Love Beyond Time (11 page)

However, looming beyond the questions of
everyday life was one major problem.
Danise
. While his
memory was gone he had forgotten all the reasons why he did not
trust women, so he had left himself wide open to her and thus
learned to care for her with a tenderness that shook the worldly,
cynical twentieth century man to his roots.

Danise was different from other women he had
known. She would not lie to him, or keep important information from
him, or betray him with another man. Not honest Danise, whom he
loved beyond hope of ever being cured of that sweet affliction. But
in the time in which he now found himself, Mike had no property, no
family connections, no chance of winning her.

Unless he could earn by his personal valor
enough wealth to convince Savarec to consider him as one of
Danise’s suitors
.

It was what he had told Danise he would do.
Other men in Frankish times won wealth and title and wellborn wives
by the clever use of their swords. But Mike knew now that he was
not a Frank, was not trained from childhood to the hardships and
dangers of battle. If he was going to succeed it would take every
ounce of focused determination and willpower he possessed, along
with more bravery than he had ever displayed in his former life,
and a fair amount of sheer luck.

He was going to try. More than try, he was
going to do it, he was going to turn himself into a Frankish
nobleman, because if he did not, he was going to have to adjust to
a loveless existence twelve hundred years before he had been
born.

When Savarec rose from his bed, Mike got up,
too, and went outside the tent. On this morning, with his mind
clear at last and the headache completely gone, he looked about as
if for the first time. Through the trees to his right and down a
gentle slope, the River Rur sparkled dark blue and silver. Before
him and to his left lay the Frankish camp, with the two bright blue
royal tents at its center, where Charles and Hildegarde and their
children were staying. Most of the other tents were of beige or
brown or gray undyed wool, though here and there a green or blue
tent made a spot of clear color against the general drabness. The
green tops of the trees bordering the camp were gilded by the
rising sun. Overhead the dawn sky arched pure and cloudless, with a
flush of gold and pink in the east. From what he had seen of it so
far, Francia was a beautiful place.

“Okay, Mike, you aren’t Mike anymore,” he
said to himself. “
Michel
. That’s your name from now on. To
coin a cliche that’s not even a phrase yet, this is the first day
of the rest of your life. Make the best of it.”

“A fine morning,” said Savarec. Having
finished washing his face and hands, he tossed river water out of a
basin and handed the basin to Michel. “Use this if you like. You
are welcome to my towel, too. Here’s a bucket of clean, fresh
water. Take what you need.” Savarec inspected Michel’s appearance
with a kindly eye. “Guntram said you were sick last night.”

“I am much improved today.” For the last time
Michel met Savarec’s eyes with openness and honesty. Now the lies
must begin, and he would have to make them sound like the truth.
Breaking eye contact with Savarec, he looked away toward the forest
before speaking again. “You know, Savarec, I have begun to believe
that my memory will never return. I feel wonderfully well today,
healed by the good care I have received in your tent. But there is
still a high wall in my mind separating me from my past life. No
matter how hard I try, I cannot break through that wall, so I have
decided to stop trying. If Charles has no objections, I will stay
here in Francia and offer my services as a fighting man to you if
you will have me, for I owe my life to you and your daughter. If
you have no use for me, I will offer myself to Charles.”

“On the eastern bank of the Rhine where I
command a fort,” Savarec said, “the Saxons remain a constant threat
in spite of all the lands we Franks have conquered in Saxony. I can
always use another man who is as handy with a sword as Redmond
claims you to be. When Mayfíeld is over, go home with me to Deutz.
You will be welcome there.”

“Thank you. Until this moment, I had no home
in this world. Savarec, is there some ceremony required of me,
perhaps an oath I ought to take?”

“A handclasp will be sufficient.” Savarec put
out his right hand and Michel took it. “Unlike you, I do not
entirely despair of your memory’s return. Let me say now that if at
some time yet to come you discover that you have to leave my
service to return to your home, I will understand. Until that
moment arrives, if it ever does, I think you are wise to try to
make a useful life for yourself.”

