Chapter Fifteen
Days passed into a week, and then two. Derica had grown strong enough to help with the chores, discovering she wasn’t very good at cooking but that she was quite good at mending.
The massive lump on her head had slowly subsided and with it, her memory had returned in bits and pieces.
She could remember the large family of men and a few of their names – Hoyt was her uncle, Dixon and Daniel were her brothers, but she still had no idea where they all lived or who the rest of the nameless men were.
At night, she dreamt of a massive man with copper-gold hair who filled her with wondrous weakness.
She awoke in the morning, expecting to see him sleeping beside her, and repeatedly disappointed when he wasn’t there.
Perhaps he was the husband who had beaten her and thrown her into the river, though her instinct told her the man was not the kind.
Surely if he was her husband, he would come looking for her. But no man came all of these days.
Early one morning, Mair roused her from a deep, warm sleep.
Derica yawned, rolling onto her back and searching for her clothes.
The clothes that Mair had found her in had been unsalvageable, so the woman had given her what was probably her best clothing to wear.
Considering the near-rags Mair wore, Derica could surmise nothing else.
Derica slept in her shift, a soft wool garment that hung to her ankles.
Over her head, she pulled the dark blue woolen surcoat with long sleeves, and then she pulled on a plain fawn-colored sleeveless garment that was made for durability and warmth.
These were her clothes, day in and day out, and Mair washed them once since giving them to her.
They smelled like rushes, and a little smoke.
“Get up, get up,” Mair apparently thought Derica was moving too slowly. “We must get up and go to the lake.”
Derica ran a wooden comb through her hair, wincing when it caught a snag. “The lake? Why?”
Mair smiled, handing Sian a cup of warmed goat’s milk. “For a winter’s harvest. You will see.”
Derica thought she meant fish. Pulling her hair into a braid at the nape of her neck, she put on her shoes and borrowed cloak, which was really more of a woolen blanket, and followed Mair and the children out into the early morning.
Everything was damp and icy as they made their way through the trees and into the outskirts of the small village.
The sun rose steadily and smoke from cooking fires hung heavy in the misty air.
Mair led them around the village and to a well-traveled road that headed to the east. Sian and Aneirin walked on either side of Derica, holding baskets for their harvest. They had decided over the past week that they liked Derica very much and had taken to following her everywhere.
Sian was a sweet, protective little boy, while Aneirin was more aggressive in a big sisterly manner and liked to push her younger brother around a bit.
They squabbled here and there, but had mostly made wonderful companions for Derica. She was quite fond of them.
“Bryndalyn?”
For the past few days, Derica had been having dreams and memories that suggested that wasn’t her name, but she answered nonetheless. “Aye?”
Sian grinned up at her. He was always grinning at her. “Tell me of the knights.”
They had been having a discussion for several days about knights. Sian was enamored with warriors. She smiled gently at him. “Men with big horses and bigger swords.”
She held her arms up to indicate an enormous weapon, and Sian’s grin broadened. “Tell me of a fight!”
Derica thought hard. She thought she could recall a tournament, events flowing through her mind of colors and lists and shouting people.
Dixon had taken the melee prize at this particular one.
Very slowly, she could recall the name York.
This particular tournament had been in York, and she recollected how much she had loved gazing at the magnificent cathedral.
“Do you remember what I told you about tournaments?”
“Aye!”
“Then do you remember what I told you about the knight’s weaponry?”
Sian nodded eagerly. “They use a lance for the jost.”
“Joust,” she corrected.
“Joust,” Sian repeated. “They use their swords for the me.. me…”
“Melee.”
“A fight!”
She laughed softly. “Aye, a fight, little man. They stick each other with swords until one man is left standing. It is a horrible, bloody spectacle, something I suspect you would love immensely.”
Sian began swinging the basket around as if fighting for his life. “Behold, bad men,” he said, swinging the basket so close to Derica’s head that she had to duck. “Beware of my wrath!”
Derica took hold of Aneirin’s hand, pulling her gently out of the way so she would not be struck by the flying basket. “All hail, Sir Sian of the Dark Woods.”
Sian liked that name. Derica had come up with it one night when the young boy was expressing his desire to be the greatest knight in all the land. He paused in his basket swinging and bowed stiffly.
