Sheltered by the Warrior (Viking Warriors Book 3) (Historical Romance)

by Barbara Phinney

  “There are many Saxons hiding in the woods,” he was saying. “Adrien de Ries told me his courier was attacked on his way to Colchester last summer.”

  He stroked his chin as he fell silent. She leaned forward. “What are you thinking?”

  Before he could answer, the sound of pounding feet interrupted them. They both looked up, with Stephen quickly drawing his sword and stepping in front of Rowena just as the guard stepped into the circle of light.

  “Milord, I’m sorry. I lost him in the woods.” The man was still panting.

  “Which way did he go?”

  “West, milord.”

  “Awaken the troops. Scour the area.” He turned to Rowena. “Were you wearing your veil?”

  “Aye. And a wimple, also.” She hurried over and picked them up from where they fell. “I’m sorry. I know you want me to wear them at all times, but he must have torn them off.”

  “Not to worry. Give them to me.” When she did, he handed them to the soldier, along with the sketch of the man. “Take the hound from the barn but do not let him smell her wimple until you’re in the forest, lest he pick up Rowena’s scent around the manor. I want that man caught tonight.”

  “Aye, milord.” The soldier disappeared.

  Stephen walked to the door. There he turned, his expression as cold as the winter wind. “Gather your things, Rowena. You will return to the manor with me.”

  Without thought, she wanted to protest, but his words stopped her. If truth be told, she no longer wanted to stay here. Was it cowardice or wanting to be near Stephen?

  Nay, not the latter, for Stephen was bent on only one thing, finding her attacker. ’Twas a purpose that helped her, but men didn’t do such things for noble reasons.

  She hesitated just outside her home. Stephen wasn’t doing this just to help her.

  Her heart clenched. Then she took her metal diadem, all that was left of her headdress, and followed him.

  * * *

  His thoughts racing, Stephen threw open his front door, not even allowing the soldier on guard to assist him. He could hear Rowena hurrying to keep up with his long strides, her small feet tapping a swift tattoo since the rushes were not strewn this close to the door, for Josane refused to have them constantly swept outside and lost.

  He turned when they reached the area past the armory. Ahead lay the great hall, and across it was the other corridor. “Go to the maids’ room, Rowena, and stay there until I send for you. I have something to do.”

  If she had opened her mouth to protest, he didn’t see it. Instead, he strode into the hall, only to find it empty. The guard had roused all the men, his young squire included, to begin the manhunt.

  Still seething, he stalked down the far corridor to the short stairs that led to the second floor, to his sister’s chamber. He cared not if she had her husband visiting that night, but ’twas unlikely, for his sister’s marriage to Gilles had not been a love match. They had long sorted out their differences, aye, and kept the marriage going by turning it into a business partnership, but there was nothing else in it.

  Stephen had avoided his parents’ trap of an arranged marriage by joining the military full-time. And he was thankful for that. When he married, he wanted it to be a happy arrangement, and not something barely tolerable, like Josane’s.

  His mother would not arrange a marriage now, unless ’twere to punish him for failing to save Corvin’s life. And she knew Stephen could successfully contest such a decision, citing her bitterness and his service to his king.

  Jaw tight with displeasure, Stephen reached Josane’s door and pounded on it. He had to hear her answer to the questions bursting inside him. “Josane, open up! ’Tis me, Stephen.” He drew in his breath to steady his temper. “I will speak with you now!”

  Josane opened the door, her other hand gathering the neckline of her nightshift. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Gilles?”

  Stephen barged in and looked around. Spying the only other person there, her maid, on a pallet at the other side of the brazier, he flicked his head at her. “Leave. You may return when I am done speaking with your mistress.”

  Josane quickly lit her lamp from a hot coal in the chamber’s brazier. “What’s all this about, Stephen? You can’t come barging in here—”

  “I can and I will, woman.” Josane’s position as older sister was firmly entrenched in the pair’s relationship, but Stephen’s baronage had long since overridden that. “You sent Gaetan to the next village for herbs, did you not?”

