In his chair, Stephen leaned back. “It still surprises me to see so many Saxon women let their hair show. My mother would be horrified. She didn’t even like the tips of her braids to hang below her veil.”
After swallowing another spoonful of food, Rowena shook her head. “I had no need for one, though sometimes I wore a cap. I had only the clothes given to me by my sisters. My oldest sister was the one who got the new clothes.”
Again, compassion reared its unwanted head, but he tamped it down. “Aye, handing down clothes is a common practice.”
“They didn’t include a veil.” She bit her lip. “I will ask Ellie for one, and a wimple, as well.”
She didn’t protest. She was trying her best. Was he? “Don’t worry,” he said briskly. “She’ll find something for you.”
Her meal finally eaten, Rowena set down her spoon. “Thank you. ’Twas a good meal. But I should return to my mending while there is still light coming in the window. And you must have better things to do than sit here and chat.”
“I don’t. I spent part of the morning arranging to have your home repaired, but ’twill take some time. The crossbeam may need to be replaced and we have none prepared. The thatch has to be gathered and the thatcher must finish his current job.”
She paled. “How long will all that take?”
“Longer than it takes your ankle to heal, I suspect.”
Her pale brows shot up, but she was silent.
Stephen rose, thankful she said nothing, but knowing she wanted to remind him of her desire to be independent. The manor’s chandler had already begun to trim the rush lights and collect the valuable tallow from the grease pans. He backed away when Stephen turned to face Rowena. “I assume you will not allow me to carry you back to the maids’ chamber.”
She folded her arms. “Nay, I will not.”
As he suspected, he thought with sudden ill-humor. “Then I bid you a good afternoon. But I expect you to return here for the evening meal.”
He strode away, irritated that he’d allowed Rowena to annoy him. Irritated by everyone, in fact.
And especially irritated by the fact that a part of him wondered if using Rowena as bait was the Christian thing to do.
Chapter Nine
Rowena needed air. She’d been indoors for more than a week and longed to get outside to breathe in the last of the autumn’s warm spell. Her ankle had healed well enough; now her eyes needed a rest from mending and her raw fingers a break from twirling rope.
This air would also clear the fog that Lord Stephen’s presence had left on her senses. He’d ordered her to take her meals with him, and each one had been as difficult as the first, days ago. Last night, thankfully, he did not appear. When she had entered, Master Gilles had said Lord Stephen was at the palisade being built and all were to eat without him.
Rowena was glad for it and gratefully sat with the maids far from the dais, rather than with Lady Josane and the chaplain. Though Stephen had been generous enough to foster her here and let her work for the manor while her ankle mended, he’d been as chilly as his sister at times, watching those who ate with them the way a hawk watched prey. And yet, he’d laughed heartily at her feeble attempt at sarcasm during that first meal in the hall.
He confused her. He cut a fine figure, but was he not Norman, with his agenda to serve a king who’d caused so much grief in the short time he’d reigned over England? Nay, ’twas good to be away from so confusing a presence. Each moment with him had her mind spinning and her heart thumping.
“There’s trouble in the forest,” Gilles had said as he walked in and found Josane finishing her meal and Rowena trying to slip out. “Several villagers were injured while felling trees.”
Gilles had turned and looked down his nose at her. “They didn’t heed their orders, the fools.”
Rowena had blinked at the large, stocky man. His lip had curled, and she felt foolish standing and listening. Though he was a Norman, his accent was different and his hair was much lighter.
But Lord Taurin’s wife had also been fair-haired. ’Twas one of the reasons Rowena had been purchased, for her father guaranteed she would bring forth a towheaded child. Wouldn’t her father be surprised if he saw Andrew, with his thick mop of dark curls?
She pulled herself up short. That meeting would never happen. Then she’d looked at Master Gilles. “I’m sure they didn’t mean to hurt themselves.”
Just then the chaplain had asked, “How many were injured?”
