Free Scarlet From Gold (Book 3) by Jeffrey Quyle

geas that is driving me towards Barcelon, and then beyond,” Marco answered.  “I know my name is Marco, but I know virtually nothing else about myself.”
    “This is remarkable!  You are the Marquis of Sant Jeroni, the man who saved Barcelon from plague and Corsairs and sorcery last year, then disappeared when you went to the Isle of Ophiuchus for treatment months ago,” the man told Marco.
    “And who are you?” Marco asked.
    “I am the Baronet Gustaf, a minor member of the nobility, my lord,” the man said with a smile and a bob of his head.  “The others in our party include the Viscount and Viscountess Tarragona, the Earl and Countess Alella, and Duke Priorato, plus a few others,” Gustaf explained.  “They are all most anxious to know about your condition.”
    “I’m sore, but I’ll be fine,” Marco said, still astonished by the thought that the people he had rescued were people from his past.  “Do I know any of those people?” he asked in a hushed voice.
    “No, my lord, really, nobody in Barcelon knows you very well.  You’re a newcomer to the region, and already a celebrity.  And you say you have no memories, only this geas you suffer from?  How extraordinary!” Gustaf stood.  “I’ll go inform the others that you’re awake.   Can I bring you anything?  Some wine?”
    Marco smiled at the notion of a morning drink of wine for a moment, then thought about his wound.  “No, but if I could have a small glass of brandy, to put on my wound,” he explained as he saw the smile on Gustaf’s face.
    “You are an unusual one,” Gustaf shook his head with a smile.  “Let me go see what the innkeeper has available.  Would you like anything to eat?”
    Moments later Gustaf was gone, and minutes after that, Marco’s small room was crowded with members of the court of Barcelon, all determined to see the man who had saved them, and who happened to also be the mysterious new addition to their ranks of nobility of Barcelon.
    Marco sat in bed, self-conscious of sitting without a shirt on as several ladies stared closely at the tattoos on his chest and shoulder, along with the men who were their companions on the pilgrimage.  “My lord, allow me to introduce,” Gustaf proceeded to confuse Marco with a long line of names and titles.
    “We’re all most honored to make your acquaintance, especially after such dire circumstances last night when your extraordinary heroics saved us,” the Duke of Priorato, a florid, barrel-chested man, spoke for the group.  “We’ve decided to extend our stay here for an extra day to recover from the trauma,” he explained.  “We hope you’ll be able to join us for dinner this evening.  We’ve instructed the innkeeper to prepare his best foods for a meal in your honor.”
    Though he knew nothing about the nobles who were around him, Marco suspected that they would have ordered the inn’s best foods under any conditions, but he gravely nodded his head to show appreciation.  “I’ll rest and tend to my wounds today, and will join you this evening,” he told them.  “Thank you for your invitation.”
    The nobles all filed out of the room, leaving Gustaf as the last to leave.  “My lord,” Marco called to the Baronet.
    “Yes, my lord?” Gustaf grinned back from the door.
    “There was a cook last night, a girl.  Is she alright?” Marco asked, remembering the girl whose timely blow had helped save him.
    “I don’t know, but I’ll check with the innkeeper,” Gustaf replied with a blank expression that told Marco that the man hadn’t given a thought to the welfare of the staff of the inn after the attack.
    Marco sighed in relief as the man left, then he picked up the bottle of brandy and began to dab it on his shoulder wound, taking deep breaths between each burning application.  He looked at the tray that held his breakfast of bread, jam, and butter, and wished that he had the full use of both arms to easily spread the condiments across the