Sheltered by the Warrior Page 16

Still, he recognized a certain practicality here. Nay, ’twasn’t complete trust, but ’twas the closest thing to it.

  Slowly she whispered, “And you, Stephen, when will you do some forgiving of your own? Don’t you deserve peace, too?”

  “Nay. I allowed a beloved son and brother to die. ’Twas an unforgivable sin, not in God’s eyes, but in my own. And that is the reason I must decline your request.”

  Then he strode from the hall.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rowena squinted as she stepped out the kitchen door to attend morning services the next day. She had Andrew with her, knowing she would probably sit in the back, near the door. Should he begin to fuss, she could slip outside.

  But being close to the door also meant that Stephen would see her more easily than if she sat hidden in the darker recesses.

  ’Twas with sadness that she’d watched him stalk from the great hall last night. How could he say that his sin of accidentally letting his brother die was unforgivable? Hadn’t Clara said no sin was unforgivable? Her heart ached for him. It shouldn’t, but it did.

  The men of the manor had returned empty-handed late last night, and now some of them, bleary-eyed and tired, were here and no doubt thankful for the dark of the chapel.

  Stephen entered with his sister and her husband. With the rest, Rowena stood as he entered, and was glad that a tall man had come in a few moments after her to block Stephen’s view of her. She peeked around the man’s barrel chest to see Stephen’s gaze search the chapel. Quickly, she straightened again and lowered her head.

  Last night, his bitterness had splintered their conversation. But what did she expect? She had asked him to care for Andrew not because she trusted him, but because she had hoped to purchase his guardianship. She didn’t trust Stephen any more than his family forgave him. In fact, she was much like them. She refused to forgive all men, Stephen included.

  Lord in Heaven, how can I stop this?

  She wished Clara were here, for her wisdom and strength of faith were invaluable. Rowena blinked away fresh tears. Would she always be this foolish and naive? She knew so little and could hardly understand the words of the hymns sung or the paintings in the little frames that sat around the pulpit. Long-bearded men and gentle-faced women worshipped Jesus. Clara said He’d risen from the dead to give them life. Rowena could hardly fathom the notion, but she knew He was real because He felt real in her heart. ’Twas the only way she could explain it.

  Across the chapel, Udella scraped open her small door and sat by it to listen to the service. If she saw Rowena, she gave no indication.

  Ahead, Stephen allowed Lady Josane to enter the front pew first. Rowena remembered how it felt to sit on the wool-filled cushions and have the enclosed pew block the cold drafts from the door. Gilles entered next, rearranging his cushion before he sat beside his wife. Stephen entered last. With the rest, Rowena dropped to one of the cold, hard benches, feeling oddly alone despite the crowd. ’Twas a sad, unexpected emotion. She’d been alone since she was ten, sleeping in the barn, hiding from the men when they’d shown up for their chores. This very moment hurt more than all the nights she’d curled up with the dog to exploit his body heat.

  When the service was over, after Stephen had followed the priest out, Rowena lingered behind two larger women who dawdled in their departures. She hadn’t even looked up for fear she’d meet Stephen’s gaze.

  Was she afraid of him? Nay. She knew her own heart. She was ashamed that she thought she could barter for Andrew’s guardianship instead of trusting him. Even his own family did not trust him anymore. She slipped from the crude pew, in the process getting shoved hard. If she hadn’t caught the bench to steady herself, she’d have fallen to the floor on top of Andrew. Spinning, she faced the other person. ’Twas the old man Barrett. His filthy glare bored into her.

  “Say you’re sorry,” he growled.

  Indignation flared in her. “Nay, you shoved me! Hard, too!”

  The group around them stopped. For a terrifying moment, she regretted her outburst. ’Twas foolhardy to argue with the man who had much influence in the village and with Gilles. She’d seen Barrett speak with Gilles on several occasions.

