Authors: The Wishing Chalice (uc) (rtf)
wcEND.rtf (10 page)
"But I bet you won me fight," she said. A little mischievous smile played on her full lips.
Hunter eyed his lady wife skeptically. Her faith, though welcomed, was hardly expected. "Your trust in me is heartwarming." It would truly be were it heartfelt. "Let us just say," he continued, "that the squire I fought with will be forever known as Edmund the Toothless." Edmund's big teeth, made whiter by the contrast of his mud-covered face, had offered a target Hunter had found impossible to resist.
"I am sure he deserved it." His lady wife's smile and support warmed Hunter's heart. Though he shielded his heart from disappointment, he felt oddly pleased with himself.
'That he did."
"So that was how you conquered my heart," she said. "Not with your handsome face, but with your fighting
skills?" Her appreciative gaze spanned the breadth of his chest. Unbidden, he squared his shoulders.
Nay, he had hardly won her heart on that beautiful summer day so long ago. In fact, Détra had been unimpressed with him. And why should she not? He was a scrawny squire, of unknown parentage and uncertain future. Even he knew that he was unworthy of her. But on that day, then and there, he had sworn to seek her for wife. And thus, Détra had become his unattainable dream. The one he admired from afar and worked day and night to be deserving of.
For Détra of Windermere was his heart wish. And though he had yet to win her heart, with the help of his mother's magical chalice, he might just have a chance at that.
"We were fortunate," Hunter said. "For my puny efforts to impress you would have hardly mattered had not the king blessed our union with his approval." He gazed at her, intent on impressing on her the inevitability of their fate. "Therefore, my lady wife, not even your lack of memories can set us asunder." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but knew he failed when a shadow crossed D
é
tra's face.
She laid her hand on top of his as they halted before the entrance of the great hall. "All shall be well soon, Hunter," she promised.
Was she trying to pacify him? Why?
"Aye, it shall." He would make certain of that. He motioned her inside and everybody in the hall turned a stunned gaze at the uncommon sight of their lady and lord walking hand in hand.
A loner, a self-proclaimed nomad with no ties or family, Isabel had no firsthand experience with
the
kind of relationship Hunter and Détra
mu
st've shared before she'd messed things up for them. But knowing her own deep yearning for such closeness in her life, she keenly felt the weight of responsibility for the unhappiness her misguided wish had caused him.
Before she complicated his life, and Détra's, any further, she must retrieve the chalice. However, despite her probing, Hunter
's
brief account of his courtship with
Dé
tra had revealed nothing useful. She should've questioned him about the chalice and not immersed herself in his life.
After all, why should it matter to her whether Hunter and Détra's love was the epitome of a fairy tale or a tortuous road to happiness? Whether they fell in love at first sight or had slowly fallen in love with each other?
Whether they were together since they met or on
l
y recently received the king's approval?
What mattered was whether they would ever be able to enjoy their lives together again.
A knot formed in Isabel's throat. There was that annoying feeling again, the feeling of being an intruder, unwanted, unnecessary. Isabel swallowed down the bitter taste. She detested that role and yet she had played it too often. First with her parents, when she'd lived like a shadow to the two people who were completely content with each other's company. Then with Jack, her ex-husband, when she'd tried so hard to fit in his orderly, perfect life, and failed miserably. And now she repeated history. Only this time she'd disrupted the lives of two strangers.
Guilt weighed her down. Isabel shook it off and walked beside Hunter into the great hall of Windermere Castle. She suddenly noticed the animated conversation trickled to a stop, and when she lifted her gaze, every pair of eyes in the room met hers.
Isabel's step faltered.
Memories of earlier this morning flashed to her. She had surely given them a sight to behold, running like a maniac through the hall and into the rain outside. Then later she had returned on Hunter's shoulders, screaming and kicking at him. Her third sojourn through this same hall, and possibly in front of these same people, she had followed Hunter outside in a more sedate if still conspicuous manner, for she hadn't acknowledged one single soul in her way.
And here she was again, walking hand in hand with Hunter as if nothing had happened.
Somehow Isabel didn't believe Détra
'
s behavior was
ever that erratic, especially considering the way they eyed her now, like she'd grown two heads.
God knew what damage her earlier performance had done to Détra
'
s reputation. This was her home and her people. And yet Isabel couldn't blame herself on that account. She was doing the best she could under the circumstances. She must mink of her survival first.
Hunter gently pulled her with him in the direction of the stone stair, ignoring everyone. It was obvious he was in no mood to socialize, and truth be told, neither was she.
But it seemed someone was.
The man was shorter than Hunter, soft blue eyes, beard a shade darker than his red hair, quite handsome in a gentle sort of way. Not at all like the dark, rough-looking, all-consuming Hunter, Isabel couldn't help but compare.
He stood to the side, obsequious yet concerned, then bowed to Hunter and directed an intense gaze at Isabel.
