Harry shook his head. He felt stunned, racked with guilt and despair at the thought of his younger sister going to a watery grave. He wished that the sailors had not stopped him going into the sea. At least he could have searched for her, made certain that there was no hope of her being found alive.
Harry wished that he had not thought of bringing Anne with him. He had forgotten how dangerous the sea could be for the unwary. But the waves had been so huge. Harry had never experienced anything like it himself, though he had been to sea many times. Who could have imagined that a summer storm could come from nowhere and be so fierce? It was a miracle that the ship had survived! He knew that if he had not been lucky enough to catch hold of that iron ring himself he, too, would have been swept into the raging sea.
He would rather it had been him than his lovely sister! Harry had not been as close to Anne as to his twin Catherine, but he had loved her—he still loved her and mourned her. He was not sure how he would find the strength to go on with his purpose. How could he court Claire when his heart was so heavy?
Harry had written to her father and was honour bound to complete his journey to the Comte’s chateau. Yet if there was even a slight chance that Anne might have survived he would leave no stone unturned to find her. Occasionally, sailors were pulled alive from the wreckage of a ship, but Anne was a frail girl. It was unlikely that she could survive a night in the cold waters of the Channel.
If there were any chance that Anne had been plucked from the sea, dead or alive, he owed it to her and his family to discover it. He would set agents to search from port to port. He held little hope that she would be found alive, but, if her body had chanced to be washed on shore, he could at least make sure that she was decently buried.
Harry’s grief lay over him like a dark cloud. He knew that the news would also sorely grieve his parents, and he was not certain whether it would be best to write at once and send the letter back to England with the ship or wait.
Perhaps it would be best to wait for a while. If her body could be found, he might at least offer some comfort that she had been properly buried. However, it was more likely that she was lost at sea and nothing remained. No doubt their family would want to mourn her and hold a service of remembrance, but that was for the future. Harry would leave no stone unturned in the hope of news of Anne, though he knew it must be a hopeless cause.
Chapter Two
‘Is there any change?’ Stefan asked of the physician as he entered the bedchamber where the young woman lay in the great wooden bed. They had brought her to Chateau de Montifiori ten days earlier. For eight days the fever had raged as her skin heated and she tossed restlessly on the pillows; her long hair was matted by sweat and salt, for they had not dared to wash it. Ali Ben Hammed had suggested cutting it at one time, but Stefan had resisted, despite the physician’s insistence that her hair was taking her strength. However, on the ninth day the fever had waned and the girl seemed less restless. As yet she had not opened her eyes. Stefan walked to the bed and laid his hand on her forehead. Her temperature seemed normal. He looked at the Arab physician, a man skilled in the arts of medicine, and a friend of some nine years since he had rescued him from Sir Hugh Grantham, who had ordered his execution at the stake. Had Stefan not intervened, Ali would have been burned to death. He looked at the physician. ‘Why does she not wake? She no longer has a fever.’
‘I cannot tell,’ Ali replied, his face wizened by the hot sun of his native land and the passing of years. ‘I know that sometimes the mind lies dormant so that the body may heal. I believe that she is past the worst, my lord, though when she will awake I know not. She may not remember anything when she does, for the trauma she has experienced will be hard to bear, especially if she has lost loved ones.’
‘She would not have been travelling alone,’ Stefan said. ‘If the vessel was sunk, it is likely that all the others perished. It was mere chance that she was caught by the ropes to that mast and survived the perils of the ocean.’
‘As Allah wills,’ Ali said, steepling his hands and bending his head. ‘It was meant to be that you should find her, my lord. If you save a life, that life is yours. You are bound to her and must protect her henceforth.’
Stefan frowned. ‘If she ever wakes, and can tell me her name and her family, I shall see her restored to them,’ he said. ‘You should know that there is no room in my life for a woman…especially one like this. Her hair will be beautiful once it is washed free of the salt and sweat, and her hands are soft. She has never done manual work.’
‘A lady,’ Ali agreed, nodding wisely. ‘Do you not wonder why Allah brought her to you, my lord? These things are for a purpose. She has some place in your life, otherwise it would not have been so ordained.’
‘I would not offend you or Hassan,’ Stefan said, his features set in harsh lines. ‘But I have no God and I see no purpose for a woman in my life. I have lived by the sword and shall doubtless die by it. Lord Cowper is responsible for my father’s untimely death, and for the life I have led. I have sworn vengeance and when I am ready I shall return to England and take back what is mine. By the end of this year either he or I will lie in the earth. This I owe to my father’s shade!’
‘Your wound is not yet completely healed,’ Ali said, ignoring this speech for the most part. He knew as well as anyone that Stefan had suffered too much injustice, and that he had reason enough to be bitter. Yet he had never allowed this to interfere with his compassion for others. Ali was not the only one to have benefited; Stefan de Montfort had rescued and taken in more than one casualty of life. ‘It would be foolish to confront your enemy while you are at a disadvantage, would it not, my lord?’
‘And?’ Stefan’s gaze narrowed.
‘Who knows?’ Ali asked, deliberately obtuse. ‘The girl is here and she needs your help. I do not believe you would desert her.’
‘Once she knows who she is, I shall return her to her family. As that is probably in England, she may accompany me when I return to confront Lord Cowper.’
‘In the meantime, it is best that you rest, my lord,’ Ali said. ‘The young woman must also rest. Perhaps in time you may learn the reason she was sent to you.’
‘It was chance,’ Stefan said, ‘and the tides.’
‘Ah, chance and the tides.’ Ali smiled as he turned away. ‘Who but Allah controls the tides…’
Stefan was no longer listening. A low moaning sound came from behind him. He turned and looked at the bed. The woman was stirring, her eyelids fluttering. He bent over her, stroking the damp hair back from her forehead with hands that were surprisingly gentle for such a man.
‘Do not fear, mademoiselle,’ he said softly, the timbre of his voice deep and caressing. ‘You are quite safe here. You have been very ill, but you will soon be better now.’
The woman opened her eyes, which he saw were a deep blue-green, like the changing waters of the Mediterranean Sea on a sunlit day. She stared at him for a moment, looking bewildered. Her hand reached towards him and her lips moved, then her hand dropped and she closed her eyes once more. He had the oddest feeling that he had seen her before, though he could not place her in his memory.
‘What is wrong?’ Stefan asked of the physician. ‘Is she better or not? Her skin feels cool…and she opened her eyes for a moment.’
‘She is sleeping because she is exhausted,’ Ali said as he looked down at her. ‘She will live, my lord, but her recovery may be slow—and she will need your help.’
Stefan looked down at the woman. He had saved her from the sea and brought her to his home for Ali to nurse. She was beautiful, it was true, but he had seen lovely women before; he had taken those he desired to his bed but none had touched the inner core he guarded. This one