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

by Barbara Phinney

  “They farm to the west, near the villages of Cambridge and Grantchester.”

  She was less than ten miles away from her family, she’d been told once by Clara. Both villages were primitive, backwater places whose only benefit came from the bridges built there. “Foolish lies!” Barrett spat out. “Why haven’t you been recaptured?”

  Rowena tightened her jaw. Barrett, and indeed this village, didn’t need to know her business, but she couldn’t stop the words. “The king himself freed me after the Norman baron was sent home in disgrace.”

  “A Norman king with no right to be here!”

  She stepped closer. “I did not betray my people!”

  She turned on her heel to face the crowd. “In what way could I betray anyone? I was kept in a room at a manor house until I escaped. I gave birth in Colchester, protected by a midwife there. How could I, a child of a farmer, know anything of interest to the Normans?”

  Emboldened by the gaping looks on the faces of the crowd, Rowena shouted, “Who here wants me dead? Whoever you are, do it now! But look me in the eye as you kill me.”

  Nothing happened. All who stared at her fell silent. “Nay, you’re a coward,” Rowena continued, “whoever you are, listening to foolish lies that someone has spread about me, without even asking me for the truth. Am I the only girl you’ve met who’s suffered under a Norman? Wouldn’t it be more obvious that I had no choice?”

  The crowd shrank away from her appeal. Women dropped their gazes to their feet, and one man pulled his family out of the chapel. Suddenly, the villagers parted from the outside inward. Stephen stepped into the circle she’d created.

  “Go home, all of you,” he ordered the crowd.

  The people melted away like a dollop of fat thrown into a hot fry pan. Within a few breaths, there was no one there.

  When he glared at Rowena, her bravado also dissolved.

  Oh, dear Lord in Heaven, what have I done? She had disgraced Stephen in his own manor, shouting like a madwoman. He would surely send her packing now. Indeed, his scowl suggested as much.

  When the crowd was gone, she dared a peek into his face. His expression had not changed. “I was shoved and I was tired of these people thinking so ill of me,” she said in her defense.

  “So you risked your life to prove your point.”

  “Nay.”

  “Aye, you did. I heard you challenge someone to kill you.”

  She blinked at the memory of her foolishness. Her heart pounded in her chest as she realized the full extent of the danger in which she’d put herself and her son. “’Twere only foolish words spoken in haste.”

  “Aye, they were. You think that someone wouldn’t thrust a knife through you while you’re standing in this chapel? Worse things have happened in God’s house.” Stephen sighed and closed the gap between them. She could see his gaze softening as he lifted her chin with his finger. Or was it the unshed tears in her eyes? She’d disappointed Stephen, and it cut her to the quick.

  “Do not do it again, Rowena,” he said quietly. “These people are not thinking wisely, and I have yet to discover which one of them wants you dead, or even why.”

  She shut her eyes, hating that she wanted more than just his attention. She wanted him to hold her tight. Then, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she tugged down his arm. “I won’t. I was shoved and I flared up. Even now, I don’t know why I did it.”

  “Because you have been hurt. Turn the other cheek, Rowena.” He frowned. “Did you notice anyone with enough hatred to want you dead? Did you feel anyone here hated you that much?”

  “Nay. But sometimes when I am angry or scared, I cannot guess anyone’s emotions.”

  “Then trust me. Have I not sheltered you here? I will find your attacker.”

  “Do you think he was here today?”

  He stepped back. “I searched the crowd but saw no one who looked like your sketch.”

  So her bravado was for naught? She sagged. “I’m not very good help, am I?”

  He smiled briefly. “Nay, you’re not. And I’m not very good at finding your attacker, either.” He paused. “But we will get better.”

  With every bone in her body, she wanted to walk into his arms. But here in the chapel? And with Stephen stepping away from her as if he regretted he’d touched her in the first place? Nay, seeking comfort in his embrace would not be wise at all.

  As if to confirm that, Stephen muttered, “Rowena, your roof is finished, but I will ask you to stay here at the manor. ’Tis safer.”

