Sheltered by the Warrior Page 7

  “’Tis not true!”

  She shot up her head and glared. “I’m not lying to you, my lord! ’Tis a hard life with eight girls to marry off, and then get another one, a runt, no less, to care for!”

  “Don’t defend your father, Rowena! What he did was wrong. No Christian man would—”

  “My father didn’t believe in the one true God! ’Twas how Lord Taurin justified his purchase of me. King William banned the sale of Christian slaves. My father practiced the old pagan ways. He said that bringing Christianity to England had given Saxons bad luck. It wasn’t until I met Clara that I became a Christian.”

  “Clara?”

  “The midwife who risked her life to save me. She opened my eyes to God and how He loves me. She also petitioned Lord and Lady Dunmow to ask the king for my freedom, and then she came here with me to see me settled. Had it not been for her, I wouldn’t have been freed. Taurin would have killed me for fear I would reveal his evil plan.”

  Stephen shut his mouth, trying to digest all she’d said. Aye, King William had banned the sale of Christian slaves, but he may not have considered that England still had her share of backward pagans in remote areas. ’Twas a cruel twist to the law. “So, you thought you’d been saved when Taurin bought you? But he was just as cruel?”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “Although when he realized I was carrying his child, I was given more food and a warm place to sleep. At first I thought the cruelty was over, but Lord Taurin has an evil streak.”

  “How did you end up at Dunmow? Did Clara help you?”

  “I escaped on my own. I feared for my life, though I feared more for the life of my unborn child. So I traveled to Colchester, where I met Clara.”

  “Wasn’t Clara in Dunmow?”

  “She later moved to Dunmow to help Lady Ediva birth her son.” She paused when Andrew fussed. After he settled again, she continued.

  “When I realized that soon I would be too heavy with child to travel, I slipped away from Taurin’s estate. He was visiting another of his holdings and there were some families passing our way to take their goods to the market in Colchester. They had spent the night in Taurin’s great hall.” She captured Stephen’s gaze and held it. “I simply covered my head and walked out with them, right past Taurin’s steward and guards.”

  Stephen gaped at her.

  “If the gate is narrow, all the sheep jam in front of it, and if the farmer is impatient, he opens the gate wide. Then the sheep rush through and ’tis hard to count them. One man had many children, all noisy, so the guard at the village gate opened it fully and we all rushed through.”

  A magnificent tactic, excellent in its simplicity. He would have to instruct his own men on the dangers of impatience. “Didn’t anyone notice an extra girl?”

  “Nay. Besides, I watched the guards and stayed closer to the one who cared the least.”

  There she went again, reading people. Rowena was most likely better at it than he was, a skill forced on a victim who proved naturally talented.

  “How did you get out of your chamber, anyway?”

  “The servant who was to mind me forgot to lock the door. He would have returned at sunset and discovered me gone, but by then, we were far away. We were a big group and the leaders didn’t want to dawdle. As for the father of all those children, he realized what had happened only after we’d reached Broad Oak.”

  “’Tis the king’s land and well managed. The men there guard that forest well.”

  “All the more reason for Saxons to hurry through. But ’twasn’t the only reason. Cattle plague had struck there, and the men in our group were reluctant to linger and risk the oxen that pulled their cart falling sick, as well. No one wanted to waste time dealing with me. So we hurried to Colchester. When we arrived there, the father’s wife found Clara, for she had already guessed my condition by then and was anxious to be rid of me.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Clara protected me, even after I gave birth. ’Twas a hard summer, being hidden from Lord Taurin, who was searching for me, and knowing that Clara was also in danger just for hiding me. Only after Lord Taurin found me and tried to steal Andrew was it revealed that he planned to kill me and his wife and pass Andrew off as her child. Her family had promised to bestow large portions of land on him for giving them a son of their only child.”

