Sheltered by the Warrior Read online

  “What is it?”

  He hesitated, not wanting her to expect success that might not come. After all, who had ever distributed a sketch of a criminal in order to locate him? “I won’t say yet, but I will do my best to find him, I promise.”

  “I know you will try, but ’tis sad. Thus far nothing has worked.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Nay. ’Tis true.” He wished he could promise her that he would find this man, but his investigation had been thwarted at every turn. Too many distractions.

  When her gaze dropped to his lips, he immediately guessed her thoughts and steeled himself against yet another distraction.

  Sharing a kiss here in the hospice room was inappropriate and ’twould not teach her to trust him. With strength he pulled from deep within, something he didn’t realize he had, he shifted away.

  Still, he felt the loss keenly.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rowena awoke with a start. She looked around the small room. Daylight squeezed through the thin cracks around where the door met its frame. The young courier moaned, and she saw ’twas he who’d roused her.

  They were alone. She sat up from her makeshift bed. She’d been in this hospice hut two days. She’d spent all yesterday tending the sick man, recalling as much as she could from her time with Clara, suggesting different herbs and washes that could help the man. Only last night, when she felt the man was showing improvement, did she make herself a bed and sleep.

  Stephen had left yesterday, no doubt to see to the normal routines of the day. She wished she could go, also, for she needed to nurse Andrew.

  The courier’s eyes fluttered open, and after Rowena checked his forehead, she stood to relight the lamp from the dying coals of the brazier. That done, she looked back at him. His color had returned and his face no longer shone with cold sweat.

  Last night, as she’d curled up on the thresh she’d gathered, she prayed for healing and now thanked the Lord for it.

  Though she must not give up her duty yet. The young man needed more broth and herbs and warm water to bathe away the sick odors. She leaned forward and pressed her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get some more food for you. Do not move.”

  Outside, Rowena shielded her eyes against the bright sunlight. She spied Stephen and two servants crossing the short distance to the hospice hut. As they closed in on her, Rowena caught the tempting scents of rich broth and baked bread from a large tray one servant carried. The other hefted up a bucket of steaming water.

  “’Tis for the courier,” Stephen explained.

  “That ’twill be much appreciated, I’m sure, milord,” Rowena said as she looked at the sun high above her. “’Tis late.”

  “Aye. You tended the man for two days and refused my order to rest and take nourishment.”

  “I did?”

  Stephen laughed. “You don’t remember? Working too hard does that to a mind.” He pulled a small piece of straw from her hair. “But I see you finally slept. How is our courier?”

  Self-conscious, for she’d set aside her veil, Rowena smoothed her hair. “His fever is gone.”

  “Good. Now that you’re willing to take a break from your duties, I will see to his care. Go tend to your ablutions. I’ll send broth and hot water to your chamber. Oh, and I believe I heard Andrew screaming earlier.”

  She flushed at the thought of her child’s growing temper. “’Twill be good to see him. Thank you.”

  “Nay, Rowena. Thank you. Your ministrations have saved my courier’s life.” He smiled. “Go, and when you’re done, join me for the evening meal. I have something to tell you.” He walked away.

  Her traitorous stomach growled. Was it wise to eat with Stephen? Aye, they’d done well caring for the courier, but now?

  She made her way with plodding steps toward the maids’ chamber. After thanking Ellie for caring for Andrew, she set about her ablutions and feeding him. The broth Stephen had promised arrived, but only when her stomach again protested its emptiness did she think about eating.

  After she took it, she rocked Andrew as much to comfort herself as to keep him asleep. Her situation had not changed, and yet as she looked down at her son, she thought of when she’d asked Stephen to care for him should she die.

  It hadn’t been based on trust, but it should have been. And after all they’d done these past few days, she should have learned to trust Stephen.

  She did. So why did the notion of eating with him scare her?

  Because she knew someone out there still wanted to kill her. She knew that Stephen would still use her as bait.

