Sheltered by the Warrior. Barbara Phinney
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Название: Sheltered by the Warrior
Автор: Barbara Phinney
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
isbn: 9781474013772
isbn:
Nay, Barrett had come here for another reason. What it was, Stephen wasn’t sure, but he’d discover it soon enough. He had patience to spare, and Rowena wasn’t leaving his manor anytime soon.
With deliberate heartiness, Stephen pressed his hand down on the other man’s bony shoulder as he guided him out of the small parcel of land. “We are just grateful there wasn’t more damage and that no one was hurt, aren’t we?”
“Oh, aye, milord! But I am concerned for the work to be done, and we all know we must be about your harvest or cutting your trees.” Barrett waved his hand. “But, milord, ’tis a matter for us villagers, and not your concern. We’ll make the best of it. We Saxons take care of our own. In fact, I can arrange for the girl’s care, if you like.”
His expression calm, Stephen studied the man, wishing he had Rowena at his side to discern Barrett’s motives. Stephen’s first instinct was to send the man back to his home with a curt announcement that only when Rowena was well enough would she leave his manor. But he thought carefully before answering.
“’Tis a good offer, Barrett. Let us see what the day brings, as I plan to inspect the thatcher’s work.” With that, he strode ahead of the Saxon, hearing his guard also step past the man.
At the manor, Stephen found Rowena in the maids’ chamber, mending hose with her ankle propped up. Weed stalks were drying nearby, obviously destined for rope. Her babe sat on the nearest pallet, flicking small scraps of cloth, as was a babe’s custom. Stephen saw that Rowena had been given one of Josane’s old cyrtels. The dark blue complemented her milky complexion and pale hair. Though Rowena didn’t fill it as his sister had, the color was better on her than on his sallow-complected sibling.
At his entrance, Rowena looked up quickly, expectant yet nervous. Shifting his sword, for in his haste to come here, he had not surrendered it to his squire, Stephen sat down beside her. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, milord,” she whispered. “Forgive me for not rising.”
He waved his hand. “No matter. How is the ankle?”
“Far more swollen than yesterday, I fear. Ellie has gone to the well for cold water.” She set down her mending with a small shrug. “I had to do something while my stalks dry. Mending was the only thing I could manage, and Lady Josane was quick to take my offer. But,” she hastily added, “Ellie has promised she will get everything I need to make your rope.”
Stephen shrugged. “Both are always needed, I suspect. Although I have neither mended nor made rope in my life. I expect my fingers would be too clumsy.”
Rowena looked down at his hands.
The urge to wiggle his fingers raced through him, just to bring a smile to her face. But ’twas not the time for jocularity. Nor was he the type to engage in it.
“I’ve just returned from your hut,” he said grimly.
Rowena drew in a quick breath as apprehension flashed in those pale blue eyes.
Her lips parted, then shut firmly as she looked away. In her lap, her hands shook. Would they be cool if he covered them with his own? Suddenly, the room was becoming uncomfortably warm, and Stephen was glad he’d left the door ajar.
“You found something that disturbs you,” she commented.
He glanced around. Though this cramped chamber was one of many in his manor, before last night he’d not stepped foot in it, let alone sat in one of its chairs. This whole wing was new to him. ’Twas Josane’s business to deal with the kitchen and maids’ quarters.
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