  Ah, Stephen thought, and should this wealthy couple in Normandy lose their beloved daughter, her babe would be that much more valuable to them. He’d heard a bit of this trickery whilst at his other holding and how Taurin had been sent back to Normandy, his lands stripped from him and a heavy fine imposed, all within a few days, all at Lord Adrien’s urging. Stephen hadn’t seen any threat to William after the fact, for the baron was disliked all-round and was soon gone from London, so he’d not returned there. Adrien and the soldier Stephen left in charge of the King’s Guard had handled the affair well.

  What of the rest of Rowena’s tale, though? It was astonishing, but he knew enough not to believe every story that reached his ears. ’Twas more than convenient that the Saxon father didn’t want to linger at Broad Oak, with its extra Normans and cattle plague threatening the man’s own oxen. But hadn’t the spark box already proved Rowena was honest?

  Stephen looked at her, trying to assess her sincerity, but instead saw her soft, pale hair light up in the lamp’s single, unwavering flame and watched her stay as still as stone, the blue cyrtel hanging off her slight frame. She blinked and held his gaze. He watched with fascination her small, upturned nose with its dusting of fine freckles, though her complexion could surely be described as the cream that rose from fresh milk.

  Milkmaids had perfect skin. ’Twas not for the milk they drank, as some might say, but ’twas the odd fact they usually caught cowpox, which sealed their skin to the perfect pale sheen he saw mere inches from him. Would it be as soft as it looked under his rough palm?

  Stephen pulled away mentally. Josane had warned him not to think with his heart. Indeed, ’twas dangerous to allow his heart to think at all. Especially now that he planned to use Rowena. One didn’t get attached to the bait one used for fishing.

  Rowena leaned forward, her eyes still wide and her mouth still parted. “Milord, my story is true, but it changes nothing. You must be careful. Whoever wants me dead could easily kill you. How many Normans have died mysteriously since King William was crowned?”

  Stephen tightened his lips. Too many. New rumors surfaced each week. Norman couriers, lone soldiers disappearing mysteriously. He frowned. “’Tis very generous to be concerned with my personal safety, though I question your motives. You’ve already demonstrated your distrust of me.”

  Rowena looked away. His barb had hit its target. “You say you will find my attacker, milord. If ’tis true, then I should do my best to keep you alive. But if ’tis not true, you are still Norman, correct?”

  He nodded, waiting for her next words, for her thoughts were quiet, well-ordered for a simple maid.

  “Then better to keep my enemy close than to face one who is unknown. Lord Taurin said, ‘Know your friends well and your enemies better.’”

  Stephen lifted his brows. “The mind of a warrior,” he murmured, recalling an earlier thought about her, “with the face like one of those maids who sing in court.”

  “I’ve heard of minstrels traveling and singing for their suppers. Someone once said they dance high in the air and have trained animals doing all sorts of tricks, plus acts of great mystery!” She sobered. “Do they visit here? It would be wonderful to see them.”

  Stephen paused. An interesting thought. Although Rowena’s reasons were wistful, his were far shrewder. Aye, wouldn’t it irk her attacker to see her upon the baron’s dais, seated in a place of honor as they watched the performers? It may stir up enough dissension to force an attack. Stephen allowed a small smile. With
his men in strategic places, even hidden from view, they’d be ready to make enough arrests to quell any rebellious ideas permanently.

  He nodded. “’Tis a good idea. I will consider it.”

  Rowena stiffened and her eyes flashed with sudden brilliance. She lowered her injured leg, then struggled up to standing, but only on one foot, for the other one, well poulticed and still swollen, hung from her bent knee. “I thank you, milord, but I can see that ’tis not for the same reason I have.” She shook her head gravely. “And you want me to trust you? How can you be trusted to save my life and my babe’s when you’re planning something terrible?”

  Chapter Seven

  Rowena didn’t want to hear the answer to her questions, for ’twould be as awful as any plan Taurin thought up, she was sure. Lord Stephen wanted her to trust in him, and yet that glint in his eye warned her otherwise.

  Nay, don’t listen! ’Twould be safer just to leave this manor house. She and the babe had survived alone so far. She would manage again.

