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  “What did Rypan say?”

  “That Lord Taurin had planned to stay. He must have overheard something.”

  Dropping his hand, Adrien walked back to his desk. “Then stay with Clara until I am satisfied that Taurin is gone for good. The village will be better off then, and mayhap ’twill be safe to draw out this young slave girl.”

  “My lord, does this mean you don’t care where Rowena is? Or that she keeps the babe?”

  Adrien stilled. “Kenneth, these past few days I have watched my own family, and I can no longer say ’tis a good thing to wrench a babe from its mother.”

  Kenneth’s eyes widened. “But what about the child’s health?”

  Adrien looked grim. “Aye, I know what you are saying. ’Tis better to have a warm home and good food, but babes die in wealthy homes as well as in poor ones. And many a child has been unhappy in each.”

  “But less so in a wealthy one! Aye, babes can be taken from us, but at least in a warm home with good food, the child has a fighting chance!” Abruptly, Kenneth slammed shut his mouth on his arguments that weren’t even his own. What was he saying?

  Adrien shook his head. “I have no answer. All I know is that ’twould kill Ediva to be parted from our son, and I cannot allow that to happen to another mother just to please one of my fellow Normans. Aye, inside me, I also doubt myself.”

  ’Twas good news to hear. Surprising, but good. But there were still other concerns. “And the fact that she is a runaway slave? We heard him say she isn’t a Christian.”

  “Taurin is twisting the spirit of the law. All we have is his word on her religion, anyway. I saw Clara’s expression when we were discussing it. She doesn’t know Rowena’s faith, either, and I won’t condemn a person without at least asking them first, even a young slave girl.”

  Abruptly, Adrien smiled. “Go back to Clara. ’Twill help you sort out your feelings.”

  Kenneth nodded, but he doubted that being with Clara would help him sort out anything, least of all his feelings.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Clara had heard, Kenneth decided as he spied her hurrying into the bailey a short time later. With Brindi in tow, she practically galloped up to Kenneth as he descended the steps of the motte.

  It had been an hour since he and Lord Adrien had spoken, and evening services were overdue. Kenneth suspected the chaplain had delayed the service until all the soldiers could return, and mayhap until all were certain that Taurin himself had left. Evening services could indeed help release the pall of Lord Taurin’s visit from their community.

  Clara reached him. “Is it true? Lord Taurin has left?”

  “Aye.” Kenneth led her toward the chapel, not pleased that she’d chosen only a veil for her head covering. He’d have preferred she err on the side of caution until they were sure Taurin was far away. “You should have remained in your hut.”

  “Why? You don’t think he’s gone?”

  Because as night drifted in, ’twas obvious that the unwanted baron could have only traveled west a little way and might easily return. Kenneth stopped her far enough from the chapel door to speak without too many overhearing them. “Lord Taurin can’t ride too far this evening. I doubt he’d even get as far as Broad Oak Forest, where he intends to stay. He would have to stay somewhere in the marshland settlements along the way first.”

  “Let him, then. I want to attend services as I should.” She squeezed his arm and smiled at him. “I want nothing more than to thank everyone for their kindness, Norman and Saxon, for none of them revealed who I was.” She’d already begun to thank those around her, receiving warm hugs and encouragement in return.

  Ignoring the others, Kenneth turned to her. He didn’t share her certainty that she was safe. Taurin wasn’t to be trusted. Why had he given up and moved on? Kenneth felt as though this was a weak link in his chain mail. A hole that a properly aimed sword could puncture.

  Despite his uneasiness, Clara stood before him, and his heart hitched at her penetrating look. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted with a smile of gratitude hovering there. And the memory of their kiss smacked him full in the face. He wanted, nay, ached with the desire to repeat it.

  What a fool he was. He knew ’twould not be wise to fall for her. They thought far too differently, and what kind of husband would he be to her with all these foolish doubts dancing within him? A woman like Clara, one of strong opinions, deserved a strong man, faithful and wise and full of resolve. He was none of those things.

  She tugged at his arm, as Brindi tugged at hers. Like a caravan, they entered the chapel, with Clara’s steps ahead of him light and relieved, whilst his were heavy with anguish.

