wcEND.rtf (33 page)

Maude hesitated for the longest moment, and then she let out a sigh of frustration. Clearly Maude didn't approve of what Détra did and Isabel was going to do.
"
There are way
s
..."

"What ways?"

"We
l
l, jumping up and down after the deed is thought to be very effective."

Isabel looked at Maude in disbelief. She couldn't be serious. But Maude held her gaze with tremendous fortitude, not a hint of a grin on her face. She was serious!

Repressing a laugh, Isabel asked, "Anything else?"

"I was told that you should undulate your hips during the deed, and kneel down and sneeze after."

Isabel liked the undulating hips part, but surely not as a birth control. "I was thinking more on the lines of a medicinal remedy."

"Bloodletting is also a common practice," Maude suggested.

Isabel knew sooner or later bloodletting would make an appearance. She would have to be more direct in her inquiry.

"Do you know of a potion that could prevent pregnancy?"

That firmly silenced Maude's babbling. And Isabel instinctively knew Maude was hiding something.

With her fingers underneath the maid's chin Isabel lifted her face. "What is it, Maude? I hope you can trust me with whatever is bothering you."

The maid sighed. "The concoction you already drink every morning, my lady, prevents a baby from forming in your womb."

Isabel was momentarily stunned into silence.

"Why did you not tel
l
me that from the beginning instead o
f
all that silliness?" she asked.

"I thought it might change your mind about having Lord Hunter
's
child."

It was obvious Maude wanted her to get pregnant, wanted her to be happy with Hunter. The thought warmed her insides. Someone was rooting for her. Rooting for Détra, her mind cruelly reminded her.

But it didn't seem reasonable to expect Détra to change her mind. Even before her marriage to Hunter had been consummated she had already figured out all. Détra might want to return to her own life, but not in a million years would she accept Hunter as her husband or a child from him.

The thought soured Isabel's already knotted stomach. The last thing she wanted in the world was Hunter's un-happiness. But when she left, that would be exactly what he would get.

A week had gone by since they'd arrived from Hawkhaven Castle, since she learned the truth of what really happened that fateful morning she woke up in Détra's body, since she learned the chalice was lost to her.

In a bizarre sort of way, the many pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place. And yet, despite that knowledge, or maybe even because of it, Isabel's situation had become even more difficult to bear. It was hard to be the guardian of the truth, caught in the middle of two worlds, two lives, living on borrowed time.

With the chalice out of her reach, Isabel expected to be yanked out of Hunter's life at a
n
y given time, maybe in a most inopportune time, like when she was making
l
ove to Hunter. The uncertainty of her situation was fraying her nerves in such a way she had cried on his shoulder
last night. Cried, for goodness
'
sake, after making love with the man she loved.

Poor Hunter was totally baffled at her behavior. He could never in a million years guess the reasons for her tears. Maude had wanted to give her a calming potion, but Isabel had refused. Not even Valium could make any difference. Besides, even though Isabel had discovered the wonders of alternative medicine, she was already relying on it too much. Migraine, PMS, and the big one, birth control. Every day was a struggle between her conscience and her heart. Wanting a child so badly and knowing she could have it tore her apart. What difficult choices one had to make in life!

Belying the urgency gnawing inside, Isabel descended the stairs into the great hall with an unhurried step. It was almost supper time and she had spent today like the days before, trying her best to learn more about castle life, finally realizing there wasn't much she could or wanted to do to occupy her time.

In frustration she had delegated Détra's duties to more competent hands. From the kitchen cooks and helpers to the servants that kept the castle clean and functioning, to Godfrey who oversaw everything as its steward, to Maude, whom Isabel had elevated to healer of almost every wound, everyone seemed very diligent about their duties.

She knew the castle wouldn't fall into shambles without her input; on the contrary, she'd probably do more harm than good if she tried her hand at housekeeping, or more appropriately, castlekeeping.

Discounting the year she'd been married and the cottage she'd inherited from her grandmother, Isabel had never even owned a house. House, apartment, flat, hotel
roo
m
—
a
ll had been places to live in for a while and then leave behind as she moved on.

Like she would eventually do with this place.

Every time life hadn't conformed to her wishes in the past, Isabel had moved on, leaving behind her troubles. But trapped within the confines of these walls in a situation she wouldn't have consciously chosen, with the outcome beyond her control, Isabel knew this time she couldn't run. And even if she could, she wouldn't be able to leave her troubles behind. She would forever carry with her the memory of Hunter, her love for him, the dream that could have been but never was.

Isabel's heart rebelled at being forced to accept she would lose Hunter o
n
e way or another, by her hands or Détra'
s
. And every time she dwelt on the impossibility of her situation, her mind went back to the chalice, to the magic powers of the chalice. Like a sinking ship, she was ready to hold on to any possibility, minute as it was, for survival.