"My lady," he said. "I have been worried. Maude told me you wer
e
—” His gaze strayed to Hunter, and then back to her.
"
—
n
ot yourself this day."
The understatement of the year!
"
I am fine, thank you." What else could she say? And who was he?
"May I be of assistance?" he insisted as if not believing her words.
"As you can attest for yourself, Godfrey," Hunter interrupted, "my lady wife fares well."
Grudgingly Godfrey stepped back, though his gaze sought Isabel's as if seeking confirmation.
Hunter's mood seemed to darken at that. "Lady Détra needs her rest," he said. "I trust she shall not be disturbed." Without waiting for a reply Hunter pulled Isabel forward.
As Isabel followed Hunter up the stairs she stole a
quick glance over her shoulder. Godfrey, and everyone else in the hall, followed their progress with great interest. Isabel turned her face forward. She didn't know what to make of it. Frankly, she didn't care. All she needed to worry about was finding the chalice and getting out of here as soon as possible.
Only a few hours had passed since she'd awakened in Détra's body, and yet it already seemed an eternity. The longer she remained here the more embroiled she would become in Détra's life.
And that was the last thing Isabel wanted.
When Hunter held the door open to the bedroom Isabel crossed the threshold ahead of him and found a young woman in the room staring at her with doe-like eyes. The woman was petite and her light brown hair hung over her shoulder in a tight braid that touched her knees. Chasing away her deliberations, Isabel recognized her as the woman she'd rushed by earlier when in pursuit of Hunter. Had the poor thing stayed here waiting for her all this time?
For a moment a dead silence blanketed them all. It seemed no one knew what to do or say next. Then Hunter came to stand beside her after he closed the door.
"This is Maude, your maid companion," he said. "She is abreast of your condition."
Isabel nodded.
"Lord Hunter told me about this morning's awful mishap," Maude said. "It is fortunate that you were only mildly harmed by your fall. God was very generous in sparing your life, my lady."
Hunter must've shared his belief of the bump on her head with Maude. That meant that neither of them knew about the chalice's magical powers, which in turn should make it less suspicious for Isabel to ask about it, when the right opportunity arose.
"Fortunate, indeed," Isabel agreed. 'Though I was not totally unharmed. My memory is gone, after all."
Maude's uneasy gaze strayed to Hunter for a brief moment before alighting on Isabel again.
Was she being a little too flippant about her amnesia? Isabel wondered. Obviously it wasn't a readily understood illness in the Middle Ages. And even though the chalice's magical power was doing an excellent job of translating their words, words were infinitely easier to understand and adapt than concepts. Isabel made a mental note of being more careful when exposing modern notions.
"I shall do all I can to help you, my lady," Maude said.
Great! Now she had two people bent on helping her recover memories she never possessed.
"I am most grateful." Isabel plastered on her face the best fake smile she could muster in these trying times. She suddenly felt very tired and the dul
l
ache in her head she'd been ignoring since morning intensified.
Hunter watched her with slightly narrowed eyes. If she didn't know better, she'd think he knew she was lying. But he couldn't know, could he? It was only her bizarre behavior.
I
t'd frighten anyone who knew Détra wel
l
— especially her husband.
Maybe she should learn more about Détra, Isabel considered. If only to help her behave more like a medieval lady. She could blame just so much on her amnesia; there were things a person didn't forget. That didn't mean she was prepared to remain here longer than necessary. It was only a matter of survival, a matter she knew well.
Besides, she had to believe the duration of her stay was somehow under her control. Once she found the chalice she'd undo her mistake and all would return to normal. She wouldn't accept anything else.
Isabel turned her attention to Maude. She couldn't quite decide what t
o make of her. The woman was ob
viously a servant to Détra, though one who seemed to care for her lady. Could she also be a con
f
idant, a friend perhaps? Isabel hoped not. The less she had to endure the scrutiny of people who knew Détra we
l
l, the better off she would be. Not an easy task considering everyone in this place should know Détra well. She was their lady, for goodness’ sake.
How was D
é
tra doing in her place in the future? The cultural shock D
é
tra would suffer would be infinitely more devastating than Isabel's. The Middle Ages, though a scary time, was not totally unfamiliar to Isabe
l
—
w
ho hadn't seen a medieval movie in the twenty-first century?—
b
ut what would Détra make of the technological advances of the world? Would she be able to function without the support of her husband and friends?
Hang in there!
Isabel sent Détra a cosmic prayer.
As she would try to hang in here.
A ray of sunshine filtered through the glassy window. Small particles of dust danced in the air, floating upward as if reaching for heaven. Were she living her own life, Isabel would be sitting by that window painting the afternoon away. A
n
d there would be no one to take her to task. Had Détra ever spent her time in personal pursuits? Somehow, Isabel didn't think so.
