Sheltered by the Warrior Page 19

  “A cloak for Rowena,” Stephen ordered from his squire, who tarried behind them.

  She turned to watch Gaetan hurry away. “Your squire is always behind you?”

  “Only when Josane has no use for him, which hasn’t been too often lately,” he answered as they crunched across the yard. “He is the youngest son of Adrien’s oldest brother, sent to me to train him. I fear that Josane has done more of that. The boy will make an excellent handmaid if I don’t soon correct his instruction.”

  Rowena shook her head. Stephen may be making light of that situation, but she knew things were more serious. She turned as the boy hurried inside. He was a small, silent lad. She rubbed her arms again.

  “The courier will be well soon enough and can take back his duties, leaving your squire to his training.” She stopped. “But we didn’t come here only to discuss him, did we?”

  “Nay.”

  Gaetan returned with Rowena’s cloak, a battered and threadbare thing, but not so poor that it didn’t keep out the frosty night. She thanked him and asked how her son was. The lad reported that Ellie was giving him morsels of mashed food.

  Rowena wrapped her cloak around her, and they continued on toward the hospice hut. There, they roused the dozing courier, and once the lamp was lit, they could see the man was growing steadily better.

  Stephen pulled out the chair from the little table and indicated for Rowena to sit.

  “Master Gilles gave you a missive to take to London,” he stated, towering over both Rowena and the man. “Whom did you see there?”

  The man sat up. “I gave it to the palace bailiff, milord. At first.”

  “At first? Then who did you give it to?”

  “The bailiff used me to deliver it and another message to Baron Aubrey de Vere.”

  “What kind of message?”

  “A short note, milord. The bailiff wrote it in front of me.”

  Rowena glanced up at Stephen. By the set of his mouth, ’twas obvious that he did not care for his courier to be used so indiscriminately, but he said nothing of it. ’Twould be pointless to ask what was in that message, as the courier could not read.

  Rowena leaned forward. “What did Baron de Vere do after reading the note?”

  The man answered, “He ordered a servant to ask for an audience with the king.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I was sent back to the bailiff. He gave me a new missive, which I brought here.”

  His tone curt, Stephen told the man to get some rest. Rowena turned down the lamp, stirred the coals in the brazier and then followed him from the hospice hut.

  “What does all that mean?” she asked when the door was closed.

  “Baron Aubrey has the king’s ear. He has only to ask for an audience and is granted it.”

  “Who is he?”

  “An adviser to the king.”

  “What would he advise him of here?”

  “I don’t know. The last thing he counseled the king on was for many of William’s knights to be married off to Saxon ladies of influence.”

  “Like Lady Ediva?”

  “Aye.” He tilted his head. “Do you know her well?”

  “Not well, but she helped Clara provide for me. She has a kind heart.”

  “’Twas Aubrey de Vere who arranged her marriage. I was in London at that time. I remember her, for she was furious at being forced to wed again. I think she would have been happy to remain a widow.”

  “She seems happy with Baron Adrien. They have a son now.”

  Stephen kept walking, not offering his opinion. Rowena bit her lip. “You were not married off?”

  “Nay, I was useful in London at the time, and they’d run out of Saxon royalty by then. I was fortunate, for some of those marriages are in name only and are difficult to maintain.”

  Rowena swallowed. They’d “run out of Saxon royalty by then”? What if they found more, or suddenly maids from families of wealth needed husbands?

  “But more important,” Stephen said as they walked away from the hospice hut, “Gilles told me his note was merely inquiring how to do ledgers.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “Aye, what he said was true. The missive that was returned had ledger notes on it. But ’tis odd that the bailiff of London needed to send a note to Aubrey de Vere. I wonder if Gilles’s missive said more.”

  “Mayhap the second note was not related.”

  “That could be.” Stephen thought a moment. “But Aubrey de Vere has holdings on the road to Ely. He likes the country there and says ’tis mild enough for him to re-create his home in Normandy. Having the king’s ear makes him influential enough to get what he wants.”

  “Wouldn’t it be normal to want a piece of a beloved home while away from it?”

  Stephen shrugged. “I suppose. But not even the king has brought over vines and winemakers. De Vere thinks highly of himself.”

  “Can he be trusted?”

  “I trust no one in London,” he muttered. “’Tis my duty to suspect all of usurping the king.”

  “Would Aubrey de Vere do that?”

  “Nay, I don’t think he’d be so foolish, but I have heard that he and his wife took possession of more land than they are entitled to. Land near here. The king cares not for the fenland around Ely, so he ignores it, but we both know what happens when men try to take more land for the purpose of threatening the crown.”

  She shivered and drew her cloak closer. Mayhap she should have agreed to aid Stephen with his duties. She could help him read people like this Aubrey de Vere.

  It could save his life.

  Nay, he was far better at dealing with the intrigues of London. All she could do was listen as Stephen worked it out in his mind. She looked at him. “But the fens are useless lands, so Aubrey de Vere would be wasting his time. You can’t graze sheep on them, nor do they have any peat for fuel.”

