Sheltered by the Warrior

by Barbara Phinney

  Inside, Stephen was the first to speak. “Come, Rowena, up here.”

  She remained rooted by the door, refusing her seat on the dais and hating how her father’s brows shot up. Did he think she possessed some authority, some power within the manor? Gaetan found her a stool, and with a small thank-you to the sympathetic boy, she accepted it, ignoring Stephen completely.

  “Milord,” Althenson began, “Rowena knows nothing of my dealings with Lord Taurin. Oh, he threatened me greatly, but I would not give up my child! I thought she’d run away, but from her protests, I can see that she had been kidnapped by Lord Taurin. I only wish I could take my complaint to London, but I am a poor farmer and can only rejoice that my lost child has been found.”

  Rowena peeked up from beneath her veil. Nay! Her heart cried out. Do not believe him!

  Beside Stephen sat Josane, a truly satisfied look upon her face, as if she’d finally heard a truth she’d known all along. Beside her, Gilles wore a dark, stressed look, probably nervous from the tension in the room. Rowena’s eyes went automatically to his ears. Aye! They stuck out from his longish hair.

  She bit her lip, discarding such inconsequential nonsense. Would she have to present her case before Stephen, as if he had not heard a single word she’d said all the time she’d been here? ’Twould be useless, with her father denying all that had happened. She knew her words would be wasted even before they could be formed.

  Tears blurred her vision and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from sobbing.

  “What we need is a full night’s sleep and to hear the whole tale again on the morrow,” Stephen decided. “Then, Althenson, you may state what you wish to come of this. After I hear your case, I will retire to decide what to do. But I will not hurry through this process, Saxon. For remember, as a villein, Rowena is bound to this estate and cannot leave unless I give her permission. Do you understand what this means?”

  “Aye, milord. For I was once bound, also, but earned enough for my freedom.”

  Stephen’s mouth tightened. “Nor will you speak with your daughter.”

  The Saxon bobbed his head, then shook it in obedience. Rowena quivered all over. Her father wasn’t the simpleton he pretended to be. Nay, he feigned innocence as easily as she changed Andrew. She glanced over at Stephen, hoping for some of the compassion he’d begun to show her.

  But not once did he look at her. Again, Rowena’s heart cried out in silent pain, but she said nothing aloud. ’Twas as if her throat was choking on unshed tears.

  But what could be expected? She was nothing, a traitor in the eyes of this village and someone Stephen could not trust. Oh, he was like all other men, thinking of his own business and not caring for anyone else’s! An inconvenience she was, a nothing, a girl attacked by a man she didn’t even know.

  Attacked by a man she didn’t even know?

  That thought struck her hard. How was that possible? Why would some stranger attack her? Unless that man was paid by someone. Such as her father, who stood nearby, his cap in hand and cloak removed, looking earnest and mayhap hoping to get her back. Why? So that he might sell her again?

  She pressed her lips tightly together, hating the memories of his ordering her to stay in the barn, that unless she proved herself useful, her food would be what the dog rejected.

  Did her father have her attacked so he might offer to take her home? He was as sly as a fox. But should she cause division, mayhap Stephen would be glad to be rid of her.

  Tears stung her eyes anew as she listened to her father again thank Stephen for saving his precious daughter’s life, bobbing and bowing and displaying to all how humble and sincere he was.

  Nay, she could not listen to the lies anymore! Standing, she pivoted on her heel so hard, she was sure she’d gouged the fine wood of the floor.

  “Rowena, stay!”

  She stopped. Stephen’s tone was too hard to read and she refused to turn to see his expression. He had been kind to her, but had she become so tiresome that he’d be willing to listen to her father and then release her to his care? After all, he’d ended their kiss early.

  She burst out, “Nay, milord. I have to see to my—” She clamped shut her mouth. She would not reveal to her father that she had a son. Who knew what he would demand then? “I am needed elsewhere.”