  Trust. She must simply trust Stephen, the man who had done her so much good.

  Abruptly, Ellie threw open the door. “Rowena, milord is asking for you in the hall. No one can eat until you’re there. Don’t you know ’tis time to sup?”

  She hesitated. Already? “I don’t know...”

  “Don’t be silly. The soldiers were very impressed by your courage in looking after the courier. I heard them speaking.” Deftly, she took Andrew and laid him on the pallet.

  “I should check on the man.”

  “Nay. He’s much better. Lord Stephen saw that he ate and bathed.” Ellie smiled broadly. “I’m so proud of you. I would be terrified I’d get sick, but you didn’t even think of yourself!” She grabbed Rowena’s hand and pulled her nearer to the door. “Come!”

  “What about Andrew? I should stay with him.”

  “He’s fine! I’ll look after him. You know you can count on me.”

  Rowena stalled. “Why are you so anxious to have me go to the hall? Surely others think I will pass the illness on to them.”

  “Nay, they won’t. They’d dare not say anything if they did think that way, for Lord Stephen attended the man with you and he’s already in the hall waiting!” Ellie smiled secretively as she lowered her voice and said, “I want you to go because it annoys Lady Josane. Oh, she’s been terribly harsh on all of us maids these last few days. ’Twould be nice to see her squirm in her seat, for she dare not say a thing in front of milord.”

  “I don’t believe that. She’s his older sister and I’ve heard her speak her mind. Besides, you shouldn’t talk like that. ’Tis not Christian.”

  “True. But she’s been so mean lately, and I overheard Lord Stephen tell her that he was lord, not her, and ’twill come a time when she must hand over her keys to his wife, so she may as well get used to the idea that this manor doesn’t belong to her.”

  Rowena gasped. “His wife! Is Lord Stephen pledged to someone?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, but ’twill be his duty someday, and that high-and-mighty Lady Josane better realize that. Now go!” She shoved Rowena toward the door.

  Rowena grabbed the doorjambs. “’Tis wrong to be a party to hurting someone, Ellie. I don’t want to upset Lady Josane!”

  Ellie sighed. “She won’t be as upset as Lord Stephen will be if you don’t go. Please, Rowena. He sent me to get you! You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble, would you?”

  With those last words, Ellie gave Rowena another gentle shove down the corridor. Rowena tripped lightly forward. After she found her footing again, she looked up to see Stephen watching her from where the corridor turned.

  He held out his hand to her. “Come, Rowena. You’ve rested long enough. I want to eat this meal with you.”

  She swallowed. He’d changed his clothes, opting for a long tunic of forest green, with pale embroidery and a snug belt keeping it secure over his undertunic. Leather thongs crisscrossed his strong calves, keeping his leggings in place. He looked every bit the lord of the manor, tall and strong, feet firmly planted shoulder width apart.

  She looked down at her borrowed tunic, one discarded by Lady Josane, and cut for a more rounded figure. If
only she’d had time to tailor this dress to her own shape. It had shorter draping sleeves and a deep, embroidered collar. The undertunic was lighter in color than the outer tunic, but showed only at the sleeves and neckline. Thankfully, she’d donned a clean veil. A plain metal diadem she’d found among the clothing kept it from slipping off her fine hair. She was able to take its length and drape it around her neck for extra modesty.

  ’Twas the best she could do, and she was grateful that the pale blue color matched her skin well. With a deep breath to embolden her, she stepped toward the splendidly dressed Stephen. He took her work-roughened hand and, after a short moment, kissed it. Her knees went foolishly weak, betraying her growing affection for this wonderful man. ’Twas as if he saw beyond her outward appearance. As though he saw something within her short, thin frame and hurting manner.

  “You had promised you would sup with me,” he said after lowering her hand. “I saw in your eyes that you wanted to. What changed?”

  She had promised, but in the time she’d spent rocking her babe, her courage had waned. “I...” Her voice dwindled away. She could not lie to him and say she was too tired or not hungry, but nor could she tell him the truth. “I shouldn’t come...”

