Read Online Suzanne Robinson by Lord of Enchantment - Free Book Online

aside, he knelt while Pen rummaged through the cabinet. She handed him a pair of sheep shears, a pile of scarves, and several sleeves of taffeta and grosgrain. Tristan’s arms began to fill as she placed a pair of tongs on top of the sleeves and then added a heap of her unfinished embroidery, a spoon, her sewing basket, and a half loaf of old bread.
    “You put my things in here with all this, this, this refuse?”
    “Do you wish to examine your possessions or not, sirrah?”
    “Oh, I wish it, if you can find them.”
    Pen bit back a retort and reached deeper into the cabinet, finally sticking her head inside and pulling out an old gable headdress. This she tossed onto the heap in Tristan’s arms along with a broken clock.
    “There it is.”
    Pen backed out of the cabinet, whirled, and tossed a bundle at Tristan. The bundle sailed at him, but he couldn’t see it for the clock, and it hit the timepiece, which fell against his nose, dislodging the gable headdress, which poked him above the eye. Tristan yelped and dropped his burdens.
    Tongs, sheers, spoon, and clock crashed to the floor. Tristan followed them. He landed on his ass with the gable headdress planted sideways on his head. As he came to rest, Pen gaped at him, snickered, then covered her lips with her fingers while she tried not to burst into a noisy guffaw.
    “For-forgive me, my lord.”
    Swiping at the headdress, Tristan blew a wispy silk scarf off his nose and scowled at her. “By the rood, Mistress Fairfax. You’re worse than any thunderclap or ravening storm.”
    Pen knelt in front of him, laughing. “Oh, Tristan, you looked so wondrous foolish.”
    “God’s breath, you did that apurpose. I’ll teach you to-”
    He lunged at her. Pen scrambled away, tossing the headdress at him, then the spoon. He batted them aside and kept coming. This time she scooped up the bundle wrapped in goatskin and slammed it into hisstomach as he came at her. His hands locked around it, and he stopped.
    To Pen’s relief, he seemed to forget their quarrel. He shook his head and looked down at the bundle. She knew his memories of seeing the contents were slightly blurred. It was clear he was trying not to hope too fervently that another look would spur his memory. Pulling at the twine that bound it, he unwrapped the parcel. A belt of fine leather appeared first. This he touched lightly. He ran his palm over the surface but said nothing.
    The belt was laid aside along with the pouch that hung from it. Beneath the belt lay a pulpy mass bound in a kerchief. Tristan examined the shapeless stuff, then glanced up at her.
    Pen shook her head. “I tried to dry it and pry apart the leaves, but it was hopeless. I hoped the sight of it or the color of the sealing wax might be familiar to you.” She felt a jab of pain in her heart at the bleak look he gave her.
    “No, I remember it not.” He closed his eyes, his lips turning pale at some effort at self-governance. Then he looked at her again. “But I thank you all the same.”
    There it was again, that courtesy that concealed an agony of mind. Pen felt her own sympathy grow and smother her offended pride.
    “Think you not that it’s odd that you would wear no ring, no chain or sword by which we could divine your name?” she asked.
    Tristan sighed as he held up the remnants of his shirt and stared at her through the holes in it. “Mayhap I left off wearing ornaments aboard ship. Mayhap I had none.”
    Pen pointed to a worn place on his belt. “You wear a sword.”
    “Mayhap not in a storm,” he replied.
    Pen offered him a length of shredded hose and laces and watched him tangle his fingers in a length of expensive wool. “None of these things yet seem familiar?”
    His hands clenched into fists. He sucked in his breath and pressed his fists against his forehead. Alarmed, Pen scooted close to him and touched his arm. She could feel the tautness in his body.
    “Fear not,” she whispered. “The blankness will