  Those years of weeding her parents’ garden, scrounging for food when her empty belly ached, had taught her well. Many a day Rowena had chewed on bitter herbs to set the hunger at bay. Later Clara had taught her which greens would strengthen her through a cold, hungry winter.

  ’Twould be far better away from this warm manor house, all the while wondering what plan he schemed. How many lives would be lost? How would those villagers who hated her retaliate?

  Stephen rose, his spine as straight as the sword dangling from his lean hips.

  No answer came. Instead, Stephen pivoted on his heel and strode out, his long surcoat flaring and his sword smacking his chair so quickly it wobbled.

  Rowena watched the door slam behind him and listened as his harsh footfalls died away. Shaking and no longer able to hold her weight on her good ankle, she fell back into her chair again. Beside her, Andrew cried briefly before settling down to a nap. She blew out a sigh, thankful she didn’t have to deal with a fussy babe. Her hands shook so much, she’d surely drop him.

  The chair that Stephen had used finally came to rest. What had just happened? He had not even answered her. Did that mean he had no wish to speak of his own cruelty? Mayhap keeping her ignorant was part of the control he’d commanded over this whole investigation. How could she just sit and wait for the terrible events to play themselves out? Did he expect her simply to look forward to a minstrel troupe like an innocent child?

  Her stomach hurting, Rowena tried taking a deep breath to quell her fears.

  Clara had told her God was but a prayer away. “Lord,” Rowena whispered, “what am I supposed to do? What is Your will here? Should I warn someone, even one who hates me?”

  The door opened again, and in breezed Ellie with a wooden bowl. Rowena jumped.

  “Oh, dear, you’re as white as snow! Is your ankle worse? Why isn’t it propped up?” The girl dropped to her knees and looked down at Rowena’s foot. “Mayhap these cold cloths will bring the swelling down.”

  Rowena sucked in her breath as the cold, wet strips of linen hit her hot skin. Yet they felt good. They forced her mind away from all Lord Stephen had said.

  And had not said.

  Should she put her faith in him regardless? Rowena choked on the whimper that rose in her throat, hating that even Stephen’s silence spoke as much fear as his words demanded she trust him.

  “You need to rest, with your foot up,” Ellie ordered, interpreting Rowena’s agony as from her injury. “See, your babe has the right idea. Look at him sleep. Let’s get you down onto the pallet and I’ll prop up that leg of yours. Then I’ll see about a tea to ease the pain. Willow bark will help.”

  Ellie helped Rowena down and, after propping the leg on a stool, stood back to admire her handiwork.

  Rowena swallowed another sob, hating that she wasn’t sure if she should say something about Lord Stephen’s silent plans. Would people like Ellie even believe her? “Ellie, you’re so kind to me! Why?”

  Ellie laughed, seemingly oblivious to the emotions churning within her charge. “Because you need a friend, I guess.”

  “’Twill be dangerous for you. Someone wants me dead. If you help me, they may want you dead, as well!”

  Immediately Ellie’s expression sobered and grew almost fierce. “Then you’ll need a friend all the more.” She dropped to her knees on the pallet and shook her head. “Why is someone trying to kill you? It makes no sense. You have nothing, and ’tis obvious that you’re more in need than any in the village. With the babe, I mean.” She stopped a moment, toying with the blanket that she’d tucked around both Rowena and Andrew. “They say you were a mistress to a Norman. That’s not true, is it?”

  “’Tis true, but not by choice.” In the dim light, Rowena felt her cheeks flush.

  Ellie shook her head. “I don’t understand. If the villagers punish you for what happened, it would only cause them to be punished by Lord Stephen. He keeps the law here quite firmly. Besides, you wouldn’t be the first Saxon maid a Norman has—well, you know... My kinfolk must realize this. They aren’t that addled.”

  “What if it’s a Norman who wants me dead?”

