Dominick had kept his promise, but for how long? How long would he tolerate his abstinence? She stared at the sword still lying on the bed. Would she ever find the courage to remove it? Her near rape by McPhearson and her father’s acts of humiliation made her wonder how she could ever trust a man.
The insistent pounding outside pulled her out of her reverie and reminded her of the work that needed to be done. She dressed and headed for the great hall, where Martha offered her fresh bread and mouth-watering stew. Eleanor tasted the fare, then looked up at Martha in wonder.
Her maid seemed to read her thoughts. ”His lordship’s wagons arrived today, full of wheat and grain. I have seen them. His men hunted yesterday for fresh game. Likely our people are celebrating their new lord’s arrival.”
Eleanor’s hand went to the wedding ring hanging around her neck as she recalled what Dominick had said about putting more meat on her bones. “So his plan is to have an obese bride.”
Martha grasped Eleanor’s shoulder, “No, my dear, just a healthy one. You’re looking gaunt of late.”
Eleanor stared at her. “You seemed to have forgiven him quite quickly.”
Martha sat beside her. “Lord Dominick and I had a talk this morning.”
“About?”
“What you didn’t know was that there were McPhearson spies hiding in the woods. If you had gone any farther you would have been captured.”
Eleanor threw her hands in the air, “Why would you believe such a story?”
Martha’s back went rigid. “You think so little of me that you believe I can’t tell a liar from an honest man?” Martha touched Eleanor’s hand. “You have been keeping those terrible memories far too close. Let them go, my sweet girl. Let them go.”
Eleanor’s shoulders slumped. “How do I do that Martha? What incantation can I say that will chase those memories away?”
“Face them and send them away. View them from a distance as they truly are-events from your past. Allow Lord Dominick to be part of your healing.” Martha pulled out the ring of keys. “We have already come to an understanding.”
“What sort of understanding?” she asked suspiciously.
“He gave me these and vowed never to harm us.” Martha stretched out her fingers to show Eleanor the proof.
“Lord Dominick gave you these? He must be desperate for allies in this castle.” Eleanor wondered if Dominick had an agenda.
Martha gave her a reproachful glance. “Lord Dominick was being generous.”
“No man gives anything without expecting something in return.” Eleanor could not keep from being sarcastic.
“I have nothing to offer Lord Dominick.”
“Your loyalty.”
A pained expression crossed the old servant’s face. “Do you think me so shallow that my loyalty can be bought? Loyalty is earned, my lady.”
“I don’t think you shallow.” Eleanor sighed. “I just think judgment should be reserved until we know this man’s motives.”
“Don’t be blinded by another man’s actions. Lord Dominick seems to be a man of his own.”
“We shall see, Martha, we shall see.”
Eleanor took a spoonful of stew. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until then, and soon her bowl was empty and her stomach full. This was the best she’d felt in a long while. During the four months of McPhearson’s siege her men had been unable to hunt or fish. Fields had been burned during the harvest, and almost no grain had been salvaged. She had been very close to surrendering until Dominick and his men came. Denying she was grateful was difficult.
She went to the bailey to see the progress and found men working on the roof. The sun was warm, but a cool breeze prickled her skin, and she wrapped herself tighter in her shawl. Shading her eyes, she looked up to where the men were working. It wasn’t difficult to find Dominick where he helped put tiles on the roof. His black hair was tied back, allowing her full view of the breadth of his shoulders. Not one inch of the man’s body was soft. From his shoulders, his torso angled down to a narrow waist. His britches fit him like a second skin.
Her mind went to the night before when he had stood before her naked. His smooth, muscular chest was void of any hair. His arms bulged with muscles, and his stomach reminded her of a washboard. She swiftly turned away before her eyes settled any lower.
She puzzled as to why he had not bedded her the night before. She was grateful, but still confused. Most men would have had her on her back and ravaged before the door to their chamber was closed. Perhaps he had a mistress and had no need.