  She peered into his dark eyes. Aye, ’twould be safer, indeed. At her hut, she’d risked her life. But here at his manor house, what would she risk? All her life she’d known that men could not be trusted. Would she risk learning ’twas not so? That even Stephen, however embittered and hurt by his family that he was, was trustworthy?

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to learn that.

  * * *

  Stephen took another step away from her, for he was certain if he stood close to her any longer, he would pull her into his arms and kiss her fear and sadness away.

  With her assailant somewhere near? One of the first rules of soldiering was never to show a weakness. You would surely be dead should the enemy see your vulnerability.

  From afar, the lilting strains of flutes drifted in. Thankful for the distraction, Stephen stalked outside and over to the corner of his large home. Rowena followed with Andrew. A band of minstrels was marching into the village from the road to London. Several acrobats wheeled on their hands or leaped gracefully on another’s back, only to whirl away and land on their feet again. A drummer kept the beat with almost military precision. Trained dogs pirouetted around their masters.

  Several children broke away from their families to run over to watch.

  ’Twas the minstrel troupe Stephen had asked for. Though ’twas late in the season, they’d been willing to come. As Stephen watched them greet the children, a plan blossomed in his mind.

  One older man broke from the crowd and walked toward him. ’Twas obvious to Stephen that the man noted his clothing and stance and guessed he was the baron here.

  Immediately, a guard stepped between the newcomer and Stephen. The man bowed. Stephen dismissed the guard, deciding he would defuse the tensions created today with a celebration of sorts. ’Twas no holy day or feast, but the troupe could entertain well enough in the great hall.

  And fulfill his plan.

  A short while later, after arrangements were made and payment of the troupe agreed upon, Stephen turned.

  Rowena had come close and now stared wide-eyed and open-jawed at the brightly clad visitors. He walked over to her, leaving the leader to inform his troupe. “I took your suggestion on getting the villagers to trust me more. Have you ever seen a troupe of entertainers before?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve only heard of them. These people would never come to a small farm so far from a village.”

  “What was your closest village’s name?”

  “We lived between Cambridge and Grantchester. When the family I traveled with said they were headed to Colchester, I remembered my father mentioning the town, for Baron Eudo holds it as well as several villages near Cambridge. I traveled with them because I thought it was far enough away that Taurin would not find me.”

  Colchester, where Eudo, Adrien’s brother, held the town. Stephen grimaced, keenly wishing for more information. But the courier was gone again, he suddenly realized, and Stephen would not send a pair of guards when they were needed here.

  Frustration rose in him. Why seek more about her? You don’t need it to fulfill the king’s order. Your plan today does not hinge on what Rowena did before she came here. The king needs a calculating man, not one who goes soft when a woman speaks to him.

  Lord God, am I not allowed to enjoy any of this life’s pleasures?

  Hating the lack of a decent answer, he straightened. “You will join me tonight to watch this troupe.”

  Rowena’s eyes widened farther
as she looked from Stephen to the troupe’s leader. Her throat bobbed as she met his eyes, as if searching for something. From the sadness in her expression, he knew she didn’t find what she’d hoped was there. “Stephen, are you asking me to sit with you as these people entertain us?”

  “Aye. Is there a problem? The most danger you will suffer is a foul look from my sister. Trust me, you will survive that. I have received them for years and remain quite healthy.” His voice dropped. “Sometimes I long for a normal life. Won’t you give me permission to have one for just a single eve?”

  Rowena studied his expression, and he was glad she had admitted she could not read him as well as she read others.

  Finally, though wary, she nodded.

  For all that, no satisfaction flowed into him. You’ve manipulated her. You’ve used all your skills against her.

