Page 33 of Forgotten Secrets (Secrets of the Heart 4)

Chapter 11

Bedivere wiped the water from his face, having shaved off his mustache and beard. Then he ran his fingers over the array of weapons, feeling as if he no longer knew who he was. Picking up one of his sharpest daggers, he looked at his reflection in the blade, somehow hoping things would be different this time. Once again, the flames of the hearth lit up his face in an orange glow. He still looked like the devil, even without his beard and mustache and the fact he tried to feel like a new man.

He had taken the last two days to think, staying away from Morag and all the activity in the courtyard, waiting for his brother to return with word from Whitmore. It was a good thing Lady Ernestine kept Morag busy, because he didn’t know how to tell the girl that he couldn’t marry her after all. That was not a task he was looking forward to doing. Still, it needed to be done. Morag would never be happy with a man like him. And he couldn’t marry her without telling her he was an assassin. Nay, he decided, that was something he could never do. He didn’t want her high opinion of him to ever be tainted by the true facts of his miserable life.

Bedivere felt like a recluse locked away in his chamber, not even going to the great hall for his meals. Instead, he’d instructed a kitchen boy to bring his food to his room on a tray where he’d eat in private. All alone. A steaming tub of water awaited him near the fire, ready to wash away his sins. As soon as the boy delivered his food, he planned on eating while he soaked his body, trying to cleanse the blackness of his dark soul.

His heart felt empty like never before. Two years ago, things had been different. His father was a knight, wanting to climb the ranks. That’s when he befriended Sir John Whitmore, who had just been made advisor to the king. The next thing Bedivere knew, his father was accused of plotting to kill King Richard.

Bedivere and his family watched in horror one day while Whitmore hung Sir Gilbert Hamilton in the privacy of his own castle’s courtyard. Of course, Bedivere tried to stop his father’s execution, knowing the man could never do something as horrible as what he’d been accused of doing. However, he couldn’t prove it either, and had no time to try.

Bedivere’s action of fighting against Whitmore only made things worse. That day, his entire family was punished because he had fought to save his father’s life. In anger, Whitmore threw even his mother, aunt, and his young siblings into the dungeon. Only by agreeing to be the king’s assassin was Bedivere able to free his family one by one. Most of his family, that is. His mother still remained imprisoned, waiting for Bedivere to do his last job in order to set her free.

In anger of the man he’d become, Bedivere squeezed the blade of destruction in his palm until he bled. “Damn it,” he spat, standing and throwing the dagger atop the pile with the other weapons he’d used to take the lives of nearly a dozen men. He couldn’t help wondering, did those men deserve to die? He’d been told they were plotting the king’s assassination and that they had to be stopped and couldn’t be trusted. But was it true?

At the time, Bedivere didn’t know and neither did it matter. All he cared about was protecting his family. He was the man of the household since the death of his father, and it was his responsibility to continue on in his father’s wake.

A knock at the door startled him, dragging him from his self-inflicting thoughts.

“Just a moment,” he called out, knowing it was the kitchen boy with his food. Quickly throwing a blanket over the weapons, he found a strip of cloth in his travel bag and wound it around his bleeding hand. Then he headed over to the door and pulled it open.

Morag stood there, balancing a tray of food on one hand and clutching the neck of a bottle of wine with the other.

“Hello, Bedivere. Did ye miss me?” Her smile lit up the room and her beauty left him short of breath. Something about Morag made him forget his troubles even if it was only momentarily. Her presence in his life gave him hope that someday he could change and that he could escape his troubled past.

“Morag,” he mumbled, his heart beating rapidly at the mere sight of his angel. He never felt this nervous, not even the first time he’d been sent out on his first kill. Something about being around Morag made him anxious, excited, and a little bit scared.

“Well, are ye goin’ to invite me in or are we goin’ to stand here all night until I drop the food at yer feet? The tray is heavy.” She looked down to the tray and it wobbled, threatening to spill.

Bedivere’s hand shot out, taking it from her. Still, he blocked her path into the room. “Thank you for delivering my food, but you really didn’t have to do this.” He reached for the bottle of wine next, but she pushed his hand away and snuck under his arm, entering the room.

“Nonsense. I saw the kitchen boy comin’ to yer chamber so I told him I would deliver the food to ye.”

“Why?” he asked, turning around as she spotted the tub and made her way further into the room. Knowing it was going to be impossible to get rid of her, he sighed and closed the door.

“Why no’?” she asked him.

“Morag, you shouldn’t be in my chamber unescorted and with the door closed.” He felt a little contradictive since he had been the one to close the door. He could have very well left it open to avoid the rumors on the morrow.

“Really.” Her eyes shot over to the closed door and she smiled. “I havena eaten yet, so I thought we could share the food.” She put the wine bottle down on the table and motioned with her hand. “Hurry, bring it over before it gets cold. I convinced the cook to give me an extra servin’ of venison and gravy, plus one of the loaves of freshly-baked white bread.”

“You did, did you?” Bedivere chuckled and brought the tray over and placed it on the table. “I thought you said you intercepted the kitchen boy on his way up here.”

“Did I say that?” She held a hand to her mouth. “I might have stretched the truth a little, but it was only because I wanted to be alone with ye. Since ye havena been out of yer room in days, this was the only way I was ever goin’ to see ye.”

“I’m sorry, but I just needed time alone. To think.”

“Well, mayhap, we can think together.”

“Once the word gets out that we were behind closed doors together, what is going to happen then?”

“Only the cook and the kitchen boy ken about it.”

“Only? Morag, they are two people who talk to a hundred others every day.”

“Then let their tongues wag, I dinna care.” Morag uncovered the platter and closed her eyes as she took a whiff of the food. “It doesna matter to me what others say about me behind my back. Does it bother ye what they say about ye?”

“Nay, I suppose not,” he answered, knowing they could be saying a lot worse. If they were busy gossiping about how he had a lady in his room, they wouldn’t be talking about his other shady activities. “Well, let’s eat.”

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