A Knight to Remember Read online

  Her wide, frightened blue eyes settled first on Larina and then on Aislinn.

  Aislinn didn’t recognize the child, but perhaps she could coax out her name. “Good day,” Aislinn said with a smile.

  The girl didn’t answer.

  “I am Lady Locksmeade,” Aislinn said in a soothing tone.

  The child’s gaze sharpened for a moment, as though the name was familiar to her.

  Stepping closer, Aislinn gestured to the healer. “Larina asked me to visit, so you and I could meet. May I ask your name?”

  Still, no answer. Just a steady, fearful stare from the child. She took another small step forward and winced.

  “Your feet are badly cut. You should sit down before they bleed again,” Larina said. She motioned to the trestle table and benches. “Would you like a drink? I make a delicious infusion with rose hips and honey and would be glad to make some for all of us.” Starting toward the girl, she said, “Why not take my arm? You can lean on me, and I…”

  The child wasn’t listening. Her attention had shifted to the open doorway and to Aislinn’s men-at-arms, their rumbled voices carrying into the premises.

  Her young body tensed. She strained to see something—or someone.

  “Do not be afraid. You are safe here,” Aislinn said. “Do you see someone you recognize?” Following the child’s stare, Aislinn glanced outside. The girl’s gaze fell directly on the men-at-arms and, just beyond them, the stranger, talking to the knight.

  A strangled cry broke from the girl. She hobbled for the doorway.

  “Wait!” Larina cried. “Please.” With a worried mutter, the healer followed.

  The child rushed out into the market square, and Aislinn followed, a few steps behind Larina. With a jolt of surprise, she saw where the girl was headed: straight for the stranger.

  * * *

  “I had the bow specially made,” the young knight said, pride glowing in his eyes. “Cost me a lot of silver, but ’tis the best weapon I have ever owned.”

  “May I see it?” he asked.

  The knight nodded.

  He picked up the longbow. The weapon fit into his hand as though he was used to using a bow, as though it belonged there. The weight, the cool strength of the wood, the flexing of muscles in his arm, all felt right, as so few things had lately.

  A sigh rushed from him, an impassioned breath of acknowledgment mingled with excitement. He knew how to use a longbow. He sensed he was good with the weapon, too. If only he could take an arrow from the knight’s quiver, nock the arrow, and fire it into the wooden barrel outside the tavern to prove to himself his level of skill, but that would bring Aislinn’s guards at a run. They were already eyeing him with suspicion.

  He had no desire to cross Aislinn’s men on this day of freedom. Moreover, he’d made a promise to the lady not to make trouble. Not that he’d use the longbow to cause harm. To narrow his focus on the target, to feel the tension in the bowstring, to release the arrow and hear it hiss as it flew through the air… ’Twould be a balm for his soul.

  The knight was talking to him. “…back, for I must resume my journey.”

  He handed the weapon to the young man. “’Tis a fine bow indeed. I am honored to have touched it.”

  The knight laughed and swung up onto his horse. With a nudge of his spurs, he wheeled his animal around and rode away.

  Over the clatter of hoofbeats and the distant rumble of a cart across the square, he heard a feminine cry, shrill and frantic. “Father!”

  ’Twas a young girl, calling for her sire.

  A shiver trailed through his gut, an odd feeling he couldn’t quite place, as he strode back toward the men-at-arms, his gaze on the pitted ground. Aislinn would soon emerge from the healer’s premises, and then, hopefully, he would have new information. His stomach clenched, the strain of waiting akin to agony. His head pounded, but he’d ignore it, for—

  “Father!” the girl cried again, closer now. He looked up and caught a blur of movement near the healer’s door. A child was struggling to run on bandaged feet, her face crumpled on a sob.

  “Wait!” Larina cried, hurrying close behind. So was Aislinn.

  His strides slowed, confusion sifting into his veins. What in hellfire was going on? His gaze shifted back to the girl, and her face broke into a brilliant, teary grin. She opened her arms, an offer of an embrace.

  He glanced over his shoulder. No one there.

  Frowning, he looked back at the child. With a choked sob, she threw herself at him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist, her face pressed against his belly.

