Sheltered by the Warrior. Barbara Phinney

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СКАЧАТЬ said ‘our brother’ when she mentioned Hastings. Milord, she doesn’t want to be here, and—”

      “How do you know that?”

      “I can tell. She’s not happy here. And angry at you. Not because of your brother, though his death haunts you.” She stopped and shrugged. How did she surmise all of this? ’Twas just by looking at Lady Josane that she knew. For years she’d been able to guess people’s motives. And she’d learned Taurin’s emotions easily. She did not catch all of the conversation between the siblings, but she knew something serious was stirring. “’Tis of no import right now. My home is. I did not leave the spark box open!”

      Lord Stephen folded his arms. When he did not answer, she tried again. “You have to believe me! Why would I put my child at risk? Why would I set fire to the roof directly above the door, my only escape? If I didn’t care about my child’s life, would I have shoved you back when you reached for him yesterday morning? Would I have risked punishment?”

      Rowena had no idea whether her earnest words convinced him. He did nothing but stand in the middle of the room, and the only sounds were of Ellie shifting as she stood over the pallet that held Andrew. The baby had dropped off to sleep, oblivious to the events around him. Rowena thought out a fast prayer. Lord God, help Lord Stephen to understand me. Help me to convince him.

      Finally Stephen spoke. “What do you want me to do?”

      Rowena hesitated. What did she want him to do? She didn’t want to stay in her hut, but she didn’t want to stay here, either. And she certainly did not want to be bound, albeit through gratitude only, to another Norman.

      When Taurin had purchased her, ’twas as if she’d gone from the fry pan into the fire. Now it seemed as though she had been tossed back into the fry pan again.

      Nay. She was a free woman, and in the time she’d spent with Clara, both in hiding from Taurin this summer past and here as the midwife had helped her settle into her new home, she had learned how to stand up for herself. Clara was a good teacher. ’Twas time to put the lessons to use and make her mentor proud.

      Rowena straightened her shoulders. “I have been vandalized, milord, and my life put in jeopardy. Is there anyone here who can find out who is to blame? Your brother-in-law, mayhap? He assigned me my hut. He seems to run this village. Can he not help me?”

      At the mention of his brother-in-law, Stephen’s mouth tightened. “Gilles is my bailiff, but he hears only civil cases. It is a bit complicated what is civil or criminal. But the major criminal cases are decided in London. We can convene a manorial court, which is a civil court, but the case must be compiled first and the culprit found. Gilles cannot investigate if he is to be the judge.”

      Rowena sagged. “So, I have no one to help me?”

      Stephen pulled up a chair and sank heavily into it. It creaked under his weight. The two small lamps flickered warm light onto his tired features, cutting sharp angles along his jaw and cheeks. It had been a long night, and Rowena wondered if they shouldn’t leave this until the morning.

      But she couldn’t. Any desire to delay was caused by naught but fear and shame for asking. She leaned forward again. “Who could possibly help me? I have no relatives here.”

      Stephen shook his head. “You are a villein here. Do you know what that means?”

      “Aye. Master Gilles told me how I cannot leave without your permission and of my obligation to work your lands, milord, three days each week. I have started to do so! He also spelled out my right to protection. But if he cannot help me, who can?”

      Stephen leaned back. After a moment when nothing was heard but the soft breaths of expectation, he said, “I will help you.”

      Hearing Ellie’s short intake of breath, Rowena gaped at Stephen. “You will?”

      “You say that you’re being persecuted but don’t know by whom. I will find out who it is and why.”

      Hope surged in her, but there was something about his words that didn’t feel as open as they should. Or was it the look around his eyes?

      Still, Rowena said, “Thank you.” For a brief moment, he’d shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, their gazes met. Even in the dimly lit chamber, for one lamp had just winked out, Rowena could see his eyes. The remaining lamp’s flame flickered in the dark brown circles, and when he parted his lips as if to speak, she found herself drawn toward him like a thirsty animal toward water. Her heart thundered in her chest and she quickly prayed that he would not renege on his offer.

      “Bienvenue,” he finally murmured in French. “But ’tis not as simple as it sounds. You must trust me completely in this.”

      Rowena stiffened. “What do you mean?”

      “You will stay here out of harm’s way while I investigate these attacks.”

      “But—”

      “No buts. You will say and do nothing.” Those dark eyes hardened. “You must put all your faith in my ability to handle this situation. Do you understand?”

      Indignation flared within her. Was she a dolt who needed everything spelled out? Did he expect her to trust blindly? Was he addled?

      Still, Lord Stephen had promised to help her when no one else would. “I understand,” she murmured. “But I can—”

      “Nay. I expect your complete obedience.”

      Like the bone in her spark box receiving fresh air, she felt heat flare inside her. “Obedience? Am I a slave again, or mayhap a prisoner here? I know I am a villein and bound to the land, but why should I be punished for the suffering I’ve endured? I should be helping!”

      Stephen stood. He towered over her like the keep at Dunmow when she’d finally met her sponsor, Lord Adrien. “You cannot! Nor are you being punished. I know exactly how to deal with this situation and these people. Nay, you are not a slave. But you will do as I say.”

      Rowena folded her arms. “I will not live here owing you.”

      He blew out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. You can be in my employ.”

      “Doing what?”

      He rolled his eyes. Then he paused, and Rowena could see his gaze turn calculating. Her heart chilled.

      “Mayhap since you are so good at identifying people’s feelings, I can use you to read those who come to this manor looking for an end to their disputes.” He held up his finger. “Perhaps you can tell me when people are lying.”

      Rowena shook her head. “Use me to read people? Am I a tool, like a pitchfork?” She stiffened. “Nay, milord. I have had my fill of intrigue. I will not be forced into the middle of it again.”

      “Your fill of intrigue? How so?” His brows shot up in question, but she refused to enlighten him.

      Instead she dropped her gaze, wondering if she had pushed her demand to earn her stay here too much. Would he turn her out to fend for herself?

      Nay. There was a goodness in him, she was sure of it.

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