  * * *

  The sun had broken free of the clouds and now angled down on all who left the services. Though there was hardly any light left, ’twas as if the weather itself wanted to rejoice in Taurin’s departure.

  Kenneth felt only marginally uplifted. He stood and watched Clara speak with Lady Ediva, who had brought her babe to the evening services. After a few moments of quiet conversation, Clara left Ediva to rest and feed the child. She walked up to Kenneth where he stood near the chapel door with Brindi.

  “I must go to Rowena,” she told him softly. “I asked Lady Ediva if Brindi could stay with the maids tonight and she agreed. ’Tis not fair to drag the child out yet another night.” She looked down at her sister. “Go to the cook, and don’t be a nuisance. Help her in any way you can.”

  Brindi skipped off, excited by the prospect of an evening beyond their little home.

  “And do you plan to go alone?” Kenneth asked.

  Clara inhaled shakily. ’Twas only wise to ask Kenneth to accompany her to see Rowena. But even thinking that caused her nerves to dance and quiver. Aye, after all he’d done for her, she should be ready to trust him. And after giving grateful thanks in her prayers during the service, she would do the right thing and show her trust. “No, not alone,” she answered.

  Kenneth looked at her. “And you trust me enough to let me come?”

  She shrugged. “Obviously, since Lord Taurin has left.”

  “Then there is little need to trust me, is there?” He paused. “Or allow me in your home anymore.”

  She frowned as they walked toward the village. ’Twas getting dark here in the shadow of the keep, but the moon was waxing. “Don’t be insulted, Kenneth. ’Tis not easy for me to ask for help. Take the offer of trust as it comes.”

  He didn’t look impressed. Nor did his distant gaze light on her. “Is that what you’re doing? Just asking for my help?”

  “If you don’t want to go, ’tis fine. I will go by myself. Mayhap you are afraid of the forest?”

  “I’m not!” he growled out. Then stopped. “Do not think you can goad me, woman. I will go with you because ’tis safer for you. The woods are still dangerous and full of Saxon thieves and bandits. And I wish to see for myself if the boy is well.”

  “You still feel the child is better off with his father,” she answered flatly. “Though his father appears to have lost interest.”

  She swallowed. And so did Kenneth, she noticed. She stepped closer to him. “Nay, Kenneth, we shouldn’t fight so. We will always differ on this matter, but you should see why I have done what I have done, and to see it, you need to meet Rowena.” She touched his arm. “Will you come with me?”

  He stepped back, his expression like the steel of the blade that hung at his side. Disappointment squeezed her heart.

  Nay! She would not feel hurt by this! Kenneth was probably glad to be rid of her, for they’d disagreed from the moment they’d first met. She had her pledges of healing and of keeping Rowena safe, while he had sworn fealty to a warrior king and would never understand her desire never to hurt a person, no matter what happened. He deserved a woman who was far more docile, like the Norman women that soldiers spoke of, who kept their peace, entering into profitable marriages with grace and dignity.

  At her hut, Clara halted her thoughts. Saxon women had
held more rights and power, but they also needed morgangifts, or dowries, to enter marriage.

  She had none, for her mother was poor and her father gone. Her sisters had obtained small dowries from their uncle, but by the time Clara came of age, ’twas nothing left, not even an aunt and uncle. She and Brindi could offer nothing to a marriage.

  Yet another reason she should not allow herself to fall in love with Kenneth. He would surely break her heart when he turned his affection to more profitable maids, like Margaret, who could be given a small dowry by Lady Ediva. Having a maid and steward married would be an ideal situation for a small keep.

  Tipping up her head, she lifted her brows, determined to wear a mask of peace, though truthfully, peace seemed so elusive.

  “The village is settling down,” she said briskly. “Let me first gather a few things to take. ’Twill be cold tonight, so choose your cloak well.”

  “I’m not Brindi. I can deal with the cold well enough,” he growled back.

