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

by Barbara Phinney

  “I’ve never been sick. I haven’t even had a fever before.”

  Stephen frowned. “Have others in your family?”

  “Aye, relatives have died from a fever, but I didn’t catch it.”

  “Your life on a farm away from villages has strengthened you. They say milkmaids are always healthy.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “Then I should be helping you.”

  “What about Andrew?”

  “He’s safe. Ellie stayed in our chamber. She’ll take care of him. I see that now.” She glanced at the man who lay at their feet, his face slack. “I want to be here, Stephen. You shouldn’t care for him alone.”

  A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth to warm her soul. It felt good to be at his side.

  “Good,” Stephen said. “Because I’ll need you. Go see where those herbs and broth are.”

  A few minutes later, Rowena returned with a few small pouches of herbs and a pot of meat broth, all with instructions from Josane on what to do with them.

  “Milady says to mix these into the broth to stop him from sweating.” After measuring some herbs, Rowena handed Stephen a small cup and filled it halfway with the broth. “She says he must be cut to let out the bad blood.”

  “Nay. I have seen many a soldier cut up in battles, and losing blood kills them more than it saves them.”

  “I’m glad you think that way. I dislike the sight of blood. Clara says I should never become a healer, and I think I agree.”

  “’Tis all right. Not everyone has the stomach for it. Did Josane say anything else?”

  Rowena nodded. “Aye, we are to burn these other herbs in the brazier. Their smoke will clean his breath.” She looked around. “But first we need a brazier.”

  “And more furs,” Stephen added. Rowena left and returned a few minutes later with a lamp and glowing brazier. After disappearing again, she returned with another fur. She reached around Stephen to cover the man.

  “Thank you.”

  With a shy glance up at Stephen, she nodded. “’Tis the least I can do.” She paused. “You aren’t afraid of him, like the others. Why?”

  “Someone needs to care for him and he is in my employ. I could order one of the servants, but they will not do it properly for fear he will make them sick, as well.” He looked at her and in the lamplight, he smiled grimly. “’Tis the Christian thing to do. Even though we don’t always like our responsibilities, we must complete them.”

  “He was delivering a missive to Master Gilles, not you.”

  He frowned. “Aye.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Do you want Master Gilles to care for him?”

  “Nay, he would surely lock him in here and ignore him for fear he’d get sick, also. I merely wondered why Gilles needed the courier.”

  “Go ask him, then. I’ll stay here. I can spoon-feed him the broth. I’ve started to do the same to Andrew.”

  Stephen considered her words, then nodded. “Thank you. I do need to speak with Gilles on that matter.” He glanced over her shoulder to the brazier. “I’ll bring back more hot coals, too.”

  At the door, he paused. “Rowena, you are either very brave or completely addled to tend a sick person you don’t even know. But either way, ’tis good to have you here.”

  She smiled, the heat of his compliment warming her more than the nearby brazier. “Clara would agree with you, that helping the sick is part and parcel of Christian charity. But I’m sure you would get along well without me.”

  “Would I?” The small smile on Stephen’s face dropped as his brows knit together. He opened his mouth, but shut it again.

  What was he thinking? He had disagreed with her comment, and indeed, her heart surged at the thought, but he said no more after that. Instead, his dark gaze lingered on her. Immediately, she recalled his kiss, and heat rose anew into her cheeks. Despite the serious circumstances, she could think of nothing she’d like to do more than to work alongside Stephen, caring for this Norman stranger.

  She had no idea what he’d thought at that moment she offered him a small smile of her own. All she knew was that indecision flickered over his face as he turned on his heel and left.

  * * *

  It took some time to find Gilles, for the minstrels had hastily finished their performances and everyone had retired for the night. ’Twas in Stephen’s own private office that he found his brother-in-law. The man spun as Stephen shoved open the door.

  “Gilles, why are you here?”

  The pale light from the desk’s oil lamp lit a small circle around them. Stephen saw only shadows on Gilles’s face as the man answered, “I’m returning the parchment. I don’t need it anymore.”

