by Myles, Eden
“My…fiancé?”
“The Lord of Blackstone Hall, yes,” he answered, and I sensed a hesitation in his voice and a shadow lurking in his pale grey eyes. “Lord Elric Rothschild. Now rest, my dear. He will be in to see you very soon.”
* * *
Chapter III
But I couldn’t rest. How could I rest after what Dr. Von Holtz had told me?
I had a fiancé. Elric Rothschild. Lord Elric Rothschild. Did that mean I would seen be Lady Rothschild? I supposed it did.
I pushed the food around my plate that Franz had brought me and tried out the unfamiliar names on my still sticky tongue. Olivia. Elric. Tristan Von Holtz. I looked into the mirror and said them over and over. My voice sounded rough, like I had been asleep, but I was getting better at saying them.
My face was only a little familiar to me. But then, Dr. Von Holtz had said I was very sick for a long time.
“Lord Elric Rothschild,” I enunciated. “Lady Oliva Rothschild.”
The names still didn’t mean anything to me.
Early the next day, Dr. Von Holtz came back and asked me if I was strong enough to stand and get dressed. I was excited to see him, until I found out why. He said that my fiancé would be here soon, that I should be proper when I greeted him.
I tried to stand up, but found I swayed and quickly started to fall. Dr. Von Holtz had to carry me back to bed. “We’ll do our best without you moving from bed, Olivia,” he said.
I nodded. He was my doctor, after all.
He helped me into a velvet, wine-colored dressing gown and helped me brush my hair in the hand mirror. He showed me some small jars of rouge for my lips and cheeks. I put a little on and he said I looked very pretty. I felt proud to have pleased him.
He then went to fetch Elric Rothschild.
I sat against the pillows, nervously wringing my hands. I hoped my fiancé liked me. But then I realized how silly that sounded. Would he have wanted to marry me if he didn’t like me?
A few moments later, Dr. Von Holtz and Lord Rothschild came through the door.
I felt my spirits fall a little. Lord Rothschild was as tall as Dr. Von Holtz, but where the doctor looked on me warmly, Rothschild bearing was kingly and aloof…cold. He was much older than the Doctor with his pale, icy skin and long white hair. His face was deeply lined and faintly cruel, and he was dressed from head to toe in black, with a bloodred neckcloth and a black diamond set in silver upon his breast. I shrank as he approached the bed, wondering why I would have agreed to marry such a frightening man.
“Olivia…?” he asked. His voice was deep and faintly threatening.
I didn’t answer. I was too afraid to. I looked at Dr. Von Holtz instead.
Rothschild became agitated. “Why isn’t she responding? What’s the matter with her, Doctor?”
“The process is a delicate one,” Dr. Von Holtz explained. “And the Device is hardly perfect, as I have explained to you in the past. There are bound to be small defects…”
“Never mind that,” Rothschild cut him off. He turned his piercing, winter-pale eyes on me. “What does she remember?”
“So far? Nothing of her life…before.”
“Nothing?” Rothschild glared at my doctor. “Nothing at all?”
“Nothing seems familiar to her, no,” Von Holtz returned.
I half expected him to cower under Rothschild’s wrath, but he stood against it the way a man stands against a storm when he has no choice but to endure it. He shifted a little so he was centered between Rothschild and myself, as if to protect me. “But, my Lord…you must give her time. She may remember many things, but the trauma of…everything…may delay such memories. Try to be reasonable.”
Rothschild’s hands clenched into fists. There was one bad moment when I felt sure the lord would lash out. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he seemed calmer, more focused, though no less uncompromising. “Fine,” he faintly snarled. “We’ll give her time.”
“My lord, is that so much to ask to have her with us? To have her…well again?”
Rothschild ignored Dr. Von Holtz. Gathering his black cloak close, he sat down on the edge of my bed. The way he loomed me over made me want to skirt backward. I felt like less than a woman and more a valuable horse to be purchased at market. But there was nowhere for me to go.
