Secret Heart Page 5

  “Garit and I will be with you, to keep you safe,” Roarke promised.

  Jenia saw no reason to inform him that he and Garit would very likely die along with her in order to ensure their silence as well as hers. In her opinion, the best chance of survival for the two men lay in their continued ignorance of her true purpose. She experienced deep guilt for misleading them so badly and she wished with all her heart that it weren’t necessary. Still, Roarke had presented her with her only real chance to reach King Henryk and make her declaration to him while other nobles were present to bear witness to what she said. That appearance before the king was vital.

  “Very well,” she told Roarke. “I will do it.”

  “You will?” Garit’s smile could have warmed a cold room in midwinter. “Jenia, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “No thanks are needed,” she said, smiling back at him as she lied through her teeth. “I have my own reason for agreeing to your scheme, which is that I hope someone at court will know who I am. If that should happen, we may solve two mysteries at once.”

  Chapter 3

  “My lady,” Garit said to Jenia, “you may take the bed. Roarke and I can easily sleep on the floor.”

  “You may lie on the floor if you wish,” Roarke objected before Jenia could respond to the offer. “I have no intention of sleeping there. I have paid for a bed, and in a bed I intend to sleep.”

  “A more honorable knight would never inconvenience a lady,” Garit proclaimed.

  “She won’t be inconvenienced,” Roarke told him with no sign that he was at all insulted by Garit’s emotional claim. “You, my friend, will sleep on one side. I will sleep on the other. Jenia may sleep in the middle of the bed.”

  “Absolutely not!” Garit declared. “Have you no shame? No sense of what is right and proper?”

  “We will keep our clothes on,” Roarke said. “She cannot object to that. After all, we are protecting her.”

  “Stop it!” Jenia cried. “Do, please, stop talking about me as if I weren’t present. I have not taken complete leave of my senses, only of my memory.”

  Both men looked surprised at her outburst, almost as if no woman had ever challenged any decision made by either of them before that moment.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady,” Garit said, recovering first.

  “In fact, I think Roarke is correct in this case,” Jenia told him.

  “You do?” Garit stared at her.

  “Indeed, yes. Roarke wants to make certain that I do not escape during the night and go wandering about the countryside. If I sleep between the two of you, I’ll find it difficult to climb out of bed without crawling over one of you and that man is sure to waken and stop me.”

  “You would do no such foolish thing!” Garit exclaimed.

  “Perhaps your Lady Chantal would be more sensible,” Jenia said. “But who knows what I will decide to do if my memory returns in the middle of the night? It’s possible that I may forget who you two good knights are, and that we have agreed to work together, and I could run off to seek help from someone else whom I suddenly remember.”

  “How clever you are.” Roarke spoke in a dry tone.

  “I am merely trying to be reasonable, sir. I understand that you want to keep me safe.” At least, until we reach Calean City, Jenia thought silently.

  Though Garit grumbled and blushed right up to his sandy eyebrows at the idea of all of them sharing the same bed, Roarke’s decision prevailed. Jenia was certain that Garit wanted to stalk out of the room, but doing so would mean leaving her to sleep alone with Roarke, a situation far more improper than three fully dressed people in a bed.

  She was glad of Garit’s strong sense of what was right and seemly. The thought of an entire night alone with Roarke left Jenia with heated cheeks and a quickened heartbeat. How odd it was to be so affected by a man whom she had met only that day, a man who was coolly planning to use her in a dangerous charade. Perhaps her emotional reactions to Roarke were the result of fear, though she hadn’t been afraid when she first set out on her lonely mission. Nor did she feel fear now when she thought about what she must do.

  While Jenia tried to sort through the onslaught of complicated feelings that were entirely new to her, Garit removed his weapons, wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, and took up a position at the very edge of the bed, lying on his side so he’d be facing away from Jenia. So embarrassed was he that his cheeks grew ever redder during his preparations for the night. He did not so much as glance over his shoulder at Jenia when she climbed onto the mattress and lay down next to him.

