Sheltered by the Warrior Page 11

  “When my clothes were torn, who would sew them for me? No one. So one of my sisters taught me.”

  “Was she your champion? You had a difficult life.”

  Rowena looked perplexed. When Stephen realized they were speaking in French and that she did not understand his meaning, he switched to English and her expression fell. “Nay, for she was happy to have a small dowry and leave the farm for her marriage.”

  “Why didn’t she take you with her?”

  Rowena’s gaze slid to her babe as he rocked on his hands and knees. “She started her family immediately. I would have been an extra mouth to feed.”

  “’Tis a shame she didn’t know of your skill at twisting rope.”

  “Clara taught me rope making. I learned the basics at the farm, using my fingers to wrap and twist the fibers, but Clara gave me this top. When I have the thinner strands done, I will use it to make longer, thicker rope.”

  She frowned at him. “Is there something I can do for you, my lord? You didn’t come to watch me work.”

  Stephen stepped into the room, the question on his mind demanding an answer. “I have come to ask you if you have someone to care for Andrew should anything happen to you. The midwife, Clara, for instance. Have you arranged for her to adopt him?”

  With a stricken look, Rowena sank into the battered chair behind her. “Am I in that much danger? What have you learned?”

  “Nothing. I’m only considering what would happen should you be injured or—” He refused to finish the sentence.

  “Killed.” Blinking, she looked down at Andrew as he continued his rocking, trying his best to figure out how to crawl. “My child would have nothing. He would be nothing.”

  “We don’t know what his life will be like. The king himself is illegitimate. But his father made him his heir. He had to fight to secure that right, but he was successful. ’Twas what made him the powerful man he is today.”

  Rowena looked up at Stephen, her eyes wide with horror. “Lord Taurin wanted to make Andrew his heir. That would have allowed Taurin to contest King William for control of Normandy, just on the amount of land he would have owned.” She gasped. “Is my son in danger?”

  Stephen shook his head as he sat in the other chair. He didn’t know for sure what the attacker wanted, but he couldn’t worry her. “Nay, he’s not. ’Twas a foolish dream and a great risk that Taurin took. He would have been a threat only if he’d been given the lands by his wife’s family, which he wasn’t. Now he’s in disgrace, stripped of all except for one small parcel on which he must farm.”

  “So no one will be threatened by Andrew? Not even the king himself? How can you be sure?”

  “The king has taken measures to stop Taurin or anyone who would use Taurin’s bloodline. Andrew is safe.”

  “Until something happens to me. I am his only champion.”

  Stephen shook his head. “’Tis why I am here. You must find someone to care for the boy should anything happen to you.”

  “I can’t assign anyone that responsibility! What if they take him from me immediately?”

  Stephen frowned. “What would that person gain?”

  “Mayhap that small parcel of land Lord Taurin has, after they kill him? Who knows its size? Nay, some say this village is small, but to me, ’tis enormous! How do I know someone won’t use Andrew the way Lord Taurin wanted to use him?”

  “Only a Norman could do that. I was suggesting you ask Clara to take him.”

  “She will soon have a Norman husband. Aye, she is kind to Andrew and she loves him, but I cannot risk her husband being swayed by the chance of receiving more land.”

  Stephen sighed. There was no one here, except mayhap Ellie, to care for the child. If Rowena would not trust her Saxon friends, then who would measure up to the responsibility?

  Certainly not he.

  Stephen stared at Rowena. She would not ask him. He knew that, but for the slimmest of moments, he thought she might.

  He stood quickly and ground his heel on the floor, crushing and pulverizing the thresh into the cold flagstones. ’Twould be most unwise to consider him as guardian. He couldn’t look after his own brother, let alone a babe.

  The memory of the battle rolled over him. The fighting, the cursing, the sounds men made when they fought for their lives. The smell of blood and horseflesh. The smell of fear.