Surprisingly, the idea of his taking a mistress bothered her. Too many times she’d seen her father bed his mistresses purposely to humiliate her mother. Lord, or no lord, her husband was not going to take one.
But was she ready to be a wife? The thought stopped her cold. Dominick was a stranger. How could she possibly think of being a wife in the fullest sense of the word? She couldn’t.
She bowed her head with the weight of the conflict in her heart. And is he truly a man of honor as Martha says, or a horrible nightmare wrapped in a beautiful dream? Time will tell.
In the meantime, she would be vigilant in her search for the truth about her husband.
Suddenly boards cracked overhead, and she heard a scream for help. Looking up she saw one of her men, Henry Smith, had fallen through some rotted wood and was hanging on to the roof’s unstable framework. Helpless anxiety kept her from drawing a breath.
Work stopped as men on the ground and on the roof nearby shouted for help from others.
Dominick carefully picked his way to where Henry clung desperately to a rafter. “Take hold of my wrist”
More boards gave way, but Dominick held firm, muscles bunched and straining as he slowly pulled the deathly pale villager up through the hole and set him firmly on solid tiles.
Eleanor expelled the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. If Henry had fallen through, it would have certainly been to his death on the stone floor below.
Putting her hand on her chest, she felt her heart’s wild beating. The villager’s leg was bleeding profusely, and Dominick bent over him to examine the wound.
“Bring him to the great hall,” she shouted up.
Dominick shaded his eyes to see where she was then signaled he’d heard her. With one motion, he slung the injured worker over his shoulder and carried him down the scaffolding. Eleanor met them in the great hall. A table was cleared, and Dominick laid his human burden on it.
Eleanor struggled to remove the fabric covering the wound and looked to her husband. “Dominick could you help me tear away the britches? I can’t see the wound.”
He did so, and she found the gash deep and near the bone. Steeling herself against the ghoulish sight of torn flesh and blood, she concentrated on what needed to be done.
Martha carried in water, bandages and clean moss to pack in the wound. As gently as Eleanor could, she cleaned out the debris, removing embedded splinters and dirt. All the while Dominick stood close, keeping his hand on Henry’s shoulder while Eleanor poked and prodded. The villager’s color was ashen and he shook from the pain, but he never cried out.
“How is your wife, Henry?” Eleanor said as she threaded her needle. “The baby’s due any day now, isn’t it?”
She continued to talk casually, hoping to distract Henry from what had to be done. “Have you picked out names?”
“Samson, Sam, if it’s a boy and Lau. . . ra!” he shouted as she pulled on another splinter. He gripped the table and clenched his teeth.
“Samson, that’s a wonderful name,” Eleanor cooed. “My grandfather’s name was Samson.”
He squeezed his eyes tight. Eleanor’s heart went out to him.
She lightly stroked his damp forehead and whispered close to his ear, “Henry, I’m going to place this moss into the wound to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. I will try my best not to cause you too much discomfort.”
Henry looked up at her with pain-filled gray
eyes that cut to her core. “Aye, my lady. I will be fine.”
She glanced at Dominick then placed the moss in the wound and bandaged the leg. He held Henry’s shoulder tight with one hand and used the other to immobilize the injured leg while Eleanor tended the wound.
Martha held the candle close enough for Eleanor to see clearly. With the first insertion of the moss, Henry jumped, startling her. Her heart pounded like a hammer in her chest, but she swallowed and started again. When Dominick placed more pressure on the knee Henry groaned, but couldn’t escape Dominick’s grip. Soon the binding was done and the blood stopped flowing.
“I think a tankard of ale is called for after your ordeal, Henry,” Eleanor said when she looked up from her handiwork.
He was regaining color. “If it will ease the pain, I most heartily accept, my lady.”
“It certainly will help.” She turned to Dominick. “You need to stay off your leg for a while. The moss will need time to do its work. Any undue pressure could pull the wound apart, and it may start bleeding again.”