  “True.” Stephen walked on slowly, still deep in thought. “I see no reason why Gilles would have anything to do with de Vere, either. Mayhap ’tis as you say and there is no connection and the bailiff used my courier for another matter.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Nay. Coincidences rarely happen where the seat of power is concerned. But there is nothing to connect Gilles to de Vere and his illegal seizure of land so close to us. And what would it have to do with Hundar, a disgruntled Saxon from another village who carries a grudge against you? Nothing makes sense, which means I don’t have all of the information.”

  Rowena wanted to ask him about what other plans he seemed to have, but suddenly, they didn’t seem as important. “But it may make sense. Master Gilles is half-Saxon.”

  Stephen stalled and turned. In the light from the moon, a knowing expression dawned on his face. “Aye! You said that at the table! How would the anchoress know that? Did Gilles tell her?”

  “Nay, she said that she recognized him as being her brother’s son. Udella’s brother and his cousin had been sent to Normandy to be schooled there. When her brother fell in love with a wealthy Norman noblewoman, she was married off to another Norman. But Udella’s brother and that woman were lovers and she became pregnant. The cousin returned to England and told Udella all of this.”

  “Udella knows who Gilles is just by looking at him?”

  Rowena could hear the skepticism in his voice. She shrugged. “By the shape of his ears, and his looks. She says he is the spit of his father.”

  “Ears? Aye, Gilles had an odd shape to his ears. I have not yet seen Udella’s ears, but now that ’tis mentioned, I can see a resemblance between him and Udella.” He paused. “Josane said that Udella asked her about Gilles’s birth, so she must have been confirming what she suspected. What else did she say? Did she tell Gilles?”

&
nbsp; “Nay. She feared for his life. She wanted to ask the king if Master Gilles could be given this estate but didn’t want the king to ask why.”

  Stephen nodded. “Gilles and I fought at William’s side, though Gilles is not a full-time soldier. Udella was here when we marched through. Did she tell anyone else?”

  “Nay. The only persons who knew who Gilles really was were some of the older villagers, whom Udella swore to secrecy. Then you returned as baron with Master Gilles as part of your family. She got what she wanted, to have Gilles close.”

  “And since Gilles was married and I am not, there is a good chance that he would have sons long before me. Mayhap she was hoping that Gilles has a son who will inherit this holding.”

  Remembering more, Rowena caught Stephen’s arm. “Udella said that she had planned to tell Gilles who he was, but changed her mind. What if his mother felt keeping her son’s sire a secret would preserve his life and position? I know that when I learned that Taurin wanted to lie about Andrew’s parentage, my babe’s life was at risk because all of Normandy would have seen him as heir to a vast area of land.”

  At Taurin’s name, Stephen’s scowl deepened. “Speak no more of that vile man. The only good he did was bring you here with your babe.”

  She felt her face heat and, afraid Stephen would see her reaction, dropped her hand.

  “Nay, Rowena, look at me.”

  She looked up into his eyes. She could see the partially full moon reflected in them. They stood near the chapel, and after a glance around him, Stephen drew her into its shadows. Off toward the center of the surrounds of buildings, the squire stood. He was small and skinny, not yet filled out, but looking the other way, in the direction of the manor house.

  “You asked me to be Andrew’s guardian should anything happen to you.”

  “You declined.”

  “Because ’twas not born of trust.”

  She said nothing.

  “Do you trust me now, Rowena?”

  She swallowed, afraid of what he might ask if she said yes.

  “Mayhap I should put it this way. I will see to your son’s care should anything happen to you.”

  “But that is not born of real care for Andrew.”

  He chuckled softly. “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?”

  She agreed, but held her tongue on the matter. Thinking quickly, she whispered, “Please don’t approach Udella. She told me about Gilles in confidence. Only what has happened has forced me to say something.”

  He didn’t answer right away. But finally, he nodded. “Nay, I will say nothing of this and neither should you. ’Tis unlikely Gilles knows anything, if the village’s elderly kept their promise. And they would, for surely they would see him as much a Norman as I am. Your child is hated and he is only half-Norman.

  “As for what went on in London, it makes no sense for Aubrey de Vere to concern himself with the borrowing of ledgers between bailiffs. I’m unsure of the connection, but we will soon capture Hundar, as he’s likely to return home. Then we’ll have our answers.”

  Rowena pressed her hand to Stephen’s warm chest. “Thank you so much for all of this. Where would I be without your kindness?”

  He took her hand and kissed it. Then, drawing her close, he released her hand to curl his around her neck, under her veil.

  Then he lowered his lips to touch hers, a soft brush like the first time, but suddenly ’twas bursting forth like wildflowers after a night’s rain. She gripped him back, allowing herself to follow the sweep of emotion and longing.

  He answered her kiss further. They clung to each other, tasting supper on each other’s lips, the lingering honey from the sweetmeats and the cool, tangy cider. She wanted, nay, needed, his embrace, and emboldened by the strength of her emotions, she kissed him with far more abandon than she thought possible.

  He lifted his head. “Do you trust me now, Rowena?”

