Anne hesitated, then shook her head. ‘I remember there was once someone called Catherine and she helped me with my sewing, but it was a long time ago.’
‘Was Catherine your mother?’
‘I do not know,’ Anne replied and looked bewildered. ‘How can I know that Catherine was a better needlewoman than me, but not know who she is?’
‘I do not know,’ Stefan said. He turned as the door opened and someone came in and he saw the physician. ‘She is awake and we have decided that her name is to be Anne—at least for the moment.’
Ali came forwards so that Anne could see his face. ‘I see you are well, lady. I shall not disturb you—unless you have need of me? You are not in pain?’
‘I am quite well, thank you.’
‘I shall leave you to rest, lady.’
‘And I shall go too, Anne,’ Stefan said. ‘It is not fitting that I should be in your room. I came only to see for myself that you were well. I shall not see you again until you are able to join us in the hall downstairs. Goodnight, lady. Do not fret too much. You are safe here and in time you will remember all you should.’ He turned to Ali. ‘Come, my friend, share a cup of wine with me. I have something I wish to discuss with you.’
Anne lay back against the pillows as the two men went out together. She closed her eyes, struggling to remember something…anything that would tell her who and what she was. A tear slid from the corner of her eye, but she dashed it away with her hand. She would not weep tears of self-pity. Lord de Montfort had told her she was safe here and for some reason she believed him. She must be content to stay here until she remembered who she was. The name Catherine was at the back of her mind. She tried to put a face to the name and failed, but something told her that Catherine had once been important in her life.
‘Do you believe that she has truly lost her memory?’ Stefan asked of the physician. ‘She picked the name Anne for herself. It seemed to please her. I think it may well be her own name.’
‘It is possible, my lord. Her memory may come back in little strands like the mists in a forest, weaving between the trees, revealing clear spaces where the canopy is broken, and concealing the rest.’
‘You do not think that she is pretending that she cannot recall her name?’
‘Why would she do that, my lord?’
Stefan shook his head, feeling an ache in his side, a constant reminder of the last woman that had tried to trap him. ‘No, I am too suspicious. I plucked her from the sea. An enemy could not have sent her. She is innocent and I am unkind to doubt her.’
‘I believe her distress is genuine, my lord. She will begin to remember things slowly, a little at a time, and then perhaps it will all come to her—or it may not. The mind is a strange thing.’
‘Yet she remembered that Catherine taught her how to sew—and that she was not as good at her work as the other woman.’
‘She did not know who Catherine was?’
‘Possibly her mother or someone she knew well.’
Ali nodded. ‘I do not think she would think of her mother as Catherine. It seems as if the woman was important to her, but perhaps not of prime importance in her life. If she remembered a lover or her mother the rest might come, but until then it may be that she remembers only fragments of her life.’
‘We must give her time,’ Stefan said. ‘My wound broke open again as we hunted this morning and has bled. I believe I need some of your salves, old friend.’
‘You should still be resting.’
‘We needed meat for the pot,’ Stefan said. ‘We took a wild boar and two hinds today, besides some game that my peregrine brought down. We shall eat well enough for the next few weeks.’
Ali nodded. He knew from experience that it was a thankless task to tell Lord de Montfort to rest. He would push himself to the limit, and his wound would heal in time, as it always had. The forests about the chateau teemed with game, and hunting was a way of life for the lord. Stefan took his position seriously and was well respected and liked by his tenants and retainers alike.
Most of them looked forwards to the day when their lord would settle down and take a wife, but those who knew him best understood that he would not allow himself any peace until his brother and father’s murderers were brought to justice.
‘Is there any way we can help her to regain her memory?’
Ali looked at his lord’s face. There was a hint of impatience in his eyes, an odd expression on his face. ‘I think it must be left to time, my lord. She will find her own way if left to herself.’
Stefan nodded. Anne was beautiful and a part of him wanted to keep her here at the chateau, but another felt it would be best to send her on her way as soon as possible, before she had time to work her way under his guard. Something about her drew him like a moth to a flame. While she lay unconscious he had spent time sitting by her bed, but from now on he would keep out of her way as much as possible. He had no time for a gentle, lovely woman—or love! He must remember that he had made a vow to take revenge for his father’s murder!
‘Excuses!’ Lord Cowper scowled as the man told him what he already knew. Stefan de Montfort and that hell-hound of a Saracen he counted a friend had succeeded in leaving England alive and were no doubt safe at his chateau in France. ‘My instructions were that he was not to be allowed to leave England alive! Am I served by dolts and incompetents? How was he able to get away?’
‘Your plan failed, my lord. The Saracen suspected a trap and came looking for him. We think Sir Hugh killed the Lady Madeline, as you planned to incriminate Lord de Montfort, and then the Saracen arrived and killed him with one slash of his wicked blade.’
‘Where were the rest of you?’
‘We tried to stop them escaping,’ the servant said and flinched as his master struck him in the face. ‘Lord de Montfort was wounded in the side, but he is a strong man and with the Saracen at his side they fought their way out.’
‘Curse him!’ Lord Cowper snarled. ‘We should have killed him years ago instead of his brother, but the younger son was the father’s favourite and he would not have believed ill of him. The years Stefan de Montfort spent as a mercenary have made him as wily as a fox and sharper than a serpent.’
Lord Cowper paced the room. He knew that once his enemy had recovered his strength he would come after him, and this time he would not be denied. His only chance was to strike first.
‘We must go to Normandy,’ he said, making up his mind. ‘He will be more relaxed on his own land. We shall watch and wait, and when the time comes we shall kill him.’
‘As you wish, my lord.’ Fritz did not attempt to point out that the Chateau de Montifiori was well guarded and that it might be safer to stay here and let the enemy come to them. Lord Cowper was a man of uncertain temper and anyone who thwarted his will would meet a sticky end. It was only that he was one of the few able to actually recognise Lord de Montfort that had saved his life this time. Some of the others involved in the fiasco had not been as lucky and were already beneath the earth.
Cowper rounded on him, eyes bulging, flaming with fury. He was an ugly man with a bull neck and a mottled colour that spoke of a life of indulgence. He struck Fritz again, making him stagger back.
‘Of course it is as I wish. You failed me once, oaf. Do it again and I’ll hang you and all the other dolts who betrayed me. Tell the men to prepare. We leave in the morning.’
Fritz backed away, bowing to the master he disliked. If it were not for his sister, Helene, and his mother, nothing would keep him in this creature’s service, even though he knew that he was Cowper’s bastard. The lord had forced himself on Fritz’s mother but never acknowledged that the child she bore was his. However, Fritz’s sister was Cowper’s mistress.