  “You would dare to talk to me like that, fool woman—”

  Her feet with a mind of their own, she stepped forward and straightened up as much as she could. “I would dare, because you deliberately shoved me! I have done nothing wrong, not here nor in the past.”

  “That brat tells us otherwise.”

  Automatically, she touched Andrew’s cap as he still slumbered in his sling. “Nay, he tells you nothing. But I will.”

  Suddenly, she was sick of the rumors that she knew were whispered about her. “I was sold into slavery by my own family to a baron who wanted a son so he could gain power in Normandy.”

  Standing in the aisle, Barrett folded his arms, his coarsely woven sleeves getting shoved away from his filthy, callused hands. “Sold by your own family? Slavery has been abolished. Who are these fool people? You tell wild tales about them.”

  “My father isn’t a Christian, as I am, and the Norman who bought me knew he could argue that point in his favor.”

  That surprised the man. Indeed, those lingering in the chapel fell silent. From the corner of her eye, Rowena spied Udella leaning out her small door to eavesdrop. “Your family isn’t Christian?” Barrett glared. “Where are you from? Surely not from England.”

  “They farm to the west, near the villages of Cambridge and Grantchester.”

  She was less than ten miles away from her family, she’d been told once by Clara. Both villages were primitive, backwater places whose only benefit came from the bridges built there. “Foolish lies!” Barrett spat out. “Why haven’t you been recaptured?”

  Rowena tightened her jaw. Barrett, and indeed this village, didn’t need to know her business, but she couldn’t stop the words. “The king himself freed me after the Norman baron was sent home in disgrace.”

  “A Norman king with no right to be here!”

  She stepped closer. “I did not betray my people!”

  She turned on her heel to face the crowd. “In what way could I betray anyone? I was kept in a room at a manor house until I escaped. I gave birth in Colchester, protected by a midwife there. How could I, a child of a farmer, know anything of interest to the Normans?”

  Emboldened by the gaping looks on the faces of the crowd, Rowena shouted, “Who here wants me dead? Whoever you are, do it now! But look me in the eye as you kill me.”

  Nothing happened. All who stared at her fell silent. “Nay, you’re a coward,” Rowena continued, “whoever you are, listening to foolish lies that someone has spread about me, without even asking me for the truth. Am I the only girl you’ve met who’s suffered under a Norman? Wouldn’t it be more obvious that I had no choice?”

  The crowd shrank away from her appeal. Women dropped their gazes to their feet, and one man pulled his family out of the chapel. Suddenly, the villagers parted from the outside inward. Stephen stepped into the circle she’d created.

  “Go home, all of you,” he ordered the crowd.

  The people melted away like a dollop of fat thrown into a hot fry pan. Within a few breaths, there was no one there.

  When he glared at Rowena, her bravado also dissolved.

  Oh, dear Lord in Heaven, what have I done? She had disgraced Stephen in his own manor, shouting like a madwoman. He would surely send her packing now. Indeed, his scowl suggested as much.

  When the crowd was gone, she dared a peek into his face. His expression had not changed. “I was shoved and I was tired of these people thinking so ill of me,” she said in her defense.

  “So you risked your life to prove your point.”

  “Nay.”

  “Aye, you did. I heard you challenge someone to k
ill you.”

  She blinked at the memory of her foolishness. Her heart pounded in her chest as she realized the full extent of the danger in which she’d put herself and her son. “’Twere only foolish words spoken in haste.”

  “Aye, they were. You think that someone wouldn’t thrust a knife through you while you’re standing in this chapel? Worse things have happened in God’s house.” Stephen sighed and closed the gap between them. She could see his gaze softening as he lifted her chin with his finger. Or was it the unshed tears in her eyes? She’d disappointed Stephen, and it cut her to the quick.

  “Do not do it again, Rowena,” he said quietly. “These people are not thinking wisely, and I have yet to discover which one of them wants you dead, or even why.”