  “Aye, yesterday. Gilles needed them and we’d run out.”

  “You sent a letter, also?”

  She frowned. “Nay. My instructions were verbal.”

  “Why my squire?”

  “He was the first one I found and he’s smart enough to remember my instructions.” Josane took her cloak and wrapped it around her.

  “What happened to the courier?”

  “You sent him to London,” she snapped back.

  “I haven’t used him since I sent him to Dunmow, yet he went to London and retrieved a letter from Adrien.” Stephen paused. If she didn’t send the courier, who did?

  Josane interrupted his thoughts. “Stephen, you’re scaring me! What has happened?”

  “Rowena returned to her home only to be attacked by a man I don’t believe lives in this village. You sent my squire to a village west of here, in the same direction that the man fled.”

  Josane’s jaw fell. “You think I paid the man to attack Rowena? Are you addled?” She sank into the chair nearest the lamp she’d lit. Then, with a gasp, she rose again. “Is Rowena hurt? She’s not...”

  “Nay, I thwarted his attack.”

  “You thwarted his attack!” She poked him with her finger. “Stephen, did you put that poor thing in harm’s way? Did you set her in her home just to lure out her attacker?”

  “What would you care if I did?”

  Josane slapped the table beside her. “Stephen, I may not want those girls to be my dear friends, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for them! These maids can’t be treated like handfuls of grain in a trap!”

  Stephen looked away.

  “Where is she?” Josane snapped.

  “Downstairs.”

  Letting out a frustrated growl, Josane released her cloak before pulling an outer tunic over her night shift. She bustled past her brother, but he caught her elbow. “Josane, who used my courier? Why send for herbs in the next village?”

  She rolled her eyes, and Stephen was ready to reprimand her for it, but she quickly added, “We were out of them. There is no intrigue here. Go to London if you want that. Oh, ’twas an unfortunate day when the king gave you this forsaken village and manor. Lady Udella should have asked the king for Gilles to be baron.”

  Cold sluiced through him. “Why would she ask the king that? When?”

  “When he granted her a private audience during his first march north. Later, when I arrived, I went to the chapel to speak with her. She told me that she’d wanted to ask the king to make Gilles baron here. Instead, she asked for the village’s safety and in return she would pray for him and it.”

  Stephen knew nothing about this. Was there more? “Why did she want Gilles to be given this manor?”

  “She didn’t say and had asked that I not tell anyone about our conversation. She had been the baroness here, daughter of an earl and liked by the king, so I respected her wishes.”

  “Did she say why she wanted your conversation to be a secret?”

  “If she did, I don’t remember. She did ask about Gilles’s birth. Mayhap she had been hoping for an easy change because Gilles has the look of a Saxon as opposed to our swarthy features.” She paused. “But Gilles is not a full-time soldier like you. It makes a difference to the king, I think.”

  Mayhap. Stephen knew Gilles had the look of his northern Frankish roots, for hadn’t his mother once said her people came from where a great Rhein river meets the North Sea? But all Gilles knew was Norman. Stephen
threw up his hands. “Josane, you would still have had to come here.”

  At the door, Josane smoothed her tunic and tipped up her chin. “But not required to stay. I would have employed a chatelaine, as you have done with me. As lady of the manor, I’d have had more freedom.” Her tone softened with hurt.

  Hurt?

  “Did you ever tell Gilles this?”

  “Nay. What could he do? He became your bailiff. Our families expect a wife to stay with her husband. If he’d been made the baron, I would have convinced him to return to Normandy. He dislikes it here as much as I do.” Her expression clouded. “Now, if you will pardon me, my lord, I will check on Rowena. I doubt you would know how to ensure she is well.”

  She left Stephen standing in her bedchamber. Did she really resent being here? When he heard his sister’s maid return, he stepped back into the narrow upstairs corridor.

  Udella had wanted to ask for Gilles instead? When King William marched through here two years ago, both Stephen and Gilles were with him. Stephen knew Lady Udella had met her new sovereign, but he’d not been privy to their conversation. He knew nothing of Josane’s first conversation with Udella, either.

