Sheltered by the Warrior Page 5

  Josane sliced into his memory. “All the more reason to foster Rowena somewhere else. You of all people know what Saxons can do. Did they not take our brother’s life at Hastings?”

  He inwardly recoiled. Their younger brother, Corvin, had been a fine, dedicated soldier. He’d fought hard during that battle, but his life had ended when a Saxon blade pierced his heart moments before King Harold’s own death. ’Twas mayhap the reason William had bestowed so much honor on Stephen. He’d inherited his brother’s share, as well.

  Such a hefty price. Immediately, he tried to harden himself against the inner pain. He would die to bring his younger brother back.

  Josane folded her arms. “For all we know, these Saxons set that fire themselves in order to create dissent here. And with that girl already aligned with Normans, they would gladly rid the village of her.”

  “’Twas an unfastened spark box that caused the fire,” he responded.

  His sister shook her head in disgust as she continued in French, “You may be able to handle the intricacies of court in London, Stephen, but this village is totally different. Do not allow your heart to lead you because one maid looks at you with eyes like a fawn. I fear you’re getting soft away from the king.”

  He darkened. “My heart does not rule me, woman!”

  “The villagers—”

  “Will obey me,” he snapped back in his mother tongue. “And you will obey, also! This is my estate, Josane, and you work as chatelaine for me. Remember that!” He tossed a look over his sister’s shoulder. The maids’ chamber door remained ajar, and he caught a glimpse of Rowena peering wide-eyed at him across the small room. Aye, with those great fawn eyes Josane had been kind enough to mention. He drove his attention back to his sister. “I may not be the best person to trust, especially after Hastings. But you will obey me!”

  Josane went dead silent. He could feel her stare. “I will, but you’ve brought home a Saxon like ’twas a lost puppy. And I know you. You plan to—”

  He pierced her with a harsh glare. “Be quiet! And be advised, Josane—Rowena speaks French.”

  His sister suddenly recoiled. “So the Saxons do have good reason to suspect her. And you dragged her here. So typical of a man to see only to his wants.” With that, she stormed off.

  Stewing at his sister’s accusation, Stephen turned his back on her, only to have his gaze meet Rowena’s again. Though her eyes were as round as bowls, they gave away nothing but innocent concern.

  Was there such a thing in a Saxon dealing with a Norman? Doubting that, he was about to turn away when her voice reached him.

  “Milord?”

  Chapter Five

  Lord Stephen turned, stretched out his arm to push the door open farther. At his sheer size, Rowena drew a long breath. Aye, this chamber’s door was smaller than the others she’d passed in the manor, and he had to duck just to enter, but to have him straighten up once again in the middle of this tiny room completely overwhelmed her.

  “What is wrong?” he asked tightly.

  Looking up at him, Rowena swallowed her sudden apprehension. “I—I couldn’t help but overhear, milord,” she began in English. “I did not start that fire, not even by accident. The spark-box lid was closed, I know it! The fire was started from outside and burned its way through the thatch. I could see it.” She paused. “Your sister is older than you. She expects you to respect her beliefs, but she’s wrong about me.”

  “How do you know we are siblings?”

  “She said ‘our brother’ when she mentioned Hastings. Milord, she doesn’t want to be here, and—”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I can tell. She’s not happy here. And angry at you. Not because of your brother, though his death haunts you.” She stopped and shrugged. How did she surmise all of this? ’Twas just by looking at Lady Josane that she knew. For years she’d been able to guess people’s motives. And she’d learned Taurin’s emotions easily. She did not catch all of the conversation between the siblings, but she knew something serious was stirring. “’Tis of no import right now. My home is. I did not leave the spark box open!”

  Lord Stephen folded his arms. When he did not answer, she tried again. “You have to believe me! Why would I put my child at risk? Why would I set fire to the roof directly above the door, my only escape? If I didn’t care about my child’s life, would I have shoved you back when you reached for him yesterday morning? Would I have risked punishment?”

