A Knight to Remember Page 4

  “You had best be careful about your eavesdropping, or you will get into trouble.”

  Magdalen sighed dreamily and reached for the forebuilding’s door handle. “After seeing Hugh with my own eyes, I want to know all there is to know about him. Every last, marvelous detail.”

  A shocked gasp tickled Aislinn’s throat and then a giggle. As Magdalen pulled the door open and entered the stairwell, Aislinn dared another glance back at the stable where Hugh had been standing.

  He was no longer there.

  The three squires were now at the well, their tunics lying on the stone rim. They were rinsing off from a bucket of water.

  His damp chest gleaming, Hugh stood apart from the others. He was looking straight at her.

  Her eyes widened, and her heartbeat slammed against her ribs. Why was he staring at her?

  Hugh’s mouth eased into a lazy grin. He bent at the waist in a graceful bow and then straightened, shoving his unruly hair back from his face. His grin broadened with mischief.

  Aislinn’s face burned. She hurried into the forebuilding, her breath tight in her throat, her whole body tingling in an unusual but thrilling way…

  “Milady.”

  Aislinn became aware of a hand on her shoulder.

  “Milady,” Gilly said again, her voice hushed.

  Aislinn glanced up to find her lady-in-waiting standing by the chair.

  “I did not want to disturb you,” the older woman said, “but felt I must.”

  “’Tis all right.” Aislinn smothered a yawn with her hand. “I never meant to fall asleep.”

  The wounded man was still slumbering. Judging by the angle of the sunlight coming in through the window, ’twas now late afternoon.

  “The patient looks to be in a sound sleep,” Gilly noted.

  The chair creaked as Aislinn pushed to her feet. “Good. He needs the rest.”

  The older woman nodded, although her thoughtful frown didn’t disappear.

  “Cook has been asking for you,” Gilly said. “She has drawn up a plan for the pantry renovations and would like to show it to you. She wants to be ready when the carpenter arrives.”

  “All right,” Aislinn agreed.

  “This missive also arrived a short while ago.” Gilly held out a folded piece of parchment, sealed with wax.

  Aislinn recognized the design of the signet ring impressed into the seal. “’Tis from Lord Riverwell.”

  “His manservant said it concerns a visit from his lordship in two days.”

  Dread and anticipation swirled up inside Aislinn. “Is his messenger waiting for my reply? If so, I will tell him—”

  “Milady, you cannot tell his lordship yet again that his visit is not convenient.”

  “Oh, Gilly—”

  “Please, milady. Think on it before you issue your reply. I do not mean to speak out of place, but in the past month, you have already discouraged two visits from Lord Riverwell. I know he has proposed marriage and that you do not wish to wed him. Yet, as we both know, our king has brought great unrest upon these lands. Conditions may worsen. Thanks to Lord Locksmeade, God rest his soul, Lord Riverwell is one of the few men upon whom you can depend. To strain that relationship would be, well…”

  “Foolish?” Aislinn said.

  The lady-in-waiting nodded.

  Aislinn opened the letter and read it. “You are right, of course, in all of the concerns you expressed. I will see Nolan. I will speak to Cook about preparing a midday meal that he will enjoy.”

  “A wise decision, milady.” Gilly gestured to the bed. “If you wish to see to those matters, I can keep watch upon the patient. After all, you would not want this man to prevent you from preparing for his lordship’s visit.”

  Aislinn stilled while refolding the missive. “Why do you say that?”

  Gilly’s eyes widened. “Well, our patient could be a wanted murderer, or a thief, or—”

  “God’s bones,” Aislinn muttered.

  “He could.”

  Taking Gilly’s elbow, Aislinn pulled her away from the chair and into a corner of the chamber. “I do not believe he is a criminal,” Aislinn said softly but firmly.

  “Mayhap not, but—”

  “I think he is Hugh Brigonne.”

  “Hugh…” Gilly’s brow formed a puzzled frown. Then her eyes sparked with recognition. “The lad from Drandwick Keep?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Aislinn whispered. “But aye, him.”

  “What makes you believe so?”

