The Truest Heart by Samantha James Page B

only to immediately turn white as linen.
    The bundle of wood had spilled to the floor. Gillian had rushed to his side and pressed him back.
    “It is not right, that I lay abed while you work,” he had argued.
    Her mouth set sternly, Gillian had exclaimed in remonstrance.
    Yet now, an uneasy sensation crept along her spine. She remembered his fierceness when he’d been ill with fever.
    “I am Marian,” she’d said.
    “You lie!” he had accused. “Tell me who you are!”
    “If he is not a common man,” said Brother Baldric, “that is all the more reason not to trust him.”
    “Brother Baldric,” she said gently, “I understand your loyalty to my father. But I do not understand your suspicion of this man.”
    “You believe him then? That he remembers naught of his past?”
    “I do.”
    “It could be a ruse. A trick.”
    “Perhaps it would be best if you judged for yourself.” She gestured toward the door.
    With that Brother Baldric pushed back his cowl. Together they entered the cottage. Gillian approached the stranger’s bedside. His eyes were closed, but at the rustle of sound, he stirred.
    “Gareth,” she stated with no ado, “this is Brother Baldric. He would like to speak with you.”
    The robed man stepped forward. Gillian retreated to stand in the shadows.
    Gareth inclined his head in greeting. “Brother Baldric. Gillian speaks often of you.”
    Brother Baldric nodded. “Gillian tells me that other than your name, you have no idea of who you are.”
    “This is true,” Gareth said.
    “You know nothing of your trade?”
    Gareth’s mouth thinned. “I could be the king himself and I would not know it.”
    “An excellent choice of subject.” Brother Baldric’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know who is king?”
    “No.”
    “John is king. Son of Henry and Eleanor, brother of Richard, youngest of the Devil’s brood.”
    “The Devil’s brood … King Henry.”
    “Yes.”
    “And Richard,” he repeated, then suddenly it was as something opened inside him. “Richard!” he exclaimed. “Coeur de Lion! A great man with golden hair and vivid blue eyes.”
    “Ah, so you do remember. Have you been on Crusade?”
    “I have,” Gareth stated promptly.
    “And what of King John?” Baldric surveyed him closely.
    Gareth’s response was a long time in coming. “I do not know,” he said at last. “And yet I cannot deny the feeling that I should know.” His voice carried a faint bitterness. “Then again, it would seem there is much I should know, but cannot remember.”
    “True,” Baldric agreed.
    “I can only hope that Gillian is right,” Gareth stated quietly, “that as my body mends, my memory will as well.” He glanced at Gillian. One corner of his mouth curled upward. “I owe the lady much,” he said softly. “Indeed, I owe her my very life.”
    Baldric slid his hands into the wide gray sleeves of his robe. “She has a warm, giving nature. No man was more aware of it than her husband.”
    Gareth’s gaze jerked back to Baldric. “Her husband?”
    “Yes. She is a widow, you know. She still grieves deeply for her husband, who died when he was thrown from his horse. As she brought you here to heal, so did I bring her to this place to heal.”
    Gillian smothered a gasp. Why was Brother Baldric compelled to perpetuate that horrid lie— and more? she wondered wildly. There was no need, no need at all. She winced as she felt the touch of Gareth’s eyes anew. Brief though it was, it was piercingly intent.
    “You brought Gillian here?”
    “I did. She felt the need to spend her grief in solitude.” Baldric lifted a brow. “Have you a wife, sir?”
    Gareth shook his head. “There is no one. I can feel it.” His gaze slid back to Gillian. “A pity,” he remarked, “that one so young as the lady here should find herself a widow already. Perhaps it is good that I am here, for now she need not be alone.”
    Brother Baldric’s head came up. Each man found himself the object of a