A shadow fell over her face. “I did.”
Aware that he was stirring unpleasant memories but unable to help himself, he said, “Then you would know whether I made my home there.”
Her lips tightened. “What I knew then and what I know now are two different things.”
“That is not an answer,” he growled, pushing his bowl away. “Just tell me the truth, woman. I’m man enough to handle it, no matter how unpalatable it might be.”
“You are not ready,” she said. “Your leg is still weak and you suffer great headaches.”
He stood up. “You call up the same excuses no matter how much time passes. I do not even know my true name,” he said. “Do not deny me answers.”
“The truth will only harm you.”
“Better that swift fate than to slowly waste away in ignorance here,” he bit out. “Did I live at the castle or no?”
She sighed heavily. “Aye, you did.”
Rage seared through him like fire in his veins. “All this time I’ve been but a stone’s throw from the truth.” He pivoted and began to pack a bag.
“But you are no longer welcome at the castle. You are outlawed now.”
He paused. Outlawed? “For what crime?”
“Murder, theft, and treason against the king.” She, too, pushed away her bowl. “You were run through by the king’s men. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“And yet you took me in and healed me,” he said, frowning. “Why?”
She shrugged. “We are all more than the sum of our crimes. I am not simply a harlot, and I do not believe you are simply a murderer and a thief.”
“Given the charges against me, you took a considerable risk,” he pointed out. “Would you do that for everyone?”
Morag shook her head. “I have much cause to be wary of men.”
“Then why help me?”
“You were kind to me,” she said. “On the day I was cast out, you braved the disapproval of the friar and stopped to carry my satchel.”
Magnus leaned back against the wall of the hut. That story rang true; it felt like something he would do. The accusations of murder and treason did not sit as easily. “You know my real name? Why did you not tell me when I awoke?”
“In the early days after I rescued you, several patrols from the castle passed us by. Based on what I witnessed, it seemed unwise to call you by your true name.” She played with the tip of her long black braid. “And you were too confused by the injury to your head to grasp two names and keep them straight.”
“I am not confused any longer.”
She met his gaze. Her smile was rueful. “Indeed not.”
“So tell me.” He pulled away from the wall, waiting.
“Your name is Wulf.”
Disappointment cinched his chest tight. Damn. How was that possible? The name meant nothing to him. It did not bring to mind a single memory of his past or clue to his identity. Nor did it give cause to the nagging sense that he ought to be elsewhere.
“Wulf,” he repeated. The name was even strange on his tongue. It did not seem to suit him like Magnus did. He was a large man, so Magnus fit his physical form. He’d chosen that name for himself after three weeks had passed without memory. Now it seemed familiar. Wulf did not.
“Do I have kin?”
Morag shook her head. “That I cannot answer. Many at the castle perished or were driven from the land. Others were imprisoned. I visit the castle only on faire days, so I’ve no sense of who lived and who died.”
Magnus couldn’t be certain she told the truth. She avoided his gaze, which suggested at least some part of her tale was a lie.