“Hello, my dear,” he said in a softer, calmer voice, though the ice remained, unbroken. “You must remember me. It’s Elric.” He took my hand. It was cold as ice. “This is your bedchamber, Olivia, in our home, Blackstone Hall. You must remember.”
I tried not to shudder and nodded my head gregariously, not because I remembered anything, but just to placate this man’s terrible presence. I did not want him taking out his disappointment on me—or, more likely, on Dr. Von Holtz.
“Perhaps,” I forced out of my throat, “I remember you a little…Elric.”
He looked almost happy, though his facial expression changed very little, as if it were carved in immovable white stone. Then his eyes darkened. “What’s happened to her eyes?” he said to Dr. Von Holtz on closer inspection of me.
Dr. Von Holtz had moved very close to us, hovering at my bedside as if he might have to intervene…as if afraid Rothschild might harm me. He said now, “It’s the Device. It did the best it could, my lord. The fact that she’s here now, alive, is a miracle in and of itself…”
“There are no miracles where you are concerned, Tristan. That’s what you told me when we first met. There is only science. Well, it looks like your science is imperfect.”
He was sounding agitated again. I looked to Dr. Von Holtz for rescue. It hurt my pride to do so. I had a feeling that whatever kind of woman I was before my accident, it was not the kind that turned to men for help. But I was too weak to help myself at present; I had to rely on Dr. Von Holtz to help me until I could help myself.
“My lord,” Dr. Von Holtz said in a voice used to calm horses and irate children, “it’s merely a small defect. Surely it weighs nothing against the fact that Olivia is here now, among us. Alive.”
Rothschild sighed and stood up. “I’ve no idea if she’s my Olivia, Doctor. For the time being, call her Livia, at least until she remembers who she is…and who I am. You have two weeks. If she remembers…if she comes to feel for me now what she felt for me then…then she shall be my Olivia. If not…well…”
I saw worry and anticipation in equal measure in Dr. Von Holtz’s eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it prudently. “I owe you much, my lord. Everything. As you say it, so shall it be done.”
* * *
Chapter IV
It was difficult to sleep. I kept thinking about what Lord Rothschild and Dr. Von Holtz had discussed.
What lay in store for me if I did not please the lord of this house? If I did not remember who I was? Was I really so very…expendable?
I tossed and turned, trying desperately to remember who I was, but my mind kept drawing a blank on such things. No matter how hard I tried, I could remember nothing past awakening in the Doctor’s lab. Seeing Dr. Von Holtz’s face.
That memory stayed with me. Haunted me.
He looked so scholarly and aloof with his steely grey hair and glasses, but there was a moment when he was observing me while Rothschild was making his threats that made my heart clench up inside me. It made my stomach quiver, and when I brushed my hands over my body beneath the comforter, I realized the tiny buds of my breasts were hard.
I thought about the Doctor as my hands wandered down my body to the suddenly throbbing place between my legs. I imagined him holding me down, kissing the side of my neck. The thought made me drench myself and I felt a flash of embarrassment. Should I be thinking such thoughts, if I was to be married to another man?
With dawn still hours away, I finally decided to try standing and walking on my own again. I was tired of being sick, of being abed.
I slid carefully out from under the bedclothes and tes
ted the strength in my legs. I felt stronger already. I tried standing—only to stumble and fall to my knees. But after two more tries, I found myself standing upright. I still felt dizzy and weak, but I ignored it, and, determined, took a few tentative steps, aiming for the shuttered window directly across from the bed.
It seemed to take a long time, but slowly I made my shuffling way across the floor. When I reached the window seat, I nearly collapsed with exhaustion upon the cushions. Rest. I had to rest. I sat there, breathing slowly in and out, in and out.
There were swords and coats of arms on the walls. A portrait above the mantel depicted a knight on a black horse, his sword raised to the dawn. Bookshelves were built right into the flagstone wall, but when I examined the titles there, I found none of them familiar—nor very interesting. Most were heavy tomes covering court etiquette, sewing, and other womanly pursuits. I stared at the covers, the titles, trying to recall why I should love books about sitting around all day doing petit point. The portrait and swords were much more interesting, as far as I was concerned.
