sir. You have a nasty cut on your head.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Morwenna Morgan. I told you my name when I found you last night. For a moment you were conscious, as you are now, and then you fainted.’
‘Did I? I don’t recall.’ He frowned, his eyes moving about the room as if seeking something familiar. ‘I don’t remember anything. Where is this place?’
‘This is Deacon’s House. It belongs to my elder brother, Michael. We live on the Cornish coast. Ships are too often driven in on the cruel rocks in our cove. We do what we can to help the survivors and the villagers bury the dead.’
‘And then take what you can scavenge from the wreck—is that not the custom in these parts?’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘I do not know why I should remember that but nothing else.’
‘You cannot recall even your name?’
‘No.’ He drew a hand over his forehead, as if it pained him. ‘Is that usual after being washed up from the sea?’
‘Perhaps, though I have not known it to happen before,’ Morwenna said. ‘It may be the bang to your head. Have you truly no memory, sir—or any idea why you came here?’
‘I can’t remember anything.’
‘You must surely remember your own name? You called out things in your fever, personal things concerning your mother and other things that I couldn’t quite make out.’
‘Did I? If they haunted me, then they have left me now. Was there no clue to my identity?’
‘None. My brother found nothing in your clothing. Your coat was gone, abandoned or cast off perhaps as you tried to swim for the shore. You can recall nothing of the storm or how you came to our cove?’
‘No. My mind is a blank, there is nothing but the sea raging about me and then I opened my eyes and saw a beautiful face. She said her name was Morwenna Morgan … was that you?’
‘Yes, sir. It was. I found you in the inlet, which is away from the main beach. My brother Jacques helped me bring you here.’ Morwenna placed a hand on his forehead. He was still warm but cooler than before.
He threw back the covers, as if he would get up, then glanced down at himself, realising that he was naked. ‘My clothes?’
‘What’s left of them—your breeches and boots—are drying in the kitchen. Your shirt and coat were, I fear, lost to the sea—and there was nothing to identify you, no papers or even a ring on your hand. Your baggage must have been lost with the ship, but there was one small bag I found near where you lay. It is lying here on the window seat.’
‘Please bring it here,’ he said and made an effort to sit up but fell back with a moan. ‘My blasted head. Please open the bag for me and see what is inside. It may tell us something of who I am.’
Morwenna fetched the bag and brought it to the bed. Opening it, she found brushes, crayons, bottles of powder in different colours and some soggy boards that she knew might be used by an artist. There was also a small leather purse that felt quite heavy. She tipped the contents on to the bed and twenty gold coins tumbled out.
‘It would seem that you have some money and perhaps you are an artist, for these things must belong to an artist.’
‘Yes, so it would seem.’ He frowned. ‘Is there nothing else that bears my name?’
‘I don’t believe so.’ Morwenna felt something in a side pocket and insert
ed her fingers, drawing out a small metal token. It had writing on one side. She read the lettering and frowned. ‘I think you must be a gambler, sir, for this is a token from what would appear to be a gaming house in London.’
‘Let me see, please.’ He took the little token and studied it. It bore the words Harlands of London and was a token for five guineas. ‘It would seem that I have recently been in London, would it not?’
‘Yes, I think you must have been,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you won the money there at this place? There are no clues to your identity, but if you returned to London and asked someone might know you at this place.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ he said and closed his fingers over it with a kind of desperation. ‘I must hope that someone will tell me who I am.’
‘Do not despair just yet, sir,’ she said and smiled at him. Now that she suspected he might be an artist she was no longer afraid that he had been sent to spy on her brothers. ‘You had a nasty bang on your head and the loss of your memory may be temporary. In time it will return to you.’
‘Perhaps. You are good to be concerned for a stranger.’
‘I have helped others in similar circumstances, sir. I am glad to have been of service to you.’
‘Yet I should go,’ he said. ‘I must not be a burden on you. Pray turn your back, Mistress Morgan. Preferably leave the room. I need to relieve myself.’
‘Lie still and I shall bring you the chamberpot, sir.’
‘Turn away for your modesty.’ He put his legs over the side of the bed, touched the floor with his feet, then moaned and fell back. ‘Damn it, I’m as weak as a kitten.’
‘You have been shipwrecked, sir, and your head bled from the blow you received. You will feel dizzy at first. Lie back and I’ll give you the pot.’
Morwenna reached beneath the bed and brought out the chamberpot. She handed it to him and retreated to the other side of the room to gaze out of the window. The sun was coming up over the sea, turning it pink and orange; this morning it would be as if the storm had never been except for the wreckage on the beach and the man in her bed.