  On the desk lay the missive that had just arrived. Stephen strode over and picked it up. ’Twas a table of numbers and lists. “This is what you used my courier for? Ledger notes?”

  “I consulted my counterpart in London on a system to organize the collection of monies other than rent. I didn’t care for the way I was doing it before.”

  Stephen dropped the missive. It seemed an insignificant reason to sicken a man, for they both knew too much traveling sickened everyone. “You will inform me if you wish to use my courier, Gilles. I may have need of him.”

  “Fine.” he said curtly. “How is he?”

  “’Tis too early to tell. I left Rowena with him.” He paused. “Gilles, do you ever speak with the anchoress?”

  Gilles’s brows shot up. He was obviously taken aback by the question. “Rarely. Why should I?”

  Stephen wanted to ask if he knew what the older woman had wanted to ask of the king, but held back. Then he thought of the anchoress’s recent illness. His heart chilled. Was the fever spreading through the village? “The anchoress was ill and saw no one,” he finally told Gilles.

  “She shouldn’t be talking to anyone except the chaplain. I thought she requested a life of solitude and prayer and was allowed to stay here only if she did just that. Obviously she has forgotten her promise.”

  “She also requested you be made baron here.”

  Gilles’s expression darkened. Stephen waited patiently for him to reveal more, but all his brother-in-law did was shake his head. “She’s old and addled. Ask Josane. She chats with her. I’ll tell the chaplain to keep her quiet.” He rolled up the parchment ledger and set it in the box that held the other parchments, then departed quickly.

  Stephen remained, his thoughts straying to the box that still sat open on his desk. Nothing Gilles said was unexpected, but there lingered a feeling that something was amiss. Was it Josane? Was Gilles protecting her?

  No answer came. Stephen remembered his sister’s warning. Was he going soft and losing his ability to know when someone was lying? He grimaced. He was missing something important, but he couldn’t even guess what it might be. If it concerned Rowena, he had better get it sorted out.

  She had been the only one to follow him as he carried the sick courier out to the hospice room. She was risking her own life and that of her son’s by tending the man. What would happen if she died from the fever this man had?

  Stephen swallowed. She had asked him to be Andrew’s guardian, but only out of practicality. There was no trust involved.

  It left a bad taste in his mouth. Did he actually want her to ask out of trust, when he was quite willing to lay her out as bait? He’d be a hypocrite if he did.

  Still, cold washed through him at the thought of what he’d done. And even though he’d questioned the wisdom of putting her at risk, it wasn’t until she was attacked that it truly affected him.

  He reached out to close the parchment box. Each rolled missive sat there, some waiting to be cleaned of their ink for reuse. All of them had seen plenty of wear. The sheet of nettle parchment on which Rowena had sketched her attacker may be a good substitute, but ’twould not stand up to the scrubbings skin parchments suffered. Her hope of selling them may be for naught, and so would be her hope to see Andrew educated.

  A t
hought struck him: someone in the manor might recognize her attacker from the sketch she’d drawn. Shutting the box of parchments, Stephen turned and left his office. After finding his guard, he ordered him to query each person in the manor about the man in the sketch.

  Then, with more coals and herbs, he returned to the hospice room.

  Rowena was washing the man’s face when he entered. She’d abandoned her veil but had tied her hair back with a leather thong. Wisps of white blond shone around her face in the lamplight. “’Tis good you remembered the coals,” she whispered. “This man is chilled to the bone from his own sweat. And coughing terribly.”

  “We will have this room warm enough before long.” He stooped down beside her. “Thank you, Rowena. ’Tis good you are here. But you will need to rest soon.”

  “I’m fine for now.” She looked across at him. “But you shouldn’t be here. You’re the lord of this manor, not a servant or healer. You shouldn’t have to do this.”

  “Fevers scare others, but not me. They are afraid this man’s sin will spread to them.”