  Rowena had no idea whether her earnest words convinced him. He did nothing but stand in the middle of the room, and the only sounds were of Ellie shifting as she stood over the pallet that held Andrew. The baby had dropped off to sleep, oblivious to the events around him. Rowena thought out a fast prayer. Lord God, help Lord Stephen to understand me. Help me to convince him.

  Finally Stephen spoke. “What do you want me to do?”

  Rowena hesitated. What did she want him to do? She didn’t want to stay in her hut, but she didn’t want to stay here, either. And she certainly did not want to be bound, albeit through gratitude only, to another Norman.

  When Taurin had purchased her, ’twas as if she’d gone from the fry pan into the fire. Now it seemed as though she had been tossed back into the fry pan again.

  Nay. She was a free woman, and in the time she’d spent with Clara, both in hiding from Taurin this summer past and here as the midwife had helped her settle into her new home, she had learned how to stand up for herself. Clara was a good teacher. ’Twas time to put the lessons to use and make her mentor proud.

  Rowena straightened her shoulders. “I have been vandalized, milord, and my life put in jeopardy. Is there anyone here who can find out who is to blame? Your brother-in-law, mayhap? He assigned me my hut. He seems to run this village. Can he not help me?”

  At the mention of his brother-in-law, Stephen’s mouth tightened. “Gilles is my bailiff, but he hears only civil cases. It is a bit complicated what is civil or criminal. But the major criminal cases are decided in London. We can convene a manorial court, which is a civil court, but the case must be compiled first and the culprit found. Gilles cannot investigate if he is to be the judge.”

  Rowena sagged. “So, I have no one to help me?”

  Stephen pulled up a chair and sank heavily into it. It creaked under his weight. The two small lamps flickered warm light onto his tired features, cutting sharp angles along his jaw and cheeks. It had been a long night, and Rowena wondered if they shouldn’t leave this until the morning.

  But she couldn’t. Any desire to delay was caused by naught but fear and shame for asking. She leaned forward again. “Who could possibly help me? I have no relatives here.”

  Stephen shook his head. “You are a villein here. Do you know what that means?”

  “Aye. Master Gilles told me how I cannot leave without your permission and of my obligation to work your lands, milord, three days each week. I have started to do so! He also spelled out my right to protection. But if he cannot help me, who can?”

  Stephen leaned back. After a moment when nothing was heard but the soft breaths of expectation, he said, “I will help you.”

  Hearing Ellie’s short intake of breath, Rowena gaped at Stephen. “You will?”

  “You say that you’re being persecuted but don’t know by whom. I will find out who it is and why.”

  Hope surged in her, but there was something about his words that didn’t feel as open as they should. Or was it the look around his eyes?

  Still, Rowena said, “Thank you.” For a brief moment, he’d shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, their gazes met. Even in the dimly lit chamber, for one lamp had just winked out, Rowena could see his eyes. The remaining lamp’s flame flickered in the dark brown circles, and when he parted his lips as if to speak, she found herself drawn toward him like a thirsty animal to
ward water. Her heart thundered in her chest and she quickly prayed that he would not renege on his offer.

  “Bienvenue,” he finally murmured in French. “But ’tis not as simple as it sounds. You must trust me completely in this.”

  Rowena stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “You will stay here out of harm’s way while I investigate these attacks.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You will say and do nothing.” Those dark eyes hardened. “You must put all your faith in my ability to handle this situation. Do you understand?”

  Indignation flared within her. Was she a dolt who needed everything spelled out? Did he expect her to trust blindly? Was he addled?

  Still, Lord Stephen had promised to help her when no one else would. “I understand,” she murmured. “But I can—”

  “Nay. I expect your complete obedience.”

  Like the bone in her spark box receiving fresh air, she felt heat flare inside her. “Obedience? Am I a slave again, or mayhap a prisoner here? I know I am a villein and bound to the land, but why should I be punished for the suffering I’ve endured? I should be helping!”

