Page 33 of Castle of Refuge

“No one is sending you away.” His voice was deep but soft and quiet. “I only want to know how you came to be able to read and speak French. I am curious.”

She tried to blink back the tears, but one leaked from the corner of her eye. She dashed it away with her fingers. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she said, “Please don’t force me to tell you.”

“I will not force you.”

When he said nothing more, she said, “Thank you.” She was able to blink the rest of the tears away.

Lord Dericott spoke in French as he said, “You may continue to dust the books.”

Should she pretend she did not understand him? But surely it was too late for that. So she picked up her dust cloth and continued to clean.

“Which book were you reading?” he said, again speaking in French. “Forgive me, but it has been a long time since I was able to converse in French, and I would like to have someone with whom to practice.”

“Très bien. Je t’obligerai,” she said, agreeing to oblige him. She pulled the book off the shelf that she had been reading and handed it to him, her cheeks burning.

“The Romance of the Rose,” he said upon seeing the cover.

“I was never allowed to read it.” Indeed, her priest had told her it was profane and sacrilegious for anyone, especially a young unmarried woman such as herself. But she had not seen anything bad in it from the two pages she had just read. Perhaps she had not understood it, or it held some kind of additional meaning besides the obvious.

“You may read it now, if you wish.” Lord Dericott tried to hand it to her.

“No, no, thank you. I don’t want to read it.” She shook her head, her cheeks burning even more.

He placed the book back on the shelf. “If you have time and wish to read something, please feel free to come and borrow a book.”

“Thank you. That is very kind.” She rubbed the spines of the books with her cloth. “And you may feel free to speak to me in French, if you wish.”

“Merci beaucoup.”

She glanced back at him to see if he was smiling. He wasn’t, but there was a soft look about his eyes and mouth, and she suddenly remembered the boy he was four years ago at her home. He’d been less solemn then, but at this moment she could clearly see that same boy in his grown-up, more somber face. And her heart tripped over itself. Her thoughts, on that faraway day, had been of marrying him, of hoping the marriage would not take place too soon, of worrying what Maris would do to her, knowing her sister was jealous and angry. But that was just one day before the “accident,” when Maris caused her scars.

She’d often thought of him in the days after when she’d lain in bed, crying from the pain of her burns. But at some time during the following years, she’d stopped thinking of him. In truth she had no reason to think of him, as she could never marry him.

But she was thinking of him now.

“Lord Dericott?” Someone was approaching the door of the library.

Audrey turned to face the bookshelf and continued cleaning, trying to look intent on her task, while Lord Dericott took a few steps toward the door and away from her.

“There is a messenger here from...”

The person’s voice grew too faint to hear as he and Lord Dericott walked together down the corridor away from the library.

She remembered the compassion in the tone of her lord’s voice, the kindness on his face. He had neither berated her nor ignored her. He’d been interested in how she learned French and even wished to speak it with her. But he had not forced her to tell him more than she wished to. He could have intimidated and coerced her into telling him exactly who she was. He would have been well within his rights to do so, as she was his servant living in his home. No one spoke of it much, but it was well-known, even to someone as sheltered as Audrey was, that masters often took advantage of their servants.

Such a kind and fair master as Lord Dericott would be very hard to find again, should she have to leave. But did she truly wish to be a servant all her life? To do mundane tasks such as cleaning? She did not mind helping; it was better than having nothing at all to do, with no purpose or way to be useful. But when she thought about her future, she saw only a fog. She knew something was out there, but she had no idea what it could be.

***

Edwin stared out the window. The rain had finally ceased, which meant the visitor he’d been waiting on for the last two days would probably be arriving today.

He cringed at the thought of his old teacher and trainer seeing him now. He had mostly good memories of him, and even thought of him as more of a friend than a superior, though he was so much older than Edwin. But the idea of him seeing Edwin in his current state, with only one arm, filled his stomach with dread.

He’d been Sir Clement’s squire for years, had learned all the old knight had to teach him. They’d sparred with the sword, and Sir Clement had taught him riding tricks, sharing horsemanship wisdom that he’d gained from many years of experience.

Now Edwin could never be the swordsman he’d been before. He could barely stay in the saddle.

He heard the servant’s footsteps approaching and turned from the window to wait for him.