  “His sin?” She shook her head, and a lock of her pale hair danced free onto her forehead.

  “Aye, ’tis often thought a man’s sin sickens him.”

  “Do you think that?”

  “Nay. Many sinful men don’t get sick at all.”

  “True. My father and Lord Taurin both stayed healthy.” She let out a small gasp.

  “What is it?”

  She leaned forward and sniffed. “I think I smelled this odor on my attacker. He may have been ill, too. ’Tis an odd, sickly smell.”

  He tucked the lock of hair over her ear, his hand straying downward to brush her neck. Her expression softened as he spoke. “I’m truly sorry for what happened to you. And yet, had it not happened, I would not have met you.”

  She frowned as he dropped his hand. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you suppose God allowed my suffering so we could meet?”

  He swallowed. Why? To fulfill the king’s order? For he knew that someday he would be expected to marry a noblewoman from his own land, a marriage that would align loyalties in Normandy. His friend Adrien and other knights had been ordered to marry Saxon women of influence to secure loyalties here, but there were only so many high-born Saxon maids.

  The only reason Stephen had avoided the marriage fate was because he’d been needed for a single purpose—to seek out rebels or who might endanger the king’s hold. The villagers needed to see that ’twould be more beneficial to swear fealty to William than to risk his wrath.

  So how did Rowena fit in all of this? To torment him until the time came that William would assign him a wife? ’Twas not God’s way to torment. Mayhap Rowena was here to show the villagers that if their baron cared for even the least of them, their king deserved their loyalty, too. Had it not already happened to Lord Eudo, and later, his brother, Lord Adrien? They had both earned the loyalty of the Saxons under their rule. If so, then was Rowena’s time in his life to be fleeting? His heart stalled at the thought.

  “I don’t know why God allows us to suffer,” he finally said. “But I know that suffering makes us stronger and better able to deal with future difficulties.”

  “I don’t want any future difficulties.”

  Her words pierced him with their quiet, pained tone. He felt the urge to pull her into his arms. The feel of her lips on his still lingered in his mind. She was a remarkable woman, trying her best in a cruel world. For a moment as quick as a coal popping, he had one desire. If ’twere at all possible, he would take her far from the intrigues of this village and shelter her as she deserved to be sheltered.

  But ’twas an addled dream, and he was foolish to think it. He belonged to his king, and any attraction between himself and Rowena would be in vain. The king would never waste a marriage that could secure alliances and strengthen his kingdom. “My thanks, Rowena. And my promise stands. I will find who attacked you. I have employed an unusual method to locate him.”

  “What is it?”

  He hesitated, not wanting her to expect success that might not come. After all, who had ever distributed a sketch of a criminal in order to locate him? “I won’t say yet, but I will do my best to find him, I promise.”

  “I know you will try, but ’tis sad. Thus far nothing has worked.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Nay. ’Tis true.” He wished he could promise her that he would find this man, but his investigation had been thwarted at every turn. Too many distractions.

  When her gaze dropped to his lips, he immediately guessed her thoughts and steeled himself against yet another distraction.

  Sharing a kiss here in the hospice room was inappropriate and ’twould not teach her to trust him. With strength he pulled from deep within, something he didn’t realize he had, he shifted away.

  Still, he felt the loss keenly.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rowena awoke with a start. She looked around the small room. Daylight squeezed through the thin cracks around where the door met its frame. The young courier moaned, and she saw ’twas he who’d roused her.

  They were alone. She sat up from her makeshift bed. She’d been in this hospice hut two days. She’d spent all yesterday tending the sick man, recalling as much as she could from her time with Clara, suggesting different herbs and washes that could help the man. Only last night, when she felt the man was showing improvement, did she make herself a bed and sleep.

  Stephen had left yesterday, no doubt to see to the normal routines of the day. She wished she could go, also, for she needed to nurse Andrew.

  The courier’s eyes fluttered open, and after Rowena checked his forehead, she stood to relight the lamp from the dying coals of the brazier. That done, she looked back at him. His color had returned and his face no longer shone with cold sweat.