Gilles had nodded. “Two men.” He’d glared at Rowena. “You Saxons are a clumsy, stubborn lot. I expect Stephen will punish them for their inattention.”
With that remark, he’d stalked from the hall.
That had been last night. Now, late the next afternoon, outside, with her ankle almost completely healed and Andrew in his sling, she surveyed the manor from its backyard. ’Twas not as large as Lord Taurin’s, for his was taller and had its own attached chapel. It also boasted a large solar with windows that lit the entire room. But this manor was sturdy, with two strong chimneys and thick, solid walls. Beside the maids’ chamber, Rowena had been in the kitchen and the great hall only, each at opposite ends of the manor, but she much preferred the kitchen. ’Twas less formal and ruled by a stout, no-nonsense cook who clicked her tongue at Rowena’s slim stature and pale complexion. The woman wasn’t above telling her she needed to eat more.
In fact, today, the older woman had thrust a hard roll of sweetbread at her, telling Rowena she should eat it outside in the sunshine.
Obliging, she walked to the small stone chapel that sat across the enclosed yard from the house. ’Twas warm there and she longed to free her head of the veil, but she’d promised Stephen she’d wear it. Along the chapel’s sunniest wall, late-season roses climbed, with fully opened blossoms hanging over a rough-hewed bench that faced a small cemetery.
Sitting down, she adjusted Andrew to free him from his restrictive sling. He automatically reached for one of the roses.
“Nay, young man. They have thorns.” Then, with Stephen’s fine form in her mind, she added, “Be careful of the things that are lovely to look at. They can be dangerous.”
“So true, indeed.”
Rowena jumped up and looked around. The old, weary voice spoke English, but no one was in sight. “Who’s there?” she demanded, automatically shoving her son back into his sling. “Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding, my dear. I live in here.”
Rowena stumbled back a step. Was she dreaming? Had the wall spoken to her? She looked down at the sweet bun she’d begun to nibble. Was it poisoned, making her delirious? She tossed it away.
Looking from one end of the wall to the other, she braved another response. “You’re a wall. You cannot speak!”
A throaty old chuckle answered her. “I’m not a wall. Come close, girl, to the center of the roses. See that big one that is fully opened? Move it to one side.”
Rowena stepped tentatively close to the shrubbery, then stretched out her forefinger to move the largest rose. She spied an opening in the stone wall the size of a person’s head. A woman’s face appeared in it.
Startled, Rowena dropped the blossom.
A gnarled hand moved the branch, tucking it out of the way of the hole with surprising agility.
“There. That’s better.”
Rowena craned her neck to peer in. An old woman smiled toothlessly back at her. Tufts of white hair had escaped her wimple and veil and deep creases lined her face. She looked pale and thin like Rowena.
“Who are you?” she asked the stranger. “You should come out. ’Tis a fine day and you could probably use the sunshine.”
“Oh, I cannot come out, my dear. I’m to spend the rest of my life here behind this wall.”
Rowena gaped before taking several steps away to scan the wall, then the cemetery behind her. When she turned back to the old woman, she said, “How awful! Who did this to you? Don’t worry, I’ll get someone to free you!”
“Hush, girl!” The woman paused. “Lord Stephen did this.”
“Nay!” Rowena rushed up to the wall, planting her hands on each side of the hole despite feeling several thorns bite into her palms. “I don’t believe that! I will find him and demand you be released! I don’t care what he says—”
The old woman laughed. ’Twas as if she was pleased with Rowena’s outrage. “Don’t do that. Sit here instead and talk to me.”
“But you can’t stay in there! What does he think you’ve done? Surely there is a door I can unlock. Lord Stephen’s sister has all the keys. I will ask her. I know she doesn’t like me, but if I promise to leave—”
“Nay, don’t go!” A gnarled hand shot out and caught Rowena’s wrist. “I’m leading you astray, my dear.”
Rowena stilled. “You’re not walled up?”
“I’m walled up, aye. But by choice, my dear. I was allowing you to believe that I am a prisoner.”
“I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to be stuck behind a wall?”
