Echoes of a Promise (21 page)

The blade missed her throat and sliced through the right shoulder of her gown, embedding itself in her flesh. She cried out. Staggered. The pain was sharp. Blood gushed and a red stain spread over the lace front of her beautiful wedding gown. The wretch had ruined it! It seemed odd to be feeling this rush of anger when she was just about to die.

She didn’t want to die! ‘Oh, Andrew! Andrew!’

Her legs gave way; she felt herself falling backwards – down, down – and when her head struck the hard floor, she became aware of nothing more.

Victoria lay lost in a thick, black cloud of nothingness. There was no memory of how she came to be here. No memory of who she was. The pain was returning. Her head. Her shoulder. Why did she feel this pain?

Somebody was close beside her. So close she could feel warm breath on her cheek. A deep, husky voice began to speak softly, and she felt herself floating in the flow of his words. Such tender words.

Running footsteps approached. ‘Mama! Mama! Is Mama awake now?’

‘Hush, Belle. Not yet, but soon, sweetheart. I’ll lift you up so you can kiss her cheek. There – very gently now.’

A childish voice had called her
Mama
. Who was the man so close to her pillow? His scent – it was his scent that began to stir faint memories. His voice – the soothing words he spoke. She wanted to hear more. He lifted her hand and touched his lips to each finger and,
somehow, she knew that this was how it should be. There was something she must tell him, but she had no memory of what it was.

The black nothingness began pulling her down into itself again when a different scent came to her side. She tensed. This man, who wafted the aroma of herbs and strange unguents and mumbled words she couldn’t understand, lifted her head and placed a sip of something vile on her lips.

She gave a little moan when he touched the source of her pain. But after he’d placed a pungent substance there, the pain faded.

‘Vicky, my darling, it’s going well,’ the husky voice close beside her whispered. ‘You’re getting stronger. Keep hold of my hand. There! I won’t let you go. I’ll never let you go.’

‘I don’t know who I am.’

‘Oh, Victoria! You are my love and my strength.’ His voice broke. ‘You are the mirror that shows me my soul. You are the angel who saved our daughter’s life.’

There was a tenderness in his tone that brought a smile to her lips, though she still struggled to recall what it was that she must tell him. The nothingness began to swallow her again, but she caught another waft of his scent and the blackness lightened.

She struggled to open her eyes. ‘I saw a man—!’

‘He’s gone, my dearest, and I promise that he’ll never again trouble us – or anyone else for that matter.’

Again and again, the blackness washed over her like an incoming tide, which rose and then retreated. She saw Peter smiling at her. Emily and Martin. Aunt Honoria. The begum. Her parents. Nigel and Kitty. They all came and went, and in the fleeting moments of awareness, fragments of memory started to return.

‘Where am I?’ Her lips barely moved. Her voice was a whisper. ‘There’s something I must do….’

‘You’re safe. We’re here on the begum’s houseboat and her Healer will make you well again.’

‘Who are you?’

He gave a long sigh. ‘Who am I? I’m Andrew, the man who had the honour of becoming your husband three days ago.’

She lifted her eyelids, struggling to focus her gaze on the features of this man who said he was her husband. It was a strong face with a thin white scar down one cheek, but she seemed to be looking at him through the wrong end of a telescope. He was far away. Andrew?

‘And also, Vicky, I’m the fool who is bitterly ashamed of the harsh words he spoke to you, and who wants you to know how desperately he regrets those lies. Can you forgive my stupidity?’

The image of an irate face drifted into her mind’s eye. Andrew? What had caused him to be so angry. ‘There’s something that I must tell you, but I can’t recall what it can be.’

She felt herself floating again and fought to keep her eyelids from closing in order to bring his face back into focus. And when she did, she saw the moisture gathering in his eyes.

‘Vicky, I want you to know that I love you with all my heart and nothing means more to me than the future we’re going to share. When you’re strong enough, we’ll make our way to Mardan, but until then the whole world will have to wait until you’re ready to travel.’

‘I can’t stay awake any longer. Please, lie here beside me and put your head next to mine on the pillow. I need to feel you close.’ His lips touched her forehead and the scent of him stirred fresh fragments of memory.

But, as she lay beside him with her eyes closed and her hand held tightly in his, images began tumbling over each other in her mind, all struggling to find a foothold on the slippery mountain of some misunderstanding that had come between herself and this gentle, possessive man at her side. How could she make sense of everything that had happened when her head ached so?

She slipped into sleep again and when she woke, the clouds had lifted further, allowing other images to line themselves up in her mind
and start to form a chain of recollections.

Yes, of course – as soon as possible, Andrew must be told all about her plans to establish the
Fortitude Foundation
in Peter’s name. There must be no more delay. She parted her lips, drew in a breath, but when she began, her tongue seemed to be incapable of forming the words she wanted.

‘Hush, sweetheart. Just lie quietly here with me and don’t try to speak. Give yourself a little time and soon you’ll be able to recall everything.’

But did she need to recall everything? Did she
want
to recall everything? Memory can have a way of being selective, and at that point Victoria chose
not
to remember the scene at the lakeside when her new husband had hurled bitter, incomprehensible words at her in the carriage. If ever he raised the topic again she would look at him blankly and shake her head.

Whatever it was that had upset him so much that day could no longer be pertinent, so she wiped that image from her mind with the ease of a child cleaning a schoolroom slate with a damp sponge.

Andrew was here close beside her now, Annabelle was safe, and waiting ahead for them was a lifetime of fresh memories to be made.

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