  “I was s-so afraid,” she cried, her body shaking. “I feared I would…n-never see you again.”

  His arms hovered, his hands not touching her. Her shoulders trembled with her fierce sobs. His desire to hug her warred with a fresh flare of agony. Who was this child? Did he know her, or had she mistaken him for someone else? His head throbbed anew, an ache so excruciating, he clutched at his temple.

  The girl looked up at him, her chin pressed into the fabric of his tunic. “Plum P-pudding,” she whispered, shuddering.

  “What?”

  “Plum Pudding,” she said again. “Remember?”

  He glanced helplessly at Aislinn and Larina, standing a few paces away. “I am sorry,” he said to the girl. “I do not—”

  “I am Apple Cake. ’Tis my favorite dessert.” Her eyes glistened with despair. “You are Plum Pudding. Your favorite treat. Your special name. Right?”

  Ah, God, but he didn’t know. His head hurt like he’d been walloped with a boulder. Tears burned the backs of his eyes as he looked at Aislinn, standing with her hand pressed over her mouth. She looked close to tears herself.

  “Father,” the girl whispered. “Please.”

  Father. This child was his daughter.

  Her watery blue stare was so lost, so devoid of hope, he instinctively closed his arms around her shoulders. The girl wept against him, her sobs loud and desperate.

  The darkness in his mind suddenly roiled. Images of the girl before him rushed forward and collided, one after another: A plump, giggling infant cooing down at him while he swung her high in the air; a two-year-old hopping on stones in the river that had slowed to a sluggish meander in the summer; a six-year-old standing on the lowest bough of the apple tree, his hands on her ankles, so she could reach up and pick apples to be baked into a cake.

  “Philippa,” he whispered.

  She gazed up at him and grinned.

  His hand shook as he trailed it down her hair. “Are you—?” His voice caught. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now that I found you.”

  He groaned, overwhelmed by the pounding in his skull, the joy in his heart, and the love burning like fire in his soul. There were other memories surfacing too, of the attack on the forest road, of men beating him and grabbing a screaming Philippa—

  His legs collapsed, and he landed on his knees in the dirt. Sobs catching in his throat, he took his daughter in his embrace again and held her tight. He’d never let her go, never let her out of his sight ever again.

  How could he not have remembered his beautiful Philippa? He had two other girls, younger than Philippa, as well. And he recalled their mother…

  He blinked hard, hot tears streaming from his eyes. He sighed against the tangle of his daughter’s hair and gently drew back from her.

  “Do not leave me, Father,” Philippa pleaded, catching his hand as if afraid he’d vanish.

  “I promise,” he said, still on his knees. “I will not leave you.”

  “Plum Pudding promise?” A hint of mischief sparkled in the girl’s huge, wet eyes.

  “A sweet, sticky, Plum Pudding promise.” He kissed her cheek, then glanced up at Aislinn. Concern etched her features, her haunting beauty so poignant, he fought the urge to rise, take her in his arms, and kiss her senseless.

  Now that he remembered all, he had much to explain to her. That conversation should be done in private, though,
not in a market square with a small crowd watching.

  He stood, a little unsteady on his feet.

  “Are you well?” Aislinn asked.

  He nodded. Countless emotions careened inside him: relief at finally remembering who he was; love, fierce and true, for each of his children; rage at his daughter being kidnapped and hurt; and a burning desire to hunt down the bastards responsible for the attack.

  Above all, he was grateful that Aislinn had saved his life and that his daughters wouldn’t grow up without a father. He would never forget all that Aislinn had done for him.

  He took her clammy fingers in his and kissed the back of her hand. “I finally remember who I am.”

  “’Tis good news.” She smiled, yet he felt the tremors coursing through her. Was she uneasy about what he might say? Was she afraid, like Gilly, that she’d tended a ruthless killer? Indeed, he had slain men, in eastern lands and on English soil, when his avowed duty to the king required it. Yet, she might be even more upset when she realized they’d been acquainted before, when she remembered her past with him.

  “’Tis a pleasure to see you, Aislinn, after so many years,” he said. “I am Hugh. Lord Hugh Brigonne.”