“I will gladly serve under your command,”
Michel said, much relieved to find that in those words at least, he
could be truthful.

* * *

Danise noticed the change in Michel as soon
as she emerged from her tent that morning. He was talking with her
father and Guntram, and there was something about the way he stood,
a new confidence, a jauntiness she had not seen in him before. She
went at once to greet her father, kissing his cheek and wishing him
good day.

“And to you, too, Guntram,” she said.
“Michel, you appear to be much improved after your long sleep.”
Before speaking to him she braced herself to withstand the impact
of his burning gaze. She was disappointed when he did not look
directly at her. Instead, he smiled at her father.

“Michel is in such good health that he has
just pledged himself as my man-at-arms,” Savarec told her.

“But why?” She could not understand his
motives for such a decision. “Michel, you must have a home
somewhere. Don’t you want to find it?”

“I cannot find it until I remember where it
is,” he said, still looking at Savarec. “I doubt if I will ever
remember.”

“Today he begins a new life.” Guntram slapped
Michel on the back in hearty welcome. “We start with a hunting
party. You will need a horse. Savarec, what think you of the dapple
gray for Michel?”

“A good choice.” Savarec gave Danise a quick
pat on her shoulder before turning his attention to masculine
affairs. “Michel, we ought to find Charles. He hasn’t heard your
news yet. He will be glad of your decision.” The men moved away,
leaving Danise staring after them.

“Sister Gertrude,” she said to the nun who
now joined her in front of Savarec’s tents, “he is going
hunting.”

“I heard them talking,” Sister Gertrude
replied. “It’s time Michel did something other than lie about all
day and complain of an aching head.”

“But he has been injured!”

“And has been restored to health, in part
thanks to you. Still, you cannot expect a man to be forever
grateful, nor can you continue to treat a grown man as though he
were a mere child.”

“I never thought he was a child.” At a
searching look from Sister Gertrude, Danise closed her mouth on any
further comment.

She did not see Michel or her father again
until well after midday, when the men and the ladies who had chosen
to go with them returned from hunting. Danise and Sister Gertrude
had spent the morning inside the queen’s tent with Hildegarde, who
was again feeling unwell. But Hildegarde insisted on greeting
Charles on his return and on sitting with him during the midday
meal. Hearing the laughter and the loud talk of the hunters, the
women left the blue dimness of the tent for the bright afternoon
sunshine. Charles received his wife with a warm embrace, then led
her to the chair drawn up for her at the table. Hildegarde’s ladies
followed her, Danise looking around for Michel. She saw Redmond
first.

“We brought down a deer,” Redmond announced,
“and enough birds to keep Charles eating happily for several
days.”

“I do not see my father or Michel,” she
noted.

“They are helping to bring in the game.
They’ll be along soon.” Redmond looked closely at her. “If you have
been worrying about Michel, I can tell you he easily kept up with
the rest of us. He’s a fine rider, and from what I’ve seen of him
today, I believe his health is completely restored.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied absently,
still watching the men returning to the open space in front of
Charles’s tents.

“Danise.” Redmond touched her arm. She turned
to him, meeting his pale eyes, seeing in them sincerity and a
warmth that disturbed her, for she knew she could not return his
feelings. “Since Michel has recovered, his place is with the men
now.”

“His memory is not recovered.”

“He says he will disregard his lack of
memory, and I think he is right to do so. Now that you are no
longer so occupied in caring for him, may I hope you will find more
time to spend with me?” When she did not answer, Redmond went on,
“How can you decide if you want to marry me if we do not know each
other? Will you spend an hour with me this afternoon? We could walk
by the river, or in the forest if you prefer, and talk. If you want
Sister Gertrude to go with us, I will understand, though I would
like to have a little time alone with you. I promise not to
importune you for favors you may not wish to grant just yet.”

