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CHAPTER ELEVEN

T he room was small, but cozy, and he wasn’t alone. He had to share it with two other manservants who came in and out at all hours, helping the family who owned the home. At least, that’s what he had deduced. He didn’t really know because they wouldn’t talk to him. All he knew was that he’d been kept tucked away in the bed, visited by the physic, and fed broth so he could regain his strength.

And somewhere in the night, he’d had a dream and his name had come to him.

Hallam.

He knew his name was Hallam and he knew where he had come from. He knew everything. He had asked the physic about the ships, about survivors, only to be told that they’d only found one other survivor, a boy, and he was being tended to by another family. He’d also been told that multiple bodies had washed upon the shore as well as a treasure trove of possessions, but the physic wouldn’t tell him anything more than that. Maybe because the villagers had taken those possessions to either hoard or sell, and given that he’d been on the ship, he would undoubtedly view it as thievery.

And it was.

But Hallam didn’t really care. It wasn’t that he wanted his possessions returned to him. He knew that was impossible. He’d spent days trying to come to grips with the loss of everything he knew. His friends, his sister’s husband and liege… everything. All of those dreams of glorious victory upon the sands of The Levant were gone, too. Something they’d taken a year to prepare for.

Gone, all of it.

Yet the mental anguish was worse than the physical. With the return of his memory, so was the return of the wreck. That horrible, chaotic day when everything changed. He remembered standing on deck with his horse, clustered with Teague and the other men, watching Teague argue with the captain of the ship before the captain was finally thrown aside and Gilbert and William took the rudder. It had been chaos, but at least Teague had a plan. He’d tried to get that ship closer to shore so they at least had a chance to swim to safety, but then they hit something under the water and the ship broke in two.

Everyone and everything went straight into the briny deep.

There were men screaming as they tried to swim, but many couldn’t and they sank beneath the waves. Hallam could swim a little, but against those swells, he was destined to drown until someone shoved him upon a piece of wreckage that went floating by. When he’d turned to see who it was, he saw Teague swimming strongly in the churning water, trying to help Gilbert attach to a piece of wood for floatation.

As Hallam watched from his relatively secure perch upon a big piece of wreckage, he could see Teague helping all of his men, or at least the ones he could get to. The horses were swimming aimlessly and he directed them towards shore, holding on to his steed, Arion, and pointing the animal towards the beach. But he had to let Arion go because Sheen, who couldn’t swim, was clinging to the broken stern of the ship, refusing to let go as it bashed against the underwater rocks. In fact, he clung to the ship and refused to let go, not even when Teague begged. Sheen pushed himself into the sinking stern, terrified of the water, and Teague went after him. They both disappeared inside. A massive wave struck the stern and the entire thing sank beneath the waves.

That was the last Hallam saw of Teague.

But he couldn’t worry about the man. He was only worried about himself and therein lay the guilt. He felt as if he should have at least tried to help Teague as the man struggled to save his men and finally his ne’er-do-well brother. At least, Hallam assumed Teague had drowned because the Frenchmen who had saved him told him that they’d only found one other survivor in a young boy.

Somehow, Hallam thought it was his fault.

He should have tried to help.

Now, he was without a liege or money or anything, and rather than continue to The Levant, he had to return to Snow Hill to tell his sister what had happened. He thought of Tresta’s antics when she’d surprised Teague in London and of their adventure across the channel to Calais. He recalled the fighting, the pleading, mostly from his sister. He knew how attached she was to her husband and his eyes welled with tears when he thought of the anguish she would surely suffer to know that her strong, noble husband had met his end ignobly by drowning while trying to save his useless brother.

How on earth was he going to tell her?

And then there was Tarran du Reims… as it turned out, he’d been the lucky one, forced to remain behind to watch over Tresta. He was still alive, although probably quite miserable. He was the best knight out of all of them and if anyone had a right to seek glory in The Levant, it had been Tarran. But instead, Teague had left him behind to nursemaid his wife.

That distasteful assignment had saved his life.

And Hallam was going to have to find a way home.

It wasn’t going to be a simple thing. His legs were battered and he couldn’t move them without a great deal of pain, and the physic told him that there were broken bones in his feet, so returning home would take time. He had already decided that he would summon a priest to write a missive for him to send to Snow Hill. Tresta had to know what had happened and by the time he was well enough to travel, there was no knowing how much time would have passed. Perhaps she would even send him money to return home.

Home to a new world at Snow Hill.

Home to pieces of a life that had once been.