Rowena wanted to ask him about what other plans he seemed to have, but suddenly, they didn’t seem as important. “But it may make sense. Master Gilles is half-Saxon.”
Stephen stalled and turned. In the light from the moon, a knowing expression dawned on his face. “Aye! You said that at the table! How would the anchoress know that? Did Gilles tell her?”
“Nay, she said that she recognized him as being her brother’s son. Udella’s brother and his cousin had been sent to Normandy to be schooled there. When her brother fell in love with a wealthy Norman noblewoman, she was married off to another Norman. But Udella’s brother and that woman were lovers and she became pregnant. The cousin returned to England and told Udella all of this.”
“Udella knows who Gilles is just by looking at him?”
Rowena could hear the skepticism in his voice. She shrugged. “By the shape of his ears, and his looks. She says he is the spit of his father.”
“Ears? Aye, Gilles had an odd shape to his ears. I have not yet seen Udella’s ears, but now that ’tis mentioned, I can see a resemblance between him and Udella.” He paused. “Josane said that Udella asked her about Gilles’s birth, so she must have been confirming what she suspected. What else did she say? Did she tell Gilles?”
“Nay. She feared for his life. She wanted to ask the king if Master Gilles could be given this estate but didn’t want the king to ask why.”
Stephen nodded. “Gilles and I fought at William’s side, though Gilles is not a full-time soldier. Udella was here when we marched through. Did she tell anyone else?”
“Nay. The only persons who knew who Gilles really was were some of the older villagers, whom Udella swore to secrecy. Then you returned as baron with Master Gilles as part of your family. She got what she wanted, to have Gilles close.”
“And since Gilles was married and I am not, there is a good chance that he would have sons long before me. Mayhap she was hoping that Gilles has a son who will inherit this holding.”
Remembering more, Rowena caught Stephen’s arm. “Udella said that she had planned to tell Gilles who he was, but changed her mind. What if his mother felt keeping her son’s sire a secret would preserve his life and position? I know that when I learned that Taurin wanted to lie about Andrew’s parentage, my babe’s life was at risk because all of Normandy would have seen him as heir to a vast area of land.”
At Taurin’s name, Stephen’s scowl deepened. “Speak no more of that vile man. The only good he did was bring you here with your babe.”
She felt her face heat and, afraid Stephen would see her reaction, dropped her hand.
“Nay, Rowena, look at me.”
She looked up into his eyes. She could see the partially full moon reflected in them. They stood near the chapel, and after a glance around him, Stephen drew her into its shadows. Off toward the center of the surrounds of buildings, the squire stood. He was small and skinny, not yet filled out, but looking the other way, in the direction of the manor house.
“You asked me to be Andrew’s guardian should anything happen to you.”
“You declined.”
“Because ’twas not born of trust.”
She said nothing.
“Do you trust me now, Rowena?”
She swallowed, afraid of what he might ask if she said yes.
“Mayhap I should put it this way. I will see to your son’s care should anything happen to you.”
“But that is not born of real care for Andrew.”
He chuckled softly. “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?”
She agreed, but held her tongue on the matter. Thinking quickly, she whispered, “Please don’t approach Udella. She told me about Gilles in confidence. Only what has happened has forced me to say something.”
He didn’t answer right away. But finally, he nodded. “Nay, I will say nothing of this and neither should you. ’Tis unlikely Gilles knows anything, if the village’s elderly kept their promise. And they would, for surely they would see him as much a Norman as I am. Your child is hated and he is only half-Norman.
“As for what went on in London, it makes no sense for Aubrey de Vere to concern himself with the borrowing of ledgers between bailiffs. I’m unsure of the connection, but we will soon capture Hundar, as he’s likely to return home. Then we’ll have our answers.”
Rowena pressed her hand to Stephen’s warm chest. “Thank you so much for all of this. Where would I be without your kindness?”
He took her hand and kissed it. Then, drawing her close, he released her hand to curl his around her neck, under her veil.
Then he lowered his lips to touch hers, a soft brush like the first time, but suddenly ’twas bursting forth like wildflowers after a night’s rain. She gripped him back, allowing herself to follow the sweep of emotion and longing.
He answered her kiss further. They clung to each other, tasting supper on each other’s lips, the lingering honey from the sweetmeats and the cool, tangy cider. She wanted, nay, needed, his embrace, and emboldened by the strength of her emotions, she kissed him with far more abandon than she thought possible.
He lifted his head. “Do you trust me now, Rowena?”
She backed away. And she nearly ached with yearning to stay in his arms. There, she felt protected, sheltered. But this was her life and she had to think of Andrew. He still needed her, in spite of Stephen’s assurance he would be cared for.
You trust God, and you know nothing of Him. You know Stephen.
