Her father watched her, expectant.
“There was a storm.”
“You were abducted by the Scots.” Anger lingered within his words.
“Abducted by Scots?” She grimaced, somehow finding his statement incorrect.
“The incident is not a topic for you to dwell upon. You are safe; that is what matters.
Mayhap, but she saw the exhaustion hidden in his eyes caused by worry. Touched and needing to offer reassurance, she lay her hand on her father’s arm. “I am well—”
“You are not. You have been ill since your arrival two days past. During the night your fever finally broke.” He covered her hand with his own. “You must continue to rest. In time your memory will return.”
The soft tap of approaching steps drew her gaze to the doorway.
A tall, dignified man entered. He walked toward her, his heraldic surcoat spun of royal blue silk and embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis. His straight brown hair scraped the edge of his shoulders, hard angles outlining his square jaw. Hazel eyes met hers, softening in relief.
Did she know this man? From the confidence in which he entered her chamber, ’twould appear so. But she had no memory of him.
“Sire,” he said as he bowed to her father. He faced Marie, a tender smile touching his lips. “It is good to see you awake.” Disquiet shadowed his gaze as he glanced toward the king, then back to her. “And we are thankful for your safe return.”
“Marie, may I introduce to you Gaston de Croix, Duke of Vocette, your betrothed.”
Betrothed! Marie clutched the bed linen, unable to shake her disquiet at this meeting. “We have met before?” Her heart pounded as she awaited his confirmation.
“Non,” Gaston replied as he lifted her hand. He pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “ ’Tis my pleasure, my lady.”
Heat stroked her face because she wasn’t sure what to say, and was even more confused by how her pulse raced. Why would meeting her betrothed cause her such distress? She must have been aware of her upcoming marriage.
“I am sorry,” Marie said, fighting for calm, “I am having difficulty remembering.”
“Understandable after your ordeal,” the duke said.
Ordeal. He meant her kidnapping, an event of which she had no memory. “As we are affianced, please, use my given name, Marie.”
He nodded. “Please do me the honor of calling me Gaston.”
“Of course.” Why did thinking of him in a familiar light leave her on edge?
Her father’s gaze shifted to the duke. “You have taken care of the task we discussed?”
“Oui, Sire.” His jaw tightened with anger. “He will be dealt with this day.”
A chill swept through Marie at the coldness of her betrothed’s words. She glanced at her father. “Who will be dealt with?”
The king’s mouth thinned into a hard line. “We have caught one of the Scots involved in your abduction. Before I am through, he will name all who are involved.”
“An action they shall regret,” Gaston stated.
A shiver slid through Marie. Though she’d never witnessed the methods her father’s guards used to extract confessions, she’d heard of the rack, flogging, and other techniques employed to loosen an unwilling tongue.
A sense of urgency filled her, but the grogginess coating her mind smothered her ability to find the reason. “Father, I . . .” Why couldn’t she recall the past weeks? And when she did, would she wish otherwise?
The king leaned closer. “What is it?”
A low pounding built in her head as she struggled to remember. “It has something to do with the Scot.”
“I should not have spoken of your capture,” her father said. “I have upset you when you need to keep calm and rest.”