  Chapter Nine

  Hugh.

  Aislinn could hardly draw a breath. Her instincts had been right. She’d guessed—hoped—’twas him, but to finally have her suspicions confirmed… The tangled emotions welling inside her were both thrilling and daunting.

  “Hello, Hugh.”

  He smiled. “It has been a long time.”

  Twelve years, in which I have never forgotten you, a voice inside her whispered. She tamped down the urge to speak the words. He didn’t need to know that she’d counted the years, or that the pain of his abandoning her still hurt like an old bruise. “Indeed, it has been awhile,” she said, withdrawing her hand from his so he couldn’t feel her tremble. “Do you have all of your memories back?”

  “Most of them. The important ones, at least.” He glanced down at Philippa, who stood at his right side. “Your two sisters will be worried about you, Apple Cake.”

  Aislinn made a mental note that Hugh had three daughters. If he had children, there must be a Lady Brigonne, no doubt an elegant, exquisitely beautiful woman who was doing all she could to find her missing husband.

  “They will be worried about you, too, Father.”

  “True. I must send a missive home as soon as possible.”

  “I am sure the sheriff will have a quill and parchment you can use,” Aislinn said. “We can go visit him now, if you like.”

  “You can also use my writing supplies, milord,” Larina offered. “While you write your letter, I can check Philippa’s feet to see if the bandages need changing.”

  Frowning, Hugh asked, “What happened to her feet?”

  “They are cut quite badly. She was not wearing shoes when she fled down the road to the outskirts of the village last night.”

  “No shoes? Why not, Apple Cake? Last I remember, you were wearing your best pair.”

  Aislinn thought of the thugs she’d encountered in Erwin Roundston’s shop. “Were your shoes brown and embroidered with red thread?”

  Philippa nodded.

  “How did you know that?” Hugh asked, his voice sharp with surprise.

  “I saw two men in the market a few days ago, trying to sell a pair just like them.”

  Hugh’s expression darkened to a glower.

  “The men who attacked us in the forest,” Philippa said, “they took my shoes. I had to go barefoot. They told me it would stop me from running away. But I did.” Her mouth trembled. “I was very quiet. I untied the rope around my ankle while the rest were sleeping, and I crept out the door.”

  “They bound you by the ankle?” Hugh’s expression became even more menacing.

  “Aye, Father. To a heavy table.” She lifted the hem of her gown to reveal the red rope mark on her pale ankle. “See?”

  “God above,” Hugh growled.

  “I had to escape. I had to find you, Father,” Philippa whimpered.

  “Aye, but to know you traveled at night, on your own, when the worst of the thieves and cutthroats are out—”

  “Are you angry with me?” the girl whispered. Fresh tears welled in her eyes.

  “Nay,” Hugh said, the word wrenched from his lips. He wrapped his arms around his daughter. “I am not angry with you. How could I be? You have been very brave and clever.”

  “But you looked angry,” Philippa sniffled against his tunic.

  He gently took her face in his hands. “I am furious with the men who took you from me, and who mistreated you. They are the ones who will feel my wrath. Not you.” He kissed her brow. “Never you.”

  Philippa smiled. “I love you, Father.”

  Warmth shone in Hugh’s eyes. “I love you, too.”

  Aislinn swallowed hard and glanced away. How thrilled she’d been to hear those precious words from him years ago. Fighting the knot lodged in her throat, she watched Larina approach the sheriff, who was striding in their direction. He paused to speak to the healer, and she gestured, pointing to Hugh and Philippa. By the time the sheriff reached Hugh, he would know all that had occurred in the last few moments.

  Aislinn faced Hugh again. His arms were around Philippa, holding her tight. His expression was one of resolve, and yet, his face was ashen. Lines of strain etched his mouth.

  She touched his arm, drawing his attention. “You look wan. Do you need to sit down?”

  “My head is pounding,” he admitted with a weary grin. “But I will not rest. There is much to do.” His jaw tightened into a hard line. “Once I have sent my missive and Larina has examined Philippa’s feet, I want to ride to where you found me a few days ago.”

