"Are you in pain still?" he asked, stepping closer toward me. "The healer is on his way. He said you were fortunate to survive your injuries."
"No," I answered quickly, shaking my head as I turned back toward the view beyond the window. Rolling hills stretched far into the distance beneath the gray skies, untouched by roads or smoke or anything remotely modern. "Please...allow me to tend to myself. I am capable of it."
A faint silence settled between us.
Then carefully, I asked, "How did you find me?"
Lord Gwrgenau...Gen...folded his hands behind his back once more.
My chest tightened at how similar he looked to Garrick, I can't help it.
"You were discovered beside my shrine," he replied calmly. "Near the grove beyond the estate."
Shrine, not altar.
The correction settled coldly into my stomach immediately.
Of course. Christianity had not fully spread across Roman Britannia yet, if I recall. So most noble families here would still worship the older gods.
"I had gone there at dawn to leave an offering many days ago," he continued. "And instead, I found you unconscious upon the ground, dressed in odd clothing, if I might add."
His eyes lingered on me strangely.
"If I were a more superstitious man," he said slowly, "I might believe the gods themselves delivered you to me."
"No, they did not," I said a little too quickly. "Rest assured, they did not."
"Then where are you truly from, Helena?" he asked. "You are no Roman, that much I know. Nor are you Greek, despite your name." His gaze sharpened slightly. "So tell me, where do you come from?"
Panic rose immediately in my throat.
God, I should have listened more carefully whenever Pippa rambled about ancient Britain and Roman occupation. I should have opened one of those history books she kept around the corners of our flat. Watched more documentaries. Something.
Anything.
Instead, my mind went painfully blank beneath his scrutiny.
And he kept looking at me, studying me.
Lord Gwrgenau stepped closer before lowering himself onto one knee beside the bed with deliberate calm, bringing himself nearly level with where I sat.
My body reacted before my mind could.
My hands immediately pressed against the mattress at my sides, ready to shove myself farther away despite the pain tearing through me. He noticed the movement instantly.
His mouth merely curving faintly at the corners, like he found my fear interesting.
"I..." My throat tightened painfully. "I do not remember."
The lie came quickly then.
"I remember nothing before waking here, just my name."
For a long moment, he simply watched me in silence. And somehow, that frightened me more than if he had outright accused me of lying.
A knock sounded suddenly against the chamber door, startling me hard enough that pain immediately flared through my skull.
I winced, one hand flying instinctively to my head as the throbbing intensified from the abrupt movement.
"My lord," a woman's voice called carefully from outside the room, "the healer has arrived."
Lord Gwrgenau rose smoothly to his feet.
"Send him in, Mildred," he replied.
A brief silence followed before the door opened once more.
This time, heavier footsteps entered the chamber alongside the faint clinking of glass and metal. My eyes shifted toward the older man stepping inside carrying a worn leather satchel filled with jars, folded cloth and small bronze instruments.
A physician, or at least the closest equivalent this century possessed.
Only then, did another realization strike me with horrifying clarity.
I had been sleeping in his room.
The physician bowed his head respectfully toward Lord Gwrgenau before turning his attention toward me.
"How long has the lady been awake?" he asked.
His accent was slightly different from the others. More Romanized. Educated.
Likely trained somewhere within the empire itself.
"Not long," Gwrgenau answered. "Though she insist she requires no assistance."
The healer gave a small hum of disapproval at that before approaching the bedside.
"No patient capable of standing after a head injury has ever proven themselves sensible," he muttered dryly.
Despite everything, I nearly blinked at that.
"She remembers nothing beyond her name," Lord Gwrgenau answered for me, stepping aside as the healer placed his leather satchel carefully on the bedside table.
The older man glanced toward me while rummaging through the contents of the bag.
"And what might that name be?" he asked.
"Helena," I replied cautiously.
The healer nodded absently before pulling out several folded clothes alongside a small clay jar filled with dark green salve. The sharp scent of herbs immediately filled the room.
I tried not to recoil.
I am a nurse. In my world, head injuries meant scans, sterile instruments, stitches done beneath fluorescent hospital lights by professionals, then followed by careful monitoring afterward.
This...this was an old man carrying bronze tools in a leather bag.
I was not even certain those instruments had been properly cleaned.
So when he approached me holding the jar, hesitation immediately tightened through my body.
"Easy now," the healer muttered. "I merely wish to inspect the wound."
Reluctantly, I stayed still, letting him do his job.
Because, what could get worse?
The salve felt cool against my skin as he carefully checked the back of my head before giving a thoughtful hum.
"The swelling has lessened," he noted. "A fortunate thing indeed. Another inch lower and your skull may have cracked."
Doubtful.
"You should also know we had to cut part of your hair to reach the wound," he added, as though he was discussing the weather.
My eyes widened. "What?"
Instinctively, my hand flew toward the back of my head, only to hesitate midway before my fingers finally brushed the uneven strands hidden beneath the rest of my hair.
It was definitely shorter, more jagged.
My stomach dropped.
"We could arrange a head covering for you," Gwrgenau offered calmly. "Many noblewomen wear veils or headdresses regardless."
My lips parted slightly at that before closing again.
But the healer merely sighed impatiently at my reaction.
"You wished to keep your life, yes?" he muttered before gently but firmly guiding me to turn around. "Hold still."
I stiffened as his hands worked carefully through the bandages wrapped around the back of my skull.
"There are stitches beneath this dressing," he explained while inspecting his work. "You are fortunate the blade did not strike bone."
Blade?
Before I corrected him to say that I was knocked against a wooden pew, the door suddenly opened again, saving me from accidentally revealing my lack of 'memory loss'.
A woman stepped inside quickly, older than the young servant from before, her dark hair streaked faintly with gray beneath her head covering.
"My lord," she said urgently, bowing her head toward Gwrgenau. "The Romans are here again."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.
Lord Gwrgenau's jaw tightened visibly, real irritation crossing his face.
"Again?" he muttered darkly.
"Yes, my lord," the woman—Mildred—answered carefully. "They are demanding audience."
He exhaled sharply through his nose before straightening.
"Watch over her while the healer finishes," he instructed Mildred. "I shall deal with this myself."
Then without another word, he turned and strode from the room.
The moment the door shut behind me, my pulse quickened.
Romans.
The word echoed loudly inside my head now.
Marcus.