Chapter 7
“I can walk. My legs are perfectly fine,” Sophie squawked as Gunther carried her through the courtyard “You’re hurting me worse with all your bouncing.”
She felt bad yelling at Gunther when he was only doing what he was told. It would have taken no one other than God or perhaps an angel with extremely good credentials to get the loyal servant to go against Anne. She knew he’d rather be off with the other men fighting for Dernier Keep than being her personal pack mule. Still, it was embarrassing being carried around just for the sake of a little fresh air and sunlight.
Sir Leo snickered behind them and she felt worse, not wanting him to see her as childish or spoiled. The age difference between them had begun to weigh on her as she’d laid around recuperating the past week. She didn’t know why it weighed on her, but she always wanted to show her best self around him.
She knew she was acting bratty from cabin fever and feeling neglected. Fay had been moping around worrying about Sir Tristan. Batty was sweet but was always so busy with her myriad of castle duties that she barely had time to bring Sophie stolen sweets from the kitchen and say a quick word of encouragement before she jetted off again. Anne was also sick in bed and Marjorie couldn’t be bothered to visit.
Well, Sir Leo hadn’t neglected her. At least until that morning. He’d checked her wound, which was healing nicely, several times a day. He always stayed to talk with her, but now that Anne had fallen ill again, he was busy trying to find some sort of herbal remedy for her. He’d only checked in once so far that morning. She’d been completely abandoned except for a serving boy bringing her lunch. As the day threatened to disappear completely without another peep from anyone, she’d demanded to be let outside. She was sure she would burst if she had to stare at those four lonely chamber walls for another second.
When she was finally settled in a chaise in a sunny spot of the courtyard and wrapped in more blankets than was necessary, she found it hard to be grateful. Mrs. Merrick was close by in her own sunny spot, doing some sort of needlework, but only looked up long enough to nod a greeting. Sir Leo must have deemed it proper to join her, for he pulled over a bench and sat down, studying her face.
“Are you really in pain?” he asked, his deep voice full of concern. If she had been in pain, she was sure his voice alone could have soothed it away.
“Was I making a face?” she asked, forcing a smile.
“You were, and I dare say this new one is worse. Are you not pleased to be outside?”
She wasn’t pleased about anything, but didn’t want to admit it to him. She took a long, slow breath and tried to enjoy the warm sunshine on the back of her neck. Then she accidentally thought about skin cancer and burst out in dismayed laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m in such a bad mood.”
“Being cooped up from an injury can do that,” he said understandingly. “I’ve experienced it many times myself. When I was young and foolish I would often try to do too much too soon and make things worse.” His dark eyes widened at her look and he hurried to say, “Ah, that sounded like a rebuke, but I promise it wasn’t. I think you’ve been well enough to be up and about a little bit for at least two days now. I think you could have walked here by yourself, but Sir Gunther and Lady Anne are two people I don’t believe I could win against in a fight.”
She giggled. “Maybe Gunther. Never Anne. She acts tough, but she thinks very highly of you, I can tell.”
“Is her illness the reason she hasn’t married?” he asked.
Sophie didn’t have the foggiest notion so only nodded vaguely. “Hopefully, with all your attention she’ll get better soon.”
The bit about all his attention came out sounding pouty, like she might begrudge her own sister good medical care. She had missed his concerned hovering that afternoon, though. She still got the nervous feeling like she might jump out of her own skin whenever he was near but as she’d grown used to him, Sir Leo Syndrome was almost pleasant now. In fact, she wondered if her bad mood was actually withdrawal symptoms. She couldn’t imagine a more foolish thought and hurried to move on.
“What made you become so interested in healing? Whatever you’ve put on my shoulder is really working.” She tried to rotate her shoulder to prove it and failed to the point of bringing tears to her eyes with the jagged pain.
He hurried to her side, holding her arm close to her body. “I know you’re feeling much better but, like I said, you mustn’t rush things.” He glanced around to Mrs. Merrick, who came over to see if she was needed. “I want to check her stitches,” he told her.
“I don’t want to go back in,” Sophie said, though she suspected she might have torn something. “Please just guard this side, won’t you, Mrs. Merrick? He’ll be done in a jiffy.”
