Secret Heart

by Speer, Flora

  “Thank you, Garit,” she said, aiming a wavering, tearful smile at him.

  At any other time she’d be thoroughly disgusted with herself for her devious words and her callous disregard of Garit’s feelings. But not now. The two men staring at her offered her best and, perhaps, her only hope of reaching Calean City alive. She knew she could not get there alone and she could never hope to reach King Henryk’s audience chamber without their help. To stop the clamoring of a conscience that threatened to undo her stern intentions, she reminded herself that they were using her, too. So she revealed a small portion of her story, and most of what she told them was the truth as she saw it.

  “What I remember,” she said, “is being dragged aboard a ship. At the time, I wasn’t sure what was happening because a moldy bag had been tied over my head. I could see nothing, though I could hear water slapping against a dock and through the reek of the filthy wool that blinded me, I could smell the sea.”

  “Where were you when this happened?” Roarke demanded.

  “Roarke, you promised not to interrupt,” Garit warned.

  “I promised nothing,” Roarke said. “You promised.”

  “If I knew the name of the port, I would tell you,” Jenia said. “But I don’t know it. In fact, at the time I was so confused and so weak that I wonder now if I was fed poppy syrup.”

  “Of course, you were,” Roarke said in the same voice she had heard from him last night, the voice that made clear he didn’t believe her assertions.

  “Let her speak,” Garit said with barely concealed impatience.

  “Very well.” Roarke consented with a look that warned Jenia he wouldn’t accept her story without more questions.

  “I was thrown into a small ship’s cabin, tossed onto the bunk, and the hood was pulled away so I could see,” Jenia said. “But my hands and feet were tied.”

  “Why tie you if you were drugged?” Roarke asked.

  “I don’t know!” she cried in exasperation. “Please, just be quiet and let me talk. I am hoping that if I tell the story to you exactly as I recall it, my thoughts will clear and the rest of my memories will return. Perhaps then I’ll know more.”

  “Go on, Lady Jenia,” Garit urged. “If Roarke interrupts you again, I promise to gag him until you have finished. Take your time.”

  “Thank you.” She paused to draw a deep breath, to prepare herself to remember what she’d much rather forget. “All I could think of was that I wanted to be untied, so I’d have a chance of fighting back if the men who stood around me tried to harm me. And, before you can ask, Roarke, yes, I would remember every one of them. They were four rough, bearded, unwashed sailors, but their faces, and the rancid smell of their bodies, is frighteningly clear to me as I sit here.

  “What I did,” she continued, “was insist that I had an urgent need to use a chamberpot, and for that my hands and feet must be freed. I feared they’d pay no attention to my plea, so I pointed out to them that they ought to hurry if they didn’t want to clean up a most unpleasant mess.”

  “That was very clever of you,” Garit said. “I don’t know many ladies who would be so daring.”

  “They argued among themselves that strangling was a messy business and they’d have less to clean up after I was dead if they agreed to my wishes while I was still alive. So they freed my hands and feet. But all of them stayed with me while I used the chamberpot. They said modesty didn’t matter to me any longer.

  “Then they informed me that they had decided to exceed the orders they’d been given. They were going to rape me – all four of them – and if I was still alive when they were finished, they’d strangle me as ordered and toss my body into the sea just as they were supposed to do.”

  “Dear heaven!” Garit exclaimed.

  “Why did they have to take you out to sea to murder you?” Roarke asked.

  “Isn’t that obvious?” she responded. “They wanted no sign of my death left on land to incriminate anyone who was involved. I had the impression that the ship was bound for a long voyage, perhaps to the lands south of the Sea of Alboran, and wouldn’t return to its home port for some time. They were going to dump me far out at sea.”

  “Who are you, that anyone who wanted you dead would have to take such precautions?” Roarke asked. “You must be a person of great importance – or of great wealth.”

  “I don’t know,” she insisted. “I wish I did. That knowledge would answer so many questions, wouldn’t it?”

  “Lady Jenia, it pains me to ask you,” Garit said, “and I am certain you find it disturbing to recall your captivity, but what happened? Obviously, you were not strangled.”