“’Tis my way to serve the Lord.”
“Can’t you serve Him out here?”
The old woman shifted, looking over her shoulder for a moment, before peering out again. Her words were softer. “You are new to our village, aren’t you? I’m the anchoress, Udella.”
Still confused, Rowena shook her head. “Why would the Lord want you in there?”
“I have my own cell here. They walled up the transept to make it.”
“The transept?”
“Aye, the side part that extends outward from the rest of the chapel. See how this wall cuts in?” She pointed to Rowena’s left. Indeed, the wall did cut out by two arms’ span before carrying on to the front end.
Rowena swallowed. “I don’t remember seeing a transept.”
“Because ’tis walled up. And you didn’t see me because I was ill and did not open my small door to hear the services. But I’m well now and want to talk to someone. Like you.”
“Me? I’m here only while I heal.”
The old woman’s eyes lit up. “You must be Rowena.”
“You know me?”
The anchoress, whatever such was, Rowena thought, looked to her right again, deep within her cell. “Come into the chapel, my dear. I want to see you properly, without bending down. It hurts my back.” She pointed to the front of the small building.
Still confused, Rowena turned to her left and followed the stone wall until she reached the front door. ’Twas an old structure, its stones weathered and dark. A small, arched door stood slightly ajar, revealing the darkness inside. When she reached it, she pulled on it, and it creaked open a bit more. Its hinges needed oil. She lifted her cyrtel’s hem and pressed herself through the narrow opening. Tucked in his sling, Andrew swiveled his head to peer around. Rowena knew neither of them would see anything until their eyes adjusted.
She heard a rasping sound to the right of the altar, and a small, waist-high door scraped open. Light from the hole by the roses bled into the chapel, only to be suddenly blocked by the hunched silhouette of the old woman. Curious, Rowena took a step forward, up the aisle that divided the few rows of benches. Andrew abruptly let out a laugh. He reached out his arm and pointed into the dimness. Rowena automatically looked that way.
Someone was kneeling in that first pew. Being closed in on all sides, it hid most of the person. Until he turned. Rowena felt her heart falter. Lord Stephen looked directly at her.
“Lord Stephen!” the anchoress called out. “I did not know you were here.”
* * *
If those words had come from anyone else in the village, Stephen would’ve maneuvered the conversation to discover why that person was lying to him. But Lady Udella was the anchoress, and out of respect, he held his tongue.
But he still knew, without understanding why, that Udella was lying.
He rose and watched Rowena take a step back. Her hand reached up to shield Andrew. As before, the babe’s cap sat askew and truly boyish on his curly head.
With lips parted, Rowena dropped her gaze from his eyes to his mouth, then to his chest before dropping to the wide flagstones that were the floor.
Though the babe watched him with bold curiosity, Rowena could not.
Look at me, Stephen thought. I’m not someone to fear or hate.
As if hearing his internal words, she dared a glance upward. He tried to snag her gaze, but ’twas like catching a runaway mare by her bridle. He missed, and the loss vexed him.
“Such a beautiful babe!” the anchoress exclaimed. “Bring him closer.”
Rowena hesitated. She looked thoroughly mystified. With parted lips, she whispered, “Milord?”
Udella chuckled. “Lord Stephen, we have confused her. You are Rowena, are you not?”
Only you have confused her, Stephen thought. I have scared her. Still, they should explain Udella’s strange situation.
Rowena said softly, “I disturbed you, Lord Stephen. I had no idea you were in here.”
Now that is the truth, Stephen decided. A far cry from the sly old vixen listening to their conversation. He departed the pew. “I normally pray in the morn. But since the affairs of this village disrupted my routine, I only now had the time for it.”
“Bring the child here, Rowena,” the anchoress interrupted. “I want to see him.”
Still, Rowena didn’t move. Finally Stephen nodded. “Take him. Udella will want to bless him.” He stepped closer. “She won’t steal him, Rowena. Should she not relinquish your son when you say so, I will tear down the cell’s wall to free him. I promise.”