  His mother’s last words to him before he and Corvin left returned to him. Take care of your brother, Stephen. He is not as strong as you. He needs you and ’tis your duty to ensure his safety.

  Stephen had fended off several Saxons who advanced on Corvin, whose mount had been injured, forcing him to fight on foot. Stephen had the advantage—a steed well trained in battle and a good, long Norman sword. Corvin’s had been dropped, forcing his brother to grab a shorter Saxon blade.

  Then, in that moment when an attack came from his other side, Stephen turned.

  When he was able, he turned back to find Corvin on the ground, run through with a blade.

  One moment of inattention and a life dear to him was gone. He glared at Rowena. “You should consider my suggestion. We do not know how long the Lord gives us. A strong faith does not ensure a long life.”

  “But one full of peace, though? That’s what Clara said.”

  * * *

  Rowena saw an odd look come over Stephen’s face. He sat down again and drew her fingers into a warm grasp that she strangely ached to cling to. “’Tis not always that simple,” he said. “Even a faithful person has days when peace eludes him. But God forgives all.”

  She shook her head. “You have days like that? If you doubt your faith some days, how can I ever find peace?”

  She could feel his fingers brush the blisters her rope making had caused. She watched him closely, unable to guess his thoughts, but knowing instinctively he was considering something serious.

  “Come to chapel services with me tonight,” he finally said. “We will sit together.”

  Rowena had attended services in the past, listening carefully to the cleric. But it never felt enough. Taurin had rarely gone to services and certainly knew enough not to take her. She was his slave, and the foundation of his argument for buying her was based on her being a pagan. ’Twould not do for her to be seen in a chapel.

  So what was Stephen planning? For surely he was doing just that. She yanked back her hands, cringing slightly at the way his calluses scraped over her tender skin. “The front pews are reserved for your family.”

  “And my guests.”

  She stiffened. “Will God give me more faith if I sit up there?”

  “’Tis not decided by where you sit, Rowena.”

  “I meant more faith in you.”

  He seemed to weigh his answer. “He will give you wisdom, and I must ask for more myself.”

  His eyes were dark and glittering. His hair, short but growing out of that peculiar Norman fashion in which the back of the head was kept shaved, was the color of rich, dark wood, stained with black walnut juice and polished until it gleamed as much as a fancy lady’s mirror.

  He was so handsome.

  Nay! She would not be swayed by such foolishness! Stephen was Norman, and a man, and to add salt to a wound, he was plotting something. She didn’t know what. She just knew there was something.

  “Rowena, I ask again for your faith that I will find who wants you dead. ’Tis the only thing I ask. I will find who attacked you. That is my promise to you.”

  “What does that have to do with attending services with you, milord?”

  His expression hardened. “Everything.” Stephen paused, then worked his jaw as if struggling to sort out something. His voice softened. “Mayhap you can pray for His help in selecting someone to care for your son should anything happen to you.”

  Her hear
t pounded heavily in her chest and tears pricked at her eyes. Lord, ’tis confusing. Help me to understand.

  Stephen stood. “At evensong time, then,” he said before turning and leaving her alone with her son, the reason he’d come to see her in the first place.

  He was right. She needed to consider what might happen to Andrew should he be left alone. ’Twas terrifying to imagine, but she must.

  Rowena helped Ellie the rest of the day, seeing nothing more of Stephen. Her demeanor cool, Lady Josane directed them to repairing the tapestries in the great hall. At one point, her husband, Master Gilles, walked in. He looked startled to see Rowena.

  “Is she well enough to return to her home?” he asked his wife.

  Josane glanced over at Rowena and Ellie. “Soon enough” was her only comment.

  “I suppose it’s just as well. The roof thatching will not start until the morrow.” Gilles left shortly after. Rowena’s peek over her shoulder met Josane’s harsh glare. Then, as if knowing how much she owed Stephen for the repairs and the food she’d eaten, as little as that was, she hurriedly returned to her mending.