  Jaw dropping, Ellie sat back. “A Norman? Like Lord Stephen or Master Gilles? Why? It wouldn’t gain them anything. Not even the soldiers have a reason to hurt you, and I know several of them who enjoy...um, throwing their weight around.”

  Rowena considered Ellie’s words. What if her attacker was a soldier who was akin to Lord Taurin, or aligned with him? What if they stood to gain something from her death, like land in Normandy or money? If Andrew died, mayhap some distant relative, who was here in Kingstown, would inherit Taurin’s property!

  But didn’t King William banish Lord Taurin? Hadn’t he taken his land as punishment? The king had appropriated all of her father’s land shortly after the Battle of Hastings, then he’d offered her parents a chance to purchase a portion of it back should they have the money.

  In the sudden quiet of the chamber, Rowena bit her lip. Was that why her father had sold her into slavery? To buy back his land?

  Rowena longed to roll over, away from Ellie’s earnest gaze. But her propped-up foot prevented any movement. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried not to think of any reason someone might want her dead.

  And what Lord Stephen planned to do.

  Both questions scared her deeply.

  * * *

  Stephen wiped his damp brow with the back of his wrist. Today had been far too difficult and the sun of this late-summer hot spell too blazing for his distracted mood.

  Rowena had guessed that he planned to lure out her attacker. She didn’t guess any details, but she knew. Then she asked how he could be trusted to save her and her babe’s lives while plotting something terrible.

  He couldn’t be, and that realization rocked him hard.

  He hadn’t even been able to save Corvin’s life, and his brother was a seasoned soldier, good with a sword and as agile as one of those acrobats whom he planned to bring here.

  Oh, Corvin, why did you die?

  And the anger his death had caused. Such pain in his family still bit into him like vinegar in a wound. His mother’s grieving, all the harsh words spoken, even by Josane. She missed her youngest brother, who’d been almost like a son to her. It all hurt. Was his plot to lure out Rowena’s attacker driven by his own grief?

  Stephen’s thoughts returned to Rowena. What circumstances had taught her how to discern people’s morality?

  Adrien de Ries would know. Stephen pulled up on the reins of his courser as he approached the far barn. The big beast stopped, allowing him a moment to pretend to supervise the men thatching the roof. He’d already ensured that the embankment being cleared through the forest was progressing well. As soon as he returned to his manor, he’d dispatch a letter to Adrien asking for a co
mplete explanation of Rowena’s past. She had told him some, but the situation required more from another who would know the truth.

  ’Twas better than asking her for more, for her fawn-like eyes and innocence stirred guilt. Why did he think he could protect her?

  “Milord?”

  Stephen looked down at his reeve, Osgar, who’d approached when he’d ridden into view. The man reached for the horse’s bridle, stilling the great beast with a calm hand. Stephen had selected Osgar last year to oversee the maintenance and repair of his buildings, including the homes of the tenants. He was a good man, but as a Saxon, he kept Stephen at a wary distance.

  “There is a tenant house to rethatch,” Stephen said.

  Osgar nodded curtly. “I was there last night, also, hauling the water out of the stream. I have sent two men to cut more thatch.”

  Was there a tightness in Osgar’s tone? Stephen explored the man’s expression, but it revealed nothing. Was he being too suspicious? He turned his frown to the barn, where several men were climbing ladders, their backs bearing wide bundles of thatch. Two other men were pounding a long beam into place at the peak of the roof.

  Stephen nodded, pleased that the man had already begun preparations to repair Rowena’s roof.

  Yet there was the matter of this building. “This barn is taking too long to complete.”

  “Aye, milord,” Osgar answered, glancing over at it. “We had some trouble with one of the support beams. It had rotted and needed to be replaced, so I had ordered one be brought from storage.”

  Stephen grimaced. “I had hoped those new beams might be used to repair Rowena’s hut, if they were needed.”

  “Nay, milord. The beams in storage are too fine a quality and too long for a villein’s hut,” Osgar said bluntly. “We’ll find something more suitable for that woman.”