All color ran out of Tilda's face as she felt his strong hands grip her shoulders. She wasn't frightened, per se, just a bit shaken by his sudden force. Her heart wrenched at the thought that she could not help him.<br/><br/>"I don't know, My Lord. The servants of your kitchen are not exactly privy to the most intimate details of your life." She hadn't meant to sound so scathing, but she wasn't fond of being handled so. Tilda had strange ideas as a kitchen girl, of how she ought to be treated.<br/><br/>He shouldn't be touching her. Nobles did not touch their inferiors, another of the ridiculous laws. As if he could contract some horrible disease simply because she was lowly. Heaving a sigh, she tried again.<br/><br/>"My name is Tilda. I know you won't remember me, but we did know each other-once." Her voice grew wistful, the memories painful to dredge up since he could not share them with her. Stepping out of his grasp, she passed a hand over her face and shook her head with a miserable groan.<br/><br/>"You're name is Auguste. Earl of Fernwood. This is your home, Fernwood Manor. We are in Vasille where your father is advisor to the king. You are wealthy and powerful and much  sought after by all the courtly ladies. Again, I don't know all the details but it is said there was an accident with a horse. You were nearly killed but the healers did what they could to restore you. Unfortunately, the mind is much harder to restore than the body."