  Ellie leaned over. “Don’t fret, Rowena,” she whispered. “Lady Josane is like that with all of us.”

  “And Master Gilles? He wants me to leave, as well. And he is expected to act as judge should Lord Stephen find whoever burned my home. Can I trust him?”

  Ellie shrugged. “Why would he take the side of the Saxon who tried to hurt you? He’s Norman.”

  “You know for sure ’twas a villager?”

  Ellie looked away. “I don’t know anything,” she muttered as she returned to the tapestry. “Only that Lord Stephen is working the villagers very hard, and some say ’tis because he is punishing them for the attack.”

  Rowena bit her lip. ’Twas just as she suspected, that the villagers would see Lord Stephen favoring her. ’Twas as if he was provoking them.

  She’d promised Lord Stephen she would attend evensong with him. What would that cause? Oh, she was a fool to agree. She’d been swayed by his good looks and the way he’d muddled her thoughts with who would care for Andrew should she die. ’Twas as if he’d thrown that idea out just to distract her from thinking too much about his invitation.

  ’Twould be wise for her to avoid him completely.

  At evensong she entered the chapel gingerly, trying not to limp, but still feeling the extra stress she’d put on her ankle earlier. One of the other maids had offered to mind Andrew, and Rowena had accepted. She found a small space on the far-left bench, offered up to her by a young Saxon man who seemed to be pointedly ignoring his father’s scowl. She prepared to sit down, thankful she could attend services and fulfill her promise to Lord Stephen without being near him.

  “Nay, Rowena, sit in the front with me.”

  She looked up to find Stephen standing in the aisle, his arm extended toward her. In the small chapel, all were still standing, waiting for their lord to find his seat.

  Silence dropped with a crash around them. Glares slapped her like wet leather. As she reluctantly accepted Stephen’s hand and slipped closer to him, she whispered, “I was fine back there.”

  “I asked you to come to services with me. That means to sit with me, also.”

  Her heart pounded as she let Stephen help her down the aisle, closer to the altar. He allowed her to enter the closed-in pew first. Despite being grateful for his warm grasp, she whispered, “’Tis not a good idea, milord, for me to have special privileges.”

  But for all her protests, she couldn’t help but dare a glance up at him in the presence of nearly all the village. He stood tall and lean, and she caught the fresh scent of late-season meadowsweet on him, coaxing her to inhale deeply. He opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly finished her words. “Or to be seen to have special privileges.”

  * * *

  Rowena is quite right, Stephen thought. The villagers would witness her unusual position, but ’twas the only way he would be able to gauge their reactions. Several, including Barrett, scowled when Rowena passed them. As they finally reached the front, he also noticed the anchoress’s eyes narrowing as she watched them. The old woman then caught sight of the chaplain’s sharp look and lowered her gaze. ’Twas odd that Udella allowed her chaplain to dictate how she should act, when not so long ago she ruled this village.

  Josane arrived with Gilles, her displeasure at sharing the family pew with a servant evident on her face. Although he stood to allow them to enter, Stephen mostly ignored her. He’d been subject to her sour attitude all his life and had survived. He would manage just fine now.

  On the other hand, poor Rowena dropped her gaze as the couple squeezed past her. He’d fully expected his sister to plop down between them, but judging by the next scathing look, she had no desire to sit near her brother today.

  When the service ended, Stephen stood, turned to face the door, but did not depart the pew. As was the custom, the rest of the congregation stood to wait until he and the chaplain left.

  Aye, those whom he suspected had tried to stare a hole in the back of his head throughout the service now dropped their gazes. Stephen swept the interior with one broad, challenging stare.

  Several men were missing. Barrett, Osgar the Reeve and two others had stood at the beginning but now were nowhere to be seen. They had been remarkably quiet for him not to hear them slip out.