The chalice had to hold the answer. But with it in the depths of a lake what good would it do her?

Isabel feared another migraine if she persisted on dwelling on such an insoluble situation. Good God, how she missed painting. In times of troubles, in times of joy, her painting had been an integral part of her life, and yet even that had been stripped from her.

Suddenly remembering the writing supplies she'd seen in the war room a few days ago, Isabel crossed the still empty hall in that direction, a new sprint added to her step at the prospect of spending a few hours drawing.

She needed that distraction badly and she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before.

She opened the door to the war room and found Godfrey inside, but instead of pouring over a ledger as she'd expected, the man sat at what looked conspicuously like
a drawing table. How had she missed that before?

"My lady." Godfrey jerked to his feet, visibly unsettled by her presence. "I did not expect to see you here." He lowered his hands alongside his body, as if to hide his ink-stained fingers from her view, as he stepped in front of the drawing table.

"What are you working on?" she asked, peeking over his shoulders to the drawing table where a small piece of parchment, no bigger than a four-by-six sheet, was held in place by the tip of a small knife. A beautiful decorative border depicting angels decorated the page and in the middle of it, a half-completed text, written in Latin.

Each letter was drawn with careful thought and detail, some with a flourishing swirl upward, others downward, but al
l
the same size. The first letter of the paragraph, however, received a special treatment in intricate pattern, size, and color to distinguish it from the rest of the letters.

Isabel didn't understand Latin, but she knew a little Italian, and the first verses were pretty easy to surmise.

Ave Maria, gratia plena: Dominus tecum.
.
. .

Hail Mary, full of grace: our Lord is with thee.. . .

A prayer book! Isabel's mouth fell open as she witnessed the creation of medieval art. She'd seen pictures of it, but this was the real thing, in real time. Goose bumps spread ov
e
r her body and her heart sang with joy.

"I am not derelict in my duties, my lady." Godfrey was still explaining himself. "The ledgers are done for this day and I have finished with the tallying for the week an
d
—
"

Isabel waved his explanations away with a motion of her hand and picked up one of the parchments on the floor. That such a beautiful work would eventually be lost to the world saddened her almost to tears.

What a terrible loss that would be!

"Is this your work?" she asked, in awe of it, aware of
the degree of attention and talent needed to do such small paintings and writings.

"I can explain, my lady," he stuttered. "I know you told me to destroy it, bu
t
—"

"Destroy it?" Isabel cried, jerking back and glaring at him as if he'd gone insane. Was
Détra
mad to order such an incredible work of art destroyed? By the look of surprise on Godfrey's face, Isabel realized she'd spoken too fast and with too much vehemence.

She collected her temper. "And yet you did not."

"Forgive me, my lady," Godfrey said. "I should have never presumed to gainsay an order from you. I jus
t
—"

Godfrey didn't seem to find the right words to explain his actions, and yet Isabel understood him wel
l
. Had he even a drop of appreciation for art in his heart, he couldn't have destroyed this work any more than she could have.

"Tel
l
me," Isabel asked, "why do you think I gave you such an order in the first place?" She couldn't understand what would rattle Détra so much that she'd do such a thing.

Not knowing of her loss of memory, Godfrey eyed her oddly, obviously baffled by her question.

"Lord William commissioned the Book of Hours for you," he said as if that should be self-explanatory.

Ah! The good o
l
d Lord William again. After learni
n
g of the apple incident, Isabel doubted me man's good intention in doing something so nice for Détra. Obviously Détra thought the same and wanted nothing to do with anything associated with her former husband. Isabel couldn't blame her. God knew what other humiliation she'd suffered at the man's hands.

But to want to destroy such a beautiful work of art? Isabel couldn't allow such travesty.

"I will do as you ordered," Godfrey said, picking up the pile of parchments on the floor.

"Do not be hasty." Isabel took the parchments from his hands as she considered the ramifications of letting Godfrey in on her amnesia. Surely it couldn't make that much of a difference at this point. And it would help him understand her change of heart, for Détra would have a change of heart now.

"Remember a few days ago when you showed concern over my well-being?" Isabel asked, moving away from him and depositing the parchments on the table by the wall.

"I was assured you were well, my lady."

"I am," she said, turning to face him. "But that very morning I had suffered an accident that robbed me of my memories."

"My lady." Godfrey rushed to her, pulling a chair for her to sit, as if she were sick or weak. "How could that be possible?"

"It is a mystery," she said, refusing the chair. "But I am fine. No need to worry. I just do not seem to recall much of my life before the accident." She paused. Now that she'd explained her reaction, she'd have to explain her change of heart. "And I am sure I spoke in haste when I asked you to destroy the Book of Hours. Whatever were Lord William's intentions, it should not matter to me anymore. The man is dead, right?"