  She backed away. And she nearly ached with yearning to stay in his arms. There, she felt protected, sheltered. But this was her life and she had to think of Andrew. He still needed her, in spite of Stephen’s assurance he would be cared for.

  You trust God, and you know nothing of Him. You know Stephen.

  Stephen stepped back, but Rowena could still feel his gaze heavy upon her. She dared to peek up at him. Finally, she whispered, “I trust God and I know Him not, so I should trust you, or I’ll be nothing but a hypocrite. I know you’ll do your best for Andrew.”

  Stephen’s brows shot up. “I am not worthy to be compared to our Savior. But I accept that you are trying to trust. We have to start somewhere.”

  “Milord?”

  Stephen turned toward the lawn, where his squire stood.

  “Someone is coming,” the boy whispered.

  Immediately voices rang out from the manor house as a stream of people advanced. Stephen pushed Rowena deeper into the shadows and stood next to his squire.

  She peered into the crowd. Josane strode ahead of the rest. “Stephen, this Saxon demands to see you.”

  A short, stocky man stepped from the curious crowd. “Milord, please forgive this late hour,” he began in a scratchy voice. “I have been traveling for many days, desperate to find my beloved daughter—”

  Rowena gasped in horrible recognition.

  Her father had found her.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Nay!”

  At the sound of Rowena’s soft word, her father peered into the darkened shadows. Still as stone, she fought the urge to flee.

  No more fear, she told herself. No begging for food, nor cowering when the men came into the barn. She was worth more than the small sack of coins that had been tossed at her father’s feet as Taurin had grabbed her arm. She knew this now.

  It may have been Taurin who treated her the most cruelly, but her father had pushed her onto that path. Her fists curled, her jaw tightened. That man would never hurt her again!

  Rowena flew from her sheltered spot. In the next breath, she reached her father and drilled her fists in a rapid tattoo against his chest. “Go back to your filthy farm!”

  Someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her off her father. She wrenched herself free. From the direction of the manor, a guard rushed, carrying a long torch.

  Rowena turned to glare at the man who’d dared to pull her from beating her father. She gasped. ’Twas Stephen! Nay, did he not remember all she’d told him about this man?

  “Rowena? Why did you hit me?” The man peered through the flickering light at her face.

  “Why! Are you addled?” She lunged at him again.

  “Stop!” Stephen pulled her hard toward him before pinning her hands behind her back. She struggled with all she had, feeling her mind spinning out of control like a child’s toy. The yard and people around her blurred as her heart raced faster and faster. With a deft movement, Stephen wrapped his arms around her and yanked her close. She felt his tight grip and shut her eyes.

  “Rowena! Stop!” His harsh whisper brushed past her ear. “You’ll only hurt yourself!”

  She stilled, her breathing fast and short, her head spinning and dizziness threatening to drop her like a stone. After a moment of shocked silence, Rowena felt her heart slow, her breath ease.

  “’Tis not the place.” He looked at Rowena’s father. “What is your name?”

  “I am Alfred, son of Althen. I’m a poor man, milord, but a free one. I own my own hide of land.”

  “Well, Althenson.” Stephen gave him a last name. Rowena had never heard of one in their family, only among those who came from Normandy. “We will go into the hall,” Stephen told everyone.

  Still wrapped in his arms, Rowena shook her head. “I won’t stand in the same room as that man!”

  “Rowena, why?” Her father looked up at Stephen,
his expression gaping. “My lord, I don’t understand this. My daughter, my flesh and blood! She ran away over a year ago, but I have found her safe in your fine care! Blessings to you, milord! Blessings!”

  Rowena glared. “Whose blessings?”

  “My own, Rowena. I heard where you were and I left immediately to come for you.”

  She stiffened. Turning her head slightly, she said to Stephen, “You can release me, milord. I will not shame you with my behavior anymore.”

  Slowly, Stephen let her go. She stood resolute and in control, as tall as she could make herself. “I did not run away. You sold me to Lord Taurin. Have you forgotten your vile actions?”

  Althenson stared blankly at her, then at Stephen, his expression showing shock. In the dancing light of the torch as it buffeted about in the breeze, he shook his head. Oh, how she wished she could read his true emotions, but her own had built a wall against him so high, she could never reach over it.

  “Lord Taurin came to us, but I refused his offer,” her father said. “He threatened to beat me, but I refused him still. Only when he saw he was outnumbered, for our kin was close at hand, did he finally leave!”

  Rowena snapped her stare to Stephen, but with his expression inscrutable, he said nothing. “Nay, Lord Stephen, do not believe him!”

  He held up his hand. “’Tis not a matter to discuss outside. We will take it into the hall, where I will listen to it.”

  When the crowd moved away, Gilles stepped forward into the light. “I should be deciding this case, Stephen.”

  “Nay, ’tis not your jurisdiction. The king granted her freedom, personally, so we shouldn’t treat this matter in a simple manorial court, not with the chance of William visiting this winter and learning of it. Come inside, all of you.”

  He strode past Rowena without as much as another glance her way. She felt as though her life were dissolving, but she somehow managed to follow him. All the while, so many eyes seemed glued to her like insects caught in tree sap.