  She kept her back to the people and the despicable scene unfolding. “As you said, we will finish this on the morrow.” With that, she rushed from the hall.

  * * *

  Stephen felt his heart plummet as Rowena dashed away. But he held up his hand to stop the guard from pursuing her. She needed to be alone, to pull together her strength, for surely ’twas a shock to see her father.

  ’Twas for him, also. He had fought with William on many occasions, the greatest at Senlac for the English crown. He’d known ’twas his duty to his liege and he would do it again in a single breath, but never did he hate his work as he did at this moment.

  The man who had caused Rowena such pain stood before him, and it took all Stephen’s willpower not to order him tied up in the stocks that stood in the center of the village.

  He glanced surreptitiously around the hall. While the majority of the people here were Norman, there were a few prominent Saxons—the priest, Alfred the Barrett, Osgar the Reeve and several others with their wives.

  ’Twould be unwise to accuse Rowena’s Saxon father of lying. With few troops around, the slightest reproof of a Saxon could send the rest rebelling.

  Stephen wasn’t afraid to fight, but he was no fool. Blood would be shed if he angered the villagers to the point of revolt, and the blood would include innocent women and children. Then the situation could easily bring King William’s wrath upon this village.

  Nay, he would listen to this cur and then remind him that Rowena was under his protection. The man would have to prove that what Rowena had said was false, that he had not taken money for selling her.

  But even if Althenson had sold her, there was the matter that neither he nor Rowena was Christian. Though the spirit of the law could be argued, and King William had expected all of England to be Christian, the letter of the law allowed Althenson to sell his own flesh and blood.

  Why wouldn’t he?

  Money. As in London, power and money motivated people. Stephen stood, anxious to do the one thing that might prove Rowena’s story.

  “I will retire now. Josane, see that Rowena’s father has a safe place to sleep.”

  Josane opened her mouth, but when he shot her a lethal look, she shut it again. Aye, she was the chatelaine, and ’twas hardly her place to see to a Saxon serf, but she read in Stephen’s eyes, as he’d hoped she would, that she needed to obey. She was quick-witted enough to know without asking that this Saxon cur would not only get his own chamber, but his own guard, as well. ’Twas not for Althenson’s comfort, but to keep him segregated from other Saxons, even from the one who had brought him here, whoever that was.

  Josane nodded, calling upon a guard and a maid to assist her. As she swept past Rowena’s father, she snapped, “Follow me. You may sleep where the minstrels slept.”

  He followed her, wide-eyed but bowing repeatedly as he left.

  Only then did Stephen exit the hall. He called for his squire and demanded half a dozen men.

  In his private chamber, he wrote out three missives, divided his men into three groups and then gave them strict instructions.

  Money motivated Saxons and Normans alike. And where there was money, there was often a trail of proof as clear as the road to London. One pair of soldiers would go to the seat of Taurin’s holdings. A soldier named Kenneth, promoted to knight for his bravery exposing Taurin’s plans to usurp the king, had been granted the man’s holdings. He may have a ledger proving Rowena’s purchase.

  To London, Stephen sent another group. For if Rowena’s father ha
d purchased back his land from William, there would be a record of it there. And there would be a record of Taurin’s misdeeds, also.

  He paused. Had Gilles sent the courier there for such a reason and, having discovered nothing of use, declined to mention it to Stephen?

  He would find out soon enough.

  The last pair were to go to Rowena’s home. If Althenson had purchased back his land, he’d keep a record of it, regardless of whether he could read the deed or not. And surely someone would know something that could prove Rowena had not lied.

  Did that mean he suspected she had lied? Nay, he told himself fiercely. Common sense told him that Rowena had had no motive to lie before her father arrived. Even if she’d deceived people for sympathy, she hadn’t known Stephen well enough to assume she could garner influence. She didn’t even care a jot for him then.