  Jenia continued her story, speaking in a low monotone, trying not to give way to tears or to the rage she still felt.

  “They stood me in the midst of them, in that tiny cabin, and they stripped off all of my clothes except my shift. They said they were saving that for last. First, they wanted to display me to the other sailors aboard the ship, to see what they would offer for a ride – for a few moments with me. They said they’d make a whore of me and they tore off the neck chain and the little earrings I was wearing.” She touched one still-sensitive earlobe. “I was so terrified, I became fearless. That sounds quite mad, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” Roarke said, surprising her. “That is the first thing you’ve told us that makes sense to me. It happens all the time to men in battle. Fear dissipates and a rush of excitement takes over, lending strength and courage to those who have nothing left to lose. Go on, Jenia. Tell us the rest of it.”

  “I’m not sure how I did it; my memories are only fragments, but somehow I managed to break free of them. The ship was heaving and rocking in the storm, so I suppose some of them lost their balance with only a little push from me, and I know they had been drinking ale. I could smell it on their breath. I remember screaming at them and trying to climb up the ladder to the deck while all those clutching hands pulled me back. And I knew what they would do to me if I didn’t get away from them.

  “Then, suddenly, I was on the deck and sliding toward the railing when a huge wave tilted the ship onto its side. I grabbed the rail and hauled myself over it. Someone caught my wrist and tried to drag me back. I saw his face and in that moment I knew drowning would be a far kinder death than what those men had planned for me. I was going to die anyway; I preferred to die before they dishonored me.” She paused to take several breaths in hope of calming her rapid heartbeats.

  “So, you went into the sea,” Roarke said in a strange, quiet voice. “Why didn’t you drown?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I cannot swim, but at least I had sense enough to hold my breath when the sea closed over me. The water was swirling and churning and it seemed to buoy me up, so I could occasionally catch my breath.

  “I honestly don’t know how I survived,” she said, seeing doubt on Roarke’s face and amazement on Garit’s more kindly features. “I cannot remember much except that I fought the waves for what seemed like hours, though it may not have been very long at all. When at last I felt sand beneath my knees and hands, I started to crawl. I wasn’t thinking; I just wanted to get away from the waves that kept dragging me back to the sea. I kept crawling until I could go no farther. I slept then, or lost consciousness. When I woke up, I saw that I was on a beach and I began walking. That’s when you found me,” she finished, looking at Roarke.

  She couldn’t tell if he believed her, or not. She hadn’t told them the entire story, of course. She would save the worst part, the dungeon and near starvation and bloody death to recount during her audience with the king.

  “And that’s it?” Roarke asked. “That’s all you can remember?”

  “Roarke, have a heart!” Garit cried. “Hasn’t she told us enough?”

  “Not by half. We still don’t know why she was abducted, or who ordered her murdered,” Roarke said. “Or, who she is.”

  “I’m so sorry that I cannot recall anything more,” Jenia whispered, keeping
her face lowered, so he wouldn’t look too closely at her and guess at the lies and half truths. She longed to tell him everything, to bare her soul to him and to Garit and be done with it. But she dared not trust them completely. Her quest was too important for her to take such a risk. She had to reach King Henryk before she revealed all she knew.

  “It’s a very strange story,” Roarke said.

  “I know it is.” Jenia sighed, feeling limp after telling it and wishing she could cry, but refusing to give way to tears. After she had spoken to King Henryk in the presence of his nobles, then she’d be free to weep. Or not. She rather thought she’d choose to hold her head high instead, to face down the villain who had caused so much pain and death to innocent souls. Yes, defiance was preferable to weak tears.

  “My dear lady,” Garit said, “I cannot begin to describe how greatly I admire your courage, your fortitude in the face of danger and dishonor. Your story is worthy of a noble martyr.”

  “Leave off, Garit,” Roarke exclaimed with a sound of disgust. “We have only Jenia’s word for it that the tale she tells is the truth. Now, don’t reach for your sword and make a great fuss.

