wcEND.rtf (24 page)

A knock sounded on the door. In silence, Hunter
walked to it and opened it. He nodded to Maude to enter but kept Jeremy outside. Jeremy craned his neck and got a good view of Isabel in her chemise. Hunter must've given him a sharp look for he swiftly turned his gaze away.

"Wait for me in the garrison's quarters," Hunter told Jeremy. "Have my hauberk clean and ready for me."

"Aye, my
l
ord
.
" Jeremy disappeared and Hunter closed the door
.

Maude was preparing Isabel a cup of herbal tea for which Isabel was profoundly thankful. She needed her tea desperately this morning.

Obviously not swayed by her arguments, Hunter said, "Aid your
l
ady in dressing for our journey, Maude. Dawn is past and the morning will soon grow late. I wish to leave without delay."

"I still think I should not go," Isabel insisted as she took the cup from Maude. "Why is it so important that I accompany you?"

"Why is it so important that you do not?" he retorted.

Why was Hunter being so difficult about this? He looked almost distrustful of her. Could he be sensing she was lying to hi
m
? But how could he? Isabel took her time drinking her tea in silence. She had to convince Hunter to leave her behind. Would he believ
e
another killer migraine? Or would he think it a little too convenient of an excuse, since she'd already made clear she didn't want to go on this trip with him?

Suddenly, the perfect excuse came to min
d
—
h
er amnesia. God knew she had used it to cover a multitude of sins so far. One more wouldn't be out of place.

Remembering Hunter's story of how he had met Détra, Isabel asked, "Is not Hawkhaven where we first met?"

"Aye."

"Would
I
not be recognized there? And should
I
not
recognize people in return?" She waited for his answer, though his sepulchral silence was very telling. "Have you changed your mind about keeping my loss of memory a secret?" She directed an expectant gaze at him.

Hunter hesitated, probably torn between wanting his beloved wife with him on this trip and pondering how wise it would be to expose her
mental illness
to the world at large.

"Your acquaintance with Lord Reginald and his son is no deterrent to your visit, since there would be little interaction between you and them," he said. "Lord Reginald is probably incapacitated in bed and Rupert is absent from his castle at this moment. Your secret will be safe."

Latching on to her last argument like a drowning person would latch on to a lifeline. Isabel insisted, "You cannot be certain there will not be anyone else there who would recognize me. And you must realize by now that my memory loss goes beyond not remembering faces, names, or places. I feel like a totally different person. Would not someone notice that?"

There was a subtle change in Hunter's stance. He turned an intense gaze on her, as if seeing her for the first time. A shiver ran down Isabel's spine
.
She wished she hadn't made that comment. A few times last night Hunter had looked at her in an odd way. He hadn't said anything nor did he seem displeased at all, on the contrary. She had vowed to give him a night to remember and they would forever remember last night. Maybe that was it. Had Hunter noticed a difference in his wife's lovemaking? Though still honeymooners, Hunter and Détra had had two weeks to acquaint themselves in bed.

"I noticed that," Maude said.

Isabel turned a stunned gaze at Maude. Had Maude read her mind? How could she know what happened between Hunter and Isabel last night?

"You eat apples now." Maude explained. "You despised apples."

Apples?
What had apples to do with anything? And then it came to her. Détra detested apples. Isabel loved the
m
. That was the change Maude had noticed.

A confused Hunter
t
urned to Maude. "Wh
y
would
Détra
despise apples? It is but a fruit."

Isabel was curious too.

"Lord William locked my lady in her bedchamber once, and for days a
l
l he allowed her to eat were apples. He jested the treat would sweeten his favorite mare."

Hunter stiffened beside an outraged Isabel. "Who is Lord William?" she asked.

"Your
l
ate lord husband," Hunter said.

Isabel's eyes widened. Détra had been married before, and obviously to a moron. Good God! How pleased she'd be with Hunter and how desperate she must be to return home. The old guilt assailed Isabel again.

She had to find a wa
y
not to go with Hunter on this trip. She stepped back and tripped over the knee
l
er. The cup flew out of her hand as she fell awkwardly over her hand, pain shooting up her wrist.

Hunter rushed to her, and, lifting her, he pressed her arm and hand in several spots.

"Ouch," she cried.

"It does not appear to be broken." A bruise began forming on her forearm where it had hit the kneeler as she braced her fall, but there was no swelling on her
wrist.

"It is very painful, though."

"Wrap it tightly and it should be we
l
l soon."

Maude began ripping a thin piece of linen in strips, then wrapped them around Isabel's wrist.

Realizing she might've found the perfect excuse to bail out of the trip, Isabel said, "Looks like I might be staying behind after all." She tried to sound disappointed, but
what she felt was sadness. "I could not possibly ride with an incapacitated hand." Had she fifty good hands she couldn't fake her way around horses, having never ridden one in her life. And that was surely the medieval mode of transportation they'd be using.

