A Knight to Remember Read online

  “Do you think it belongs to him? That stranger, I mean.”

  “I expect so.” Aislinn smiled. “’Tis all the more reason to believe he is a nobleman. Only a wealthy lord could afford so fine a jewel.”

  The older woman’s lips pursed. “He could have stolen it from some unsuspecting lord, who then pursued him and took his garments, knowing the emerald was somewhere on his person.”

  “A good guess,” Aislinn said. “However, the lord would have searched his clothes while the stranger was still wearing them. Why would a rich lord need to take another man’s garments? That does not explain the stranger’s nakedness.”

  “Ah! But, not finding the jewel in the thief’s clothes would have made the lord angry. Enraged, he would have demanded to know the emerald’s whereabouts. When the thief refused to comply, the lord ordered his men to hold him at sword point and strip him to humiliate him. Then, his lordship told his lackeys to beat him senseless.”

  Aislinn looked down at the jewel. “’Tis possible.”

  “More than possible,” Gilly said, triumph in her voice.

  “When he wakes, we can ask him about the emerald.”

  Eyes narrowing, the older woman added, “We will also make sure there are no valuable objects nearby. No sense putting temptation within his reach.”

  Aislinn laughed. “Gilly—”

  “Ready, milady,” Tilford called from the road.

  Aislinn slipped the gold chain over her head and tucked the emerald out of sight, under her gown. “The sooner we see the man’s wounds tended, the sooner we will have answers.”

  The older woman shook her head. “If he does not survive the journey—”

  “He will,” Aislinn said firmly. “He has to.”

  Chapter Two

  “Will he be all right?” Aislinn asked. She drew in a steadying breath, for the smell of herbal ointment was pungent and cloying in the small room at the back of the healer’s cottage.

  “I believe he will, milady.” Slim and red-haired, Larina was old enough to be Aislinn’s mother. She straightened away from the cot in the center of the room and wiped her hands on a cloth stained with blood and herbs. She glanced at Aislinn. “Come. We will speak outside.”

  As the healer walked past, Aislinn took a last look at the wounded stranger, half-reclining beneath a white linen sheet, his torso propped up by feather pillows. The red marks from the nettle stings were fading, but his features were pale. A strand of dark hair curled inward along his cheekbone. She longed to hurry over and gently sweep the hair back from his face, but ’twould be unnecessary, and foolish. She tightened her fingers into a fist and followed Larina.

  The door to the back chamber clicked shut. The outer room consisted of a small kitchen with upper and lower rows of wooden cupboards, a chopping table, a sturdy oak trestle table with benches on either side, and a cooking fire within a ring of stones. Bunches of herbs hung drying from hooks in the ceiling; they swayed in the late-morning draft coming in through the main door, which stood open, allowing a view of the busy market outside.

  “Were you able to speak to the sheriff about the wounded man?” the healer asked. She crossed to the chopping table to wash her hands in a large earthenware bowl.

  “Aye. Luckily, I did not have to search far to find him. He and his men were arresting a thief who’d stolen a bag of expensive cloves from a merchant. The sheriff took all of the details and agreed to follow us when we journeyed home today, so we could point out to him the exact place that we found the injured man.”

  “Good. He is thorough in his duties, our sheriff.” Gesturing to a cooking pot nearby, Larina asked, “Would you like an herbal infusion, milady?”

  “A soothing drink would be most welcome.”

  “Please, sit.”

  Aislinn loosened the gold pin holding together the edges of her cloak. When she removed the garment, the pendant’s weight shifted, a reminder of the emerald she’d found.

  Larina hung the pot over the fire to boil, and Aislinn glanced out at the men, women, and children passing by. Near two middle-aged men—noblemen, she guessed, from their tailored and embroidered garments—she could see the stall where Gilly stood, chatting with a woman and her three children. Gilly pointed to the goat milk soaps, lotions, honey hand cream, and herbal sachets that maidservants had made to sell today.

  Aislinn smiled, remembering the excitement of the two young women whose families lived and worked at the castle. Several sennights ago, the women had brought her their special hand cream to try. They’d sworn it worked wonders on their dry, work-worn hands, and indeed, it had left Aislinn’s hands wondrously soft and smooth.