  The chaplain strolled down the aisle, nodding to and blessing various parishioners. Halfway down, he stopped and turned, watching Stephen as he cataloged the people. A moment later, a deep frown on his face, he returned to the first pew. “My lord,” he said, “you must leave so your villagers can, also.”

  Stephen looked at the older man. “I see some have already departed.”

  “I will speak with them later, milord.” The man leaned forward and dropped his voice. “But you should not treat one maid better than you treat them.”

  Stephen lifted his brows. “And are we not all equal in God’s eyes?”

  “Aye, milord, but Rowena is still your servant.”

  “She is my guest, Chaplain,” he growled.

  Josane leaned forward and whispered, “Listen to him, Stephen. He’s not criticizing you but pointing out that someone here holds a grudge against Rowena. Flaunting your authority over them by parading her at the front of the chapel will only anger them further.”

  Then, surprising Stephen, she directed her attention to Rowena. “Do not be offended, Rowena. This is not about your station. ’Tis about your safety, which, believe it or not, is my main concern. Stephen is being stubborn and ’twill get you hurt.”

  Josane stared hard at him. “You cannot fool me. But whoever tried to harm Rowena would be a fool to reveal his guilt at evensong.”

  Stephen bristled, hating that his intent was as clear as water to his older sister. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Rowena gasped, but Josane pierced him with another glare. “Do you? I think you’re risking Rowena’s life to prove you are in charge,” she hissed. She shifted her head to hide her mouth from the crowd standing nearby. “We cannot risk causing the villagers to turn against us, not when we have so few soldiers to protect us. And working the villagers to the bone doesn’t help, either.”

  “Tired men don’t rebel.”

  “But they can muster up the strength to plunge a pitchfork into your back, my brother. Then we’ll all be dead.” She squeezed past both of them before marching down the aisle, her break in protocol as evident as snapping a dry twig.

  Stephen turned to Rowena. “You will dine with me.”

  She looked at him with horror, then shook her head. “Lady Josane is right. This was what you planned all along!”

  “That’s exactly why I want you in the hall tonight.”

  “I won’t be your bait!”

  Stephen tightened hi
s jaw. Like Josane, she saw right through him.

  But why shouldn’t he do this? ’Twould both find her attacker and fulfill his king’s order.

  But would it keep her from getting killed? Or keep his family safe? Corvin’s face flashed in his mind, and the pain of grief wrenched at his heart.

  Stephen said quietly but fiercely, “You said you wished to help me with my investigation. So here is your chance.”

  She swallowed. She obviously didn’t like being reminded of her own words. He would have allowed a smile to form on his lips had the situation been different. “Come,” he told her curtly, suspecting Rowena would refuse his offer if he persisted, “I’m hungry, and though ’tis only a small meal, I want to eat it in the hall with you.”

  Knowing better than to scoop her up, Stephen allowed her to walk out slowly on her own while he used the time to watch the villagers. But with Osgar and Barrett no longer in the chapel, no villagers met his gaze as they passed.

  Chapter Eleven

  The following morning, after they’d washed more linen and wool than Rowena had ever seen, Rowena followed Ellie outside to spread out the laundry to dry. She’d offered to help with the other chores to give her eyes and fingers a change from rope making.

  The bushes at the far side of the manor’s garden, having been stripped of their fruit, were all now covered with an assortment of clothes and linens. Rowena looked down at her hands after spreading the last tunic. They were clean, even wrinkled, as she’d helped to wring out the linens. She had never had clean nails, she marveled to herself.

  A short whistling noise caught her attention. She looked around to see the roses by the chapel wall rustle and part. The anchoress peered out at her.

  Male voices pulled her attention away and Rowena saw Lord Stephen and Master Gilles walking toward the manor. They were deep in conversation.

  The late-autumn sun glinted off Stephen’s hair, giving it a warm tone akin to the color of sunburned oak leaves. Yet, surprisingly, Master Gilles’s hair showed blonder than ever, as if the waning rays of autumn had still managed to lighten it.