Sheltered by the Warrior Page 12

  Standing behind the bushes, Rowena watched the men enter the manor house. Neither noticed her, mayhap because of where she stood, or mayhap because she’d begun to cover her head as Lady Josane had ordered.

  Oddly, Rowena was now glad for the order. It hid a hair color that had brought nothing but attention.

  But still, during each meal that she took in the great hall, she felt eyes on her. Last night’s was worse after what had happened in the chapel.

  Josane had guessed Stephen’s plan to flaunt his authority and use Rowena. Nay, she would not be caught up in some fool idea that Stephen cared for her. He was only using her to find her attacker, to shore up his village’s security, because everyone knew King William was due to visit. And Stephen wanted her to put her faith in him?

  “Come close, Rowena,” a voice beckoned. “We didn’t finish our conversation the other day.”

  Rowena turned. The anchoress still peeked out her tiny hole, an almost silly sight of eyes surrounded by the dying rose blossoms. As Rowena closed the distance, their scent pulled her in. She sat on the bench and dipped her head to spy the older woman.

  “I really should be working, my lady.”

  “The sun is too hot today. Our summer has returned.”

  “Nay, my lady, it only teases us. The mornings are cool, and we’ll have a killing frost soon.”

  “But I do like summers so, and always hope they will stay.”

  “The plants need to rest, and without the winter rains, our fields could never be planted in the spring. Our livestock wouldn’t breed, either.”

  “Spoken like a farmer.”

  Rowena moved back slightly and folded her arms. “I grew up on a farm. Not like the small ones here, but one with oxen and sheep and many fowl.”

  “Do you enjoy living here, then?”

  Rowena paused. She didn’t ever want to see her family again, but she wondered if her father had indeed sold her in order to buy back his land. Without land, he and the rest of his family would starve. But enjoy living here? She’d been here only a few weeks and had already lost her home. A farm brought hard work, but good food if the farmer wished to give it. A village offered companions if they liked you. She had neither.

  “I have no house here, no life elsewhere. I can’t answer your question.”

  “Poor thing. Caught between the world you grew up in and this one. But surely there can’t be much difference.”

  “There is! My home was a farm away from everything. My parents are pagans who think spirits live in trees and buildings and do all sorts of mischief. That’s why my family stays away from towns and villages.”

  “Pagans? I had no idea those old heresies still existed.” Udella made a soft noise before asking, “Did any missionary come your way?”

  “There were some men, but my father would chase them away, saying they brought bad luck.” The last man to visit did so on horseback with a contingent of Norman soldiers. Taurin had spied Rowena when his horse was taken to the barn to be brushed and groomed.

  She shuddered. She didn’t want to talk about her family or how her father saw a way to make money quickly. She had never known what a full belly felt like until she’d met Clara and had never broken her fast with warm broth and bread and cheese until she came to this manor house. She liked not being tired for lack of food or being cold for lack of a decent home. She loved that Andrew was finally growing plump and didn’t cry for want of milk. But there was much scheming.

  A door slammed to her right and she watched as Stephen and Gilles left the manor again. Automatically she stilled, not wanting to be caught idling the day away instead of working as she’d promised she would.

  She could hear them speaking in French but was unable to catch any words. As they disappeared down toward the barn that was being thatched, Rowena turned to the anchoress. “Do you mind that the Normans have taken over your home?”

  “I could not bring back my son,” Udella said softly. “But I could save the people who looked to me for help. Nay, I wasn’t bitter, for the Lord gives me peace.”

  “Peace? How? Every day you see the men who could have killed your son. Doesn’t that hurt you?”

  Udella paused and leaned forward. “It did for a time, but when I saw Master Gilles, I knew ’twas meant to be.”

  Rowena frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Udella’s voice dropped. “Gilles is my nephew.”

  “Nephew? He’s Norman.”

  “Only half-Norman. He’s half-Saxon, too. Come closer, for what I will tell you, very few know.”

  Suspicious, Rowena did not move. “Why, then, tell me?”

  “You are searching for the Lord. This may encourage you. And I can see that you keep your own counsel. I know I can trust you. Come, lean closer, so that only you can hear.”

  After a short hesitation, Rowena leaned forward.

  “I saw Gilles when King William passed through this way two years ago. I recognized him immediately as being my brother’s son. You see, long before the battle at Hastings, we were wealthy and ’twas proper for a good family to send a son away for his education. My brother and our cousin went to Normandy to learn French and how to be a proper aristocrat. My cousin returned a few years later, for he missed his family too much. My brother stayed.”

  “Is he still there?”

  “Aye, but buried there. But not before falling for a young woman in the family where he stayed. My cousin said when the family learned that my brother and this woman cared for each other, she was married off to another Norman family. But not before she became pregnant. Gilles is that child.”

  “How do you know this? Does Gilles know who his father is?”

  “I have never discussed it with him, but he bears the same looks as my brother and the same golden hair. And the same ears.”

  “Ears?”

  “Aye, a unique shape to them.” Udella peered hard at her. “Don’t you believe me that such oddities are born into families?”

