I did not mean to frighten her, he croaked.
I'm glad to hear it. I would not like to think
I am giving shelter to one who would terrorise
girls.
They were strangers, then. So why did he feel
such a connection to her? He furrowed his brow. She gave a brief smile. "Think nothing of it. Marie is silly and jumps if the kitchen cats mew behind her.
With an effort of will he was able to focus
on her with a little more clarity now, though his
eyes kept blurring. From the high singing voice, he had thought she was not much older than a child, but now he saw she was past her youth.
A few faint lines had begun to appear at the corner of her eyes and mouth anda short frown line ran between her brows to the top of a straight, sharp nose.
The severe expression must be habitual.
He reassessed his opinion that she was a mere servant.
Her surcoat was plain brown with wide sleeves, but the close-fitting green kirtle be-
neath had a wide band of embroidery around the straight neck and wrists that spoke of quality. Beneath the linen band across her brow, there was a glint of gold combs that swept her black hair up into rolls at each side of her head. They looked expensive, indicating wealth, and she wore rings
on three of her fingers.
More than that, the way she held herself and
the expression on her face suggested she was used to any command she issued being obeyed.
She was clearly waiting for him to respond. He tested his tongue and found it looser.
My head aches, he said in a croaky voice. 'I
do not know this place. What happened to me?"
She frowned, deepening the small line between her straight black brows. Do you remember anything of how you came
to be here?"
He knew better now than to try to shake his
head and simply murmured, Nothing, madame. I remember nothing. What can you tell me?"
She did not answer and her eyes narrowed. He rose up as best he could and clutched at her hand and felt her fingers straighten.
Her eyes widened and without knowing why he put a hand to her cheek. Immediately, the gentleness with which she had nursed him was gone, replaced by ice.
Take your hands off me, she snapped,
face becoming thunderous. She leaned closer to him and with a twist of her wrist she had slipped from his grip.
Pardon me,' he said. He fell back on the pillow, panting slightly from the effort it had cost him. But, please, if you can tell me anything, beseech you to do so.
I will tell you what I can. Be warned, monsieur, no man touches me without mny consent,
even an invalid.'
I understand .'
She gave a brief, tight smile of approval and
settled back on to her knees, arranging her skirts with practised elegance, then rested her hands neatly in her lap.
You were on a ship. She paused and looked away. Her face closed down. She looked wary and, despite her sharp, striking features, this uncertainty gave her an air of fragility.
He waited, examining her in the bright sunlight as her eyes darted quickly around.
He wanted to stroke her arm and encourage her to continue, but her warning rang in his ears.
What do you know? he prompted.
"There was a shipwreck. We found you on the
beach among the debris and the dead.' She leaned closer and her eyes raked over him, scrutinising him so intimately he imagined he was being undressed.
Do you really remember nothing? What
is your name?"
And this was when he truly began to panic.
With rising terror, he realised he did not know
the answer. I can't remember!"
He heard alarm in his voice, but the woman
looked suspicious. Her expression became stone
'
Are you sure?' She leaned closer. Are you a
spy? How do I know you are telling the truth2:
He reached out to clutch her sleeve to emphasise his integrity, but remembered her warning in time to stay his hand in mid-air.
They both regarded it. He clenched his fist, holding it to his side, then lowered it to the fur. Their eyes found each other's and the woman nodded.
A brief moment of understanding passed between them. In any other circumstances he would find the situation extremely erotic, but the fascination he had for her had to compete with the disorientation, weakness and confusion he felt.
I have no proof, but believe me, please. I am
telling the truth. I cannot remember who I am.
He ground his fingers into the thick white pelt
that covered him and gazed at her, willing her to believe him.
She eyed him steadily, her dark eyes moving slowly over his face, up to the wound on
his head and down again, further over his body. It made him feel uneasy to be examined so frankly by a stranger.
More than that was the fact of her sex. The fascination he felt for her was being pushed deep inside him by a stronger, more painful emotion that cautioned him to resist and retreat. The presence of a woman felt even more unfamiliar than the unknowń surroundings, but it came to him that it was not just her.
He would not feel easy with any woman at his bedside, but did not know why. It was slightly reassuring because the warning voice meant that deep down inside him, some knowledge of himself still existed and could hopefully be unearthed.
Shall I suggest some names and see if any-
thing seems right? the woman asked.
He nodded slightly. She spoke names, pausing after each to give him time to respond and looking questioningly at him. 'Philippe... Michel... Charles... James.
Jacques...
A dart pierced his stomach. Jack.
That had a familiarity where the others did
not.
She stopped and her head tilted to one side.
You are Jacques? Or Jack, as you are English,
I suspect. You muttered something on the shore when we found you which could have been that.
You were there?" He raised himself to his elbows, more astonished by this revelation than a possible nationality and name.
"I was.' She pushed herself to her feet and
walked away, gracefully crossing the room to
the table. She stood with her back to him, wrung out the cloth and returned. She pressed it to his forehead and used the motion to lay him back down again.
It was I who found you. You were the only
survivor that we found. Her full lips twisted down with sadness and Jackas he decided must suffice for now -was filled with warmth for her compassion. Who had time to grieve for strangers?
He could remember nothing of the men who had perished, though he must have known them, and remorse chilled him.
I thought you were dead, but then you opened your eyes, the woman said in a matter-of-fact voice, as if she was recounting a day at market.
'I was unsure if you would survive, but we brought you back here anyway and hoped.'
We? Did she have a husband? A woman of her age usually did , unless she was a widow.
Whose house am I in?" he asked. Where is it master?
Her lips twitched and once again she paused before answering, filling Jack with the suspicion that there was an undercurrent he was not aware of.
You wish to meet the master of this house?
You have no idea whose house you are in, but you assume naturally that there must be one."
Jack said nothing, wondering if his assumption was wrong. This woman was fascinating Perhaps she was the mistress and sole chatelaine of wherever he was.
Shall I call you Jack?' she asked. He nodded. The shape of it felt well enough in his mouth and he would be content to live under that name for the time being. If he discovered
another, then he would relinquish it. If he never recovered his memory and the thought of that made him want to scream with horror a plain name would suit an unknown man.
You should sleep again, the woman said. I'll
have food sent to you as well as water to bathe in and clean clothing. Her gaze raked him once more. We didn't want to touch you too much for fear of injuring you further, but I can imagine some fresh attire would be welcome.
She wrinkled her nose slightly and Jack realised with a sense of shame that his body and hair felt filthy. There was an odour clinging to him that had the taint of seawater and stale sweat.
Bathing was suddenly the most enticing thing he could think of.
"Last night, he said. On the shore..."
The woman raised her eyebrows.
"Monsieur Jack, you have been unconscious
for five days.
Five days! His head swam and he shook his head, causing waves of dizziness to envelop him. "How?