  Stephen stood. He towered over her like the keep at Dunmow when she’d finally met her sponsor, Lord Adrien. “You cannot! Nor are you being punished. I know exactly how to deal with this situation and these people. Nay, you are not a slave. But you will do as I say.”

  Rowena folded her arms. “I will not live here owing you.”

  He blew out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. You can be in my employ.”

  “Doing what?”

  He rolled his eyes. Then he paused, and Rowena could see his gaze turn calculating. Her heart chilled.

  “Mayhap since you are so good at identifying people’s feelings, I can use you to read those who come to this manor looking for an end to their disputes.” He held up his finger. “Perhaps you can tell me when people are lying.”

  Rowena shook her head. “Use me to read people? Am I a tool, like a pitchfork?” She stiffened. “Nay, milord. I have had my fill of intrigue. I will not be forced into the middle of it again.”

  “Your fill of intrigue? How so?” His brows shot up in question, but she refused to enlighten him.

  Instead she dropped her gaze, wondering if she had pushed her demand to earn her stay here too much. Would he turn her out to fend for herself?

  Nay. There was a goodness in him, she was sure of it.

  Lord, guide me.

  “We had agreed that I could make rope in exchange for food. Mayhap I could make more to pay for my stay here?”

  She craned her neck to see his face. Would he accept that instead? He met her searching gaze, but she couldn’t read it. He’d been in London, he’d said before, and from what she’d learned from Taurin, London was filled with conspiracy and danger. Stephen must have learned to hide his feelings there.

  Finally he nodded, stirring up all scenarios. What were his plans for an investigation? Why was he willing to help locate her persecutor? No man had ever just volunteered anything. Would his plans involve punishing everyone here in order to extract a confession? How could that possibly help? She asked, “What will you do to find my attacker?”

  “Did I not just demand faith in my abilities?” Lord Stephen snapped. Then, with a long sigh, he rubbed his forehead. “’Tis the middle of the night, Rowena, and we are both tired. I will speak to you on the morrow.”

  He turned to Ellie, and her heart sinking, Rowena knew he was right. They were exhausted. “See to Rowena’s needs. Her ankle will need attention, and clearly she needs some clothes. I believe my sister has given you maids some old cyrtels. One should be suitable.”

  Rowena drew the edges of her undertunic together at the neck as Ellie bobbed in obedience.

  With a final glance around the tight quarters, Stephen bid her good-night and left.

  Rowena slid her gaze over to Ellie. Still standing beside the pallet, the maid wrung her hands. “Rowena, you must not argue with Baron Stephen!”

  “I didn’t argue with him. I asked for his help.”

  The maid walked around the pallet to reach a crude wooden box in the corner. There were several pallets packed into the room, but Rowena had yet to meet the other maids who used them. Mayhap they were busy in the kitchen? Ellie dragged the box into the meager circle of lamplight. “Lord Stephen’s giving you his help, is he not?” she said, pulling out a dark blue cyrtel and holding it high to examine it. As if satisfied, she lowered it to peer pointedly at Rowena. “But you can’t tell him how he must help you!”

  Rowena folded her arms. Her ankle had begun to throb, and she was in no mood to explain her reasoning. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” she responded testily. “I may be a foolish farm girl, but I have every right to ask how Lord Stephen plans to help me. What if his plans would hurt my son? Had I been asleep, Andrew would have died. I don’t care about my own life, but I do care for his!”

  Ellie folded the cyrtel and set it on her pallet close to Andrew’s tiny feet. Clara had made him a warm bunting outfit, warning Rowena not to swaddle him too tightly for too long. By now, his feet pressed against the lower seam. Ellie tugged on it to help make more room for him, but ’twas a wasted effort. She then pulled up the chair Stephen had vacated to gently prop up Rowena’s injured foot and lift the hem of her undertunic to see the ankle.

  While wincing, Rowena fought the urge to press her point of not trusting any Norman until he’d proved himself. Should she really rely upon Lord Stephen? “Do you think he will do as he promised?”