  Taken aback, Rowena blinked. “Cows give birth to calves that share their colors. I’ve seen it.” She paused. “Why haven’t you told Master Gilles that you are his aunt?”

  “I can’t, though ’tis not an easy decision. When King William came, I saw an opportunity to bring Gilles here to be our baron, as would have been his right. But the king chose Lord Stephen instead, and I feared for Gilles’s safety should I ask the king for him and be forced to say why.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What if the king became afraid that Gilles would support his father’s family and village? Nay, I could not take that risk. I made the older ones here who remembered Gilles’s father take an oath never to mention it. Besides, when Lord Stephen came and brought his family, which included Gilles, I had no need to petition the king anymore. ’Twas an incredible blessing and I would not turn my back on it.” She sighed. “I had planned, though, to tell Gilles who he was, for I believed that his mother may never have told him. Mayhap to preserve his life and position because not all men are kind to those who are not their offspring.”

  Rowena hugged herself. “And you are telling me all of this to show me the Lord?”

  “Nay, I can see that you need to learn to forgive. Did the Normans kill someone you love?”

  “Nay. But one Norman was brutal to me.”

  “Ah, ’tis that bitterness I sense. Let it go, lest it eat you alive.”

  Hadn’t Clara said that bitterness caused all manner of illness? Rowena squinted against the sun as she saw Stephen and Gilles in the distance, speaking with a man who carried a huge bundle of thatch. What life would her son have had if Taurin had been successful? A life of privilege, as Gilles experienced? What would she tell her son when he asked about his father? She drew in her breath as she spied several villagers make their way home for the no
onday meal. Someone wanted her dead, so ’twas possible she would never get to tell her son the truth.

  She thought again of what Stephen had said to her. She needed to get word to Clara to ask if she would raise Andrew should something happen to her.

  Because I am bait for Stephen’s trap.

  She’d told Stephen she would not be used again. Even now, resentment rose in her and she struggled to tamp it down. How could he so coldly use her that way? He’d even mentioned that something could happen to her. So he knew that he planned to risk her life and wanted her to sort out a future adoption.

  So cold and unfeeling.

  Again, her heart wrenched. Why? Because she could die? Or because he didn’t think there was anything wrong with using her? Or because ’twas Stephen who did this?

  If she agreed, ’twould put an end to this terror and she could return to her home and be done with Lord Stephen. But she’d have to trust him first.

  Put my faith in another Norman.

  A few moments of dislike in exchange for a chance to live free. Aye, she would do it. She could draw her attacker into her home.

  Rowena looked at Udella. “I must return to my work.”

  “What are you planning? Is it something I can pray for?”

  “Nay. Now that I am healed, I must see to returning to my home.”

  Udella looked doubtful. But before she could remind her that her home was still without a roof, Rowena stepped away from the wall, out of the circle of rose scent and back to work.

  And straight back into danger. She wasn’t one who would allow a horse to kick her twice, but in this case, she may need to be.

  She would return to her home and act as bait.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stephen strode into the great hall looking for Gilles, who’d taken several of the soldiers for an unnecessary task. He had far more important work for them than anything Gilles wanted done.

  The only person there was Rowena. She was bent over the hearth with a short metal rake and flat pan, cleaning the ashes. He saw Andrew on a mat near her, playing with polished bones.

  ’Twas a good thing he didn’t sit directly on the rushes, for as much as Josane changed them monthly, they harbored ills of every kind.

  A cry shot through the room and Stephen spun.

  Rowena was dancing around, the hem of her cyrtel smoking as she beat on it with the rake.

  With a gasp, Stephen rushed forward, ripping off his cloak as he went. He threw it around her and feverishly patted her down, in his haste shoving her to the floor.

  Within a few moments, the smoldering had stopped. Stephen sagged forward next to Rowena, who grabbed him with relief.

  “My thanks, milord. I thought the ashes were cold, but there were hot ones deep within.”

  “Who ordered you to clean this hearth?”

  “Lady Josane. I asked for extra chores.”

  “Have you done it before?”

  Rowena hesitated.

  “Have you?” he barked.

  She looked away. “Only a few times. At my family home, I spent most of my days in the barn. The animals gave off enough heat. When I was hiding from Lord Taurin, I was too scared to light a fire in case it lured someone to investigate.”

  Feeling his mouth tighten, Stephen said through gritted teeth, “Always stir ashes, even cold ones. And do not refer to Taurin as ‘lord.’”

  She peered up at him, her pale eyes wide and watery, and tendrils of white-blond hair stuck to the perspiration on her brow. Her lips had parted and she bore a look of compelling innocence. “Aye, my lord,” she whispered.

  “I do not want you to hurt yourself.”

  A shadow fell over her face. “Mayhap, but you need to. I have decided to let you use me as bait.”

  He pulled himself up short. What had he been thinking?

  On his knees before Rowena as she, too, knelt, he saw her look of willing expectation that her agreement would be accepted without question.

  “My lord,” she whispered, “I will help you find my attacker. I want to end this and return home.”