Mrs. Merrick nodded and placed her hugely pregnant bulk in the way of any passersby. Sir Leo carefully peeled away her blankets and shawl. She hurriedly loosened the top of her gown and he edged the fabric from her shoulder the barest amount possible. Sophie normally wore a bikini to the beach and wasn’t particularly shy about her body, but something about being in this time made her blush furiously as her shoulder was exposed to the air. Mrs. Merrick gasped at the sight, but Sir Leo seemed pleased.
“It’s fine,” he said. “The stitches are secure, though it probably hurts from your movement. You have to remember the muscle was torn, Lady Sophie.” He turned to Mrs. Merrick. “It was a sight worse a week ago, believe me.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Lady Sophie?” Mrs. Merrick asked, giving Sir Leo a suspicious glare. “Can I call for Gunther or some wine?”
“I’m really fine. I don’t need wine and I don’t want Gunther.” With a lingering look of doubt, Mrs. Merrick went back to her work. “You said I was fine to walk. Please don’t call for Gunther when it’s time for me to go back in,” she begged, going so far as to reach for Sir Leo’s arm and squeeze it beseechingly. His muscular forearm felt good under her fingers and she didn’t let go.
He patted her hand, looking mildly uncomfortable as Mrs. Merrick still had them in her sights. “I won’t call for him. I’m sure with my assistance you can make it back to your bed.”
She slid her hand away, feeling dizzy at the thought of him assisting her to her bed. There wasn’t a single suggestive thing about the way he said it, but hundreds of suggestive thoughts swirled in her head.
Get it together, she told herself. Fay didn’t think Sir Leo was the one for her, so she was going to have to put an end to any lustful thoughts. She gave herself a few more seconds of those delicious, lustful thoughts before clearing her throat.
“But you were going to tell me how you went from being a fierce knight to a quiet healer way out here in the middle of nowhere,” she prompted, eager to hear his story. She really was fascinated by him.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Was I?” he asked, then chuckled. “Way out here in the middle of nowhere? You forget this is my home.”
She had forgotten. He belonged up here in the north of England far more than she did. The realization made her sag into her blankets. They were so unimaginably different. “I suppose I did. It’s been such a long time and I was…” she paused, not wanting to draw his attention to their age difference. Though, in this time of old men marrying actual children, it probably didn’t bother him that much. If he were interested in her that way, which he probably wasn’t. That thought made her sag further until she was practically in a ball on her makeshift chaise. So much for a pleasant day outside. She was only depressing herself more than if she’d stayed and stared at the walls.
“Yes well, that’s true. It’s been a long time. Half my life was spent ending people’s lives. I suppose I want the next half to be spent healing them.”
She grimaced. “Certainly there was more to what you did than end people’s lives. I’ve done extensive reading about knights of this time and—” Oh crap, what had she just said? She struggled to sit upright and see if he noticed. He seemed far away, almost looking inward, and she sighed with relief.
“I suppose there was more to it than that,” he agreed, voice ragged. “But it’s difficult to recall much more than the horrors.” He looked embarrassed. “To be truthful, they still seem quite close.”
“PTSD,” Sophie said, once again without thinking. The tortured humanity that shone in his eyes was far from the gruff forest troll she’d first thought he was. She couldn’t believe she’d ever seen him as anything other than kind and sensitive. She wanted to reach out to him again but held herself in check.
“Pityesse—I beg your pardon?” He tried to repeat what she said with a French accent and she grimaced. Well, who’s to say it wasn’t something she’d read about? Except for the fact that the only books in the castle were ages old and mostly in Latin. Sir Leo didn’t know that.
She plowed forward with feigned confidence. Maybe her future knowledge could help him. “It’s an acronym, not a word. It stands for post-traumatic stress disorder and lots of soldiers get it. It’s a real illness.” She ransacked her memory for what she knew about it, because he leaned forward with interest. “They might have bad dreams or keep thinking about certain events almost as if they’re happening all over again. I’m sure it’s plain awful.”
“As if they’re happening but, of course, they’re not,” he said, practically in her lap now, he leaned so close. “How did you come to know about this? Did one of Sir Walter’s men confide in you?”
That seemed reasonable but she didn’t want to have to name anyone if he asked. She shrugged with her good shoulder. “Not exactly, but I pay attention and read. And listen. Many people have passed through this place.”