“I shall marry you when I am a knight.”
Derica cocked an eyebrow. “I think that I shall be a bit old for you, but your offer is most flattering.”
The boy suddenly looked very serious. He slipped his cold little hand into Derica’s. “But who will take care of you?”
Derica had flashes of the man with the sandy-copper hair, straining with body and soul to remember who he was. In her heart, she already knew. “My husband will, when he finds me.”
Sian looked confused. “Mam says he is bad for what he did to you. I will kill him if he tries to hurt you.”
Derica stroked his dark head. “I am very fortunate to have a protector such as you. But he is my husband, and if he comes for me, I must go with him. I belong to him.”
Sian didn’t agree with her but he didn’t know what to say.
Aneirin looked frightened. Up ahead, Mair was leading them off the road and into some trees.
Derica and the children followed. On the other side of a thin line of trees lay a large pond, swamped with too much water.
Mair paused at the edge, and when Derica and the children reached her, she put her hand in the water up to the elbow, fished around, and came up with a handful of wet, red berries.
“Come on, help me,” she encouraged them.
Soon, they were all harvesting the wet fruit from the swampy water.
At Mair’s urging, Derica popped one in her mouth and was delighted with the strong bitter-sweet flavor.
They swept the edge of the pond until their baskets were full and their hands were freezing and wet.
Derica dried off Sian’s hands, while Mair dried off Aneirin’s.
The children’s teeth were chattering with cold, but they were thrilled with their booty, dancing around with the catch of red berries.
As Derica bent over to pick up the little scarf that Sian had dropped, the little boy gleefully swung his basket around and hit her on the back.
Derica pitched forward, unable to stop herself from ramming head-first into the decomposing tree directly behind her.
Stars flashed before her eyes before everything went suddenly dark.
She hadn’t been out very long, perhaps a few moments. Derica blinked her eyes, gazing up at Sian and Mair’s worried faces. She put a hand up to her bruised forehead, struggling to sit.
“Are ye well?” Mair was beside herself with horror at what her son had done.
Derica nodded unsteadily. “I… I think so.”
Sian, over the shock of having accidentally hit her, began to wail and Derica comforted him. “There, there,” she hugged him. “I am fine. Do not be troubled.”
“I am sorry, Bryndalyn,” he sniffed.
Derica’s expression slowly changed, as if a spark of flame slowly bloomed within her mind. She rubbed her forehead again, a weary smile on her lips.
“That’s not my name,” she said softly.
Sian’s tears faded and he looked at her, confused. Mair, too, looked surprised. “It is not?”
Derica closed her eyes briefly, suddenly remembering everything in a waterfall of memories and feelings.
They had been struggling to come through for several days and the knock on the head was apparently all she had needed.
Her smile broadened as if the most wonderful thing in the world had just happened.
“My name is the Lady Derica de Rosa le Mon,” she said, restraining her excitement lest she frighten the children with it. “My husband is Sir Garren le Mon, sworn to King Richard and vassal of William Marshal.”
Mair squeezed her arm. “So ye do remember now.”
Derica nodded. “I do.” She hugged Sian tightly. “My thanks to you, Sian, for causing me to hit my head. ’Twas the best gift you could have given me.”
The little boy was glad he was not in trouble, happy his friend was so joyful. But something occurred to him out of all the fuss and joy going on. “Your husband is a knight?”
Derica nodded, remembering the man with the sandy-copper hair and thrilled to remember every last detail about him. “He is a great knight,” she said quietly. “And he did not beat me and throw me in the river. I was too close to the edge and slipped in. The bruises were from my fall.”
“Ye recollect the fall that brought ye to us?” Mair asked. “Do ye also remember where ye’re from?”
“We were at Cilgarren Castle,” Derica said. “How far are we from there?”
Mair thought. “A goodly distance, I think. ’Tis to the north of us.”
“But you know of it?”
“I have lived here all my life. I know the land.”
Derica rubbed her head again and stood up, gripping the offending tree for support. But she didn’t care that her head was swimming; all that mattered is that she could remember who she was again. It was deliriously liberating. She was seized with the desire to return to Cilgarren right away.
“I must go home,” she said. “Will you help me?”
Mair nodded. “Of course we will.”
“Can we make it in a day, if we start now? ’Tis still early.”