She toyed with the curls escaping her son’s cap, obviously considering his promise. “My lord, this is all so strange. Why have you walled up this woman?”
He shrugged. “’Tis of her own choosing.”
Rowena turned to the woman. “But why? Surely the king didn’t order it? Is it a punishment you took instead of death?”
Udella shook her head. “Nay. When my son was killed at Senlac, I knew that my home, this manor, would be forfeited to the crown. I asked the king to spare it and the village, in return for my becoming its anchoress.”
Rowena gasped. “You just walked up to the king and asked him?”
Udella laughed, obviously enjoying the conversation. “Nay. The king stormed the manor. I would have been a fool and the ruination of this village to fight him. Besides, the Good Lord says to obey those who rule over you.”
Rowena glanced over at Stephen, then back to Udella. “How did you manage to convince him, then?”
“I am the daughter of an earl, and my mother’s family is from Flanders. They know the queen’s family, who are also from there. I introduced myself with enough respect and requested an audience.” She paused. “Mayhap I reminded the king of his mother, for we discussed her at some length.”
“Then you asked him to wall you up?”
Udella shook her head with a sly smile. “I asked him to spare this village for the promise that I would remain here as anchoress and pray for it. And for him. The king is not so stupid to turn down the prayers of a pious woman who held some sway over her village, even one whose son supported the wrong king.”
Rowena studied the woman. “But you’re sad. I can tell. Is it because you regret your decision to remain here? Or because you grieve for your son?”
Stephen looked from Rowena to Udella, then back again. Despite Rowena’s canniness, ’twas obvious the whole idea of a woman so committed to God she never left a chapel was truly foreign to her.
“’Tis her wish to remain here,” Stephen explained. “To take prayer requests and offer advice to all who call on her.”
“But your son was killed by Normans, who have taken over your home. How—”
“‘Twas in battle, Rowena.”
“But King William just ignored that?”
“The king has respect for valiant warriors like himself. But it was Udella’s strong faith that impressed him, and he agreed to permit her appl
ication to become the anchoress here.”
Rowena shook her head. “What is an anchoress?”
Stephen looked at the old woman. But when Udella simply watched him, he began, “It’s a woman who devotes herself to prayer.”
“An anchor is something that secures a ship while it is in port,” Udella added.
Rowena said, “I have never seen a ship, so I don’t know what an anchor looks like.”
“’Tis not important,” Stephen answered. Despite her slyness right now, Udella really was an anchor here in Kingstown, listening to those looking for advice, praying for the community.
And shocking Rowena. Stephen felt his jaw tighten, his hackles rise. Udella usually wasn’t this jovial. But today, she seemed genuinely excited to see Rowena, setting his teeth practically on edge. He’d like to know why that was.
“Come close, girl,” the old woman crooned. “I will not steal your babe.”
With a fast glance at Stephen, mayhap to confirm that he would indeed tear down the wall should Udella grab the boy, Rowena slipped past him and along the front pew toward the small door set in the wall beside the altar. Despite the tension, Stephen felt a small smile tug on his lips. Did Rowena really believe that he would tear down the wall for her?
Would he?
Aye, he suddenly realized. He would.
The old woman reached out and tickled the child. Andrew laughed, secure in his faith that he would not be taken from his mother’s arms. Then the old woman blessed him.
From where he stood, Stephen could see that even a few days here in the manor had done wonders for the child. He bore a healthy glow, and though obviously a happy child anyway, he now beamed with vigor rather than the languidness that came from near starvation.
All the while, Rowena shyly peered into the anchoress’s small home. “Can you not get out? You said you were sick. What if you got so ill that you needed help? Or you got hurt?”
“I have faith that I will not,” Udella answered pleasantly. “I’m here to pray for all of us. And I am quite pleased to meet you, Rowena. Is there anything you’d like me to pray for?”
Sheltered by the Warrior (Viking Warriors Book 3) (Historical Romance) Page 9