Stephen stepped back, but Rowena could still feel his gaze heavy upon her. She dared to peek up at him. Finally, she whispered, “I trust God and I know Him not, so I should trust you, or I’ll be nothing but a hypocrite. I know you’ll do your best for Andrew.”
Stephen’s brows shot up. “I am not worthy to be compared to our Savior. But I accept that you are trying to trust. We have to start somewhere.”
“Milord?”
Stephen turned toward the lawn, where his squire stood.
“Someone is coming,” the boy whispered.
Immediately voices rang out from the manor house as a stream of people advanced. Stephen pushed Rowena deeper into the shadows and stood next to his squire.
She peered into the crowd. Josane strode ahead of the rest. “Stephen, this Saxon demands to see you.”
A short, stocky man stepped from the curious crowd. “Milord, please forgive this late hour,” he began in a scratchy voice. “I have been traveling for many days, desperate to find my beloved daughter—”
Rowena gasped in horrible recognition.
Her father had found her.
Chapter Twenty
“Nay!”
At the sound of Rowena’s soft word, her father peered into the darkened shadows. Still as stone, she fought the urge to flee.
No more fear, she told herself. No begging for food, nor cowering when the men came into the barn. She was worth more than the small sack of coins that had been tossed at her father’s feet as Taurin had grabbed her arm. She knew this now.
It may have been Taurin who treated her the most cruelly, but her father had pushed her onto that path. Her fists curled, her jaw tightened. That man would never hurt her again!
Rowena flew from her sheltered spot. In the next breath, she reached her father and drilled her fists in a rapid tattoo against his chest. “Go back to your filthy farm!”
Someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her off her father. She wrenched herself free. From the direction of the manor, a guard rushed, carrying a long torch.
Rowena turned to glare at the man who’d dared to pull her from beating her father. She gasped. ’Twas Stephen! Nay, did he not remember all she’d told him about this man?
“Rowena? Why did you hit me?” The man peered through the flickering light at her face.
“Why! Are you addled?” She lunged at him again.
“Stop!” Stephen pulled her hard toward him before pinning her hands behind her back. She struggled with all she had, feeling her mind spi
nning out of control like a child’s toy. The yard and people around her blurred as her heart raced faster and faster. With a deft movement, Stephen wrapped his arms around her and yanked her close. She felt his tight grip and shut her eyes.
“Rowena! Stop!” His harsh whisper brushed past her ear. “You’ll only hurt yourself!”
She stilled, her breathing fast and short, her head spinning and dizziness threatening to drop her like a stone. After a moment of shocked silence, Rowena felt her heart slow, her breath ease.
“’Tis not the place.” He looked at Rowena’s father. “What is your name?”
“I am Alfred, son of Althen. I’m a poor man, milord, but a free one. I own my own hide of land.”
“Well, Althenson.” Stephen gave him a last name. Rowena had never heard of one in their family, only among those who came from Normandy. “We will go into the hall,” Stephen told everyone.
Still wrapped in his arms, Rowena shook her head. “I won’t stand in the same room as that man!”
“Rowena, why?” Her father looked up at Stephen, his expression gaping. “My lord, I don’t understand this. My daughter, my flesh and blood! She ran away over a year ago, but I have found her safe in your fine care! Blessings to you, milord! Blessings!”
Rowena glared. “Whose blessings?”
“My own, Rowena. I heard where you were and I left immediately to come for you.”
She stiffened. Turning her head slightly, she said to Stephen, “You can release me, milord. I will not shame you with my behavior anymore.”
Slowly, Stephen let her go. She stood resolute and in control, as tall as she could make herself. “I did not run away. You sold me to Lord Taurin. Have you forgotten your vile actions?”
Althenson stared blankly at her, then at Stephen, his expression showing shock. In the dancing light of the torch as it buffeted about in the breeze, he shook his head. Oh, how she wished she could read his true emotions, but her own had built a wall against him so high, she could never reach over it.
“Lord Taurin came to us, but I refused his offer,” her father said. “He threatened to beat me, but I refused him still. Only when he saw he was outnumbered, for our kin was close at hand, did he finally leave!”
Rowena snapped her stare to Stephen, but with his expression inscrutable, he said nothing. “Nay, Lord Stephen, do not believe him!”
He held up his hand. “’Tis not a matter to discuss outside. We will take it into the hall, where I will listen to it.”
When the crowd moved away, Gilles stepped forward into the light. “I should be deciding this case, Stephen.”
“Nay, ’tis not your jurisdiction. The king granted her freedom, personally, so we shouldn’t treat this matter in a simple manorial court, not with the chance of William visiting this winter and learning of it. Come inside, all of you.”
He strode past Rowena without as much as another glance her way. She felt as though her life were dissolving, but she somehow managed to follow him. All the while, so many eyes seemed glued to her like insects caught in tree sap.
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 m
oment.
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.”
Sheltered by the Warrior (Viking Warriors Book 3) (Historical Romance) Page 19