  Before those words could convict him further, he nodded to her and said, “Tonight, in the hall, we will share a good meal before the troupe performs.” Then he left her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The evening was lively and exciting, and Rowena felt as though she couldn’t open her eyes wide enough to take it all in. Before the performance, she and Stephen had shared a trencher of meat and roots, savored with onions and herbs. It had been a satisfying meal, finished off with fresh cider and cheese and fine sweetmeat pastries that glistened with honeyed nuts, made complete with cups of custard for dipping.

  And she had survived Lady Josane’s scathing looks. Thankfully, the woman chose to ignore her after the trenchers were filled. Master Gilles glared once at her before turning his attention to the chaplain, as he often did.

  The hall filled with the villagers soon after supper. The troupe began entertaining with songs and music that danced delightfully around Rowena’s senses. She tapped her foot to the drumbeat and swayed gently to the flute music. One young man plucked a stringed instrument, sometimes several of the strings at once, to produce a sound as lovely as the birds when they returned in springtime.

  She glanced at Stephen and found him watching her. A smile hovered over his features. His dark eyes were soft and as delicious looking as the dark sweetmeat that filled the pastry she’d just eaten.

  He’d wanted one normal moment in his life. Oh, how she knew exactly what he longed for! For this brief evening, she could be a woman with few cares. A woman who wasn’t hunted for something she hadn’t done.

  Aye, ’twas a good eve.

  The acrobats began, and a young man snatched apples from the head table to juggle, so many of them in the air at once, Rowena couldn’t keep them separated. Supple young women dressed in men’s clothing danced and hopped on top of men’s shoulders to jump and twirl away as everyone around them gasped.

  Then an old man with a long beard stepped forward, twirled his hand and produced a puff of smoke from his palm. Rowena gasped. He stepped closer, pulling from her ear a coin, before twisting his wrist to toss it away. Suddenly it became a dove and the bird fluttered off.

  Startled, Rowena jumped back. Stephen laughed. “How did he do that?” she asked.

  “’Tis leger de main. Sleight of hand. You never know what a person has up his sleeves.”

  Feigning shock at the accusation, the man pulled up his long, billowing sleeves. Then, leaning forward again, he found another coin in her ear.

  Rowena touched the side of her head. “I don’t understand. He had nothing up his sleeves, yet you say he did!”

  Stephen leaned closer, his soft whisper tickling her ear. “Ah. Nothing is as it seems.”

  A shiver rippled through her. What did he mean by that? Was he referring to their earlier conversation outside? That he may look like a normal man enjoying life, but was never to be one?

  Such was her life, also. She must devote herself to her babe, for no man would want her as his wife. She leaned back thoughtfully. Little Andrew and several other babes were cloistered in the maids’ room, cared for by Ellie, who had volunteered for the task. Rowena was grateful to her.

  The old man performed another trick, all the while smiling at her. Again, Stephen whispered, “Do you notice that ’tis always the young, beautiful women who attract the most attention at this performance? Be careful, Rowena, or he will lure you out to the center and make you disappear. Can you not tell that he is tricking you?”

  She glanced quickly at Stephen but found his brows lifted up in a jovial warning. For that heartbeat, she could imagine what it would be like to be a part of his life. “Nay. He must be well trained in hiding his feelings.” A shiver ran through her. She could not read Stephen. Was he hiding something, too?

  Several people at the entrance to the great hall began to clap, and Rowena moved her gaze toward them.

  Ellie stood clapping with obvious pleasure.

  Rowena went cold. Who was caring for Andrew?

  Nothing is what it seems.

  She turned to Stephen. “I must leave! Ellie’s there at the door. She was supposed to look after Andrew!” Her voice grew. “I need to check on him!”

  She scraped back her chair and fled the dais table. She heard Stephen call out, but thrust herself through the crowd toward Ellie.

  “What are you doing here? Where’s Andrew?” she demanded of her friend. Not waiting for an answer, she raced down the narrow corridor. The maids’ chamber door was closed. With a hard shove on the door, Rowena rushed inside.

  Another maid lay beside Andrew, who slept soundly on one of the pallets. Two other babes shared another pallet. The maid looked up at her.

  Ellie burst inside. “Rowena!”