  “Jenia,” he said, turning to her, “you admit your wits are scrambled, rather like a broken egg. May we rely on that much, at least?”

  “I have told you the truth as I see it,” Jenia said. Noting the look of fury on Garit’s face, she attempted to calm the rising dispute between the men. “However, you are correct to say that I may be mistaken in some details. What I do not mistake is my fear of being violated by force and the fact that I leapt from a ship into the sea. If you can think of some other reason why I would have taken such a desperate action, I wish you would tell me what that reason is.”

  Her eyes blazed at him like golden flames and Roarke knew with desolate certainty that every word she had spoken was true. The problem was, she hadn’t revealed everything she knew about her peculiar abduction onto a ship, or the reason why anyone would want her dead, or, most important of all, who she was. So long as she insisted that she couldn’t remember, he didn’t see much he could do to force the truth from her. He decided a diversion was needed before Garit lost his temper entirely.

  “We still have a long ride ahead of us if we are to reach Nozay by this evening,” he said, looking from Jenia’s fiery eyes to Garit’s frowning face. “I suggest that we set aside our questions for the moment and continue on our way.”

  Chapter 4

  Nozay was even more secluded than Roarke and Garit had promised. The manor lay at the end of an ill-defined road that wound for miles though an uninhabited wilderness. The area was so thickly overgrown with trees and underbrush that they were forced to ride in single file.

  As they progressed a thick fog rose from the ground until all Jenia could see was the silhouettes of the closest trees on either side of the path and the gravel beneath her horse’s hooves. She could hear Roarke’s horse ahead of her and Garit’s behind, but she could barely make out their figures through the mysterious gloom.

  Then, suddenly, the fog drifted away, the sun came out, and they were in a wide, open area. Jenia guessed the space had been cleared at some time in the distant past, leaving no cover to conceal would-be attackers, in much the same way as castles always sat on open ground. She looked around and was pleasantly surprised at what she beheld.

  The setting sun shone golden upon one of the apple orchards so common to the southern Plain of Ishi. The apple trees were planted a safe distance away from a high stone wall that encircled and protected the manor house and its outbuildings.

  As they approached the open gate, Jenia caught her first glimpse of the manor. The house itself was low and rambling, constructed of the same creamy stone as the surrounding wall. To her weary gaze the complex of buildings appeared neat and well cared for, a safe haven far from the places where men plotted murder and thievery.

  They were stopped at the gate for only a moment before the alert man-at-arms on duty there recognized Roarke and Garit and invited them to enter.

  “Lord Giles will be glad to see you again,” the man said with a smile. He sent a young lad running to inform the lord of the manor that he had visitors and then handed the guests over to two grooms who hurried forward to take the horses. A few squires and older men paused in the outer courtyard to look at the new arrivals and some of them called out greetings.

  Jenia fell off Roarke’s mount and into Garit’s arms, where she rested for a time. She needed steadying, for she hadn’t been on a horse for more than half a year and her back and thighs were protesting the unaccustomed exercise.

  Meanwhile, Roarke, having dismounted immediately after Jenia and having cast what looked to her like an irritated glance at Garit holding her close, strode ahead of his companions and through a heavy wooden door into the main house.

  “Take my arm, my lady,” Garit offered, finally releasing her from his grasp. “I can see that you are worn out after so long a ride.”

  By the time Jenia and Garit caught up with Roarke in the large hall of the manor, he was being embraced by a tall, white-haired man whose lined face exhibited several scars which Jenia guessed were the relics of past battles. To Jenia’s bemusement Roarke was returning the older man’s embrace with a ready smile and a hearty laugh that was most unlike the Roarke she knew.

  “Here is Lord Giles,” Garit said, leading Jenia to join the pair. “He’s the best master any squire ever served.”

  Roarke turned at Garit’s words. His smile faded and his laughter ended as soon as he saw Jenia’s hand on Garit’s arm.

  Lord Giles stared at her, his eyes going wide as he took in her woolen peasant’s gown and plain linen headscarf. His gaze lingered on her face for a long moment before he blinked and turned to Garit. In that moment Jenia recognized him as a man who could work magic, but who held his ability under strict control.

