Chapter 2
Two
“This way,” Marcus commanded as he stormed into Isolde’s cottage. With him were another five farmers… as well as the duke. “Gentle, now.”
“What is going on?” Isolde’s father came limping out of his office, and his face took on a pained look of worry and confusion when he saw the men lumbering into his home. “Isolde?”
“Isolde found a man!” Marianne squeaked.
“Man? What man?” Her father limped toward the farmers who gathered in the small common area.
Isolde was the last one through the door in an act of protest, even though she had not tried to stop the farmers. She was still sure to make her complaints known.
“I came across him on my walk, Father.” She went to her father and took him by the arm to help him stand. “And I couldn’t just leave him there.”
“This was the closest home, Vicar,” Marcus explained. “As things go, this is probably the best place we could have brought him.” He then laughed. “Not that he would admit to it, I doubt. Not that he has much of a choice either.”
“Who is he? Will someone speak!”
It was as her father made this plea that the five farmers stepped aside. At their feet, lying on the floor, was the unconscious body of the Duke of Blackthorne. He looked exactly as he had by the side of the road, a little battered, but peaceful.
Isolde’s father’s eyes fell on the duke, and his face paled. “Is that…”
“He fell from his horse, Father,” Isolde explained. “Likely, he hit his head.”
“We sent for a physician,” Marcus said. “Should be here any moment. Not that I need a physician to tell me what’s wrong.” He snorted. “Likely, he’ll wake soon enough. Likely, he’ll be in a bit of pain when he does.”
“The duke!” Marianne’s eyes widened as she edged toward his body. She slowly started to reach out a hand to prod him.
“Marianne!” Isolde hurried to her sister and snatched her hand away. “Where is Thomas?”
“Outside,” Marianne said, still gawking at the duke’s body as if he might suddenly wake up and start shouting at them. “He’s waiting for the rain to start.”
“Go and wait with him,” she said.
“But… but… but…”
“Now, Marianne,” Isolde commanded. “That is not a request.”
The little girl’s face fell. She took a final look at the duke, offered a pleading glance at her sister, and trudged from the cottage.
“Sorry to do this to you, Vicar,” Marcus said. “But we didn’t know where else to bring him. If Isolde hadn’t been there, we likely would have taken him someplace different. But…” He shrugged. “This is better than nothing.”
“No, no,” her father waved Marcus down. “You did the right thing.” He bit into his lip as he considered the duke’s body. “We can’t leave him on the floor. Isolde, your bed will have to do for now.”
“Father!” she cried as if she meant to protest.
“Quickly now.” Her father ignored her as he gestured to the other farmers. They were quick about lifting the duke, and just as quick about carrying him into Isolde’s room and dropping him on her bed.
Isolde remained in the doorway, arms folded, glaring at the unconscious duke.
Why does it have to be him? And why does he have to be here?
Conflict raged within Isolde as she considered the situation. She knew deep down that this was the right thing to do. The duke needed help, and she was not one to deny a caring hand to anyone who asked for it. That was, after all, her entire purpose in life.
On the other hand… this man might not have ruined her life, but he had not tried to help either.
With wealth such as his, he could have saved her father’s parish without even blinking, but he chose to ignore her plea and mock her instead.
Why, it had seemed as if he enjoyed turning her away… as if he enjoyed her suffering.
Everything I had heard about him was true! Even worse, in fact.
“I know this isn’t easy…” Her father limped toward her, his eyes sad. “But it is the right thing to do, Isolde. He needs our help, and he is our duke.”
She sighed. “I know it is, Father. And while I will not turn him away, I will not pretend that I am happy either.”
He chuckled. “That’s about as good as I can ask for.”
The farmers left shortly after, as did Marcus.
He was sure to tell Isolde and her father that if they needed anything, they could send for him.
But Isolde got the sense that Marcus and the others were not so much leaving as they were fleeing.
Even though they had helped the duke, they all knew of his reputation, and he was just as likely to punish them as he was to praise them.
While waiting for the physician, Isolde stayed in the doorway of her room, wary about getting too close to the duke.
It struck an odd scene, she thought. Even unconscious and utterly helpless, there was no denying the man’s power.
First, one couldn’t ignore his physical size and his sheer strength.
He was dressed in his fine clothes with clean hair and washed skin.
He did not belong in this place, and Isolde’s room looked pitifully humble and wanting in comparison.
The sooner he is awake, the better. Hopefully, he will leave immediately, with no need to say anything, and no need to thank us. I do not want his thanks.
The physician arrived shortly after.
He was a tiny man, bent of back, with a long face filled with pockmarks. His clothes were practically rags, as his charges were the farmers of the estate, and she doubted that he had ever attended someone of such high prestige as a duke before.
Indeed, as he observed the duke, whispering to himself, Isolde could sense how wary he was; he was scared to make a mistake, as if his life were on the line. He applied a wet rag to the duke’s head and made sure the pillows under him were soft and centered, but there was little else he could do.
“A bump to the head, by the looks of it,” the physician said after some time. It was raining at that point, and the sound of it slapping at the roof and walls was deafening.
Isolde sighed. “Yes, we know that. But how long until he wakes up?”
