Page 6 of My Duke, The Stranger
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.”