  Did she care for him now? His heart lurched. Oh, how she must hate him for housing her vile father in the manor and for even being willing to listen to his tale! But she didn’t understand Stephen’s position here. With few soldiers, he needed to tread carefully.

  The guards and missives dispatched, he strode out and down the corridor. His manor had fallen quiet, as if the whole of the estate were holding its breath and waiting. The uneasy feeling crawled over his skin.

  Behind him, Stephen heard men quietly preparing for the night. Abruptly, a thump of something dropped chilled the men into complete silence, before someone dared to shift on a trestle table again.

  Stephen reached the maids’ chamber and he rapped swiftly on the door. A scurry of muffled footfalls could be heard before the door swung open.

  Ellie stood in the open doorway, her expression stricken. “Milord?”

  Stephen stooped and strode inside. ’Twas not proper for him to barge into these women’s private quarters, but Ellie had pulled the door wide open, anyway.

  She was alone. He hadn’t expected the cook’s maid to be there, because she would bake most of the night for the next day’s meals. And the other maid was probably assisting Josane as she saw to Althenson. But Rowena should have been there.

  “Where is Rowena? And her babe?”

  Ellie shook her head. “I don’t know. When I returned a short time ago, she wasn’t here. And her cloak and the babe’s things are also gone.”

  “Did you search the manor for her?”

  “Nay, I had to help prepare a room for Rowena’s father. I only just returned.” She pursed her lips, but looked as though she was bursting to speak.

  He stopped her. “You don’t know where she went?”

  “Nay, milord! I thought she may have gone to the chapel to pray, but I just checked there and ’tis empty!”

  She burst into tears and rushed forward to grab Stephen’s arm. “I fear she is gone for good, milord! She had a terribly sad look on her face in the hall. What have we done to her, milord? What have we done?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Rowena hefted Andrew to shift his weight. He was sleeping soundly, probably having been up late playing with Ellie, who loved to dote on him.

  ’Twas just as well, for Rowena needed him silent as she stole from the village. She’d paused as she passed the lane that led to her hut. Nay, there was nothing in it she could use. She’d borrowed a skin of cider and a quarter of cheese from the kitchen without anyone seeing, promising herself silently that once she reached Dunmow Keep, she would ask Lady Ediva to replace them in exchange for Rowena’s working there.

  Dunmow was the only place she could go. Clara would still be there, for she had yet to marry her beloved Kenneth, who had gone to accept his new holdings. Clara had promised Lady Ediva she would stay on as healer until someone suitable, such as their cook, could manage the distribution of the healing herbs.

  Dunmow was to the east, toward where the sun rose, while her birthplace, and Taurin’s estates, were to the west and London to the south. The east was the only place to offer any security.

  The night had chilled further, but as she moved, her own body provided heat for her babe. She hiked up her cloak and tucked the hem in around Andrew. Aye, she could walk that much faster now.

  But soon, her ankle began to ache again. She should have taken a pony, but ’twould have been too hard to slip one from the stables unnoticed. All she could do was walk as far as she could tonight, her feet fueled by churning emotions and her mind forcing away the pain in her ankle. Though she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep when Andrew awoke, she needed to put a great distance between her and Kingstown.

  Away from Stephen. A sob caught in her throat and she nearly choked as she shoved it back down. Aye, she could have stayed to fight her case, but she couldn’t risk her father learning of Andrew. She wasn’t sure what he might do, but she wouldn’t take the chance. He’d sold his own child into slavery. He could easily sell his grandchild. And she could not stand to hear him tell that filthy lie of never selling her, or ever mistreating her.

  She would never go home again!

  Rowena paused and shifted Andrew again, taking time to catch her breath and ease the weight on her ankle. Those few moments in the manor’s great hall returned to her. Stephen had said she was bound to his estate, but he said nothing about wanting her close to him, no mention in his words or hint in his tone of how he felt. Had the kisses they’d shared meant nothing?