  “Aye.” Ellie paused in her examination as she nodded to Rowena. The lamplight shone warmly on the girl’s earnest expression. Her cyrtel fit snugly, as if she had blossomed into womanhood too soon. She needed those secondhand cyrtels as much as Rowena did. Mayhap Lady Josane had passed them down to her because she’d seen the girl nearly busting from her own cyrtel. “I understand what you’re saying, Rowena. I, too, wonder what cost his promise will be to us Saxons.”

  Was Ellie suggesting that this village would suffer punishment for Rowena’s misfortune? She wet her lips. Not a good start to living here when already the villagers distrusted her. “What do you mean?”

  With a glance to the closed door, Ellie answered, “Lord Stephen is said to do the king’s...how do I put it? Filthy work? His dirty work that no one else can do.”

  Rowena gasped. “Like murder?”

  “Nay!” Ellie shook her head briskly. “Oh, I’m not explaining this right. How can I say it? The court in London is rife with intrigue, they claim. People switch allegiances as quickly as the weather turns. ’Tis said the king needs an ear to be where the schemes against him are plotted. He needs someone who can rid him of those against him.”

  Rowena swallowed. That did not sound good. “So Lord Stephen is as sly as a fox?”

  “’Twould be wise not to irritate him. His allegiance is to God and the king, and only them. Some say he is more ruthless than the king himself.”

  “’Tis hardly Christian.”

  Ellie pressed her knuckles against her mouth and thought a moment. “I heard Lady Josane say once that Lord Stephen has never done anything unbefitting of his duty to King William, and that since God put the king on the throne, Lord Stephen’s duty was also God-given.”

  “God didn’t crown King William. Lord Taurin sa—The king crowned himself.”

  Setting the hem gently over Rowena’s swollen ankle, Ellie went on, “’Tis a dangerous attitude, Rowena. Speak no more of it. Aye, milord is harsh, but he will keep this village safe for both Saxon and Norman. I have faith in him.”

  “How? He hasn’t done a good job so far.”

  “Beyond the forest and fens is Ely. Many here feared the king would destroy us if he marched through to fight the rebels there. Indeed, he would’ve razed our l
and two years ago had it not been for our anchoress, Lady Udella, who pleaded for our safety, and for Lord Stephen, who offered to keep her here. We should be grateful that milord took this holding, instead of one who cares not for anything but power.”

  Rowena swallowed. Aye, she knew one baron who cared for nothing but power.

  Ellie continued, “Some men in the village say that Baron Stephen is here to punish men who would try to be rid of a Norman king.” She shivered openly. “I have heard talk in this manor house that the king is moving north to harry the rebels there. I pray he bypasses Kingstown. ’Tis not a good time to live here. Some of the villagers would swear fealty, then break their promise as soon as the opportunity arises. ’Twill not bode well for our village should even one of us turn our allegiance from the king.”

  With that, Ellie spun on her heel and left, adding a quick mutter that she would return with some knitbone leaves in which to wrap Rowena’s ankle. Alone and unable to move in the near dark, for the second lamp threatened to die, Rowena fought back fear. She was to trust Baron Stephen, a man whom his own servants said was harsh?

  Nay. She’d be a fool to put her faith in him during this dangerous time. Baron Stephen’s sister, the chatelaine and obviously his equal, didn’t want Rowena here. Saxons shunned her. She couldn’t even go home to her parents’ farm, for she would surely be turned away, what with bringing another mouth to feed. Not that she would return. Not after her father had sold her.

  She had no champion, save herself.

  She stopped her thoughts. Wouldn’t God help her? Did she have so little faith? Forgive me, Lord.

  Ellie returned with the leaves and a dark poultice to plaster carefully around Rowena’s ankle. Rowena sucked in her breath as Ellie pressed the cool remedy against the swollen flesh. She would be laid up for days, a prisoner trapped by her injury, obliged to let Baron Stephen act as he would. The baron’s priorities were not to find her attacker. They were to suppress a rebellion. He would hardly allow his promise to her to hinder that great task.