  When the women had said they wanted to make batches of their cream and sell it to help raise funds to maintain the castle, Aislinn’s eyes had filled with tears of gratitude. She’d hugged them both and readily agreed, with a portion of the profits going back to the women to provide for their families. They loved making the cream—the giggling and excited chattering coming from the kitchens had warmed Aislinn’s heart—and she appreciated the chance to earn more coin for the castle coffers.

  Part of that appreciation was purely selfish. She couldn’t deny it. She hoped the venture thrived and that it provided enough revenue so she wouldn’t have to marry again. Most of all, so she wouldn’t have to wed a man she didn’t love, chosen for her by King John. A man such as Lord Nolan Riverwell.

  She sighed wearily, and her gaze fell to the box she’d set by the wall near the room where the stranger lay. Two cloth-wrapped pairs of elegant pewter candlesticks, both wedding gifts, rose out of the top. Beside them was the small wooden chest, carved and inlaid with silver, a gift from a visiting nobleman years ago. Hopefully, she’d raise enough this time to pay the upcoming crown taxes, plus hire a carpenter to do some renovations to the pantry and build new doors for the armory and stables, as well as repair the leaks in the—

  “Milady?”

  Larina held out an earthenware mug.

  “Thank you,” Aislinn said, taking the offering. She breathed in the steam perfumed with the scents of rose hips, chamomile, and mint.

  Carrying over her own mug, the healer sat on the opposite bench and studied Aislinn, her brows drawing together. “You look tired, milady.”

  Aislinn sipped the infusion. “I have a great deal to think about.”

  “Including the man you helped today.”

  “Aye.”

  “You found him lying by the side of the road? Naked?”

  The memory of first setting eyes upon him—his taut, muscled arse, in particular—flitted through Aislinn’s mind, and she fought a renewed blush. “That is right. I doubt he traveled through the forest on foot, but if he rode on horseback, his mount was taken, too. There was naught on him to give us any idea who he is, or why he was attacked.” She set her mug down and reached for the gold chain. “Well, except for this.” She drew the chain over her head and laid the emerald on the table, the chain trailing like a delicate, gleaming snake.

  “God’s teeth!” the healer breathed. Eyes wide, she leapt up, shut the door, and returned to Aislinn, bringing with her a couple of lit candles. She set the candles on the table. “I know you have men-at-arms protecting you today, but still, we would not want any thieves to see that you have such a treasure.” She sat again, picked up the pendant, and studied it. “’Tis an exquisite piece. An emerald of such a size is surely rare and very valuable.”

  “I believe so,” Aislinn agreed.

  “Mayhap ’tis a piece brought back from the East? Plunder taken by knights on Crusade?”

  “I was thinking the same.” Aislinn fought a bittersweet pang of remorse. Matthew might have guessed the jewel’s origins. He’d thrived on knowledge, on learning things that were new to him. ’Twas why he’d bought so many costly, leather-bound tomes and had spent long days poring through them—days, she’d come to realize since his death, that he should have spent managing the estate and getting the accounts in order. Resentment
flared, but she pushed it down, refusing to think ill of her husband now. ’Twould accomplish naught.

  Larina ran her fingers over the stone. “The man you found could have been a Crusader. His body is strong, like a knight’s. His skin is marked by scars, as though he has seen many violent battles.”

  “True,” Aislinn said. “Yet, ’tis a woman’s jewel.”

  “Either she was traveling with him and was taken by those who overpowered him, or ’twas a gift for his lady love. He might have been on his way to woo her.”

  Aislinn stifled a twinge of jealousy and rubbed her thumb along the smooth rim of her mug. “’Tis yet another mystery that will not be answered till he wakes and tells us what happened.”

  Fingering the pendant’s chain, Larina said, “He woke while I was alone with him, when you were speaking with the sheriff.”

  Aislinn stilled. “He did?”

  “Only briefly.”

  Aislinn’s pulse kicked against her breastbone. “What did he say? Did he tell you his name?” Was it Hugh?

