Uncovering The Merchant's Secret. Elisabeth Hobbes

apart. She stuck her hips forward and lifted her head. The mask would disguise her face and as always she spoke in a deep growl to hide the feminine tones.

      ‘My men tell me you have been calling for her. Why? Is there something you need?’

      Blanche swept a hand around the room, taking in the mattress with fine furs. She looked pointedly at the table where an uncorked wine bottle stood beside an empty wooden plate. She knew he had been sent water to bathe earlier in the day.

      Jack set his jaw. ‘I have no cause to complain of my care. I have everything I need except my freedom.’ Jack’s expression became bullish. He lowered his hands and sat upright, swaying slightly. ‘Are you the master of this house?’

      ‘No. You have met its mistress, Madame Tanet.’

      She watched as he digested this information. When he looked back at her, his eyes were sharp.

      ‘She is your wife?’

      Blanche laughed. ‘Madame Tanet is a widow. She belongs to no man.’

      Jack cocked his head, his eyes flickering with interest. Blanche’s palms grew sweaty inside her leather gloves. Most women did belong to someone and Blanche woke every day knowing how fragile and unusual her independence was.

      ‘Then how come you are here?’ Jack asked.

      ‘The lady and I have come to an arrangement that works well for both of us.’ She thickened her accent as an extra precaution until she sounded more like the common fishermen in the village.

      Jack’s eyes widened, then narrowed slightly. Interesting. He was obviously speculating what sort of arrangement it was and no doubt coming to the conclusion Blanche expected. Knowing he had no suspicion of whom he was talking to gave her a rush of pleasure and power. She drew her sword, but held it at her side. Jack’s eyes followed the movement and his powerful shoulders tensed.

      ‘Madame Tanet tells me you claim to have no memory of who you are.’

      He gave her an angry glare. ‘I do more than “claim”.’

      He was dressed now, wearing one of the servants’ loose tunics and breeches. The tunic was tied by two points, leaving the top two open. Blanche tried not to look too obviously at his chest. He swung his legs over the bed and indicated the table.

      ‘May I have some paper and the means to write?’ he asked.

      ‘You can write?’ Blanche raised an eyebrow. ‘You know this, yet you do not know your name?’

      He looked perplexed. ‘I know some things, though I don’t know why or how. I can speak. I can dress myself, as you can see. I hoped if I had the means to write or draw, some memories might come to me.’

      He probed carefully at the edge of the bandage. His hands were long, with slender fingers and well-kept nails. She knew from nursing him there were old callouses on the ridge at the base of each finger that had started to soften. If he was a sailor they would be hardened. He was a mystery. Solving it teased her intriguingly.

      ‘Who are you?’ she breathed.

      He looked surprised and Blanche realised with alarm that she had almost let her guise down for a moment and revealed her true self.

      ‘Tell me the truth,’ she said, more sternly. ‘I have no time for men who speak falsehoods to me.’

      ‘I don’t know,’ he said, his voice rising in frustration. He bunched his fists, pressing them to the side of his temples, then pounded them on the wall in frustration. His expression darkened and he looked unexpectedly dangerous. He stood and faced Blanche, arms crossed and head high. His sleeves were rolled up and his arms were toned, but did not have the deep tan of men who were used to working outside all day. Good arms. Strong arms, Blanche thought, then despised herself a little for noticing such a detail.

      ‘I have told you what I told Madame Tanet. Present me with another visitor and I shall swear the same to him. Where am I? I have told you everything I am able, yet no one will tell me where I am or who is keeping me here.’

      He stepped towards her and she raised the sword. ‘Do not move.’

      ‘Who are you?’ Jack growled. ‘You come in here, threatening me with a sword. I demand to know why I am being kept here.’

      ‘I’m not threatening you,’ Blanche snarled. ‘This is for my protection.’

      ‘Against what?’

      Jack curled his lip. He spread his arms wide and turned in a slow circle, giving Blanche a perfect view of his tall, strong body. He would conquer her easily if he decided to attack. She gripped her sword tighter. When he faced her there was no fear in his eyes, only anger held in check. If she held a sword to his throat, he would not quake like the Captain of Charles Roi had.

      ‘I have no way of attacking you or defending myself. Until this morning I could not even raise myself from the bed. You are treating me poorly, monsieur, and I would like some answers. If I were myself again and in possession of a weapon of my own, I would take them from your lips at sword point.’

      ‘If you were yourself, you would not need to fight me for the answers,’ Blanche pointed out. She lowered the sword, her hand trembling a little as the thought of what he had already done to her lips sent a shiver through her belly. ‘But you obviously think you are capable, which tells us both something about you, does it not?’

      He glared at her, then spun away and walked to the window, his frustration clear. Being a storeroom, the window was high set and narrow. He raised himself on to the balls of his feet, craning his head to look out, and grabbed hold of the bars as if he intended to pull his entire body off the ground. His arms were muscular and Blanche considered that he would have no problem doing that.

      ‘What do you see?’ Blanche asked, curious to discover what would command his attention. ‘Tell me what it tells you.’

      He looked over his shoulder at her. Light drenched his hair, picking out the blond among the sand and casting shadows over sculpted cheekbones. ‘Is this a test? Will I earn my freedom if I pass?’

      She cocked her head to one side and gestured. Their eyes locked and for a moment she was fixed by the certainty Jack recognised her, despite the mask, but he looked away. He was silent as his head moved from side to side. Blanche held her breath.

      ‘There is a rounded tower on the building opposite with a window set high into the top. I know I am below ground here because I can see doorways and steps.’

      He sniffed. ‘From the smell of grain I think this is a storeroom, not a cell.’

      He breathed again, more deeply and slower. His shoulders lifted and his torso expanded. He had a powerful body, Blanche thought. She caught herself wondering what it would be like to run her hands over the solid muscles of his back that moved beneath the tunic, imagining them to be as solid and sculpted as those in his chest. She took a step closer.

      ‘I can smell the sea,’ Jack murmured. ‘And when it is quiet in the night I think I can hear the waves.’

      He let go of the bars and dropped on to his feet with a lightness that took Blanche by surprise, and stood upright.

      ‘I already know I am by the coast because Madame Tanet told me they had only brought me a short way. Where is she?’ he asked.

      Blanche was struck by the eagerness in his voice. He obviously found her attractive from the way his eyes filled with life. She wondered how deeply the memory of their kiss was buried and what it would take to make it resurface.

      ‘You’d like to see her again?’ she asked. ‘A pretty woman, isn’t she, for all that she is older than you, I think? Don’t men your age hanker after young virginal girls?’

      ‘I don’t hanker after anyone,’ Jack snapped. He raised his head and his eyes were hard, though pain whispered at the edge of his voice. ‘I would like to see her again because she was kind to me when I woke