  He drew back mentally. He’d actually considered setting her as bait for her own attacker? Aye, and he’d felt disappointment earlier when she’d refused. But at this moment, all of his reasons seemed as wispy as the thin lines of dying smoke from the hot coals that lingered in the hearth.

  What had changed his mind since he’d made that addled decision? Nothing. He’d spent the day checking the thatcher’s work and seeing about his usual duties. Then as he’d entered his great hall, he’d spied her. She was wearing a wimple that was a tad too big for her, and a veil he recognized as one of Josane’s old ones. When he inhaled, carried on the scents of supper was another fainter, softer one of roses. He peered down at Rowena. Had she visited the anchoress today? What had they discussed? Had the woman encouraged Rowena to tell Stephen she had decided to help him with his investigation?

  He rose. “Nay, you will not help. I have chosen a tactic of keeping the men so busy that they are exhausted at the end of each day. And watching who might slip away or who complained too much will help me discover who has been staying up at night.”

  “Many people rise at midnight for services,” she countered, standing. “I have heard them. They even visit each other. But whoever attacked me won’t bother doing anything suspicious without a reason. So I need to return to my home to be that reason.”

  “The thatcher will not be starting your home until the morrow, for his work is taking longer than expected. ’Twould be unwise to stay there tonight. Your attacker will see right through the plan.”

  Deep in thought, she nodded. “On the morrow, and I will spend that time repairing my garden. I need to start that, and ’twould lead my attacker to think I am returning because I need to prepare my land for winter.”

  “What about your son? Don’t tell me he’ll join you.”

  “Ellie will mind him. She can give him barley and water with a spoon.”

  They stood silently for a moment. Rowena leaned slightly forward. “Please, milord, consider my request. I have done all your bidding here and will leave Andrew in the care of the maids. Surely you have a guard roaming the village. We must resolve this. You cannot continue to work the villagers to the bone. That solves nothing.”

  Rowena was right. So why was he so reluctant? ’Twas not his nature to refuse an opportunity like this. He used soldiers all the time.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “On the morrow.”

  Suppertime came and Stephen felt as if Rowena’s decision had remained like a bad fever all afternoon. He sank heavily into his chair on the dais. Everyone, including Rowena, had stood as he’d entered. When his eyes snagged hers, he looked away.

  He motioned to the cupbearer to offer cider and to the young servant to bring the first flat trenchers of bread, loaded with thick meat stew and sided with slices of firm cheese. Although Rowena had been at the manor a few short weeks, he could already see the difference. Her face no longer looked gaunt, and color had returned to her cheeks. She was finally getting the food she needed.

  But she won’t get it on the morrow, or the days after. Why had he agreed to allow her to return home? He opened his mouth to speak his change of mind but hesitated. Rowena would refuse, and should they discuss it here in this hall, the wrong ears may hear their plans. He could force her to obey him, but ’twas not completely what he wanted.

  What did he want?

  Stephen chewed his food as he mulled over possible answers. He wanted to serve his king. ’Twas why the Good Lord gave him life. If it meant Rowena would be in danger, he could minimize that risk easily enough. He would order a guard to watch her during the night and arrest anyone who approached.

  When he caught Rowena’s cautious look, he felt his gut tighten. She�
�d decided in some odd, small way to trust him this once. But fear also lingered in her eyes.

  Nay, he amended. The guard and he would do their duty the next night.

  “My lord?”

  Stephen looked toward the doorway. His courier stood with his sword dangling at his side and a rolled missive in his hand. Setting down his cider, Stephen waved him over. When the man reached him, he handed over the parchment.

  Unrolling it, Stephen ordered a meal for the courier, for too much travel was hard on a body and soul. The missive was from Adrien.

  Stephen frowned. He had not dispatched his courier to collect Adrien’s letter, so how had the man known? “Did you come from London or Dunmow?”

  “London, milord.”

  “What is it, Stephen?” Josane asked.

  Not wanting to explain too much, Stephen shoved aside the questions and unrolled the parchment. “Just a letter from another baron. ’Tis of no concern.” He quickly read the missive.

  My friend in Christ,

  I greet you in our Savior’s name and hope all is well with you. I will answer your questions, but I fear you will not like them. I know of no reason why anyone would want Rowena dead. There are few here who knew her, and those who did were sympathetic. In Colchester, they worried only that the king would punish them for hiding her from Taurin, but since that issue has been resolved, there is no reason for them to be concerned anymore.

  Taurin had plotted against the king for control of Normandy. He had hoped to pass off the Saxon girl’s child as his legitimate heir, the son of his wealthy wife, whom he’d planned to murder and thus receive land from his in-laws for giving them a grandson. Now that his plot has been found out, he has had to forfeit his lands both here and in Normandy and remains there in disgrace.

  I cannot offer you anything more of use, except that mayhap you should search for a different reason why she has been targeted, for I also wish that she not die. She has suffered enough. Mayhap the child is the target?

  ’Tis a shame that such strife comes your way, for we both know the real intrigue lies in London.