Courtly Love (44 page)

* * *

Sister Anne finished her rosary and after making the sign of the cross turned to withdraw. During her prayers Sister Anne had resolved never again to seek out Lord Gyles if only God would see fit to allow the dizziness and voices she had heard to pass. Moving thoughtfully down the aisle, her head bowed, a small movement caught her attention and Sister Anne halted. Lord Gyles knelt in one of the pews, his handsome face obscured by his hands. His shoulders were heaving, Sister Anne saw, as if he were fighting all the demons of hell—or perhaps only the grief he kept so deeply buried. All of Sister Anne's brave resolutions fell away in the face of Lord Gyles's sorrow. Surely God would want her to offer comfort to one so sorely in need; Sister Anne could not ignore such pain as the Norman lord was bearing.

Without knowing quite how it was accomplished, Sister Anne found herself seated on the pew in front of Lord Gyles, her slender fingers brushing his hands as she spoke.

"God's way is not always clear to us, m'lord, we can only accept His will. You must believe, m'lord, that there is a reason for—" Sister Anne gasped in pain as the long fingers of the knight closed over hers so tightly that the bones were nearly crushed.

Gyles's face was deathly white, the green eyes so brilliant it pained Sister Anne to look at them. "M-m'lord? Please . . . I . . . you are hurting me!" Sister Anne managed to stammer out.
Why was he staring at her as if she were a ghost?
Sister Anne's fear of having known Lord Gyles returned with a vengeance and now she struggled to free herself from his grasp. "Please, m'lord," she sobbed as the dull throb in her temples began and the dizziness washed over her again.

The entire world narrowed for Gyles until only the delicate face with its hollowed cheeks and wide sapphire eyes remained.
Serena!
Gyles's heart thudded against his ribs and he shook his head to clear his vision. It wasn't possible, not here, not now, after all these months! Gyles studied the tearful face within inches of his—Serena's face without a doubt, but thinner, far too thin; and there was an emptiness in those blue eyes he loved to gaze into, a blankness Gyles had never seen before. But it was Serena, his wife, his love.

"Serena," Gyles finally croaked. "Dear God, Serena!"

Sister Anne stiffened at the name the voices had spoken.
Who was she, this Serena? Lord Gyles's wife?

The bruising grip had relented, but he still held her hand in his.

"If it please, m'lord, my name is Sister Anne," she told him in a steadier voice. "I know not of Serena."

Gyles's eyes widened briefly and he raised a shaking hand to the veil covering Serena's head.
What if she had taken the vows of the order? What .
. . The veil came loose and Serena's hair spilled over his fingers as she gave a small gasp and recoiled from his touch. " Tis not me, m'lord, you must not—" "You are not of the order? You have taken no vows?" Gyles's hands fell to Serena's shoulders and he shook her gently. She was so thin, so terribly fragile.

"N-nay, m'lord." Sister Anne was truly frightened now and she began to quake. What possible difference could it make to this man whether she had taken her vows, unless . . . unless he knew her and her past! Her spirits soared and, momentarily forgetting the abbess's warning. Sister Anne's eyes flashed happily as she caught eagerly at his hand. "M'lord, please, m'lord, do you know me? Have we met? Who am I? Please, m'lord, can you tell me ..."

Serena's questions brought a strange light to Gyles's eyes and he quelled the impulse to crush Serena to him as he stared at her in disbelief. Serena's face showed no sign of recognition, no sign that she knew him, indeed had ever known him, while she pelted him with questions. With great reluctance Gyles took his hands from his wife. "How—" Gyles's voice caught and he cleared his throat of the lump that had formed there. "How long have you been here, Sister?"