  Last night, as she’d curled up on the thresh she’d gathered, she prayed for healing and now thanked the Lord for it.

  Though she must not give up her duty yet. The young man needed more broth and herbs and warm water to bathe away the sick odors. She leaned forward and pressed her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get some more food for you. Do not move.”

  Outside, Rowena shielded her eyes against the bright sunlight. She spied Stephen and two servants crossing the short distance to the hospice hut. As they closed in on her, Rowena caught the tempting scents of rich broth and baked bread from a large tray one servant carried. The other hefted up a bucket of steaming water.

  “’Tis for the courier,” Stephen explained.

  “That ’twill be much appreciated, I’m sure, milord,” Rowena said as she looked at the sun high above her. “’Tis late.”

  “Aye. You tended the man for two days and refused my order to rest and take nourishment.”

  “I did?”

  Stephen laughed. “You don’t remember? Working too hard does that to a mind.” He pulled a small piece of straw from her hair. “But I see you finally slept. How is our courier?”

  Self-conscious, for she’d set aside her veil, Rowena smoothed her hair. “His fever is gone.”

  “Good. Now that you’re willing to take a break from your duties, I will see to his care. Go tend to your ablutions. I’ll send broth and hot water to your chamber. Oh, and I believe I heard Andrew screaming earlier.”

  She flushed at the thought of her child’s growing temper. “’Twill be good to see him. Thank you.”

  “Nay, Rowena. Thank you. Your ministrations have saved my courier’s life.” He smiled. “Go, and when you’re done, join me for the evening meal. I have something to tell you.” He walked away.

  Her traitorous stomach growled. Was it wise to eat with Stephen? Aye, they’d done well caring for the courier, but now?

  She made her way with plodding steps toward the maids’ chamber. After thanking Ellie for caring for Andrew, she set about her ablutions and feeding him. The broth Stephen had promised arrived, but only when her stomach agai
n protested its emptiness did she think about eating.

  After she took it, she rocked Andrew as much to comfort herself as to keep him asleep. Her situation had not changed, and yet as she looked down at her son, she thought of when she’d asked Stephen to care for him should she die.

  It hadn’t been based on trust, but it should have been. And after all they’d done these past few days, she should have learned to trust Stephen.

  She did. So why did the notion of eating with him scare her?

  Because she knew someone out there still wanted to kill her. She knew that Stephen would still use her as bait.

  Trust. She must simply trust Stephen, the man who had done her so much good.

  Abruptly, Ellie threw open the door. “Rowena, milord is asking for you in the hall. No one can eat until you’re there. Don’t you know ’tis time to sup?”

  She hesitated. Already? “I don’t know...”

  “Don’t be silly. The soldiers were very impressed by your courage in looking after the courier. I heard them speaking.” Deftly, she took Andrew and laid him on the pallet.

  “I should check on the man.”

  “Nay. He’s much better. Lord Stephen saw that he ate and bathed.” Ellie smiled broadly. “I’m so proud of you. I would be terrified I’d get sick, but you didn’t even think of yourself!” She grabbed Rowena’s hand and pulled her nearer to the door. “Come!”

  “What about Andrew? I should stay with him.”

  “He’s fine! I’ll look after him. You know you can count on me.”

  Rowena stalled. “Why are you so anxious to have me go to the hall? Surely others think I will pass the illness on to them.”

  “Nay, they won’t. They’d dare not say anything if they did think that way, for Lord Stephen attended the man with you and he’s already in the hall waiting!” Ellie smiled secretively as she lowered her voice and said, “I want you to go because it annoys Lady Josane. Oh, she’s been terribly harsh on all of us maids these last few days. ’Twould be nice to see her squirm in her seat, for she dare not say a thing in front of milord.”

  “I don’t believe that. She’s his older sister and I’ve heard her speak her mind. Besides, you shouldn’t talk like that. ’Tis not Christian.”