“Oh, Redmond, I don’t know.” She wasn’t
really paying attention to Redmond. She was looking for Michel and
wondering why he had not returned to camp. Searching among the
familiar faces for the one person she longed to see, Danise did not
notice the man she wanted to avoid. Count Clodion joined Redmond
and herself, and quickly captured her full interest.

“So, Redmond, you think you are the favored
suitor, the one who will win Danise,” Clodion snarled at the young
man. “I say you will have to deal with me before you wed her.”

“Are you challenging me?” Redmond’s tone of
voice dared Clodion to say he was.

“Count Clodion,” Danise said, hoping to put
an end to any chance of a contest of weapons between the two, “I am
flattered by your great interest in me, but I must tell you again
that I have not yet decided if I will marry at all.”

“I blame your father for setting up this
ridiculous competition,” Clodion told her. “No woman should be
allowed to make such an important decision. Savarec should have
made the choice for you and then informed you of it.”

“It is because the choice is so important to
my happiness that my father gave me a voice in it,” Danise
declared. “I insist that you treat Count Redmond with the respect
due to his title and his fine character.”

“You insist?” Clodion glared at her. “You, a
foolish girl, would tell me how to behave? You have spent too much
time in the company of Sister Gertrude.”

“Count Clodion, I must ask you to be silent.
I will not allow you to insult my dear friend,” Danise told him.
“Since you find me both foolish and rude, perhaps you would like to
withdraw your suit, as Count Autichar has done.”

“Withdraw?” Clodion’s face went hard and
white. “No, I will not. You will pay dearly for your insolence. I
will have you yet, Danise, and when I have tamed you, I promise you
will become completely biddable to my every wish.” With that,
Clodion stalked off.

“Is he mad?” asked Redmond, looking after
him. “How can he imagine you would ever agree to marry him when he
speaks to you in that way?”

“I hope he is not angry enough to cause
trouble for my father,” Danise murmured.

“It’s not likely. Your father has the respect
of more men than Clodion will ever have, and Charles’s abiding
friendship besides. Clodion cannot harm Savarec,” Redmond
concluded.

“I hope you are right,” Danise said.

After his kind words about her father, Danise
felt she ought to grant the request Redmond had made of her, and so
she spent an hour with him after they finished eating. They walked
to the riverbank, where Redmond spread out his cloak so they could
sit upon it and talk. She found it easy to be with Redmond. There
was in her relationship with him none of the tension she felt when
she was with Michel. Redmond spoke of ordinary things, told her
about the morning’s hunt, described his principal home near
Tournai, asked her opinion on his new green tunic, informed her
about his favorite foods. He was polite and agreeable and
unquestionably a good man. Danise was bored to the brink of tears.
When Redmond excused himself to go to the practice yard and work
with his weapons, she was grateful to see him leave. She headed
toward Hildegarde’s tent.

“Danise.” She spun around, her heart
thumping, to meet the piercing blue eyes of the man she had longed
to see all day. Weary of the polite conversation she had endured
for the last hour, she did not give Michel a chance to tell her
what he wanted to say, but went straight to the subject that
interested her most.

“I do not understand why you were so quick to
become my father’s man,” she blurted. “Michel, you may tell me I
have no right to speak on this subject, but surely you have not
given up all hope of recalling your identity?”

“In fact, I have given up hope,” he informed
her. “It’s best to get on with the business of living.”

“But you don’t know if you have a family.”
She could not say what she wanted, could not speak the word
wife
to him.

“What can I do about it?” he asked. “I cannot
force my memory to return.”

“You have changed overnight,” she accused
him. “You are so reserved, so closed upon yourself.”

“Apparently, this is the way I always am when
I am in good health,” he replied.

“No.” She shook her head. “No. There is a
deep difference in you.”

“Of course there is. You see before you a man
who has accepted his lot and who has found a place for
himself.”

“But just a few days ago you told me -” She
broke off, recalling in vivid detail what he had said, and what he
had done to her. “Michel, I do not understand.”