"I am not certain, m'lord, but I would guess since harvest time last. Tis said I was waylaid by thieves and sorely injured and left for dead. A group of mummers found me wandering from a forest and brought me here." Sister Anne cautiously related the story the abbess had told her to give if questioned, for Sister Anne was not entirely certain how much faith could be placed in Lord Gyles. "The sisters saved me from certain death, m'lord, and allowed me to stay as a lay member of their order. You see, my wounds had become infected and I succumbed to a fever, which cost my memory. So please, m'lord, if you know me, I pray you, speak to me of my life."

"I do indeed know of you, Sere—Sister." Gyles gave his wife a crooked smile. "I have known you and your family for some time—you have a brother whose first child will soon be born. You are wed to a noble lord and you have a son who will shortly be a year in age."

Sister Anne's eyes shone. "Truly, m'lord? A husband and a son? Oh, 'tis more than I hoped for. Tell me—"

"Nay, Sister." Gyles stood and gestured for her to do likewise; struck when she did so by the fragility barely concealed by the rough gray robe. "Twould be best if we speak to the abbess before I tell you more."

"Oh, yes, m'lord, Reverend Mother will be so pleased." Sister Anne started to replace her veil, then laughed softly. "I shall not need to wear this any longer thanks to you. And I am most grateful to you, m'lord. When I am restored to my husband I shall ask him to grant you any reward you desire." Gyles's laughter caused her to frown at his uncalled for levity and she said in a sterner vein, "But come, Reverend Mother is better today and she should be in her office. I will take you there."

* * *

The abbess was not in her office but was overseeing the work on the orphanage, Gyles and Sister Anne were informed in icy tones by a stern-faced Sister Marcella who cast disapproving looks at the young woman's bare head.

Before Sister Marcella could say more, Sister Anne had pulled Gyles out of the room and through the corridor leading to the orphanage.

The abbess watched them approach, the delicate beauty of the woman she knew as Sister Anne a dramatic contrast to the dark masculinity of Lord Gyles, and she, too, frowned at the unbound, waist-length tresses; but before the abbess could upbraid Sister Anne, Lord Gyles spoke to her and proceeded alone to the Reverend Mother. Sister Anne wandered about the orphanage's courtyard, tilting her head back occasionally to observe the masons as they worked at bringing down sections of decaying wood and replacing it with more durable stone. The children darted about, making a game of dodging the falling lumber. Sister Anne called out a sharp reprimand then returned to her own happy musings.

Soon she would be back with her family—it mattered not that she did not remember either husband or son, Sister Anne had faith that once reunited with her loved ones her memory would return.

Her brows drew together as Sister Anne recalled her dreams of Lord Gyles. Now that it was confirmed that she was wed she must set aside all thoughts of him and speak to no one of her dreams in which Lord Gyles played such a major role. The thought brought Sister Anne up short—what if Lord Gyles meant to escort her back to her husband? If so, Sister Anne must have a chaperone, for she doubted any husband would look kindly upon his wife undertaking a journey with another man, no matter how good a friend he proved to be!

Sister Anne had become oblivious to her surroundings and had inadvertently wandered into the shadows she had previously warned the children from
. Odd,
she thought,
how after she had recovered from her initial fear of Lord Gyles his presence had been comforting, warmly protective, serene
. In the same instant she heard the rending sound of wood giving way, Sister Anne also heard Gyles's call; warning her, calling her "Serena" with a horror in his voice that lifted the veil she had labored under during the past months. As Gyles lunged across the courtyard, her name still on his lips, she remembered. Sister Anne was gone, Serena had returned.

"Gyles," Serena whispered and then the world exploded in a brilliant flash of pain as a section of wood struck her head and she descended into blackness.

T
he abbess quietly entered the guest cottage, a bowl of warm water and clean linens in her hands, and made her way across the room to the bed. The dark knight appeared not to notice her presence and she cleared her throat discreetly to announce her entrance. "Lord Gyles? Tis time I cleaned her wound, m'lord."

Gyles glanced up, then returned his gaze to the woman in his arms. "Do what needs be done, Reverend Mother."