If this was my room, as Rothschild had said, shouldn’t I remember my own books? I set them back on their shelves untouched, then turned toward the shutters.
Opening them allowed cold but refreshing night air into the room. The winds sung and made the candles in the room gutter and a few go out. No matter. It helped me see better.
I slept in one of the higher towers in the keep. It gave me a panoramic view of the whole kingdom—the far mountains, the tiny hamlet laid out at the foot of this place, my home. Blackstone Hall, Rothschild had called it.
We were situated on a high rock surrounded on all sides by a deep, dark crevice. A single and must too spindly-looking bridge connected us to the main landmass. We were more like a little island with no water than anything else. From the standpoint of a conquering warlord, the Hall was virtually inaccessible by enemies, and easily defendable. I could easily see why Rothschild had chosen it as his stronghold.
I shook my head, wondering why I should even be thinking these thoughts. They were not the thoughts of a woman who sewed and worried over court etiquette.
I looked up at the full moon and the flocks of stars far above. The night was bright and clear enough to make my eyes tear. The old moon rode high over the hall, gravid and as solid as a gold coin in the sky. It, like everything else in this strange place, told me nothing about myself.
Well, then, if my life hung in the balance, and I had to please Lord Rothschild to find my place once more, then I would just have to rediscover who I was.
* * *
Chapter V
“I should like to examine you now, if I may,” Dr. Von Holtz told me the following morning.
He stood at the foot of my bed in his dark suit and necktie while Franz loaded up the tea table in the corner with my breakfast of tea, soft eggs and biscuits. Dr. Von Holtz glanced over at Franz, and he nodded and quickly exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
I sat up in bed and said, “An examination?”
He looked at me, his handsome face creased with his carefully controlled concern. His mass of grey hair, which fell in waves around his ears, looked mussed, which was very un-Dr. Von Holtz-like. Usually he was immaculate from head to toe. But then I saw him run his hands nervously through it. “Lord Rothschild asked that I make certain everything is…in order.”
I blushed but said, “Yes, of course, Doctor.”
He raised his brows in surprise. “I thought for certain you would object, my dear.”
“I trust you,” I told him in all honesty. “You’re my doctor.”
He smiled sadly at this and came to sit at my bedside, setting a heavy black medical bag on the chair beside the bed. His grey eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a powerful sense of safety and well-being, as though he would let nothing untoward happen to me.
“You are a very good patient, Olivia,” he said.
“You’re a very good doctor…Doctor.”
He looked at me archly, as if I were teasing him. I suppose I was, a little.
When he opened his bag, I realized he had a myriad of devices within. He chose something that was shaped like a tiny glass hammer, but with a lens in it. He cupped my cheek, and looked into both my eyes with the aid of the little magnifying device. He checked my mouth and tongue, then ran his large, strong fingers all along my neck and upper shoulders.
His touch made me want to shiver, but I forced myself to remain absolutely still. Finally, he reached the top button of my nightgown. “May I remove this for the next part of the examination?”
I nodded. “Do you think there is anything…wrong with me?”
“Such as?”
“Anything. Rothschild did not like my eyes.”
“Rothschild is a fool,” he said as he unbuttoned my nightgown.
His words surprised me. I shifted around a little in the bed as he slipped the soft white fabric over my head, and blushed when he asked me to lie back for him. The feeling of being so exposed, entirely at his mercy, overwhelmed me.
He looked me over, and I searched for any disapproval in his eyes, but he kept his expression blanked. He then went over my whole body, touching me softly but with deft, learned fingers. He was careful not to touch me anywhere I might deem too indecent, but even so, before very long, my nipples had puckered and darkened.