  “An excellent idea,” the sheriff said. He’d reached Aislinn’s side. He dipped his head to Hugh by way of acknowledgment. “Good day, Lord Brigonne. I am the local sheriff.”

  “Good day to you, sir.”

  “Sheriff,” Aislinn said, “if you remember, I told you of two men, likely mercenaries, I saw in Erwin Roundston’s premises. They had a pair of expensive shoes made for a young lady. Well, I now know to whom those shoes belong.” She gestured to Philippa.

  The sheriff grinned. “Well done, Lady Locksmeade. If I remember your account correctly, those same men were told to bring their items back on the following market day.”

  “If, in the meantime, they had not managed to sell them.” She hoped they hadn’t, but several days had already passed. The shoes could be gone for good.

  The sheriff’s grin broadened, as if he sensed her thoughts. “My gut instincts told me there was a story to those shoes. Right after you spoke with me, I sent missives to lawmen in the surrounding towns. I asked them to make it impossible for anyone to sell young ladies’ shoes in any town within five leagues of here. With luck, those ruffians will be back. When they return, we will capture them.”

  “When they return, I will pummel their faces into the dirt,” Hugh snarled. “To start.”

  The sheriff raised a cautioning hand. “Mercenaries do not usually act on their own. They are hired by rich, powerful nobles who wish to keep their hands clean of any foul crime. I want the accounts of those men, Lord Brigonne, to help lead me to the greater criminal. I also want your recollections, given in as much detail as possible.” His attention shifted to Philippa. “I realize it may be difficult for you, but ’tis important.”

  “Whatever you need from me,” Hugh said, “you shall have it.”

  “Good. I will fetch my horse and men. Upon my return, I suggest we ride to the forest. The sooner I get your account of what took place, milord, the closer I get to arresting those responsible.”

  * * *

  Tree branches overhead obliterated most of the afternoon sunlight as the group rode into the forest, toward the spot where Hugh and Philippa had been attacked. Hugh struggled against the coldness settling in his bones and stared straight ahead at the sheriff and his two men in
the lead. Aislinn and her men-at-arms rode behind Hugh, and he sensed her worried gaze upon him now, as he had through most of the journey from the village.

  He knew her concern wasn’t just for him, but also for Philippa, seated in front of him on his horse. His daughter’s excited chattering about all she planned to do once she got home to her sisters had faded to a tense silence. Her body was as rigid as a wooden post. She’d withdrawn further into the blanket Larina had given her.

  He squeezed Philippa with his arm.

  “I am scared,” she whispered over her shoulder.

  “Do not be. You are safe.”

  She shuddered and nestled back against him. “I want to go home.”

  He kissed the crown of her head. “We will. Soon. What we are doing now, though, is very important. We must stop the thugs who attacked us from hurting anyone else.”

  Aislinn’s mare clopped up alongside him. Aislinn met his gaze, and her lips curved into a reassuring smile. He managed a faint grin in return, despite the iciness numbing his insides. Here in the forest, where the smells of loam, rotting wood, and damp greenery surrounded him, memories were sifting out of the far reaches of his mind. He remembered the sudden pounding of hoofbeats, the flash of drawn weapons, the heart-wrenching screams from Philippa, and the shock of an unexpected betrayal.

  “There is the place,” the sheriff said, gesturing to the verge to their left. “I tied a marker to that gnarled tree branch, milord, the afternoon I accompanied Lady Locksmeade. She showed me where she found you.”

  Hugh nodded. Damnation, but he must find a way to control the memories. Sweat dampened his feet inside his boots, and bile threatened to flood his mouth. He needed to focus. He recalled the Latin words that had helped him through agony before: Fortitudo, Fidelitas, Fortuna. He recited them over and over in his mind.

  The lawman drew his horse to a halt. To his men, he said, “Stand guard. Watch the road ahead of us. Milady, if your men will kindly watch our backs?”

  “Of course.” She ordered her men-at-arms to take up position. How confident she appeared, how suited to her role as lady of a keep. Admiration warmed Hugh’s chest, easing the terrible numbness inside him a little.