"Lord Gyles!" The abbess sighed, "Will you not release her? Just for a time while I bathe the cut—I can send for a tray so that you may sup when I see to your wife."

"Nay." Gyles's voice was ragged. "Twice before I was parted from her when she had need of me, once when my child was torn from her body and then when she was nearly killed by those black-hearted sons of satan who—" His voice broke and he shook his head violently. "Nay, I will not release her! Serena is where she belongs, here safe in my arms, and here she will stay 'til she awakens. Do what you must; my presence will not hinder your work."

As the abbess carefully washed the matted hair and dried blood away from the cut on Serena's head, Gyles's thoughts turned back to the day they had first set eyes on each other. How beautiful Serena had been, her eyes so wide with fear and anxiety they looked like sapphire flames when she stared up at him. What manner of man had he seemed to her then with his grim demeanor and the implacable hatred he had carried for all women?

Serena cried out softly despite the abbess's gentle touch and Gyles drew her closer to his chest as if to ward off the pain with his own body. The joy he had felt at finding Serena had long since vanished and as the day passed and she had not awakened, Gyles's fear increased. Surely fate would not be so cruel as to take Serena from him a second time. How could he live with the knowledge that had he payed more attention to the community of nuns, he would have discovered Serena months ago and she would now be safely at Camden. True, she would not remember their life together, but would that be so terrible? Their marriage had been forced on them both and the union had only begun to hold promise after a long year of misunderstandings and separations. What would it have been like had they loved each other from the beginning? Gyles groaned inwardly. To turn back time, to go back to the day they met, to their wedding night—to give Serena all the love that should have been hers from the start but which Gyles was only now capable of giving her.

The abbess finished her duties and collected her things. "One of our order will remain outside the door. Call out if you desire anything or if your lady awakes."

When she was gone, Gyles smoothed the hair from Serena's face and tenderly traced her features with his fingertips. "Open your eyes, my love," he whispered. "Do you not wish to see your husband? And Alan and Evan— they have need of you as well. It matters not that you have no memory of us . . . perhaps 'tis best this way. How many people wish for a second chance at finding happiness here on earth such as the one we have been granted?" Gyles pressed a kiss on Serena's unmoving lips. "We shall begin again, you and I. You will return to Camden as my bride and I will court you as I should have done so long ago. I have caused you much pain in the past, that I know, and, my dearest love, I would willingly sell my soul to the devil if that would buy back your sorrow. But such bargaining is futile now—I can only pray that you come back to me." Gyles fixed his emerald stare on the cross above the bed, willing his own strength to flow into Serena.

A black cloud seemed to have surrounded her mind and body; a warm, comforting, black cloud that wasn't frightening in the least. There was an ache in her right temple, but that magically diminished when something moist and warm was drawn over her scalp. She stirred, moaned, felt herself held more tightly within the gentle cloud. Memories buried for so long came flooding back as well as the vision of a tall, dark knight praying in the darkened chapel. Abruptly the cloud around her was no longer comforting but terrifying, for it threatened to keep Serena from Gyles for all time and she fought against it, crying out her fear and distress.

"Serena! Serena!" Gyles caught her flailing arms, pinning them between his chest and Serena. "Be still, my love, all is well. Cherie, please, you will do yourself harm this way."

Serena's eyes flew open at the sound of his voice and she stared, transfixed, at the sun-bronzed face just above her own. Tentatively, afraid she was still dreaming, Serena freed one hand and touched the scar that was so familiar to her.

"Gyles?" He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Oh, Gyles, I feared you were a dream."

"Nay, love, no dream. Flesh and blood only."

With a sob Serena threw her arms around his neck, heedless of the tears that streamed down her cheeks to dampen Gyles's tunic. Again and again she murmured his name, clinging fiercely to him while Gyles lavished kisses on her hair and throat.

"We thought you dead," Gyles choked out, his own eyes bright with unshed tears. "Dear God, Serena, we thought you dead!"