  In contrast to his friend, Roarke unbuckled his sword belt and slung it around the nearest bedpost, within easy reach. Then he pulled off his boots and stretched out on the other side of the mattress from Garit. There he lay on his back with his hands behind his head, appearing to be completely at ease.

  Squeezed between the two men, with the skimpy quilt provided by the inn covering them so poorly that her bare feet stuck out beyond the bottom hem, Jenia found herself battling the urge to laugh aloud at her ludicrous position. She could not remember the last time she had been forced to stifle laughter. Screams, yes, but not amusement. Perhaps she really was going mad. Despite her solemn mission and her willingness to die in Calean City in order to achieve her goal, she was finding it more and more difficult to control her laughter. When Garit began to snore, a giggle escaped her. When the snore ended in a long whistle, she giggled again.

  “Don’t disturb him,” Roarke warned in a low voice, turning toward her. “He’s on guard, so he’s likely to wake up fighting.”

  Garit snored again, and whistled again, long and low. Jenia pressed both hands over her mouth in a useless attempt to keep herself from laughing out loud. Surely, no sane woman would want to laugh when death was drawing ever closer. Though in the next moments she did begin to consider the possibility that death was not the only danger she was going to face as the scheme she had agreed to participate in proceeded to its inevitable conclusion. The man lying beside her embodied his own kind of danger.

  “Hush,” Roarke whispered, bending closer and putting his lips against her ear. His warm breath teased at her senses.

  “I can’t help it,” she whispered back. “Oh, you must think I am quite mad.” They were so close that it seemed perfectly natural for her to rest a hand on Roarke’s upper arm. She felt his hard muscles flex beneath her fingers. Garit snored again.

  “Am I to have no sleep between the two of you?” Roarke demanded.

  “In fact, sir, I am between the two of you,” she retorted, wishing she were more practiced at easy humor with men. But the men she’d known in her short life were never of a humorous nature.

  “Saucy wench, aren’t you?” With a quiet chuckle Roarke caught her and pulled her to his chest, pushing her face into his woolen tunic. “Smother your humor there, my lady.”

  The urge to giggle ended at once, vanquished by other, far more agreeable sensations. Jenia barely noticed Garit’s next snore. Entranced by her nearness to Roarke, she wound her fingers into the soft wool of his tunic. With a sigh she laid her cheek against his chest and inhaled the clean scents of keshan, gallinum, and grown man. For just a moment she allowed herself to revel in a purely feminine delight.

  “Hush,” Roarke whispered again, one hand stroking her hair. “You are safe here with us. Garit and I will protect you. Sleep now, Jenia. Rest for the long ride that’s ahead of us tomorrow.”

  She relaxed against him and lay quietly. As she drifted toward sleep she felt Roarke’s lips touch her forehead, and then he rested his cheek against hers. Once more, as she had done earlier that day, she experienced an odd sense of safety and comfort in his arms, as if she was a weary traveler who had come home at last.

  She was a traveler, indeed, a pilgrim who knew full well that in her very perception of safety lay great danger. She must not give in to the temptation to care for someone else. Caring meant weakness, certain loss, and searing grief. Consume
d by grief she had set an objective for herself and she refused to deviate from her purpose.

  But, oh, how lovely it was to lie for a brief, precious time with Roarke’s arm beneath her shoulder and her head on his broad chest while she listened to the steady beat of his heart and wished that her life could be different and her end not quite so inevitable, or so terrible.

  Roarke held himself as still as he could, when he would rather have jumped out of the bed and left the room. What a fool he was to put his arms around Jenia. Unable to resist the lure of her amber eyes and her sweetly rounded figure he, who rarely gave in to any woman’s charms, had insisted on taking her up on his horse. She hadn’t seemed to notice how arousing he had found that short ride and she’d made no comment on his rude treatment of her after they reached the inn. He had left it to Garit to comfort the fears that Roarke was now convinced were real, though he still doubted the veracity of her claim that she lacked any memory of how she had reached the lonely shore where he’d found her.