  Rowena sagged as she turned. “I thought you’d left him alone.”

  “Nay, I would never do that! Matild has a headache and came to lie down. She offered to watch the babes so I could see the performers.”

  “I’m so sorry. I thought that...” She pressed her hand against her pounding heart.

  Ellie hugged her. “Nay, I would never shirk my promise to you, Rowena.”

  “All is well, then,” someone called from the threshold.

  Rowena turned to see Stephen standing with his arms folded. Her heart sank as she realized she’d probably embarrassed him.

  “I’m sorry. I thought Ellie had left Andrew alone.” Her face heated. “I’m a fool, but your words scared me.”

  “My words?”

  “Aye, when you said ‘Nothing is what it seems.’”

  “I meant the old man. They use the art of diversion to create what seems like an impossible feat.”

  “I was scared.” Rowena let out a nervous laugh as she looked at her friend. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I should have trusted you.”

  Ellie gripped Rowena’s hands. “’Tis all right! I understand.”

  “Nay, ’tis not all right,” she answered as she shook her head. “I acted unwisely, not even letting you say anything. I...I—”

  Footfalls pounded down the plank floor toward the maids’ chamber. Gilles burst in. “What’s wrong?”

  “A mistake, ’tis all,” Stephen said, his eyes like dark ice as he stared at Gilles. Really stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

  Swallowing, Rowena prepared to offer Stephen another apology, but shouting noises rolled down the corridor to stop her.

  Stephen stepped out of the chamber. Gilles, then Rowena, followed. A young man, the courier, pushed through the curious onlookers and staggered to a halt. “Master Gilles, your missive.”

  Crimson flooded Gilles’s face as he snatched the rolled parchment.

  Rowena moved her gaze from Gilles to the courier. Was the young man drunk?

  Nay! His face pale, his mouth hanging open, he swayed as he stood. Rowena could see the sheen of perspiration on his forehead and upper lip. The courier spoke again, a garbled, drooling word, before coughing loudly. He wasn’t drunk. He was ill.

  The gathered crowd shrank back. Then the courier fell to the planks and rushes beneath him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Several ladies fled.
The men drew their sleeves up to their faces to protect themselves as they backed away. No one wanted to touch the man, who was surely deathly sick.

  Rowena gaped at them. How could they not help? Immediately, she surged forward and dropped to her knees, finding herself bumping into Lord Stephen as he did the same.

  “Stay back, Rowena,” he said sharply as he tried to push her away. “He’s very ill, and should it be a fever, ’twill spread quickly through the manor. I will take him outside.”

  She stopped his hands. “Outside! He needs to be cared for, not discarded!”

  “I wasn’t going to discard him.” He hefted up the man.

  Josane shoved several men out of her way. “Stephen, are you addled? You’ll get sick, too. Put him down!”

  “And let him suffer in our corridor? Nay. Get some healing herbs and hot broth ready for him. I will take him out to the hospice room.”

  Rowena followed Stephen as he carried the young man outside to a small, lone hut beyond the kitchens. She’d seen it when she’d first met the anchoress, but assumed ’twas just a storehouse for foods and grains.

  Stephen glanced back at her. “Run ahead and open the door, Rowena.”

  She hurried in front and pushed open the door. The odor of stale dust rolled out to her. “I thought this was a storeroom.”

  “Nay, ’tis a hospice hut for the sick. No one comes in here for fear he will become ill himself.”

  Moonlight spilled in. The small room held only a pallet and a fur, a chair and table. Stephen set the man gently on the pallet. Dust from the room’s disuse puffed out from underneath the courier.

  Stephen turned to Rowena. “Thank you. You’re the only one who wants to help.”

  Rowena peered outside to see they were alone. When she looked back, she found Stephen covering the man with an old fur. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve seen plenty of illnesses, but ’tis too early to say what this may be. He made several trips to London, and traveling can sicken a man.” He looked up at her. “You should return to the manor. I don’t want you ill, as well.”