Sheltered by the Warrior. Barbara Phinney

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СКАЧАТЬ snapped his attention to his young squire, a boy named Gaetan. The boy offered up a dagger. Reluctantly, he took the extra weapon. Wasn’t it bad enough that he needed to carry his long sword each day? And now a dagger for extra measure? Beside him, atop another stallion, one of his own guards also accepted a dagger from a second young squire. With a scowl, Stephen led his mount from the stables. Along with other villages, this estate had been his reward for his bravery at Hastings, two years before.

      Ha! What was bravery on the field at Hastings, when a man could not even save his own brother? Corvin had fought alongside him there, but one moment of distraction on Stephen’s part and suddenly Corvin was dead.

      And shortly after, King William had bestowed on Stephen many estates. Corvin should have been the one to receive them. He’d fought boldly until the end.

      Now Stephen had more than enough land. With a tight jaw, he shoved the remorse back where it could not sting him, for the work ahead required his full attention.

      He kept the seat of his holdings here in Kingstown, for none of the others had a manor house. Now he put his home behind him as he trotted along the road leading through the village, his sword scraping his saddle on one side, his dagger snug on the other. His chain mail sat heavy on his shoulders, as if expecting a battle instead of the quiet mists of morning.

      Stephen was not afraid of fighting, for such was a part of his soldiering life. But he was not here for battle. His was a shrewder reason—to seek out those local agitators who would defy the king.

      When William had ordered the task, Stephen had accepted it with a flick of his hand, but he’d soon learned ’twould not be easy. At court, he’d enjoyed the sly machinations of those who would try to outmaneuver King William, but here, the Saxons were craftier, feigning ignorance and hiding the troublemakers who oft taxed his soldiers to exhaustion. He was sick of Saxons, each pale face hiding secrets. For all he knew, one of these men had been the one to deal Corvin his fatal blow. Aye, the chances were slim, but they still remained.

      Stephen felt the expected wash of terrible memory. ’Twas as if the moment Corvin died had been winked out, replaced by a blur and then a stretch of time where all Stephen saw was Corvin on the ground.

      And in the weeks and months after, word reached him of their mother’s reaction. Her accusing words to him still tore his heart. He’d lost both his brother and his mother that day at Senlac.

      Nay, enough! There were chores to do.

      And checking the defenses each morning he was here in Kingstown had become a distasteful chore. But King William was due to visit before winter, and Stephen knew his liege would order an embankment and palisade be cut through the forest to the north. ’Twould not be a popular command, and Stephen would not impose the task on the villagers yet, for they needed to finish storing their provisions for winter. But ’twould have to be started soon.

      “Which way, milord?” the guard asked, pulling his horse up beside Stephen.

      “’Tis my first day back and I must inspect it all.” Stephen had been in London all summer, leaving this estate in his sister’s capable hands. “It makes no difference. To the north, I suppose.” Always the most unpleasant task first. There, the village wrestled constantly with the encroaching forest. Beyond it, the land dipped into the marshes and fens that reached all the way to Ely. Another backwater full of dissidents.

      As he and his guard walked the horses, the mists rose to block the sun, and the day grew duller. Disgusted, Stephen spurred his horse to a trot through the thinnest portion of Kingstown. Ahead stood the village fence, the dilapidated weave of wattle designed to hold back marauders from the north. It sagged, rotting where it flopped into low spots. William would take one look at it and demand it be replaced immediately. Mayhap the trees cut to create a palisade could be used to—

      Movement beyond the fence caught Stephen’s eye, and he reined his horse back to a walk. Wisps of silver-blond hair danced in the light breeze as a woman stooped to lift something from her garden. With an almost forlorn air, her small hut stood behind her. The woman dipped again and her pale hair flipped like a feather in a breeze.

      ’Twas too early for anyone to be roused. Stephen had already noted that these Saxons preferred to sleep in on the misty days that hinted of winter. So what was the woman doing at this hour?

      He halted his horse at the gate as the guard leaned forward in his own saddle to flip open the latch. All the while, Stephen remained stock-still, entranced by the woman’s hair. ’Twas so unique a color, he would not have believed it existed if he’d only been told of it. But she was quite real, standing bareheaded in her garden, her whole demeanor one of sadness, like one of those minstrel girls who visited the king’s court to entertain with songs of lost love.

      “Milord?” his guard prompted him quietly.

      Something squeezed Stephen’s heart, but he ignored the odd sensation. He hadn’t been given Kingstown and its manor because he was an emotional clod. This village lay directly in the path between London and the rebellious north. A calculating tactician was needed here to draw out instigators who would bring down more from Ely. Extra troops would help, aye, but such had been discussed already in London, to no avail. They were still needed elsewhere.

      Nay, until Stephen had eliminated all malcontents who would threaten the king’s sovereignty, any softness of heart could get him murdered, and ’twas best ignored.

      Still curious, though, he swung off his horse and walked through the gate toward the woman. Ah, this must be Rowena, the woman who’d taken this hut. His friend Lord Adrien had sent him a missive asking if he could find a home for her here. Only the hut beyond the fence had been vacant. Its proximity to the forest made it undesirable, for everyone knew the woods harbored thieves and criminals, worse than those who lived in the village.

      Having been in London when Adrien’s request arrived, Stephen had dispatched his brother-in-law, Gilles, to handle the issue of land and hut, and to set out the terms of tenancy. All he’d heard of this Rowena was that she’d been a slave, made free by order of the king himself, and that her rent for the next year had been paid in full by Adrien.

      As Stephen passed his guard, the man dismounted, also. “’Tis the woman Rowena, milord.”

      “I know of her. I should like to meet her.”

      “She is of ill repute, sir,” the guard warned.

      Stopping, Stephen shot the man a surprised look. “Why?”

      “The villagers say she’s allied herself with us Normans. Did not Lord Adrien pay for her to be here?”

      With a brief laugh, Stephen rolled his eyes, remembering one short conversation he’d had with his friend this past summer. “That means nothing. Lord Adrien is generous to all Saxons because he’s besotted with his Saxon wife.” Stephen shook his head, then peered again at the woman. “What is she doing?”

      The guard stepped forward. “I will find out, milord.”

      Hand raised, Stephen stopped him. “Nay. I will. ’Tis time to introduce myself.”

      “Milord, she’s Saxon and not to be trusted. For all we know, she’ll sink a dagger into your heart the moment you speak to her.”

      Chuckling, Stephen touched his chain mail. “Yet she allied herself with us? You make no sense, soldier. Besides, the woman is barely out of girlhood and she’s far too skinny to have enough СКАЧАТЬ