  Did Gilles know any of this? Stephen remembered the day his own service, and Corvin’s, also, had been rewarded with this village. Stephen had made Gilles the bailiff and Gilles had accepted the position with gratitude. He hadn’t seemed disappointed, and even now he didn’t appear to know anything of Udella’s request. In fact, Gilles seemed to like his position. And why not? It came with much power. Among other duties, Gilles decided sentencing in civil cases. That brought with it a lot of influence.

  Stephen made his way downstairs. He could hear Josane’s murmurings to Rowena, but the words were muffled by the closed door. He strode down to the hall, and as before, ’twas still empty, with pallets and blankets strewn on the tables. These trestle tables functioned also as beds and had been circled around the hearth, as if waiting for the men to return.

  Lord, bring me Rowena’s attacker.

  No answer. No wash of satisfaction as he’d felt when serving his king. He’d always believed he’d been doing the Lord’s work, but today, it did not feel so comfortable. Instead, disappointment blossomed on his tongue. He folded his arms and glared into the dying fire.

  “Stephen?”

  The word was so soft, ’twas as if it were carried on a draft that wafted in when a door was opened. Stephen looked up.

  Rowena stood in the doorway, another borrowed veil pushed back slightly to reveal the wisps of white-blond hair that framed her delicate face.

  His heart leaped as he recalled their kiss. “Come in,” he said briskly. “Did my sister find you?”

  “Aye. But I am unhurt and milady has returned to her bed. ’Twas no reason for her to hover over me.”

  “I doubt she would have done that. But ’tis good that she cares.” He paused as she walked up to stand next to him in front of the fire. “I asked you to remain in the maids’ chamber,” he reminded her.

  “Forgive me. I just wanted to—”

  “To what?”

  She swallowed and he knew instantly she was battling some inner decision. She blinked, wet her lips and then steeled her spine. Whatever trouble haunted her, she had conquered it.

  “I want you to be Andrew’s guardian should anything happen to me.”

  He felt his eyebrow shoot up. “Me?”

  “Aye. ’Twould be easier for you than Clara to arrange for Andrew to learn his letters and numbers.” She paused. “I nearly died tonight and would have left Andrew an orphan, for his real father is long gone and I know he cares little for the boy now.”

  “I am a soldier, Rowena, not a nanny.”

  “But you can arrange for his care. Ellie would gladly do it, and I will start immediately making many sheets of parchment and enough lengths of rope to last this manor for many years. I will pay in advance for Andrew’s care.”

  “So this isn’t about trusting me to be a good guardian for the boy. ’Tis about me being able to provide for him effectively.”

  Rowena glanced at her feet. He watched her swallow and purse her lips.

  “Is there no trust in your heart at all, Rowena?”

  “Do not ask me that, Stephen. What have men done for me?”

  “Naught but sinned against you.” He felt a similar edginess to her own. “Someday, you will have to forgive them. You’ll never see them again, but this bitterness will eat you from the inside out.”

  She peeked into his eyes and he saw a hollow fear in her expression. Her spine might be straight as a fresh arrow, and her jaw like steel, but she couldn’t mask the fear that lingered within.

  Still, he recognized a certain practicality here. Nay, ’twasn’t complete trust, but ’twas the closest thing to it.

  Slowly she whispered, “And you, Stephen, when will you do some forgiving of your own? Don’t you deserve peace, too?”

  “Nay. I allowed a beloved son and brother to die. ’Twas an unforgivable sin, not in God’s eyes, but in my own. And that is the reason I must decline your request.”

  Then he strode from the hall.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rowena squinted as she stepped out the kitchen door to attend morning services the next day. She had Andrew with her, knowing she would probably sit in the back, near the door. Should he begin to fuss, she could slip outside.

  But being close to the door also meant that Stephen would see her more easily than if she sat hidden in the darker recesses.

  ’Twas with sadness that she’d watched him stalk from the great hall last night. How could he say that his sin of accidentally letting his brother die was unforgivable? Hadn’t Clara said no sin was unforgivable? Her heart ached for him. It shouldn’t, but it did.