  She shut her eyes, hating that she wanted more than just his attention. She wanted him to hold her tight. Then, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she tugged down his arm. “I won’t. I was shoved and I flared up. Even now, I don’t know why I did it.”

  “Because you have been hurt. Turn the other cheek, Rowena.” He frowned. “Did you notice anyone with enough hatred to want you dead? Did you feel anyone here hated you that much?”

  “Nay. But sometimes when I am angry or scared, I cannot guess anyone’s emotions.”

  “Then trust me. Have I not sheltered you here? I will find your attacker.”

  “Do you think he was here today?”

  He stepped back. “I searched the crowd but saw no one who looked like your sketch.”

  So her bravado was for naught? She sagged. “I’m not very good help, am I?”

  He smiled briefly. “Nay, you’re not. And I’m not very good at finding your attacker, either.” He paused. “But we will get better.”

  With every bone in her body, she wanted to walk into his arms. But here in the chapel? And with Stephen stepping away from her as if he regretted he’d touched her in the first place? Nay, seeking comfort in his embrace would not be wise at all.

  As if to confirm that, Stephen muttered, “Rowena, your roof is finished, but I will ask you to stay here at the manor. ’Tis safer.”

  She peered into his dark eyes. Aye, ’twould be safer, indeed. At her hut, she’d risked her life. But here at his manor house, what would she risk? All her life she’d known that men could not be trusted. Would she risk learning ’twas not so? That even Stephen, however embittered and hurt by his family that he was, was trustworthy?

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to learn that.

  * * *

  Stephen took another step away from her, for he was certain if he stood close to her any longer, he would pull her into his arms and kiss her fear and sadness away.

  With her assailant somewhere near? One of the first rules of soldiering was never to show a weakness. You would surely be dead should the enemy see your vulnerability.

  From afar, the lilting strains of flutes drifted in. Thankful for the distraction, Stephen stalked outside and over to the corner of his large home. Rowena followed with Andrew. A band of minstrels was marching into the village from the road to London. Several acrobats wheeled on their hands or leaped gracefully on another’s back, only to whirl away and land on their feet again. A drummer kept the beat with almost military precision. Trained dogs pirouetted around their masters.

  Several children broke away from their families to run over to watch.

  ’Twas the minstrel troupe Stephen had asked for. Though ’twas late in the season, they’d been willing to come. As Stephen watched them greet the children, a plan blossomed in his mind.

  One older man broke from the crowd and walked toward him. ’Twas obvious to Stephen that the man noted his clothing and stance and guessed he was the baron here.

  Immediately, a guard stepped between the newcomer and Stephen. The man bowed. Stephen dismissed the guard, deciding he would defuse the tensions created today with a celebration of sorts. ’Twas no holy day or feast, but the troupe could entertain well enough in the great hall.

  And fulfill his plan.

  A short while later, after arrangements were made and payment of the troupe agreed upon, Stephen turned.

  Rowena had come close and now stared wide-eyed and open-jawed at the brightly clad visitors. He walked over to her, leaving the leader to inform his troupe. “I took your suggestion on getting the villagers to trust me more. Have you ever seen a troupe of entertainers before?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve only heard of them. These people would never come to a small farm so far from a village.”

  “What was your closest village’s name?”

  “We lived between Cambridge and Grantchester. When the family I traveled with said they were headed to Colchester, I remembered my father mentioning the town, for Baron Eudo holds it as well as several villages near Cambridge. I traveled with them because I thought it was far enough away that Taurin would not find me.”

  Colchester, where Eudo, Adrien’s brother, held the town. Stephen grimaced, keenly wishing for more information. But the courier was gone again, he suddenly realized, and Stephen would not send a pair of guards when they were needed here.

  Frustration rose in him. Why seek more about her? You don’t need it to fulfill the king’s order. Your plan today does not hinge on what Rowena did before she came here. The king needs a calculating man, not one who goes soft when a woman speaks to him.

  Lord God, am I not allowed to enjoy any of this life’s pleasures?

