Temptress by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online Page A

the response from a gruff male voice.
    M’lady? The lord’s wife? Or daughter? He had to fight to keep from slipping back into the murk of unconsciousness.
    She sighed loudly and the delicate scent of lilacs reached his nostrils. “I wonder who he is and why he was found as near to the castle as he was to death.” What was it about her voice that was familiar? Had he known her?
    Think, damn it! Remember!
    “We all do,” the man said.
    More footsteps. Short. Hurried. Nearly frantic. “Has he awakened?” Another woman, older, he thought, with anxious threads running through her words.
    “Nay. Not yet.” The priest again.
    “By the Great Mother, I trust him not.”
    “Aye, Isa, we all know,” the man said.
    The older woman is Isa . He tried to commit her name to his memory and remind himself that she believed in the old spirits as he battled the blackness picking at the edges of his brain.
    “As you’ve said.” The younger woman again.
    “Lady Morwenna, he is healing. Mayhap we can now transfer him to the prison,” the older woman suggested.
    Morwenna?
    Why did that name strike a chord in him?
    Try to remember the younger woman, the one who seems to have some power here, is Morwenna.
    “Look at him, Isa. Does he look like he could harm anyone?” Morwenna demanded.
    “Sometimes things are not as they appear.”
    “I know, but for now, we will not treat this man as a prisoner.”
    A prisoner? What had he done for anyone to think that he should be locked away?
    More footsteps. Louder. Heavier.
    He struggled to stay awake, to learn of his plight.
    “M’lady,” a man said gruffly, and with him came the smell of rainwater and horses, a hint of smoke, and a rising of the hairs on his arms, as if this unknown man with the deep voice was an enemy.
    “Sir Alexander.” The younger woman’s voice. Morwenna’s voice. By the gods, why was it so familiar? Why did her name resound in his mind? Why the hell couldn’t he remember?
    “How is he?” the man Alexander inquired, though there was no hint of interest in his voice. He is the enemy. Beware!
    “About the same. He’s not yet awakened, though the physician says he’s healing and you can see that his wounds have scabbed over, the swelling lessened. Nygyll says no bones were broken, that most of the wounds were of his flesh and, as he’s not gotten worse, no organ was damaged significantly.”
    Such good news, he thought wryly as he decided Nygyll was the physician. Another name to be committed to memory.
    “Should we not send a messenger to Wybren and notify Lord Graydynn?”
    Wybren? He knew in an instant that they were speaking of a castle. Lord Graydynn? That didn’t sound right. Or did it? Graydynn? Aye . . . surely he’d known a Graydynn . . . or had he? His stomach knotted more painfully and he sensed something was wrong, so very wrong. Graydynn! He tried to conjure up the man’s face but once again failed and was left with a sour taste in the back of his mouth worse than before.
    “Send a messenger to Wybren and tell the baron what?” Morwenna asked in a tone of disbelief. “That we have a near-dead man we found in the woods and that the only identification we have is a ring with the crest of Wybren upon it?”
    “Yes,” Sir Alexander said. “Mayhap the baron or one of his men could identify this one and we could then determine if he’s friend or foe.”
    “ ’Tis a good idea,” the older woman said hurriedly, almost as if she and Sir Alexander had planned this conversation in advance. “Then we would know once and for all if the man is Sir Carrick.”
    Carrick? His heart nearly stopped before racing wildly. He was Carrick ? Carrick of Wybren? The name pounded through his brain in a way none other had. He tried to concentrate, to think past the pain, to remember. Was he Carrick?
    “Not yet,” the younger woman said. “I agree, eventually we will have to contact Lord Graydynn, but let’s wait until we find out more about the