He leaned back, his interest changed to disappointment. “You say this is an illness, but how does one treat it? It seems more of a weakness one should be able to overcome. Surely one should have control over his own mind, don’t you agree? If something’s not real, one should be able to realize that and put it aside.”
Sophie snorted. At least every third person she knew in her own time struggled with something like anxiety or depression. They either went to a psychiatrist or took medication, or both. But there was nothing like that in this time. It hurt her heart that he felt he could deal with it on his own. That was a sure recipe for failure. At the same time as she ached for him, she was pleased he was listening to a woman more than ten years his junior so seriously. It raised her opinion of him and her opinion had already been pretty high.
“But it is real. The illness, I mean. Of course, people can’t always control their own minds if something’s wrong with them,” she said, wishing she was better versed on the issue. “From what I’ve read, if you’ve been through something traumatic, it can actually change your brain composition. They used to call it shell shock during the First World War, which was a dumb name. Post-traumatic stress definitely explains it better. But no one is weak for experiencing it. It’s as real as my shoulder injury.” She wanted so passionately for him to believe her she didn’t notice what she’d said.
Until he asked, “The First World War? Is that what they’re now calling our Holy Crusades? We did decimate a good lot of the world, I suppose.”
She closed her eyes, casting around for a change of subject, mentally kicking herself for slipping up yet again. She was so upset she remained silent, her eyes filling with tears she refused to let spill. “I’m glad you stopped and came home,” she finally said.
“I am as well. And I thank you for your words. They give me great comfort. Tell me, Lady Sophie, do you recall me fishing you out of a water trough when I was a page for your father?”
Was it a trick question? The sudden change of subject jarred her, even though she’d been praying for one. She’d been having such a lovely conversation with him. He’d been treating her like an equal and his eyes had shone with interest and admiration. Now her sour mood was back and had tripled in strength. How could she remember something that hadn’t happened? Blinking away the tears that had welled up, she looked off into the distance, up at the sky above the outer wall.
“I’m afraid I don’t. But I was just a baby.” Way to keep from drawing attention to their age difference.
“Neither do I, and I was well of an age to remember. I’ve been wracking my memory for even a hint of you, Lady Sophie, and I cannot find one. I have come up with many recollections of Lady Anne. A few of Lady Fay.” He smiled, deep in the past. “She’s grown to be much kinder than she was as a child. And, of course, I can recall your dear mother. But I cannot even conjure what you looked like back then.”
Exhaustion overtook her. She didn’t know how to explain her absence in his memories. Frankly, it pissed her off. The sun still shone down on her, but her mind was deep under a cloud. When Fay had explained to her how the curse protected itself and didn’t allow anyone to hear the truth, Sophie had wondered why the girls before her had felt the need to say anything in the first place. She’d thought it would be easy to keep the truth to herself and thought the playacting would be a fun challenge. Yet, here she was, a little more than a week later and ready to explode. She narrowed her eyes at Sir Leo, who looked at her half-expectantly. Waiting for her to spill forth her own memories of him from all those years ago? Well, she was too tired to come up with any lies and didn’t want to lie to him. Not ever.
“How could you?” she asked disgustedly. “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not Lady Sophie, I’m Sophie Hester McCurdy from Baton Rouge. Anne’s real and Fay or some version of her is real, but I’m an anomaly. I don’t think there ever was a third sister. I don’t think the damned curse knows what to do with me.” When she paused, he squinted at her and she wondered what kind of song or nonsense poem he heard coming from her lips. Feeling lighter with the confession and as if she’d gotten one over on the curse, she continued with gusto. “I really do think Fay broke it and that made it mad. It made someone mad, anyway. Then the rules got bent and everything’s all messed up. It must have missed screwing with your memories somehow. I honestly don’t have a clue what to do, but I can’t go back to my time, so I have to make the best of it.”
There. That actually felt great. She was going to say more, when she realized Sir Leo’s eyes had gone almost black. His face had also darkened into a scowl. He reached out and touched her brow. Pulling his hand back, he considered her intently for an unnerving amount of time.
“You’re an anomaly? Curse? You can’t go back to your time? Lady Sophie, what are saying?”
Her jaw dropped. He hadn’t heard a song, a poem, or a prayer. He’d heard every word she’d said, exactly as she’d said it. She was so, so screwed.
*
Leo repeated the words back to her one more time and felt her forehead again. She didn’t have any trace of fever. “What do you mean there was never a third sister?”