  “The color of his eyes and hair. The way he smiles. The way I…feel, when we talk.”

  Gilly clucked her tongue. “If he is indeed Hugh, he broke your heart.”

  Aislinn swallowed hard, the memories tucked away in the past, but still painful. “When I look back now, I understand why Hugh chose to leave me. He did what he thought was best. He put his profession first.”

  “Indeed he did.” The older woman sighed. “I remember how miserable you were. You barely ate, and you were already such a slender girl. For many sennights, you wept upon my shoulder.”

  Aislinn squeezed Gilly’s arm. “I do not know what I would have done without your kindness and words of comfort.”

  “Well.” The older woman huffed. “I was glad to help.” Her narrowed gaze slid to the bed. “And—oh!”

  Aislinn looked over her shoulder to see the wounded man was waking. His gaze, not fully alert, focused on her and then sharpened. Her spine stiffened, an instinctive reaction to his very direct stare.

  “Talking about me?” His words sounded husky from sleep.

  Gilly exhaled an indignant snort. “What we are discussing is not your concern.”

  “I disagree, especially if my wellbeing is being debated.”

  After a cautioning glance at the older woman, Aislinn faced the stranger. “We were speaking over here, and quietly, because we did not want to wake you. Gilly was updating me on a few matters that require my attention.”

  “Yours?” The patient frowned. “Do you have other wounded people to attend?”

  “I do not understand—”

  “You are a healer, are you not?” His smile was tinged with mockery. “Your duty is to care for those who are injured or ill at the keep?”

  Aislinn smothered a laugh. Behind her, Gilly made a startled choking sound.

  “I am a healer to you at the moment,” Aislinn agreed. “However, ’tis not my usual title or role.”

  His grin widened, revealing a full set of white teeth, while his gaze skimmed down the front of her gown and lingered on her breasts. Of all wickedness, the skin beneath her chemise tightened and heated, as if she felt the touch of his hands, the lazy brush of his warm, bare flesh against hers. She forced down the beginnings of a shiver, as he asked, “What is your usual title then, love?”

  “Milady.”

  Shock flared in his eyes.

  “I am Lady Locksmeade. This castle is my home. You are in my care because I wished it.”

  A ruddy flush darkened his cheekbones. “I did not realize—”

  “I know. I do not believe I made my position clear to you earlier.”

  His throat moved with a swallow. “Forgive me. I am obviously a brazen man who cannot resist gilded words when speaking with a…woman as lovely as you.”

  Gilly muttered under her breath.

  Heat crept into Aislinn’s face, even as she mentally pushed aside the man’s flattery. “I have not taken offense to your boldness. Now, I must leave you in Gilly’s capable hands. She cared for me when I was a child, and I have no doubt she can tend to your wound. You will not give her any trouble, will you?”

  * * *

  Milady.

  The echo of Aislinn’s defiant voice still rang in his thoughts, and he fought a sickening wave of mortification. If naught else, he’d just proved himself to be a complete ass. Mayhap ’twas a good thing he didn’t know if he’d ever been so stupid before.

  He closed his eyes, smothering the groan welling in his thr
oat. When he next saw Aislinn, he must apologize again.

  A muffled clatter reminded him of the older woman beside him, busy at the table. A pop sounded, and then he smelled herbal ointment. Judging by Gilly’s gleeful humming, she was going to enjoy slathering that salve all over his wound, and likely none too gently, either. His hands were still tied, so there wasn’t a wretched thing he could do to stop her…except mayhap win some sympathy from her. It couldn’t hurt to try.

  “Well,” he dared to say, “I made a fool of myself.”

  “You did,” Gilly agreed, and then resumed her humming.

  “I will be sure to apologize to Aislinn again.”

  “As you should.” The older woman squinted at him. “Did she say you could call her by her given name?”

  “’Tis how she introduced herself to me.”

  Gilly’s expression soured with disapproval, and then she turned to the bed, a dollop of greenish ointment on her plump finger.

  His stomach roiled, anticipating the onset of agony. He’d be damned, however, if he’d reveal his anxiety to Gilly.