  The men of the manor had returned empty-handed late last night, and now some of them, bleary-eyed and tired, were here and no doubt thankful for the dark of the chapel.

  Stephen entered with his sister and her husband. With the rest, Rowena stood as he entered, and was glad that a tall man had come in a few moments after her to block Stephen’s view of her. She peeked around the man’s barrel chest to see Stephen’s gaze search the chapel. Quickly, she straightened again and lowered her head.

  Last night, his bitterness had splintered their conversation. But what did she expect? She had asked him to care for Andrew not because she trusted him, but because she had hoped to purchase his guardianship. She didn’t trust Stephen any more than his family forgave him. In fact, she was much like them. She refused to forgive all men, Stephen included.

  Lord in Heaven, how can I stop this?

  She wished Clara were here, for her wisdom and strength of faith were invaluable. Rowena blinked away fresh tears. Would she always be this foolish and naive? She knew so little and could hardly understand the words of the hymns sung or the paintings in the little frames that sat around the pulpit. Long-bearded men and gentle-faced women worshipped Jesus. Clara said He’d risen from the dead to give them life. Rowena could hardly fathom the notion, but she knew He was real because He felt real in her heart. ’Twas the only way she could explain it.

  Across the chapel, Udella scraped open her small door and sat by it to listen to the service. If she saw Rowena, she gave no indication.

  Ahead, Stephen allowed Lady Josane to enter the front pew first. Rowena remembered how it felt to sit on the wool-filled cushions and have the enclosed pew block the cold drafts from the door. Gilles entered next, rearranging his cushion before he sat beside his wife. Stephen entered last. With the rest, Rowena dropped to one of the cold, hard benches, feeling oddly alone despite the crowd. ’Twas a sad, unexpected emotion. She’d been alone since she was ten, sleeping in the barn, hiding from the men when they’d shown up for their chores. This very moment hurt more than all the nights she’d curled up with the dog to exploit his body heat.

  When the service was over, after Stephen had followed the priest out, Rowena lingered behind two larger wome
n who dawdled in their departures. She hadn’t even looked up for fear she’d meet Stephen’s gaze.

  Was she afraid of him? Nay. She knew her own heart. She was ashamed that she thought she could barter for Andrew’s guardianship instead of trusting him. Even his own family did not trust him anymore. She slipped from the crude pew, in the process getting shoved hard. If she hadn’t caught the bench to steady herself, she’d have fallen to the floor on top of Andrew. Spinning, she faced the other person. ’Twas the old man Barrett. His filthy glare bored into her.

  “Say you’re sorry,” he growled.

  Indignation flared in her. “Nay, you shoved me! Hard, too!”

  The group around them stopped. For a terrifying moment, she regretted her outburst. ’Twas foolhardy to argue with the man who had much influence in the village and with Gilles. She’d seen Barrett speak with Gilles on several occasions.

  “You would dare to talk to me like that, fool woman—”

  Her feet with a mind of their own, she stepped forward and straightened up as much as she could. “I would dare, because you deliberately shoved me! I have done nothing wrong, not here nor in the past.”

  “That brat tells us otherwise.”

  Automatically, she touched Andrew’s cap as he still slumbered in his sling. “Nay, he tells you nothing. But I will.”

  Suddenly, she was sick of the rumors that she knew were whispered about her. “I was sold into slavery by my own family to a baron who wanted a son so he could gain power in Normandy.”

  Standing in the aisle, Barrett folded his arms, his coarsely woven sleeves getting shoved away from his filthy, callused hands. “Sold by your own family? Slavery has been abolished. Who are these fool people? You tell wild tales about them.”

  “My father isn’t a Christian, as I am, and the Norman who bought me knew he could argue that point in his favor.”

  That surprised the man. Indeed, those lingering in the chapel fell silent. From the corner of her eye, Rowena spied Udella leaning out her small door to eavesdrop. “Your family isn’t Christian?” Barrett glared. “Where are you from? Surely not from England.”