of the creek in the distance. With the wind off the sea she couldn’t hear the traffic. All she could hear was the occasional dull slap of water against the planking and a splash as a fish jumped in the darkness. Once more she looked up at the glitter of stars above them, with the broad swathe of the Milky Way like an untidy scarf of samite dragged across the midnight velvet of the sky.
A cold breath of air touched her cheek and she heard the immediate chatter of the halyards against the mast and the chuckle of rippling water beneath the bow. As the wind came around,
Jo climbed down into the cabin. Nick had put the kettle onto the little stove and was sitting on the bunk in the cramped cabin studying a chart of the Solent.
“Would you like to dig out a couple of mugs?” He didn’t look up.
She didn’t move for a moment then slowly she began to unbutton her shirt. She reached for the light switch and flipped it off.
Nick looked up startled. “Hey!” He stopped.
She took off her shirt and then her bra. He could see her breasts by the tiny light from the gas flame beneath the kettle. Holding his breath, he watched as she slipped off her jeans. Then she came and knelt in front of him.
“I’m frightened, Nick,” she whispered. “It’s not all over. It all happened, all those years ago, and the echo of it is still out there.” She nodded toward the sky beyond the open hatch. “My destiny is somehow linked with a woman who lived and died eight hundred years before I was born. I can’t turn my back on her.”
Nick was slowly unbuttoning his own shirt. Gently he reached out and touched her breasts.
“I think you must, Jo. And I think you can.”
He drew her between his knees, the angles of his face harsh in the blue light of the gas. “I’ll make you forget. If it’s the last thing I do, I shall make you forget.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind being hypnotized with Mr. Franklyn present?” Carl Bennet looked at Jo closely. Outwardly she was more relaxed than he had yet seen her. She was tanned and smiling, and yet he could sense a tension deep inside her that worried him.
She nodded as she sat down. “I want Nick here, and you do understand I don’t want to be regressed anymore, Dr. Bennet. I want you to blot the whole thing out. Make me forget.”
He nodded slowly. “It is the best thing, I think, my dear, although I must admit I am sorry in many ways. I had wanted an American colleague of mine to see you. I was talking to him in the States and he was hoping to fly over and see you himself-”
“No!” Jo clenched her fists. “I’m sorry too, in a lot of ways. I wanted to know what happened, but I can’t take any more. I really can’t.” She looked at him earnestly. “It’s affecting my health and my work and, for all I know, my sanity as well, so please, put a stop to it now.”
Bennet nodded. “Very well. I agree. So let us begin. I should like you to close your eyes, Joanna, and relax.” He was watching her hands, fisted in her lap. “Completely relax, beginning with your toes…”
“It takes longer each time,” Sarah commented when Jo was at last in a deep trance.
Carl nodded. “She is becoming more and more afraid of what might happen and fighting it. I doubt if we could have progressed much further with her in this state of mind anyway.”
Jo was lying back in her chair passively, her eyes closed, her hands hanging loosely over the armrests. Nick had seated himself unobtrusively in a corner of the room, his eyes fixed on Jo’s face.
“Do you think this will work?” he asked softly.
Bennet shrugged. “It will if it is what she really wants.”
He pulled up a chair next to Jo’s and took her hand gently. “Joanna, can you hear me?”
Jo moved her head slightly. It might have been a nod.
“And you are relaxed and comfortable, still thinking about your weekend at sea?”
She smiled. This time the nod was more definite.
“Good. Now I want you to listen to me, Jo. It is twenty-five days since I first saw you here and you were first regressed. Since then the regressions have caused you much unhappiness and pain. I want you to forget them now, because you yourself want to forget them. When you wake up you will remember only that you had a few strange unimportant dreams and in time even that memory will fade. Do you understand me, Joanna?”
He paused, watching her closely. Jo was motionless but he could see the tension had returned to her hands. Abruptly she opened her eyes and looked at him. “I can’t forget them,” she said softly but distinctly.
Bennet swallowed. “You must forget, Joanna. Matilda is dead. Let her rest.”
Jo smiled sadly. “She cannot rest. I cannot rest…The story has to be told…” Her gaze slipped past him. “Don’t you see, I have to go back, to find out why it all happened. I have to remember. I have to live again that first meeting with John…”
“Stop her!” Nick had jumped to his feet. “Stop her! She’s regressing on her own. Can’t you see?” He grabbed Jo by the shoulders. “Jo! Wake up! For God’s sake, wake up. Don’t do it!”
“Leave her alone!” Bennet’s peremptory order cut through his shout. Jo had gone rigid in her chair, looking straight through him.
“Jo.” It was Bennet who took hold of her now, forcing her to turn her head toward him. “Jo, I want you to listen to me…”
“Listen to me! Listen!” William de Braose was standing in front of her, furious. “You will say nothing to the king of what happened on our journey, nothing, do you understand me?”
For a moment Matilda felt the familiar surge of defiance. She met his gaze squarely, mocking his fear, then she looked away. If she fought with him now he would refuse to take her to the king’s presence, and that, above all, she wanted. Meekly she lowered her eyes. “I shall say nothing, my lord,” she whispered.
Gloucester was crowded. The encampment of the king’s followers was laid out between the royal castle and the king’s palace north of the city where King Henry habitually held his Christmas courts, a colorful array of tents with the leopards of the king’s standard rippling from the flagstaff on the great central keep.
As they had arrived they had glimpsed the gleaming Severn River with the fleet of royal galleys moored in lines to the quays, but it was evening before they reached it and the castle, and the de Braose tents were raised next to those of their Marcher neighbors, who had come to attend the betrothal of the king’s youngest son, John, to the Earl of Gloucester’s daughter, Isabella; and it was even later before William, arrayed in his finest clothes, took Matilda at last to wait upon the king.
They found him in one of the upper rooms of the palace, seated at a large table on which were unrolled several maps. Beside him stood William Fitzherbert, Earl of Gloucester, who had arrived from his castle at Cardiff only two days previously, escorting his wife and small daughter, and several other nobles. Wine goblets had been used to hold maps flat as together they pored over the rough-drawn lines in the light of a cluster of great wax candles. There was no sign of Richard de Clare, she saw at a glance as she curtsied low before the king, her heart thumping nervously. She had so desperately hoped he would be there.
“Glad to see you made it, Sir William.” Henry acknowledged his bow. “My son is to be your neighbor in the Marches if our plans work out and we get a dispensation for this marriage.” He peered at Matilda, half hidden behind her husband. “Your wife, Sir William? She can wait on young Isabella tomorrow. See if she can stop the wench blubbering.” He snorted, holding his hand out to Matilda, who came forward eagerly.
“Your Grace,” she murmured, bowing low. She glanced up at the heavy lined face and wiry red hair dusted with white, and found the king surveying her closely with brilliant blue eyes. She sensed at once the appreciation in his gaze and uncertainly drew closer to her husband.
“Your father, Sir Reginald, was a good man, my dear.” The king held on to her hand. “The best steward I’ve had to attend me. And you’ve the look of him about you.” He grinned at William. “Lucky man. She’s a lovely girl.”
Matilda blushed and stepped back as the king released his grasp, glancing nervously up at him from lowered