  “Nonsense. Why would you think that?”

  Oh, ’twas so silly, she told herself sternly. “There is no reason,” she said as he set her hand onto his forearm. With her other hand lifting the long, dragging hem of her cyrtel, for Lady Josane was taller, Rowena allowed Stephen to lead her down the corridor.

  The evening meal was a far less festive affair than the night the minstrels visited. But the meal was sumptuous. Meats, cut and glazed with buttered herbs, were spread on one platter, while roasted roots and onions, each drizzled with a dark gravy, filled another. Pastry-sealed birds filled yet another large platter. Rowena spied a thick creamy pottage steaming in a tureen, and round buns dusted with fine flour encircled it.

  “You have a feast here!”

  He laughed. “Our cook received fresh provisions and was pleased to show off her talents. And we have news worthy of a celebration. First, though, let’s eat. I can’t bear to look at this food anymore without tasting it, and everyone is waiting for us.”

  News? The health of the courier? Stephen was indeed kind to use such a simple event as an excuse to offer a celebration. The chaplain said grace, and Rowena silently gave extra thanks to God for saving the young courier’s life. She shared a trencher with Stephen. He ordered it filled with tastes of everything. And then he ordered only one goblet filled. One for them to share.

  Rowena lifted her gaze and it bumped Josane’s. The older woman glared hard, forcing Rowena to drop her eyes to her hands. “I shouldn’t be at this table,” she whispered.

  “I disagree. You have saved my courier’s life and are under my protection.”

  She studied him, for as time went on, she could see subtle changes in his expression. He looked proud today.

  “Where else should you be?” he asked.

  Anywhere but here, she thought. But as quickly as those words blossomed, they faded. For Stephen smiled at her as he said softly, “We have more cause to celebrate. I wanted to tell you earlier, but you looked like you needed rest first.” His voice dropped further. “Someone has given me the name of your attacker. I have sent troops to the next village to arrest him.”

  She gasped. “You’ve found him!”

  “Shh. Not everyone knows yet, for I’m unsure of what the response will be here and there are still many questions to be answered.” He added quickly, “Your sketch did him justice. ’Twas a good likeness. His name is Hundar.”

  She didn’t know anyone by that name. “What are you going to do now? Do you just hand him over to Master Gilles? This man has tried to kill me.”

  “’Tis more complicated than that, Rowena. Yours is a civil case because you are a villein and it could be argued that ’tis just an assault, not attempted murder. We don’t want this cur to go free, so we must follow the law. A manorial court would be convened, and Gilles will be in charge of it. A jury of men will decide his guilt or innocence and Gilles will decide his fate.

  “But first, after he is brought here, I will interrogate him, and if I am satisfied he is your attacker, aye, he will go before the Gilles.”

  He continued to look pleased. “There is more to this, isn’t there?” she asked softly.

  Stephen’s expression faltered slightly. She leaned closer. “What is it?”

  “Nothing you need know.”

  Rowena wasn’t so sure. “What will Master Gilles do then?” she whispered lest he hear her.

  “Decide his punishment, most likely. By then, I’m sure I will have proved his guilt.”

  “Will he be punished here?”

  “For attacking you, aye.”

  “Is there more?”

  “I may take him to London after.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he could be organizing a rebellion against the king. That is beyond my jurisdiction.”

  “Even if Master Gilles sympathizes with him?”

  “Why should he?”

  She leaned forward to whisper, “Because Master Gilles is half-Saxon.”

  Stephen froze, his morsel of venison stalled halfway to his mouth. His voice dropped to a mere breath. “Where did you— Who told you that?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “The anchor—” Rowena lifted her arm to indicate the direction of the chapel, only to have Stephen swiftly close his left hand over hers and lower it. He leaned forward and whispered harshly, “Say nothing. Do nothing!”