  Larina raised a cautioning hand. “He was in great pain. The discomfort must have woken him, for I was cleaning his wound at the time. He seemed confused, disoriented—”

  “Wondering where he was?”

  “Aye. Also, he was uncertain as to what had befallen him, when, and why.”

  “Surely he at least knew his name.”

  Regret shadowed the healer’s gaze. “I did ask him. He did not remember.”

  Aislinn struggled against crushing dismay. “Are you saying…he has lost his memory?”

  “I believe so. ’Tis not uncommon after a blow to the head. He was hit quite hard.”

  A sigh burned Aislinn’s throat. Her gaze strayed to the closed door, behind which lay the man who remained a stranger. Was he Hugh or not?

  “I gave him a strong tonic,” Larina said, “a brew made of poppy and mandrake to ease his pain and help him sleep. He will need a lot of rest over the coming days and constant care. And”—the healer met Aislinn’s gaze—“I am afraid he cannot stay here. I have too many other patients to tend.”

  Excitement, tinged with dread, raced through Aislinn, and she curled her toes inside her shoes. If the man was Hugh, she wanted to be sure he had the best of care. For the friendship and love they’d shared years ago, she’d gladly grant him that help.

  If he wasn’t Hugh…if he turned out to be an outlaw…well, she’d ensure that no harm came to her or any of the other folk at her keep.

  “I will take him with me. He will be a guest at my castle and will receive good care.”

  Smiling, the healer rose from the bench. “I will gather some salve for you to apply to his wounds and tonic to dull his pain.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Be sure not to wear a fine gown, though, while using the salve. It might stain your clothes.” In the kitchen, Larina picked up several pots crowded together on the counter.

  Aislinn reached for her coin purse tied to the embroidered girdle slung about her hips. “Tell me what I owe you.”

  “No need to pay me, milady.”

  Her eyes widening in surprise, Aislinn glanced up. “I must pay you. ’Tis only right.”

  “Well, then, you can give me a pot of that lovely hand cream you are selling in the market. I have heard from several women who have bought it that ’tis excellent for restoring overworked hands.”

  Aislinn laughed. “’Tis a marvelous cream indeed. I will fetch you some.”

  With a grin in return, the healer began spooning thick, greenish ointment from a large, brown earthenware pot into a smaller one.

  “His memory loss,” Aislinn said, sliding the gold chain around her neck once again. “You said ’twould last a short while.”

  “It depends on the patient and the injury. His memory could return in a day or two.”

  Aislinn’s breath fluttered. A day or two, and she’d know if the stranger was Hugh. Trying to control a surge of anticipation, she concentrated on donning her cloak and refastening the pin that held it closed.

  When she looked again at the healer, the woman’s face was solemn. “I must warn you, though, it might take longer than a few days. It could be weeks. There is no way to know for certain.”

  * * *

  Carrying the box of pewter and the wooden chest, Aislinn walked through Crannley’s crowded market. Striding beside her, the rolled tapestry under his arm, Tilford kept one hand on the dagger at his belt, a warning for any thugs who might be hovering nearby, thinking to waylay her for her goods.

  Aislinn sidestepped three grubby urchins scrambling for a ball that had rolled into the aisle of stalls. Over the chatter of the shoppers and the cries of the vendors promoting their leather goods, copper pots and pans, and candles, she caught the clucking of chickens crowded into crates and the ring of the blacksmith’s hammer.

  At a stall to Aislinn’s right, children’s clothes swayed in the breeze. Through a gap in the garments, she spied the row of buildings she sought and cut between two stalls.

  Like most of the shops, the one she approached was on the ground floor of a two-story townhouse. The business operated below. Shopkeeper Erwin Roundston, his wife, and three of their five children lived above the store. Aislinn had known Erwin for years. His premises were well stocked, and he’d helped her choose gifts for Matthew, including a hunting dagger with an intricately carved bone handle.

  The hinged, rectangular panel of wood that blocked the ground-floor window when the premises were closed was pulled down, indicating the shop was open for business. The wooden panel created a place to display wares and tempt shoppers inside.

  Erwin had customers; male voices drifted out to her.

