Norwyck's Lady. Margo Maguire

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      He had not given a thought to the woman in the east tower, but as he dismounted before the stone steps of the keep, he wondered in passing if she had awakened yet from her stupor.

      The light in the chamber was dim, but that did not account for her blurred vision. Naught was clear, not even her hand when she studied it up close. What was wrong? What had happened to her eyes?

      “Oh my!” someone cried. “You’re awake!”

      English. The woman had spoken English, and for some reason, the sound was strange and unfamiliar. Yet she understood the words.

      “Would you like a sip of water?” the woman asked, leaning over her. She was able to make out light hair and a dark gown, but the facial features were unclear.

      She nodded and accepted help in drinking from a mug.

      “I’ll just go and tell Lord Norwyck that you’ve come ’round,” the servant said.

      “L-Lord…Norwyck?” she queried, trying out the English words.

      “Aye,” the voice replied. “You’re in the keep at Norwyck Castle. Lord Norwyck himself carried you here from the beach.”

      “Norwyck…carried me?” She swallowed dryly and furrowed her brows, only to wince at the pain it caused. Naught made sense to her. Norwyck. Norwyck Keep. ’Twas wholly unfamiliar.

      “Aye, he did. When you washed up on shore.” The servant was suddenly gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

      They were surprisingly vacant.

      She could not think why she’d have “washed up” on a shore. She had been…Where?

      Her stomach did a flip when she realized that she could not remember anything specific. There were faces, and strange places, but she could not name any of them. Her memory was gone, and her sight was poor. What was she to do?

      Panic seized her. Her heart pounded and her breathing became erratic. She could not even remember her own name! She did not know where she’d come from, or how she had gotten here.

      Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she felt a wave of nausea nearly overcome her. Even so, she could not lie here and wait for someone to take care of her. ’Twas not in her nature to be so passive, though how she could be certain of that, she did not know. It just did not seem right to remain abed and wait for answers.

      Light-headedness made her falter, but she moved away from the bed in spite of it. She was bruised and sore all over, with a knot at the side of her forehead and a gash along her shinbone. At least these seemed to be the worst of her injuries. The hazy vision alarmed her, too, but she had no way of knowing whether she’d always had poor eyesight. She doubted it, since it seemed so strange to her.

      Almost as disturbing as her injuries was that she was naked. She was fully and completely exposed, and there did not seem to be any clothing within reach. Squinting, she extended her arms to feel for any objects in her path, nearly tripping over a chair in her attempt to reach what she thought was a gown draped over a chair.

      ’Twas just a woolen shawl.

      The sudden sound of footsteps and voices came to her, and she knew she could not make it back to the bed quickly without tumbling over something. She grabbed the shawl and held it up before her just as the door opened.

      Bart stopped in his tracks at the entrance of the tower room, holding back his brothers and Eleanor, who had come to see the wounded woman.

      “Go back down, and I’ll come and get you when…er, when I…” He swallowed.

      “Come on, Bart,” Henry said, pushing at his brother’s back. “Let us through.”

      “Nay,” he replied, frowning as the woman stood gazing at him blankly. Her body was partially covered by the wool shawl that usually rested upon the back of one of the chairs, leaving most of her body bared to his view.

      Awake, she was exquisite. His eyes raked over her, from the delicate bones at her shoulders to the swell of her barely concealed breasts, then down to hips that were not entirely covered by the shawl, to sweetly dimpled knees and slender ankles.

      His siblings shoved him from behind. When he finally found his voice, he ordered them away. “Go! Go and…and I’ll be down shortly.” He turned and slammed the door, barring it, and ignoring the pounding that came from the other side.

      ’Twas naught compared to the pounding in his skull, in his chest, in his groin. She was beauty and grace, angelic and dangerously seductive.

      Tearing his gaze away, he cursed under his breath. He knew better than to allow a comely form to cloud his thoughts. She was a woman, no more and no less. Fully capable of the most devious treachery.

      He would allow her to stay until she was steady on her feet. But then she had to go.

      “Wrap the shawl more securely, if you don’t mind,” he said coolly as he walked toward her.

      She fumbled with the heavy wool as she stepped back, and lost her footing. Bart lunged and caught her before she fell, and lifted her into his arms.

      Her naked flesh felt absurdly enticing. She had only covered the front of her body—and not very well at that—leaving her back entirely bare. Her skin felt smooth, warm.

      Her eyes were an unusual light green, edged in blue, framed by dark lashes. Bart did not believe he’d ever seen eyes like hers before, but they were unfocused, confused. Her predicament touched him. To have survived such an ordeal, possibly to have lost her family in such a terrible way, was unspeakable.

      Inuring himself against any feelings of pity, he set her on the bed and tossed the blankets over her. Whatever had happened was done. It had naught to do with him. He would allow this woman to remain at Norwyck until she was well enough to travel, then send her on her way.

      When she began to tremble, Bart looked away.

      “My lord?”

      “You’re at Norwyck Castle,” he said, keeping his back to her. “Your ship went down in our waters.”

      “My…ship?”

      “As far as we know, you are the sole survivor,” he said, turning back to pierce her with his stony gaze. “And you are…?”

      She moistened her lips. “I…I…cannot remember,” she said simply.

      Bart stared at her mouth, unable to comprehend the meaning of her statement. Oh, he well understood what she’d said, but he did not know quite what she meant.

      “You cannot remember?”

      “N-nay, my lord,” she said. She fought to keep a tremor from her voice, but Bart refused to be taken in by that manipulative wile. ’Twas one his late wife had used to great effect. “I awoke without knowledge of who I am or w-where I belong.”

      Bart chortled without humor. How was it possible СКАЧАТЬ