"It might be too sore for you to hold the reins of your mare," Hunter agreed. "I shall have a conveyance ready for you."

Desperation crept up on her. No matter what obstacles she put up, Hunter easily destroyed them.

"My lord," Maude said. "Mayhap it would be best if Lady Détra remained at Windermere. I shall watch over her while you are away."

"I have no doubt you would, Maude. However, I wish my lady wife by my side." Then turning to Isabel, he asked, "Surely you would not deny me that pleasure, would you?"

The sheer determination on Hunter
's
face was a barrier Isabel knew she couldn't transpose. He wanted his wife with him and she had no good excuse to refuse him, besides the terrible risk of losing her heart completely to a man who belonged to another woman.

"I would deny you no pleasure," Isabel said.

HUNTER waited outside Hawkhaven
'
s gates to be admitted into its bailey. The huge fortification delineated against the dawning sky brought back bitter memories of his many years of struggle but also a great sense of pride. He had survive
d
—
m
ore than survived, he had prevaile
d
—
o
n his quests to achieve knighthood, to gain lands of his own, and to wed Détra.

But had he won her heart?

After the night they spent together, when she had held naught back, matching his passion and even surpassing it at times, Hunter hoped he might have won at feast a part of it.

And yet he could not forget how she had fought not to accompany him on this journey. The tiresome indecision of never knowing exactly whether Détra was te
l
ling him the truth vexed Hunter. More and more he believed
her claim of loss of memory, and yet there was much his lady wife was not telling him.

He stole a glance over his shoulder. Détra sat uncomfortably in the cart she shared with Maude. The slow-moving cart and the several stops they were forced to make had delayed their journey considerably. What should have taken but a day had lasted well into the night, and now at the dawning of a new day they had finally arrived at their destination.

At one time during their journey he had convinced Détra to ride on her mare while he led her mount. She had sat stiffly, looking utterly uncomfortable, as if she had never been on a horse's back before. That much surprised Hunter for he knew for a fact Détra was an accomplished rider.

Could her loss of memory encompass skills she used to possess? Not only could Détra not remember what she should never forget, but she also, at times, acted as if she were a completely different person.

In fact, she had admitted as much before they left on this journey. How fragile was his wife's mind? Had he been unwise in bringing her with him? And yet, to leave her behind among people who knew her well and would be more than willing to share the secret of their short past together would have been foolish. He could very well imagine what she would do if she learned that their love was naught but a chimera of his heart.

Nay, he had done well in bringing her, even with the potentially hazardous prospect of Rupert being in residence. For Rupert knew naught of Hunter's marital struggles with his lady wife. All
t
he man could reveal to Détra was Hunter's humble past, and that Hunter had every intention of sharing with Détra soon.

The gates finally opened and they rode inside the bailey. After a brief exchange of greetings with Thomas, the
premier knight of Hawkhaven, they were ushered into the great hall. He left Détra and Maude with Thomas and made his way to Lord Reginald's bedchamber.

Heart beating fast in his chest, Hunter hesitated outside the door. Too long he had waited to hear the truth, too long he had longed to put a face, a name, to his unknown father, and yet though he had thought himself prepared, he now discovered he was not.

The memories of the years of taunting he suffered in this very place and the fact Lord Reginald not once had come to his aid filled him with bitterness. What manner of man could watch his own son being humiliated time and time again and never rise to defend him?

Hunter fought the dormant anger rising in his heart. He would not allow the debilitating emotion to override him. No revelation from his foster lord could change his life now. He was a knight
,
a lord of his own castle, a man wedded to his love. Soon his castle would be filled with his children and Hunter would love them, care for them, and cherish them like a father should his children. And in doing so he would erase the memory of his own lonely childhood.

Taking a deep breath, Hunter straightened his shoulders, then pushed the door open. There would be no more delay. He would know now or forever bury the thought of his father in his heart.

The bedchamber reeked of urine, blood, and illness. Taking shallow breaths, Hunter walked inside, resisting the urge to dash across the chamber and jerk the window open for some very needed fresh air.

A circumspect physician was just finishing scraping blood-engorged leeches from Lord Reginald's chest into a bowl. He lifted, looked at Hunter, and then shook his head before leaving the bedchamber. An old maidservant propped pillows behind Lord Reginald's back, then helped him drink from a cup. Then she too left.

Hunter was alone with his foster lord.

His dying father?

He stepped closer, halting by the old man's bedside.

The tall, strong, virile man Hunter once knew had enfeebled to almost skin and bones. His once full, sandy hair had thinned to a few snowy-white strands. His massive hands were naught more than a skeleton folded over his heaving chest. Lord Reginald had aged beyond his years.