  She ignored him and bustled about, collecting all she needed. The night was as she said. Here, as in Colchester, when the moon waxed after a storm, the winds would turn to blow in from the sea and chill everything. Though summer was fast approaching and gardens were starting to produce, there could easily be a frost, one that would kill even the hardiest of vegetables and herbs. And tonight was as she’d warned.

  She wrapped her cloak more snuggly around her form, surreptitiously watching Kenneth do the same. They hurried from her hut, past the village and into the forest by way of the road to Colchester.

  Before long, they’d reached the new road that was said to lead nowhere. Clara had heard from the villagers ’twas the place where Lord Adrien was attacked last summer. She could feel Kenneth’s suspicion rise as they reached its beginning.

  “This road is a dead end,” he muttered.

  She gathered the skirt of her cyrtel and started down the open path, slinging her bundle over her shoulder and carrying a lantern, for the forest was deep. “You sound as if I have planned a trap for you,” she answered, feeling unreasonably testy. Indeed, ’twas a place that could make a person nervous, and her skin began to creep in reaction to Kenneth’s growing tension.

  At the bend, she turned left. The moon would brighten the way as soon as they left the dense forest. At ten long paces in, she stepped out of the trees, leaving the forest behind her. She waited until Kenneth caught up. The forest had thinned at the edge of the ancient bog. “To the left. Careful where you step. The bog still has holes and soft spots.”

  “Not to mention where the smithy has come to dig peat. We wouldn’t see the trench until it was too late.”

  “There has been no digging at this corner. ’Twas why I did not realize the smithy came out here—I saw no signs of him on the route that I take. Follow me. The hut is just ahead.”

  The moon had risen enough to skirt the treetops, and their eyes adjusted well to the night as long as they didn’t stare into the lantern.

  “I can smell a hearth.” He pointed ahead. “Aye, there it is. I see the smoke. At least she has a fire on.”

  Clara stalled and frowned. “Rowena never wanted to put a fire on and invite bandits and others to investigate.” She bit her lip. “I hope the babe is well. I showed her how to strap it to her chest for warmth. I’d used my wimple.”

  “Well, that explains why you never seem to wear it. But you should have worn Lady Ediva’s.”

  “My hair is too thick. That day we went into the Great Hall, my head ached. I need a bigger one.” She stepped gingerly over several low spots before turning and shining the open side of the lantern onto them to ease Kenneth’s passage.

  They reached the hut without injury, something Clara was glad for. She tapped lightly on the only section of upright wood that wasn’t covered in moss. The dull knock rang out in the clear air.

  “Rowena, ’tis me,” she whispered. No answer. Clara thrust the door open and stepped inside.

  There had been a fire on, but ’twas dying and nothing but smoldering hunks of charcoal, now given a small breath of life from the night breeze that swung in ahead of them. Even what fire had been in here couldn’t completely rid the hut of the smell of dampness and moss. She lifted the lantern to light the interior.

  Before her was nothing but awful disarray. A tipped-over cradle, the rough-hewn one Clara had taken from her aunt’s home. A torn swaddling was draped over one edge, and in front of her lay a cloak, bloodied and smelling of fear and loss.

  Clara let out a cry. Rowena and her babe had been found and stolen away.

  Quite unwillingly, too.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Nay!” Clara cried out. She could do nothing more than that as she stood in the center of the hut, its ceiling barely above her head and its dark shadows revealing little but the proof of the raid. She turned slowly, her jaw hanging and her breath now stalling in her throat.

  What had happened? Kenneth, barely able to stand in the low hut, took the lantern to hang on a hook. Then, still wordless, he righted the cradle. The scrap of swaddling dangling from it was part of the provisions she’d brought just before the stormy weather. Tufts of fresh moss used in the babe’s nappy lay scattered behind it.

  Clara lifted up the torn section of cloak and out fell a simple brooch. It had ripped from where the hood attached. Blood stained one side of it.

  “Kenneth!” she exclaimed. “This blood has not yet dried!”

  Bile rose in her throat as she blinked back tears. Her sweeping gaze rolled over to him where he stood, slightly stooped, at the entrance.

  “Nay. Nay!” She thrust past him, tearing out into the moonlight. She skidded to a stop and screamed, “Rowena! Where are you! Answer me!”