  Could it be that he was merely dallying with her until the king ordered him to marry? After all, had Stephen ever told her that he loved her? Nay, and worse, he’d mentioned he knew his duty could lead him to marry someone King William chose for him.

  Aye, though they’d shared kisses and those moments in her hut had been sweet, she’d seen men turn from kind to cruel in the blink of an eye. As much as her heart might yearn for someone who cared for her, she was lucky to get free, she told herself. She might never get the chance again.

  Then why did it hurt to leave him? Why had she not risked seeing Stephen listen to her father, and mayhap believe him? She swallowed, refusing to answer her own questions.

  Moonlight filtered through the trees, and Rowena forced more determination into her limping steps. And she did her best to ignore the ever-tightening ache in her heart.

  * * *

  Stephen ordered the village searched immediately. He wanted more done, but all his men were now employed in other tasks, while his staff were busy searching the manor and outbuildings.

  The anchoress had been awakened, but she could offer no clue to where Rowena went, for she had not even known she was missing. Stephen wanted to ask her so much more, but with Gilles standing beside him, he could not. And Rowena’s immediate safety was far more important.

  ’Twas deep into the night, almost to the point where the east would soon begin its soft glow of dawn, when the last of his staff returned from their searches. Rowena was nowhere in the village, nor in the forest to the north where the palisade was being built and small shelters had been erected to house the foreman and his office. Her hut was also undisturbed.

  Stephen could order some men and horses to the various roads, but he hesitated. They were sorely taxed with half of his guards already dispatched with missives and the other half, minus one on a roaming picket, needing to sleep. He needed his men fresh, for that cur Hundar remained at large, and that sly old fox Althenson was still here. Either could easily rally Saxons to attack. Such was unlikely, but Stephen would not take that chance. ’Twas bad enough that he had been forced to take the guard he’d placed on Althenson.

  “Milord?”

  Now in his office, for he had ordered the remaining soldiers to go to ground in the great hall, he looked up from the table on which he’d spread his maps. The other maid whom Ellie had helped prepare Althenson’s chamber, a girl whose name he couldn’t recall at this moment, stood holding a tray of hot broth and sliced cheese.

  St
ephen returned his attention to his maps. “Take it away. I’m not hungry.”

  “Milord, Lady Josane said you must eat. And—” she glanced behind her to the empty doorway “—I think I have something of interest.”

  His head shot up. “What is it?”

  “When I was ordered to bring you this fare, the cook’s maid was telling the cook that a skin of cider and a quarter of cheese were missing. Cook always has her count the provisions each night before she begins her baking, for she fears the guards may slip in and steal food and ale.”

  She was probably right, Stephen thought drily. But ’twas beside the point right now. “Only those two things were stolen? No ale?”

  “Nay.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to place blame, milord, but I saw Rowena leaving the kitchen shortly before the count. And now—”

  She snapped her attention to her left as a noise interrupted her. Immediately, her gaze fell to the floor as she shut her mouth.

  Rowena’s father stood in the open doorway. “Is there something wrong, milord? Can I help?”

  ’Twas too bad he’d taken the man’s guard. He would have stayed out of Stephen’s way. “Nay, return to your pallet. ’Tis of no concern to you.”

  Immediately Stephen could feel the young maid’s strong stare return to his face, as hot and riveting as the sun in July. Her back was to Althenson and ’twas as if she was trying to tell Stephen something without words.

  Althenson took a step forward. “What has happened to my daughter, milord?”

  “Nothing.” Stephen paused. “She has left the manor and I have men out searching for her.”

  The older man came closer. “She has run away? In all her days with me, she never ran away! She loved her home.”

  Stephen felt the hairs on his neck tingle. “’Twas just a farm, wasn’t it? A place of smelly animals and hard work. Did she love animals so much that she’d never want to leave?”

  “Aye, milord. She was always wanting to stay in the barn. We wanted her in the house, but nay, she insisted on staying with the beasts.”