  So far, he had learned just three certain things about Jenia. She was in terror for her life. For her own secret reasons she was eager to journey to Calean City. And he wanted her with a desire that threatened to undo him and destroy his mission to find Lady Chantal.

  But what if Jenia, whether she was lying or truly unsure of her identity, proved to be Chantal of Thury, who loved Garit, Roarke’s best friend? If that was so, then Roarke must consider her forbidden.

  He knew himself for a brave enough man, yet the desperation of his sudden and unexpected need for Jenia terrified him. Never before had he felt this way about any woman. In the first moment when he’d spied her stumbling along the beach his heart had stirred within his chest. He had known that she was no ordinary person, that she was someone special. He could not understand his own reaction to a female whom he didn’t know and wasn’t sure he could trust. But, ah, how she fascinated him!

  He pulled her a little closer, pressed his cheek against hers, and reminded himself again that she could very well be Garit’s true love, who would never want, or love, Roarke of Alton.

  Jenia woke once during the night to find Roarke’s arm across her waist and his face buried against her shoulder. Uncertain whether his position was a means of preventing her from fleeing or a sign of reassurance, she reflected that, whichever it was, she did not mind. For one night, and one only, she would accept the comfort and safety he offered, and be grateful for it. For that single night she would allow herself to be a woman and not an avenging spirit.

  When she wakened again at dawn he was gone, though Garit still snored on the other side of the bed, so close to the edge that she feared he would fall out if he made the slightest movement. Before she could discover whether her concern was well-founded or not, Roarke entered without knocking. He carried a large pitcher in each hand. The maid who had served them the previous evening followed him, bearing a platter of bread and cheese.

  The sound of the platter being slammed down on the table woke Garit, who rolled off the mattress and onto his feet in a single, lithe motion.

  “Did you see the way the maid looked at me?” Garit demanded of Roarke. “She thinks you and I have spent the night intimately occupied with Jenia. My lady, I offer my deepest apology for the slur upon your virtue. You deserve better treatment.”

  “Never mind that,” Roarke snapped at his friend. “Pay the maidservant no heed. Her opinion matters not at all. We are leaving this morning and chances are, we won’t return.”

  “If anyone comes to this inn asking questions after we are gone, the maid will remember us,” Jenia noted. “The two of you sneaked in the back way with an unknown woman, whom you kept in your room all night long. That alone would make us conspicuous.”

  “All the more reason for us to leave here as quickly as possible,” Roarke said, frowning at her. To her relief he didn’t demand to know who could possibly be asking about an unidentified woman.

  They were gone from the inn before anyone but the maidservant and one stableboy were moving, and they rode at a steady pace all morning. This time Jenia rode pillion behind Roarke, a position that allowed for no sense of intimacy and no sustained conversation between them. They stopped only once during the morning, to rest and water the horses. Jenia took the opportunity to retire behind some bushes for a few moments, and then to drink from the same stream as the horses.

  She judged the time at noon or later before Roarke called a second halt. The landscape had undergone subtle alterations as they traveled inland. Windblown seashore had given way to green and gently rolling hills planted with apple trees. Golden wheat awaiting the harvest waved in a softer, dryer breeze. Cattle browsed in the open meadows. But always the massive mountain range filled the eastern horizon, rearing upwards in sheer slabs of grey rock and glistening white ice.

  “We are crossing Dudone Province now,” Garit told her as they munched on the bread and cheese the men pulled from their saddlebags, along with a few apples that Garit plucked from the tree under which they sat. “This land belongs to the Lord Mage of Dudone.”

  “Will we be safer here than along the shore?” Jenia asked.

  “I doubt if you will be safe anywhere,” Roarke said. “Not with your face so similar to Lady Chantal’s.”