  An owl took flight to her right, startled by her cries, and she spun, hopeful, only to sag a moment later.

  A hand gripped her shoulder, making her jump. Kenneth was behind her, having stepped from the hut, his footfalls muffled by her screams and the soft, wet earth.

  “Clara! She’s not here.”

  “Nay! She has to be close.” Clara pushed past him into the hut and returned a moment later with the lantern. Still as stone, she cocked her ear toward the bog. “Keep quiet. We may be able to hear the babe’s cries.”

  Kenneth waited patiently as she leaned forward, straining to hear the babe, to hear anything at all in the night.

  Nothing.

  “She’s gone, Clara. Not without a fight, but she’s gone.”

  “Nay!”

  Kenneth reached forward to touch her, but she smacked his hands away. “It’s your fault! I trusted you. You’ve told Lord Taurin where Rowena was!”

  “How? I didn’t know where she was.”

  “You did! You guessed she was here by the way I reacted to your comments.” She lit up with anger and her voice rose. “And the way I reacted to what the smithy said. You saw me at the corner of his house! When the smithy spoke of harvesting peat for his furnace, you saw my reaction. You saw it and guessed that was where I kept Rowena!”

  “’Twas just a guess, Clara. I wasn’t sure of it until I spoke to you after. Besides, I didn’t even know how to get to this place! And I told no one of my suspicions.” He stopped. After muttering something under his breath, he carried on. “But Taurin learned of this peat bog from someone.”

  “From you! You told Taurin because you believe that the child should be with him. And I trusted you!”

  “I have pledged to keep you safe from Taurin. Why would I turn around and tell him that? ’Twould risk him punishing you, also!”

  “Rowena wasn’t part and parcel of that promise! Oh, how you Normans can twist words and steal hearts to get what you want!”

  “I didn’t know where the bog was! I have no reason to harvest the peat or even guess its location. Wait! Steal hearts? What foolishness is that, Clara?”

  She rushed on, ignoring his last question. “Then how did Taurin learn this location? He wasn’t even there at the smithy’s ho
use, and that soldier arguing with the smithy paid me no mind. He had no idea who I was!”

  “I did not say a word to anyone!”

  “Then who did?” Her heart pounded, her skin crawled with fear for Rowena, a desperate, breath-stealing fear. “The villagers spoke to no one. Did one of your soldiers say something?”

  “Nay, they were instructed to say nothing to Taurin’s men.”

  She’d been spinning around, searching the bog and the woods that skirted it. Wobbly, she stopped and shook her head. “Then ’twould have to have been Lord Adrien.”

  “I cannot believe it!” His voice grew sharp. “Lord Adrien and I spoke of the difficult situation and that he was glad Taurin had left.” Kenneth took a step toward her. “Adrien has grown to understand ’tis wrong to take a babe from its mother. He sees how ’twould hurt Lady Ediva and found he could not do so to Rowena, either.”

  She could feel the sodden earth soak her feet through her simple leather slippers. The hem of her cyrtel and cloak hung heavy with rainwater that had nowhere to go in this bog. Cold wicked up her feet and calves, but ’twas nothing to the burning anger that filled her heart. “Then who? There is no one left! You are the only one who disagreed with keeping Rowena away from Lord Taurin, so why wouldn’t I suspect you?”

  He stood there mutely, his mouth shut tight no doubt to seal himself against convicting himself. Clara’s heart twisted anew. Oh, how painful betrayal felt!

  She wet her lips and swallowed to heal her cracked and painful throat. “And should any of the villagers have revealed my identity, they still wouldn’t know where Rowena was. You were the only one who had any idea where I’d hid her.”

  Clara turned away from him, pulling up her cloak’s loose hood so he could not catch the quiet sobs she tried to muffle. But instead of leaving Kenneth and the hut, she strode back inside. There, with shaking hands, she coaxed the fire to return, throwing on some kindling set near the hearth.

  She returned outside with the lantern and, after digging through the top layer of peat, found some drier bits underneath. She scraped at them, praying that this fuel would not smother the tender fire.