  Hating the lack of a decent answer, he straightened. “You will join me tonight to watch this troupe.”

  Rowena’s eyes widened farther as she looked from Stephen to the troupe’s leader. Her throat bobbed as she met his eyes, as if searching for something. From the sadness in her expression, he knew she didn’t find what she’d hoped was there. “Stephen, are you asking me to sit with you as these people entertain us?”

  “Aye. Is there a problem? The most danger you will suffer is a foul look from my sister. Trust me, you will survive that. I have received them for years and remain quite healthy.” His voice dropped. “Sometimes I long for a normal life. Won’t you give me permission to have one for just a single eve?”

  Rowena studied his expression, and he was glad she had admitted she could not read him as well as she read others.

  Finally, though wary, she nodded.

  For all that, no satisfaction flowed into him. You’ve manipulated her. You’ve used all your skills against her.

  Before those words could convict him further, he nodded to her and said, “Tonight, in the hall, we will share a good meal before the troupe performs.” Then he left her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The evening was lively and exciting, and Rowena felt as though she couldn’t open her eyes wide enough to take it all in. Before the performance, she and Stephen had shared a trencher of meat and roots, savored with onions and herbs. It had been a satisfying meal, finished off with fresh cider and cheese and fine sweetmeat pastries that glistened with honeyed nuts, made complete with cups of custard for dipping.

  And she had survived Lady Josane’s scathing looks. Thankfully, the woman chose to ignore her after the trenchers were filled. Master Gilles glared once at her before turning his attention to the chaplain, as he often did.

  The hall filled with the villagers soon after supper. The troupe began entertaining with songs and music that danced delightfully around Rowena’s senses. She tapped her foot to the drumbeat and swayed gently to the flute music. One young man plucked a stringed instrument, sometimes several of the strings at once, to produce a sound as lovely as the birds when they returned in springtime.

  She glanced at Stephen and found him watching her. A smile hovered over his features. His dark eyes were soft and as delicious looking as the dark sweetmeat that filled the pastry she’d just eaten.

  He’d wanted
one normal moment in his life. Oh, how she knew exactly what he longed for! For this brief evening, she could be a woman with few cares. A woman who wasn’t hunted for something she hadn’t done.

  Aye, ’twas a good eve.

  The acrobats began, and a young man snatched apples from the head table to juggle, so many of them in the air at once, Rowena couldn’t keep them separated. Supple young women dressed in men’s clothing danced and hopped on top of men’s shoulders to jump and twirl away as everyone around them gasped.

  Then an old man with a long beard stepped forward, twirled his hand and produced a puff of smoke from his palm. Rowena gasped. He stepped closer, pulling from her ear a coin, before twisting his wrist to toss it away. Suddenly it became a dove and the bird fluttered off.

  Startled, Rowena jumped back. Stephen laughed. “How did he do that?” she asked.

  “’Tis leger de main. Sleight of hand. You never know what a person has up his sleeves.”

  Feigning shock at the accusation, the man pulled up his long, billowing sleeves. Then, leaning forward again, he found another coin in her ear.

  Rowena touched the side of her head. “I don’t understand. He had nothing up his sleeves, yet you say he did!”

  Stephen leaned closer, his soft whisper tickling her ear. “Ah. Nothing is as it seems.”

  A shiver rippled through her. What did he mean by that? Was he referring to their earlier conversation outside? That he may look like a normal man enjoying life, but was never to be one?

  Such was her life, also. She must devote herself to her babe, for no man would want her as his wife. She leaned back thoughtfully. Little Andrew and several other babes were cloistered in the maids’ room, cared for by Ellie, who had volunteered for the task. Rowena was grateful to her.

  The old man performed another trick, all the while smiling at her. Again, Stephen whispered, “Do you notice that ’tis always the young, beautiful women who attract the most attention at this performance? Be careful, Rowena, or he will lure you out to the center and make you disappear. Can you not tell that he is tricking you?”