It was clear his questions were distressing her, but he wanted her to clarify what she’d said. It was almost as if he’d been vindicated in not being able to remember her. But clearly, she existed. He’d felt her flesh and bones beneath his fingers as he’d stitched her back together. He’d shared some enjoyable conversations with her while she recuperated. He’d had other thoughts about her as well. Thoughts he didn’t want to admit to himself but had crossed his mind more than once. Even now as she spluttered and gaped, she was delicately, inhumanly beautiful. Was that it, then? He’d met her in the forest. “Are you of the wee folk?”
“Do you believe in wee folk?” she asked, clutching at her chest. “How did you hear me? You shouldn’t have been able to hear me.”
“Well, I did hear you. I don’t disbelieve in the wee folk,” he said. “Just because I’ve never seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, after all.” If Mrs. Merrick had been listening in, she would have thought they were both mad. He knew he should have felt odd, but he’d never felt so comfortable. Relieved, even. “And I definitely believe in curses. I once saw a man cursed on the road to Egypt. I’ll tell you he believed it as well after it took hold. Poor soul.” Lady Sophie made some unintelligible noises as he continued to hash over what she’d said. Lady Anne was real and Lady Fay or some version of her was real as well. He latched on to that excitedly. Moving his bench closer to her and gripping her unhurt arm to keep her from sliding off her chaise, he said, “What did you mean about Lady Fay? Is she not the Lady Fay I once knew? Is she part of this curse as well?”
“Oh, why did you hear me?” she asked, shaking off his supporting hand. “And why do you believe me? I’m sure I just have a fever or am rambling from the pain.” She grabbed her elbow below the actual injury and moaned theatrically. “It’s really flaring up. I need to get back inside. I need more medicine.” She blinked. “That’s it, it’s the medicine. It makes me think strange things.”
“Are you quite finished?” he asked when she finally stopped tossing out excuses. She looked like she’d swallowed something vile and was now choking on it. “Lady Sophie, are you all right?”
She shook her head. “I’m not all right, no. I don’t understand—Fay said no one would be able to—”
“Lady Fay is part of this, then?” he asked, not sure what this was, but determined to find out. When it became clear to him that Lady Sophie was in no danger from her injury, he had begun to regret not going to the battle. He’d been feeling antsy and he hated to admit it to himself, cowardly. Now he was faced with a mystery that needed solving. Poor Lady Sophie (or whoever she was) was in obvious distress and he yearned to help her.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered. “Now I’m in trouble for sure.”
“I swear I will let no harm come to you. Do you believe yourself to be in danger?” He pulled himself closer, no longer caring about Mrs. Merrick in the background.
“Yes and no,” she admitted. “From the curse, yes. From Fay, not really. She’ll just yell at me a little for telling you. But you weren’t supposed to understand.” She pressed her lips together, eyes widening. “But Tristan could understand her when she talked about it. I wonder why that was.”
“Sir Tristan? Of Dernier Keep?”
“Yes, they’re engaged.” She clapped her hand to her forehead and laughed despairingly. “I don’t know why I can’t seem to shut up. You shouldn’t know that, either.”
He looked her over. He’d allowed himself a few forbidden thoughts where Lady Sophie was concerned. He found her intriguing, intelligent. Innocent and lovely. Was it attraction that made him able to understand? Something more than that?
Good God, man, do you honestly believe this girl’s lunatic ravings?
A voice in his head spoke furiously. Perhaps it was the last shred of his reason trying to be heard, but Sir Leo did believe her. He didn’t think she was raving. Something deep inside him, something beyond reason, told him it was true. And begged for him to know more.
“Let me help you back to your chamber,” he said. “You’re clearly upset. Take a moment to gather your thoughts and then perhaps you can share more with me.”
He stood and held out his hand, his heart aching when she took it, a blank look on her face. Once she calmed down a bit, he was determined to get the entire story, determined to make her see he could be trusted, was on her side. Up until that point he didn’t understand why everyone kept asking him if being a farmer was going to drive him to madness. But now that he might have a mission again, he felt the old excitement he hadn’t yet noticed had been lost.
Here was a fair maiden in distress and, perhaps, he could help her. Perhaps, he could somehow dig up that long buried reason he’d wanted to become a knight in the first place. And once and for all lay to rest the reasons he’d wanted to quit.