He pretended not to notice. He used another device from his bag to listen to my heart. He tapped along my belly, and ran his fingers along the muscles of my lower stomach. I watched his hands, the way my body responded to him, muscles rippling, flesh twitching. He asked me to lift my hips a little, to spread my legs for him. My face flushed with humiliation and excitement.
He stroked my upper leg to calm me, asked me again. I scissored my legs open obediently. I saw the sternness of his face weaken just a second...
“Is everything…I mean, am I whole?” I asked. “Correct?”
“Lift your legs a little…yes, like that.”
My heart thudded and my thoughts were crowded with worries as he examined me. His fingers skimmed over the seam of sex, gently parting the damp folds there. I stifled a moan at the feeling of his touch so close to my suddenly aching core.
“I’m going to touch you inside, just a little ways, to see if you respond.”
Two of his fingers stretched me as he hooked them inside my body, rubbed gently. The pressure was instant and overwhelming. It made me lift my hips compulsively off the bed as he tested my response to his touch. I gasped at the easy way he played my body.
“You’re beautiful, Livia. Perfect. Everything seems to be in order.” I watched a small war play out on his face as he struggled not to notice the wetness on his fingers when he removed them.
As he dried his hands on a handkerchief, I realized something very odd. I had no navel, just a perfectly flat plain, no indention at all. When I said as much to him, he smiled and said that it was because of the accident I’d had.
“What kind of accident was it? I don’t remember it,” I told him.
“It wasn’t pleasant, Livia, but you came through it just fine.” Smiling gently, he pulled the sheets up to cover me. “I’ll let you get dressed now. And if you feel up to it, after breakfast, I’ll take you for a walk out in the garden.”
* * *
Chapter VI
The garden was lush and beautiful and flowering, with hundreds of different flowers. We sat at a small table, the Doctor and I, surrounded by giant butterfly bushes busily attracting all manner of winged insects. The long stalks of purplish flowers nodded their heads under the bright sunshine and a bee dashed by my face on some errand or other. I sipped my tea, unperturbed.
Dr. Von Holtz looked over at me from his side of the table and said, “You aren’t afraid?”
“Of a little bee,” I said, grinning over the edge of my teacup. “Of course not. What can a little bee do to me?”
“Sting?” he suggested.
Since the exam, something ha
d changed between us. There was an intimacy there that hadn’t existed only the day before. I could tease him, and he felt comfortable teasing me in return.
He was dressed in a suit of dark wool, very formal, with a necktie of grey satin. Always the same outfit. Always neat, but not very colorful. He wore it well, but I thought how such a well-built and handsome man should occasionally indulge in finery and colors. Then again, the dress I wore was a mass of shining red and black damask, quite heavy and not at all comfortable.
I found it difficult to believe I had worn such ridiculous clothing, yet it had been in my wardrobe. I plucked at my too-high collar and said, “Being stung can’t be any worse than being trussed up like this. I feel like a bird to be basted and set in the oven.”
“You are uncomfortable?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” I sipped my tea and said, “Doctor, what kind of a woman was I before the accident?”
Dr. Von Holtz froze. “I didn’t rightly know you well, then. Lord Rothschild only summoned me after your accident.”
“You’ve known Lord Rothschild a while, yes?”
“Yes,” he agreed uneasily. “We met many years ago when I inquired about some anatomy books of his.”
“But you’ve stayed close over the years?”
“We’ve corresponded.”
“Then he must have written about me.” I gave him a desperate look. “You must know something about the type of women I was, what I liked, how I acted.”
He thought long and hard before responding. “Lord Rothschild says you’re very proper.”
I stared down at my teacup, gripped in my white-gloved hand. It was shaking a little. “I can’t remember being proper. Or improper, for that matter.”
“Do you have some memory of the garden? You loved the garden.”
I looked about at all the flowering rosebushes, the butterflies flitting here and there. Everything was so very pretty, so prosaic…so foreign. I thought and thought, but it was like I was seeing it for the first time. “Nothing,” I confessed. “I remember nothing.”