The Truest Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

knew that John’s greed had fired the minds of his people with anger and resentment. Perhaps like her, he, too, fled for his life from the wrath of King John, only to be caught in a storm, much as she had been.
    “Whoever you are,” she murmured, “you must have a name. What is it, I wonder? Michael?” A slight smile curled her lips and she shook her head. “Nay. Oh, ‘tis a fine name, to be sure, but not yours, methinks.” She tipped her head first to one side, then the other as she studied him.
    “I know. Walter. Or William. Ah, I know. ‘Tis Edwyn. Aye, I do believe your name is Edwyn.”
    Thus she began to call him Edwyn.
    He breathed … yet did not waken. He remained so motionless he might have been dead. As the hours wore on, many a time Gillian laid her ear to the breadth of his chest, assured that he lived only by the steady drone of his heart.
    Was this a healing sleep that claimed him? She thought not. She feared not.
    Time had been her most bitter foe throughout these long weeks of uncertainty. Yet now was it not her staunchest ally? His staunchest ally? Yes, she told herself firmly. The longer he breathed, the greater his chances of survival.
    Throughout the day and night Gillian was there beside him. The hours marched on. She sat beside him until her muscles grew stiff and cramped and her eyes burned with fatigue.
    She talked. Of silly things. Of whatever chanced to wander through her mind. ‘Twas odd, the ease with which the name sprang from her lips. Ah, she mused once, but what if his name was Edwyn in truth?
    “I daresay you are a hunter, like my father. Oh, but my father was a great hunter,” she recalled wistfully. “Many a day found him hunting with his gyrfalcon. When we could not find him we had only to look in the mews. My mother, before she died, used to say she feared Clifton would never spare the time to find a bride when he was old enough, for Clifton was almost always at Papa’s side when he went hawking.”
    Her smile faltered. Clifton. Pain lanced through her heart, bled deeper. Would she ever find Clifton? Where was he? Where? Was he safe? Oh, if only she knew! But nay. She’d not succumb to despair. Papa was dead. But Clifton was still alive. She had to believe it. And somehow—someday—she would find a way to find her brother.
    Rising, she moved to the window. Opening the shutters, she peered outside. Air whistled through the opening. Outside, the wind had begun to gust. Gillian could not help the thought that tore through her mind—she prayed there would not be another storm. Determined not to dwell on it, she threw another handful of limbs on the fire. Impatiently she brushed aside the curling strands of hair that swung forward, then started across the floor.
    ” ‘Tis cold again today, Edwyn.” With a rueful sigh she made the comment even though she knew he did not hear her. “I must confess, in Westerbrook where I am from, we have November days that are chill, but not like this—‘tis like the cold passes all through me.”
    There was a subtle movement beneath the sheet. Gillian felt her lips part. Why, he had moved! Or was it merely that she had sat too heavily upon the mattress and made his body shift?
    There was no time to wonder, no time to think. A long arm swept the blanket to his waist. He began to thrash.
    “Edwyn, no!” The name slipped urgently— unthinkingly—from her lips. “Be still else your side will begin to bleed. Do you hear me, Edwyn? Edwyn, you must be still!” She reached for his bare shoulders to push him down. It was then it happened.
    His eyes flicked open. In the midst of reaching for his bare shoulders to push him down, she found herself captured and seized. Strong male fingers shackled the fragile span of her wrist with a grip she’d never have guessed possible, given his state of just moments before. Despite his malaise, he was almost frighteningly strong.
    “Edwyn,” came a dry, hoarse mutter. “By God, desist from calling me