  “My dear boy, how glad I am to see you’ve found her at last,” Lord Giles said to Garit. “You are welcome here, as always, and so is your lady.”

  “I am not Lady Chantal,” Jenia hastened to correct him. She spoke too loudly because, just for a moment, she longed to receive the welcome due to her true rank and to accept that welcome with the grace and good manners she had been taught at a young age. She was aware of Roarke’s frown and it pained her to watch her host’s smile falter at her rude words. She attempted to explain herself to him, though she was finding it more and more difficult to keep her many lies properly ordered in her mind. “At least, I don’t think I’m Lady Chantal. I am not certain, you see.”

  Lord Giles’ expression told her that he did not see at all, but she sensed that he wasn’t going to probe her mind to uncover the truth about her until she was willing. Jenia was unable to invent another story on the spur of the moment that would not conflict with what she had already told Roarke and Garit. She was so embarrassed by her failure that she actually felt gratitude for Roarke’s sarcastic intervention.

  “The lady calls herself Jenia, and claims she has lost the memory of her former life,” Roarke explained.

  “I suppose that means you will all have an interesting tale to recount in private later, after we have eaten,” Lord Giles said. A smile softened his face, making him appear much younger and bringing a sparkle of good humor to his eyes. “Be warned, dear lads and my lady; I expect to be well entertained in return for the hospitality I offer.”

  The words contained an invitation rather than a threat, and Jenia relaxed a little. She was given one of the two available guest chambers for her own use, with Roarke and Garit sharing the second room. A young boy brought hot water so she could wash. Since she had no other clothes to change into, her preparations for the meal did not take long. She returned to the hall before either Roarke or Garit arrived there.

  She found Lord Giles clad in a long blue robe, sitting on a bench pulled close to the fire. Squires and men-at-arms crowded the room, but they politely made way for her and Lord Giles saw her at once. His welcoming smile made
her think that he had been waiting just for her.

  “Will you join me, my lady?” he asked, rising to take the hand she offered. “The heat will not be unpleasant for you? Even in late summer the evenings can be chilly, and I find the fire eases the aches in my aging bones.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She sat at one end of the bench, allowing him the end closer to the flames. With a nod that acknowledged her thoughtful gesture, he resumed his seat.

  “Are you annoyed to be compared to Lady Chantal?” he asked at once. “Don’t be. It’s a compliment, you know. She is a delightful and charming creature. Garit is deeply in love with her.”

  “So I understand,” Jenia murmured, looking into the fire and not at Lord Giles. She was growing weary of so many lies and she especially hated lying to this man, whom she had liked at first sight.

  “I trust you are careful of Garit’s feelings,” Lord Giles said. “He has always been an open-hearted young man. But if his heart were to be broken and his affections were to be cruelly rejected, I fear he’d close in on himself and become a cold and distant man.”

  “Like Roarke?” she asked.

  “Ah. So that’s it. I wondered.”

  The man beside her made an abrupt movement with one hand and Jenia looked away from the fire and into his eyes. They were pale blue, kind, and very wise. Too wise for her comfort and too compelling for her to look away.

  “Roarke has good reason to be as reserved and distrustful as he is,” Lord Giles said. “The last few years have not been easy for him.”

  “I know nothing about his life,” Jenia responded. “He doesn’t talk about himself. He’s much too busy interrogating me. Roarke doesn’t like me. He doesn’t trust me. And he doesn’t believe that I cannot remember who I am.”

  “Now, I wonder why that should be,” Lord Giles said quietly, his mild blue gaze still locked with hers.

  Jenia experienced a most dangerous desire to tell him everything and ask his advice. She had scarcely known her late father, who had been a fierce and dedicated warrior, a man frighteningly distant toward his daughter on the rare occasions when he was at home. A warrior preferred sons whom he could mold in his own image. Daughters were not wanted or appreciated. Whether a daughter married or retreated to a beguinage, she required a dowry and that meant depleting a nobleman’s wealth.