  “Now, that’s not entirely true,” Garit protested. “We can keep our distance from Thury, where Lord Walderon has taken up residence.”

  “Walderon is at Thury?” Jenia exclaimed. “How can that be?” She broke off when she saw Roarke staring at her with a knowing gleam in his eyes. Once again she had revealed too much knowledge. Constant deception really was beyond her.

  “Walderon moved to Thury shortly after Lady Chantal vanished,” Roarke informed her. “He has been conducting his search for her from there. Do you know Thury?” he asked with an emphasis that Jenia could not mistake.

  “Only from your discussion of the place as Lady Chantal’s home,” she said, certain that Roarke knew she was lying. In an effort to prevent any further discussion of the subject she added, “At least, I do not think I know it.”

  “At the moment,” Garit said, “it doesn’t matter whether you know Thury, or not. My lady, if you can ride until shortly after nightfall this evening, we can stop at a manor house we know of, that’s safely located in an isolated area. In our younger days, Roarke and I were squires to Lord Giles of Nozay. He remains a dependable friend, and we have stopped at Nozay several times during our searches of this area. Lord Giles will take good care of us and feed us well.

  “Then,” Garit continued, “if you are willing to undertake a long day’s ride tomorrow, and if no mischance slows us along the way, we have a good chance of reaching a castle that King Henryk bestowed on me two years ago. I keep it staffed with people who are loyal to me. You will be perfectly safe at Auremont.”

  “I thought we were bound for Calean City,” she objected.

  “So we are,” Garit assured her. “But we cannot go there directly.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, her fear returning in a rush. She shivered at the thought that she might not reach the capital after all, that she still might fail in her quest in spite of two strong knights who were pledged to protect her. “What mischance are you thinking of? Might we be attacked?”

  “Why would anyone want to attack us?” Roarke asked, his tone bland, but his gaze sharp on her face.

  “You don’t understand,” she said.

  “Then, perhaps you ought to explain.”

  “My lady,” Garit said, “it will take three days of steady travel on a good horse to reach Calean City. I am due there early on the second day after tomorrow, so I must ride faster than you can. We will separate at Castle Auremont, where you and Roarke will stay until I return.”

  “You’re leaving us?” she cried. “Roarke, is this some new scheme of yours? One of you should have told me about any change in plans. I will not have my life arranged without my approval.”

  “We did agree,” Garit said in a quiet way t
hat Jenia believed was calculated to soothe her irritation, “that you will present yourself at the royal court as Lady Chantal. If you are to be accepted in that role, you will need fine clothing such as Chantal would wear, a noble horse to ride, caparison for your horse, servants—”

  “No!” Jenia cried. “No servants. I refuse to drag anyone else into so dangerous a situation.”

  “What danger?” Roarke asked. When she didn’t respond he said, “It’s clear to me that most if not all of your memory has returned. If you ever did lose your memory.”

  “I did lose it. I lost everything except my honor, and that I preserved only by taking a desperate risk.” She choked on tears. After a moment she swallowed hard and continued in the belief that Roarke would be pacified only by the truth, or some goodly portion of it. If she had any hope of convincing him that she was being honest about her ordeal, she sensed that she ought to reveal as much as she dared at once, while Garit was still with them. Garit was more sympathetic than Roarke, who seemed to know instinctively when she was lying. If Roarke became too difficult and his questions too intrusive, she would simply have to declare that she could remember no more than she had already told them. She didn’t believe either of them would use force against a woman, so they couldn’t make her talk against her will.

  “Will you listen without interrupting me and without accusing me?” she asked, looking from one man to the other.

  “Of course, we will,” Garit said immediately. “First, my lady, tell us if you recall your true name.”

  “I do honestly believe that my name is Jenia,” she said.

  “Hah!” Roarke exclaimed, a world of disbelief in the single syllable.

  “Roarke, if you want to know what the lady has to say, then be quiet and let her speak,” Garit warned.