  Focus, he told himself. Concentrate on something other than the expectation of pain.

  Voicing the first thought in his head, he said, “If Aislinn is Lady Locksmeade, there must be a Lord Locksmeade.”

  “There was.”

  Was? ’Twas not enough of an answer. Not by far.

  Gilly gestured for him to turn his head away from her, so she could see his injury.

  Hesitating, he held the older woman’s gaze. “You will be gentle with me, aye?”

  “Are you afraid of me? A brawny rogue like yourself?” She spoke brusquely, but he saw compassion in her eyes.

  He turned his head to the left, as Gilly had indicated, and gritted his teeth at the discomfort. His eyes burned, and he blinked hard. His blurred gaze cleared and settled on the whitewashed wall opposite, the part of the room he hadn’t yet seen.

  The older woman’s fingers brushed his nape. He forced himself to study what was before him. A long, oak trestle table ran along the wall. Wooden shelves framed each end of the table. Some of the shelves held books, others rolled parchments and bundles of tallow candles tied with twine.

  When Gilly pulled away the bandage, humming softly as she worked, he sucked in a breath. Concentrate. Above the table, elegantly written in black paint, were the Latin words Fortitudo, Fidelitas, and Fortuna. Strength, Fidelity, and Luck.

  Noble words, each of them.

  He silently repeated them, over and over, while pain stabbed through him. Clenching his hands into fists, he repeated the words until Gilly had finished applying the ointment.

  Her shoes rasped on the floorboards as she stepped away from the bedside, likely to get a fresh bandage. His head pounded, but what he’d just discovered in this chamber made him even more curious about his earlier question that Gilly hadn’t fully answered.

  “You said there was a Lord Locksmeade,” he said.

  “Aye.”

  “He died?”

  Gilly didn’t answer for a moment. “I may as well tell you. ’Tis common knowledge, after all. His lordship passed away last November.”

  “I am sorry to hear that. If I may ask, how did his lordship die? A fall from his horse? A battle wound?”

  “He caught a sickness that settled in his chest. Aislinn tended him as best she could, day and night. Yet, he never recovered.”

  “I am sorry,” he said again. He couldn’t imagine the anguish of losing someone he dearly loved. Could that be the reason, though, for his own niggling torment? Had he lost someone important to him in the incident in which he’d been wounded, but he couldn’t yet remember?

  Carefully turning his head on the pillow, he met Gilly’s gaze. “Why did Aislinn rescue me? Why did she choose to bring me here and care for me?”

  “You must ask her that yourself. However, she did tell me that she believes you are a man she knew years ago.”

  “What was his name?”

  A sly smile curved the older woman’s mouth. “I shall not tell you that.”

  He choked down a curse. “Hearing the name might trigger my memories.”

  “Or ’twill give you a means to manipulate my lady’s generous and tender heart.” Gilly’s eyes hardened. “You might not be the man Aislinn knew at all. I will not give you the means to prey on her emotions.”

  Grudging admiration settled within him. She was wise and loyal, this woman. He had no wish to harm or manipulate Aislinn, though. He wanted only to know who he was. To remember. To know if Aislinn was connected to the ache inside him that weighed on his heart like a stone.

  “Turn your head back now,” Gilly ordered.

  “I would never hurt Aislinn.” His tone roughened with emotion. “I promise you.”

  The older woman’s lips tightened. “I want to believe you. Come now. Let me finish with your wound. I will do my best to be gentle.”

  * * *

  Night fell before Aislinn could return to the wounded man. She nodded to the two burly guards posted in the passageway outside the chamber, knocked, and pushed the door open.

  Tilford rose from the chair near the bed. “Milady.”

  She crossed to the man-at-arms, while her gaze shifted to her patient. His eyes were closed, and his hardened features were relaxed in slumber. “How is he?”

  “Unhappy about being bound, but otherwise all right,” Tilford said. “After Gilly fed him a bowl of broth and made him drink some tonic, I called the other guards in. I untied him and let him stretch his arms for a moment, before we bound him again.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tilford nodded.

  “Please stay with him till dawn. If his pain worsens, or if his memories return, summon me at once.”