Henry began to protest, but Dominick stopped him. “You will rest as the lady has ordered.” Dominick patted his man on the shoulder. “Take advantage of this opportunity, for you will not get another. In a few days, I will have you rebuilding a cookhouse.”
“There is a room just up the stairs and to your right. He can stay there. Someone will let his wife know that he is here. Martha and I will check on him from time to time to make sure the wound doesn’t fester.”
Dominick helped Henry off the table and wrapped his large arm around his waist, leading him toward the stairs.
After they were out of sight Eleanor turned to Martha. “Henry lost a lot of blood and needs to be refortified. Give him broth as well as the ale.” Martha nodded in agreement, and Eleanor added, “I will check on him later this afternoon to make sure there is no fever. He was bleeding so badly that I may have missed a splinter or two.”
“You did your very best. It is now in God’s hands. You have quite the skill for healing.”
“We will see soon enough if that’s so.”
“The master will not hold you responsible, my lady. He is a reasonable man.” Martha collected the leftover bandages and mending materials and walked out of the great hall.
Eleanor was about to leave when Dominick called out to her from the stairs. Nervously, she made a pretense of wiping imaginary dust from the table as he approached her. A shock ran through her when he took her hand and gently squeezed.
Looking up into his eyes, she saw something she hadn’t expected to see—gratitude.
“Thank you for helping Henry,” he said softly.
“What did you expect me to do?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
His thumb stroking across her palm was making her edgy. “Most noblewomen would have run to their chambers at the first sight of blood, but you didn’t. You took the initiative and mended Henry’s wound.”
Pulling her hand away allowed her to think more clearly. He was too close, and her body was reacting strangely. She hid her emotions behind a façade of indignation and insult. “You forget, my lord, that we were at war with McPhearson. Many were wounded, and I treated my share of them. These men are my responsibility. A responsibility I don’t take lightly.”
Dominick stepped closer, sending the unexplainable current through her nerves. “You told me Martha usually cared for injured men, but responsibility or not, I’m grateful.”
“Gratitude is not necessary,” she said fighting the urge to run away.
Chapter Seven
Dominick dragged himself to the evening meal. His body was used to the long hours of hard work, but his mind was in turmoil with the circumstances of his marriage.
That afternoon, Eleanor had shown compassion he rarely saw in noblewomen. Yet when he only wished to thank her, she practically spat in his face. The contradiction was confusing.
Dominick understood Eleanor’s anger about the marriage and her hatred for men. But did she hate all men or just noblemen? He suspected noblemen, because her compassion for Henry was evident. In just the short time he had known Eleanor he had discovered she was a very independent woman. With him coming to Godwin her choices had been taken away. He understood her anger, but would he spend the rest of his life paying for the actions of others?
Her vow in the meadow made it clear—he would never have her heart. The fluid waters of helplessness left him unsteady. He couldn’t slay the monster that instilled her fear and hatred, for he was already dead. Hopefully, suffering the fires of the underworld.
McPhearson came to mind. Eleanor had nearly waited too long to ask for the king’s help. A few more days and Godwin would have been in McPhearson’s hands, and she would have been forced into a hellish existence.
But just putting down the siege was not enough. King William knew Godwin needed a permanent solution or McPhearson would attack again.
Eleanor couldn’t see the reason behind the marriage. She only saw the King’s general, another warrior, forcing her and her people into submission. Despite her stubbornness, she struck a protective cord in him. Her small stature and thin frame pulled at his heart. Her jade eyes captivated him. Her courage inspired him, yet her obstinacy drove him to near madness.
“What is troubling you, Brother?” Randolf joined Dominick at the head table in the great hall.
“Eleanor was not what I expected.”
Randolf’s brows furrowed. “What did you expect?”