“Isolde…” her father sighed as if tired.
The physician looked at her pointedly. “The injury is superficial. I can’t see any reason to think that his skull might be broken, or that his brain…” He swallowed. “Possibly some swelling, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes.”
“And then what?” Isolde said.
The physician shrugged. “We will find out.”
Night fell quickly. The storm came with it.
Marianne and Thomas were sent to their father’s room because Isolde thought it was best to keep them away; better that they have as little to do with the duke as possible.
A single candle was lit on the table by the duke’s head, while Isolde remained in the doorway, still careful to get too close.
“We will have to send word to the manor,” her father said to her as they watched the physician tend to the duke. “No doubt they are worried about him.”
“In this storm?” Isolde looked at the window and grimaced. “We are likely to fall and hurt ourselves worse than he has been.”
Her father nodded. “Once it clears, we will send for someone. Perhaps by then, His Grace will have woken up, and he will tell us what to do.”
Although Isolde wanted the duke to wake up so that he might leave, she worried about what would happen when he did. Would he remember her and what had happened? And did she even want him to?
Also, she wondered if maybe there was a chance that he would be so grateful for what they had done that he would offer to help their parish.
She wanted to believe that if he did so, she would turn him down on principle.
Just as she knew that this was not an option.
As prideful as Isolde was, she was also pragmatic…
When he wakes… do not get ahead of yourself, Isolde.
There was another hour of waiting and watching before the duke finally stirred.
The physician sat on a chair in the corner, half asleep.
Isolde’s father was with Marianne and Thomas, keeping them from being too near the duke, while Isolde remained in the doorway, always watching, never walking into the room fully.
The duke groaned softly and shifted on the cot.
The physician started and jumped to his feet before hurrying to the bedside. The duke groaned again, made as if he were about to sit up, but winced and remained lying down from the effort.
“There, there,” the physician eased as he inspected the duke, keeping one hand on his chest so he would not try to sit up. “Nice and easy now.”
“What… where…” the duke’s voice cracked in the darkness.
“You’re safe,” the physician said gently. “That’s all that matters.”
Slowly, the duke opened his eyes. The room was dark, save for the single candle, but he winced as if blinded, shutting his eyes quickly. He clenched his jaw, and a hand moved to his head where he had fallen.
“What… argh,” he moaned. “Why am I…” Each word was a struggle.
“You had a nasty fall,” the physician said as he moved the duke’s hand away from the wet rag. “Tell me, what is the last thing that you remember?”
“I… I…” The duke slowly peeled his eyes open, this time keeping them that way. He looked upon the physician with confusion, then he took in his surroundings with even more. “Where am I?”
Isolde had not even realized that she had crept closer to him.
She edged nearer his bed, unable to look away as her heart thumped painfully against her chest. A part of her wanted to hide, so that he might not recognize her.
Another part wanted him to see her so that he would know that she had saved him.
“The Whitmore Parish,” the physician answered the duke. “You know it?”
“No…” His brow furrowed, and he looked angry.
Isolde almost scoffed. Of course, he does not remember the name. Likely, he has not thought about us once since he threw me out of his manor all those years ago.
“The last thing you remember,” the physician continued gently, his eyes fixed and focused on the duke. “What was it?”
“I don’t… nothing.” He winced as if from pain, and he touched gingerly at the rag on his head. “There is nothing…” His voice was soft. There was a hint of fear in it. He sounded empty and distant, as if he did not understand what that meant.
“I see.” The physician nodded his understanding and walked around the bed to where Isolde stood. He gestured for them to cross the room, away from the duke, who looked blankly around the room.
“What is wrong with him?” Isolde asked once they were across the room. She hushed her voice, being careful not to be heard. “Apart from the obvious.”
“He has a mild concussion,” the physician responded. “But that is obvious. What is stranger is his memory loss…” He clicked his tongue. “He has only just woken, so the odds are that it will come back to him soon enough. Possibly within the hour.”
“And if it does not?”
“Tomorrow… the next day… the next month.” He shrugged. “The mind is a funny thing, and anything I tell you will be little more than a guess.”
“Who am I?” the duke’s voice cut through their whispering.
They both turned to look at the duke.
He leaned on one elbow, his expression was fixed and determined, but it wasn’t commanding or powerful. Even in the darkness, the light of the candle barely reached his face, and Isolde saw clearly the fear behind his eyes.
She started when she saw it. The man whom she knew, the one who had refused to help her, even mocked her, was one she could have never pictured looking that way. He did not experience fear. He was not one to need help from others. He was cruel and mean and wicked… the very worst type of person.
Now… the duke as he currently was… Isolde looked at him and felt something that she never dreamed she would feel for the man. She felt pity.
“Please,” he said, his voice cracking as sweat dripped from his face. “Tell me what is going on. Where am I? Who am I? I…” His chin trembled further. “I cannot remember anything.”
“An hour, you said?” Isolde asked the physician again.
“If he is lucky,” the physician said. “And if not… well, time will answer that for us.”
Lucky… Isolde did not know the meaning of the word. And if her life continued as it had done since the day she had been born, she doubted that would change tonight.