  Her throat dry, Rowena resisted the urge to swallow and show her fear, trying instead to obey Stephen’s order completely. Still, she peeked up at him. Those dark eyes, usually as rich as the polished wood beneath their clasped hands, demanded her obedience with a stare so icy, she shivered.

  Then, his expression turning calm, Stephen slipped his hand from hers. With his other hand, he brought his food to his mouth.

  Any appetite she had was suddenly gone, leaving in its wake a stomach so knotted she could barely breathe. Aye, she would try to eat, but the fierceness in his tone scared her.

  “Eat, all of you. ’Tis good fare and our cook worked hard for us,” he ordered, much more loudly than his words before. To prove his sudden nonchalance, he cut into his meat again and ate with gusto. Around them, the noise level grew as several soldiers at a far table began to laugh and speak in ever-increasing volume.

  She dared another glance at Stephen, who watched the men with narrowed eyes. His lips pursed tightly together, and a crease at one corner formed as he chewed. She leaned over. “Stephen, what I said was important—”

  “I know,” he ground out. “But ’tis not the time for it. After we eat, we will speak.”

  “Milord!”

  Both Stephen and Rowena looked up. A young soldier stood in front of them, his expression agitated. He still wore his thick leather armor, and Rowena noticed heavy splatters of mud and dirt on it. Hearing a sharp sound, she looked back at the rest of the table. Josane glared, clearly more concerned with the dirt he carried in than with anything else. Gilles’s brow furrowed deeply, and the chaplain wet his lips nervously at the youth standing before the head table.

  “What is it?” Stephen asked.

  “Milord, Hundar, the Saxon you ordered to be arrested, has fled. His family refuses to say where he might have gone.” The man swiped the back of his hand across his cut and swollen cheek, leaving a smear of drying blood. He had not given up Hundar willingly.

  “Did you arrest his family?”

  “Nay, milord. They are only a sick, aged mother who is blind and half-deaf, and a young daughter. Hundar’s wife died two years ago when King William marched through here, leaving only a toddler girl. His father also d
ied in the battle. We did post a guard near his hut, should he return.”

  Cold washed through Rowena. This Hundar had lost so much already. Was he angry at the Normans? At her? A bitter man would hate any Saxon seen as a traitor.

  Stephen waved the man away, his expression darkening. He glanced at Rowena, then dropped his attention to his meal. “Eat. We will deal with this situation later.”

  The rest of the meal dragged on, with Rowena forcing herself to swallow the fine courses. Never before had she eaten sweetmeats alongside the various savory dishes, as was the Norman style. Like the tumult around her, they scrambled her senses, but she took some food in her attempt to act as if naught was wrong.

  When the meal ended, Stephen rose, and seeing him do so, the people in the hall rose with him. “Continue with your meal. Rowena and I will see the courier one last time tonight.”

  Barely reaching Stephen’s shoulder, Rowena kept her gaze down, only once peeking through her borrowed veil to see Josane and Gilles watch with suspicious interest as Stephen led her off the dais and out of the hall. Rowena noticed that the young squire immediately jumped up to follow.

  As they walked toward the front door, Rowena stopped Stephen. “Ellie says the courier is fine. We don’t need to visit him again.”

  “That may be so, but where else can we speak in private?”

  He continued, as if thinking aloud, “If what you said about Gilles is true, I need to know what he has been doing. Mayhap the courier knows, for Gilles has used him. I will question him. But first, was it the anchoress who told you this?”

  “Aye. She would not lie to me.” Rowena shivered, thinking of the poor courier just regaining his strength only to face an interrogation. “Mayhap the courier doesn’t fit into it at all. Gilles could have simply had need of him.”

  Stephen opened the door and led them out. “He hasn’t needed him before now,” he muttered.

  Rowena had no argument. Nor was she sure of how Hundar fit in. If Stephen knew, he was saying nothing of it. Outside, the crisp air was far colder than any night so far this season. The dew had already fallen and frosted the grass, and Rowena rubbed her arms as her breath streamed from her lips.