  Aislinn eyed the leather goods on the display board. She reluctantly tore her gaze away from a pair of gloves—no money for such luxuries today—and walked through the open doorway into the shop’s interior, lit by sunlight streaming in from outside.

  “As I told ye, I am not buyin’ from ye today,” Erwin said, his voice firm. “I already ’ave a full day of meetin’s with folk who are bringin’ me goods.”

  “’Tis a fine belt. Any nobleman would want ta ’ave it fer ’is own,” said the stocky, black-haired man standing at the waist-high wooden counter. His voice sounded like a stone dragged across wood. “’Tis a quick and easy sale fer ye. The shoes as well. Right, Karr?”

  “Byrne speaks the truth,” the second man—Karr—said. “If ye like what ye see ’ere, we ’ave a few more items, too.” Light winked off the hilt of a long dagger sheathed at Karr’s left hip. He turned to Aislinn in profile, and sunlight caught the scar slashing from his eyebrow to his jaw. No doubt that injury had been painful and taken months to heal. She suppressed a shudder.

  Not wishing to intrude on the men’s conversation, she stood back, near shelves holding utensils, bowls, stoneware jugs, and decorative boxes. Tilford hovered by the door, close enough to rush to her side if needed, but not so close as to interfere.

  Muttering under his breath, Erwin sighed. “Bring yer goods back next week. ’Tis the best I can promise ye.”

  “Next week?” Byrne looked at his companion. “But—”

  “Lady Locksmeade. Thank ye fer bein’ so patient.” Erwin smiled at her and beckoned her to approach the counter.

  “I do not mean to interrupt,” she said, as the men’s gazes slid to her. Byrne squinted at her, his right eye badly swollen and purple. Karr glared at her, then looked at Tilford.

  “Ye’re not interrupting, milady,” the shop owner said. He frowned at the two men. “Our business is done fer today, sirs.”

  “Come on.” Karr swatted his friend on the arm. Scowling, Byrne followed, trudging past Aislinn with the belt and a pair of brown shoes embroidered in red thread dangling from his hand.

  When they’d gone, she placed her box and the wooden chest on the counter. Tilford set the tapestry beside her items, then returned to his post by the door.

  “I am very glad ye had items ta bri
ng me, milady,” Erwin said.

  “Who were those two men?”

  The shopkeeper shrugged and took the candlesticks out of the box. After unwrapping them, he held one to the sunlight and studied it. “I’d ne’er seen those two afore today. Yet, market day brings in all manner of folk, from counties near and far.”

  “The shoes looked lovely,” she said.

  “They were made fer a girl.” Erwin set the candlesticks aside and reached into the box of pewter items. “The shoes were fine leather and ’ardly worn. A young lady’s best pair, I’d say. ’Ave ta wonder where those louts came by such a find.”

  “The shoes were stolen, then?”

  “’Tis possible.” The shopkeeper smiled. “In any case, with luck, I will ’ave no more dealin’s with those two. They will find someone else ta buy their goods.”

  Aislinn nodded, but her thoughts refused to shift from the shoes dangling from Byrne’s callused hand. His black eye had looked like a fresh injury.

  “Where did those men say they were from?” she asked, as Erwin studied a matching set of pewter plates.

  “They said from a town north of Crannley, someplace I’d ne’er ’eard of. They’d come fer the market, but brought a few wares ta sell t’ave some extra coin ta spend.”

  “I see.” Looking through the window, she saw the two men at the edge of the market. They were having a heated discussion, Byrne glowering and waving a hand as he talked. She must mention them to the sheriff once she’d finished with her business here. The men might not have taken part in the attack on the injured stranger, but the sheriff should still be informed.

  The thud of the small wooden chest closing drew her attention back to the shopkeeper. “I will take everythin’, milady. As usual, ye ’ave brought me top-quality items.”

  A sigh of relief rushed through Aislinn’s lips.

  He reached under the counter, and she heard a key grating in a lock. Straightening, he set down a wooden box, unlocked it, and counted out some silver coins, which he slid toward her. “The rest I must owe ye, milady. As ye know, I do have an arrangement with the local baker and the man in the market who sells vegetables, eggs, salted pork, and other goods. I can give ye a letter of credit ta use at their stalls.”