“I have seen many marriages of convenience.” He took a sip of ale, then continued, “For the most part they have worked out amicably. But Eleanor meets our marriage with a great deal of resistance. I thought she would be grateful for the match and the protection I bring to her people, yet the woman wants no part of me.”
“Maybe time is what you need. She resisted McPhearson’s tyranny, only to be handed into another man’s grasp. And after your demonstration yesterday, she has naught but to believe you’re like him.”
“There is more to this than just what she sees. When I look in her eyes there is not only fear, but a deep seated hate.”
“It has only been a day. It will take more time than that to convince the maid that you are an honorable man.” Randolf gave him a wicked smile. “Well, for the most part an honorable man.”
“Your humor fails me,” Dominick said, ready to tip over Randolf’s chair. “I saw it in her eyes before she ran away. There is something more, something I cannot put a name to.”
“Perhaps her feelings remain from the siege. When we rode into Godwin it reminded me of the refugee camps we saw in the Crusades. The people were near starvation. Maybe in her mind soldiers are soldiers, and it’s difficult to define the difference. We have taken her castle,” Randolf said.
Dominick took a long draw on his ale. Randolf may be right. In Eleanor’s eyes he was just another invader.
“Can you help Eleanor’s mother’s spirit? Why do you think she’s here?”
Dominick knew Randolf had deliberately changed the subject. “I believe her bond to her daughter is so great that she can’t let go.”
Randolf sat back in his chair, clearly digesting all of Dominick’s problems. “Let’s pray this apparition has not torn the fabric of your resistance to all other spirits.”
“I have seen nothing since. Hopefully I will see nothing more.”
A crooked smile crossed Randolf’s face and he leaned forward. “I hope you’re right. I couldn’t have my brother walking around like a madman talking to the dead.”
Dominick shifted in his seat and smiled back. “Believe me, I don’t wish to talk to them again. I saw enough spirits in Istanbul, dead men who couldn’t find their way out of that prison. I had no help for them either. They’re still in one of the worst levels of hell. I don’t want to see their agony any more. That’s why I cut them off.” Dominick took another draw of the bitter ale. “Isolde is strong enough to get through my de
fenses, and wants me to protect Eleanor. She led me to the meadow yesterday.”
“Are you going to tell Eleanor? I don’t think it would endear you to your bride.”
Dominick shook his head. “Right now I don’t think anything would endear me to my wife.”
“In time, Dominick. In time.”
Eleanor sat quietly in her chamber near the hearth, absently pulling her wedding ring back and forth on its chain. The broadsword was still in place on the bed. Dominick must mean to keep his word, even if only for one more night. The man’s honor puzzled her. His rights as her husband allowed him to take her on their wedding night or any time for that matter,yet he hadn’t. How could a legendary warrior be trusted with something as precious as nobility?
So few men had honor. Certainly her father hadn’t. His so-called friends never displayed such a thing, yet this warrior, this King’s general did. Over and over these thoughts turned in her head.
The hypnotic flames took her back to that morning when Henry had fallen through the roof. He was no small man and, had he lost his hold on the beam, could easily have pulled Dominick to his death. Yet Dominick had risked his life to save Henry’s. His strength was almost unearthly.
She wondered if the stories were true then chided her for letting her mind drift to such a ridiculous thought. His compassion conflicted with any alliance with the devil, or was it just a ruse?
Was it a way to lead her in, only to disillusion her once she’d entered her husband’s emotional lair? Could this have been what it was like for her mother? Surely she must have found something good in her father to have fallen in love with him. That must be how it happened. Isolde had been lured into thinking Eleanor’s father was a man of honor, when in fact later his true demeanor eventually showed, and her love was betrayed.
Eleanor threw another log on the fire and watched the flames lick at it until the wood was totally consumed, much like her anger and bitterness. She looked back at the broadsword.
“It can stay there until it rusts for all I care,” she said aloud. “I will never concede to this union—never.”
Immortal Love Page 5