"We were attacked," Serena cried. "Bryan and Richard and I, when we went riding. They killed Bryan, Gyles, I remember seeing his body—and they wanted to kill me as well! Oh, Gyles, I was so frightened I could not move; I let them kill my brother! Why, Gyles, why? Neither Bryan nor I have done anything to deserve death."

"Serena, love, hush." Gyles cupped her face between his hands and ordered firmly, "Be still, I say, and calm yourself. Bryan is not dead; he is alive and well, and he and Catherine are awaiting their first-born."

"Truly?" Serena gripped his forearms, afraid to release him lest her world suddenly crumble.

"Truly," Gyles assured her. "How do you feel? Does your head pain you?"

Serena shook her head. "Nay, Gyles, a slight ache 'tis all. Tell me of you, of Camden—our sons, are they well? Gyles—"

"Hush." Gyles placed a finger across her lips. "Are you hungry?" Serena nodded and Gyles smiled approvingly. "So am I. I vow I have not enjoyed a meal since you disappeared." Gyles strode to the door and asked the sister waiting outside for a supper tray, then returned to the pallet and took Serena in his arms.

"Gyles—"

"Hush," Gyles said sternly. "For nearly twelve months my bed and arms have been empty; allow me the pleasure of simply holding you again. There will be time later for your questions."

Serena did not argue, instead she touched his hair, shoulders, face; allowing her hands to remember the texture of him while her mind recalled their life together. Twas this she had missed all this time in the convent without realizing it—the wonder of holding her love to her breasts. Of all the things in the world, how could she have forgotten Gyles, Serena wondered. He was as much a part of her as her very soul; without Gyles she was incomplete. Looking back, Serena bitterly regretted having fled from Gyles in London. How much unnecessary pain she must have caused him then. Had she but known what would happen...

"Promise me we will never be parted again," Serena whispered anxiously.

"I promise," Gyles answered. And then, as if he could read her thoughts, "There will be no more partings for you and me. I intend to keep you safe beside me for the rest of my days, despite wars or princes or dark ladies from the north country. And if you ever try to escape me again, I swear I will chain you to me day and night."

"I would not blame you for that," Serena replied and snuggled closer to Gyles. "In truth I would enjoy it, for I have had my fill of separations."

Gyles tilted Serena's head backward and fixed his lips upon hers, recapturing in an instant the burning passion that had always been theirs. Serena responded eagerly to his kiss, her body growing warm and pliant as it molded against Gyles. Strangely, in spite of her willingness, Gyles did not press his suit, but gently ended the kiss. "That, too, I have missed," he told Serena in an odd voice.

Serena smiled and opened her arms invitingly, but Gyles only shook his head and chastely kissed both her hands. " Tis not meet, Serena."

Any protest Serena might have made was effectively silenced by the return of the sister with their meal. Puzzled by Gyles's actions Serena did not speak when they were alone once again, but she covertly watched her husband as he applied himself to his food. Gyles had changed in the time she had been gone, Serena thought as she toyed with her own food. Once he would not have refused her obvious offer; once Gyles would have taken her in his arms regardless of the surroundings. A sudden thought caused Serena to lose what was left of her appetite. The only reason Serena could think of for Gyles's behavior was too awful to contemplate—she swallowed hard and studied his profile in the wavering candlelight Gyles had found another; that was why he had not touched her.

"Gyles?" Her voice shook and when he looked up to meet her eyes Serena discovered she could not ask the question that had jarred her out of her newfound joy. Serena dropped her gaze and steadied her voice. "Will you tell me now about Alan and Evan?"

"They are well." Gyles finished his wine. "Both have grown so much you may not recognize them—especially Evan, he was just a babe when you saw him last. He has your eyes, but in all other ways he favors me."

His pride in both sons was plain to see and Serena felt tears sting her eyes. "And the others? My family?"