  “I will, milady.”

  Aislinn left the chamber, closing the door quietly so as to not wake the stranger, and walked down the smoky, torch-lit passageways until she reached the solar. Gilly waited inside, the soft chemise Aislinn preferred for sleeping draped across the end of the bed.

  “All is well, milady?” the older woman asked.

  “Aye.” Aislinn shut the door. “Tilford will keep watch over our patient tonight.”

  “Good.” With skilled hands, the older woman helped Aislinn undress and pull on the chemise. As Aislinn sat on the wooden stool by the fire, Gilly brushed out her braid. Relaxing into the strokes of the brush, Aislinn took the emerald out of the small leather bag she’d found for it and turned the stone in her fingers.

  “’Tis an exquisite jewel,” the older woman said.

  “Mmm,” Aislinn murmured.

  “Did you ask the man about it?”

  “Not yet. When I feel the moment is right, I will.”

  In the firelight, the stone glowed brilliant green. ’Twas the color of the unripe pears Hugh had plucked from a tree and lined up along a low stone wall that bordered one of Drandwick’s vegetable beds.

  Shifting his grip on his longbow, he asked, “What will you give me if my arrows fly swift and true into each of these pears?”

  Aislinn tapped her chin. “Well, now.”

  He grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. “How about a kiss to rival those of the chansons? Do you agree?”

  ’Twould be some kiss, indeed. Giggling, she said, “I do.”

  His smile smug, he spun and strode halfway across the garden. He glanced back, but she shook her head. She wasn’t going to make this challenge easy for him. “Farther.”

  He sighed and walked another ten paces. Halting, he swiveled, adjusted the quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, and looked at her. “Far enough?”

  “All right.”

  Her attention shifted to the pears. They looked so small where they perched on the wall. How was he ever going to hit them? He was far away, and while he was very skilled with a bow, only the best marksman could—

  An arrow streaked past her. Another. Another.

  She jumped, her shriek accompanied by a muffled thunk, thun
k, thunk.

  Aislinn gaped. Each pear had an arrow piercing its middle. The force of the arrow had driven two of the pears into the dirt among the lettuces.

  Footfalls announced Hugh’s approach. Setting down his bow, he halted before her. “You owe me a kiss, I believe.”

  Before she could say a word, he pulled her into his arms. Squealing, laughing, she kissed him lightly on the lips, and he growled in disapproval. His mouth caught hers, molded to hers, and as her lips parted and she kissed him passionately, urgently, he lifted her off the ground and swung her around and around. She’d never felt so happy, so sure that the only place she wanted to be was in his arms…

  “Milady?”

  “Aye, Gilly?”

  The older woman set down the brush. “Is that all for tonight?”

  Keeping her face to the fire, Aislinn nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly, tears in her eyes. “’Tis all.”

  * * *

  Morning sunlight brightened the chamber and spilled across the stranger’s bed. Standing beside him, Aislinn brought a spoonful of milky porridge drizzled with honey to his lips. “Open up. ’Tis tasty, I promise.”

  He scowled.

  Honestly, he was as stubborn as a child! He looked like a grumpy child, too, with his hair snarled from sleep and his lips set in a near pout. “You must try to eat,” she coaxed.

  The stranger’s eyes blazed with mutiny. His mouth remained closed.

  Sighing, Aislinn put the spoonful back into the bowl cradled in her hand. She held his glower, refusing to yield to the challenge in his eyes. “You need to eat.”

  “I do not care to be spoon-fed like an infant.”

  “I have explained why you are tied.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Have I given you one reason to distrust me?”

  “So far,” she admitted, “you have been a well-behaved patient.”

  A thin smile touched his lips. “Yet, I am still bound, and you will not even consider untying me.”

  “That is correct.” She simply couldn’t risk her safety or that of anyone in her household.

  He blew out a breath and with a pained grimace turned his head away, his gaze fixing on the Latin words Matthew had painted. Aislinn smothered a frustrated groan and turned to the table; she wasn’t going to force food down the man’s throat. He would eat when he was ready.