Gyles smiled at her across the table. "Bryan and Catherine are well, as I told you. Nellwyn, too, enjoys good health; Sir Arthur has something to do with that I think.

"We discovered the reason you were attacked, Serena. 'Twas a plot hatched by Aurelia and Beda to inherit Broughton and Camden. Aurelia poisoned your father; you were justified in your suspicion of his death. Had the attack on your party succeeded, Evan and I would have fallen beneath their greed."

"But they arranged our marriage," Serena said in a disbelieving tone. "Aurelia practically forced my father into arranging it and Beda seemed to have no objections, aside from being banned from your bed. Do you tell me now that those elaborate preparations were made solely because they wanted the land?"

Gyles nodded grimly. " 'Twas all for the lands, Serena. Your father, Bryan, you—all of us were merely pawns to be used and discarded as they saw fit. Richard, too, was a tool they used out of sheer desperation." Briefly, Gyles described Richard's part in the attack and the fatal confrontation between Richard and Aurelia. "I am sorry, cherie, that I must bring you such news in this way, but 'tis best you know all that has happened now, before you leave the cloister."

Serena's heart froze at his words. What else had transpired that she was not aware of? Had Gyles found another woman to take her place? Serena fearfully pushed the thought away—if Gyles had, he would soon tell her. "Was Balfour taken from Richard's father?"

"Nay. Prince Henry decided 'twould be best if such news was not spread across England. He came to Camden and made his judgment there."

Serena sighed and left the table to gaze into the dead fireplace. "Poor Richard. Were it not for me, he would still be alive. Why did he not do as I asked? Why could he not have married another and been content at Balfour?"

" Tis not hard to understand. Richard loved you, Serena; for him there could be no other."

Tears scalded Serena's cheeks as she mourned for him. She wept not for the Richard who had willingly led her and Bryan into an ambush, but for the gentle, innocent friend of her childhood and the ardent rogue who had first captured her heart. Suddenly Serena felt very old and weary—the world she had known was gone; all the familiar, comforting things had disappeared along with her father and Richard.

"Have you more to tell me?" Serena asked tiredly. "The bell will ring soon for Complin—"

"There is more." Behind her, Serena heard Gyles shift in his chair. "You have not asked how I fared, Serena. Why?"

Serena shook her head fearfully, feeling her mind go numb with the shock of what she would surely hear. "You are here," she answered uncertainly. "I thought 'twas evident you fared well."

"You are wrong; I did not. Twas pure hell for me, Serena, the endless months of searching for you, afraid to find you yet more afraid that I would not. 'Twas hardest to return home and face our son, knowing that some day I would have to tell him that his mother had disappeared. But worst of all was having to agree to a marriage arranged by the king. I wanted to die, my love, as I was certain you had. Only the thought of our sons stayed my hand."

Gyles's voice was soft but it seemed to reach every corner of the room, surrounding her with his presence.

" 'Twas different for me, not knowing who I was or where I belonged. I only knew that something important was missing, and when I would try to remember my head \vould ache so badly I had to give up." Serena sighed. " Tis not the life I had planned."

"Nor I." Gyles came to stand behind her. "Do you remember how it was with us in the beginning? The anger, the accusations, the wounds each of us inflicted on the other? I have had a great deal of time to remember, Serena, to wish our life together had been different. Twas not your fault, nor mine. We were strangers then and though we did not know it, there were other forces that also worked against us. I want you to know I never blamed you for running away or wanting a divorce."

"I wished only for your love," Serena managed to say. "I wanted our marriage to be a happy one, Gyles, I could never have gone through with a divorce."

Impatiently Gyles swung Serena around to meet his gaze. "Because of Evan?"

"Nay, for myself," she told him in a small voice. "If I did not love you I would have raised Evan by myself."

"And now it seems I must take new vows." Gyles framed Serena's face with his large hands when she tried to look away. "When I return to Camden I must do so with a bride—will you marry me, Serena?"