The Saxon Bride (The Norman Conquest Series) (8 page)

John arose early to the sound of rattling pots and pans from the kitchen
and the shouts of a bossy woman. The innkeeper’s wife's voice was not the most pleasant to hear. He stretched in his bed before rising, fully clothed. Splashing cold water on his face from the pitcher beside the bed, he shivered and realized there was no towel for drying. A quiet knock on his door was answered with a grumpier response than he had intended.

"Excuse me, my lord," the plump
redhead’s smile vanished when she saw him standing there fully clothed. Her jaw dropped. "You slept alone?"

"Of course. Have you a towel?"

"Oh." Sticking her head into the hall, she bellowed the order and quickly handed him a towel. Her smile was sickly sweet. "Were your accommodations lacking then?"

Sitting on the side of the bed, John began pull
ing on stockings and boots before he answered. "The accommodations were fine."

When he stood to attach his scabbard, she grew agitated, speaking too quickly to be immediately understood. "My lord, we are getting breakfast for you."

John responded when he was finally able to decipher her words. "I am fine," he insisted.

When he reached for the door, she turned a pouting smile at him. Her grip was tight on his arm, stopping him from leaving. "Will you be staying here again, my lord?"

The sparse furnishings were adequate; a bed, a washstand, a sizeable fire. The alternative arrangements would be awhile in working out. Rowena's smiling face had him grinning to himself. He scratched at his whiskers. Still, better to be prepared. "Yes. Keep the room for me."

The sun was just rising above the horizon and the day's concerns were closing in. In the Great
Hall at the castle, John found his men breaking their fast. Mark sat next to Peter at the table.

"Mark." John straightened his sword as he stood beside them. "How is the boy who was trampled?"

The dark-haired man shoved the honey covered biscuit into his mouth before he answered. "He is mending." Crumbled bits of biscuit flew out with his words.

"Good. We will see him before we leave this morning." John glanced around the Hall, empty except for his own men. "Has anyone seen Arthur?"

Peter's attention was now fixed on John. "What do you need to see Arthur for?"

The man's suspicious tone couldn't be missed. John
lifted one eyebrow in answer and pursed his lips. "The condition of the village, Peter."

"Mayhap we can
meet him with you?" Peter patted Mark's back and nodded enthusiastically. Mark frowned. He obviously did not understand the strange suggestion.

J
ohn shook his head. "I told him we would speak today."

"That was before you wanted to cut his head off his shoulders." Peter glanced around as he spoke.

Mark shoved another biscuit into his mouth. Shaking his head as he chewed, he finally answered. "Is there fomefing amiff?" Taking a generous gulp of the cider, he burped loudly.

John snorted again. "No. Mayhap I can see
him later."

"
It hasn't concerned you overmuch to this point," Peter reprimanded him with his tone.

"You have made your point. Mark, have you adequately stuffed yourself?"

Standing only as high as John's chin, Mark nodded, patting his stomach. "I have, my lord. I will take you to the boy."

The lanes were still empty at this early hour, and John was glad to have a moment to consider how he should approach this attempted sabotage. Certainly the lad should not suffer because of it. He wasn't the culprit. John could make financial reparations and possibly give him a different job at the castle if he was maimed beyond hope. John preferred to have people working rather than living on handouts. The whole incident did not make a very good first impression of him or his soldiers. They needed to win the family over.

A man with long, scraggly hair was at the front door of a clean little cottage, dipping his wooden ladle into the rain barrel. Mark tipped his head toward the man and spoke in quiet tones. "That's the boy's father. Anton." John turned a questioning eye to Mark who shrugged his shoulder. It was an odd name.

"Hail, sir
," John called out as they approached the man. He immediately bowed to his lord and master. "How fares your son this day?"

"My lord, he has slept through the night. I thank you for your concern. Your man here brought a generous helping from the castle to fill his stomach last night. Thank you again, Sir Mark."

Mark smiled. John appreciated Mark's gesture. Normans really were not monsters. He just needed to make sure these people realized that.

"Yes, we are all very sorry that your son was injured."

"Oh, my lord, it was an accident is all. The boy knows that."

Mark and Anton exchanged glances, and John could see that already a friendship, or at the very least mutual respect, was growing between these two. Good. One less thing for John to worry about.

"If you want for anything, please come to me."

Gesturing to the darkened doorway behind him, the man said, "Would you care to come see him?"

"Is he awake then?"

"Well, no, but he could be awakened for you, my lord."

John smiled warmly at the man's genuine gesture of hospitality. "No, let your son sleep for now. I will come again." He grasped the man's hand as he spoke. "Speedy recovery to him."

"Yes, my lord."

The burden seemed lighter on John's shoulders as he passed back along the lane, stopping just inside the barn. "Mayhap this will not be so bad."

Peter came out leading John's horse. "It went well then?"

"It did. The boy's father seems to be a good man. He does not seem to harbor any undue hostility toward us."

Mark answered after retrieving his own mount. "It was the damndest thing." He rubbed his horses flank as he spoke. "My leather halter had been replaced by one made of rope and I'm not sure why."

"That is strange." Peter did not elaborate but met John's eyes. John knew that until he decided to say something himself, Peter would never mention anything they suspected. Not even to Mark.

Leading the horses into the outer bailey, John passed by the man from the garden the day before. "Good morrow
," John said.

Perceval dipped his head in respect. "My lord. How fare ye this day?"

"I am well," John answered, continuing on with Peter and Mark on either side.

"Pray you stay that way." It took John a moment to realize what the man had said. Peter and Mark showed no indication that they'd heard him at all. Stopping his horse, John turned to see the man just standing in the road. He was looking down, kicking a small stone back and forth.

"Go on ahead." John handed off his horse to Mark. "I will come to you anon," John said and headed back to the man.

"Did I hear you right?"

"Mayhap you did." Perceval turned half toward John as he spoke.

"Have you something to say to me? Please say it directly."

Perceval looked around the area as if searching for something. He spit on the ground, wiped his nose and finally faced John. "Did you find the Lady Rowena?"

"I did." John knew now why the man had reacted as if he'd had two heads when he asked about his wife. "You could have mentioned that she was the young lady who'd just left."

"You don't recognize your own wife?" John detected a Scottish lilt to his voice.

"It had been awhile."

Perceval looked down at the stone, shaking his head in bewilderment. After a moment's pause he spoke again. "Perhaps it's been too long, my lord."

"You have my ear."

"Some here have made their own plans while the Lady Rowena waited for you."

The man's obtuseness was beginning to get irritating. "Some have, have they?"

Judging by the lopsided grin on Perceval's face, he didn't miss John's sarcasm. "Aye."

"Care to share?"

Perceval looked around again and moved closer to John. "It's not a laughing matter, my lord. I heard say that your days as lord here are numbered."

"Are you threatening me?" John pulled back, a little unsure of this man and his point.

"Not me. And it's not you I worry about. ‘Tis the Lady Rowena. She's not been safe while you were gone."

Immediately alert, John considered how she could have been threatened. She was here unprotected without him. Had there been visitors that were a threat? Had people made threats against her directly? Thoroughly frustrated at his lack of information, John gave vent to his irritation. "Speak plain, man! I would not have Lady Rowena hurt in any way. Where does the threat come from?"

"From within the castle."

They heard the footsteps from down the lane before Arthur emerged into the open. Perceval quickly passed on as if he and John had not been speaking at all. John
schooled his features to cover his worry before Arthur could see it.

"Good day, my lord." Arthur spoke as he passed John, his head held high.

"Arthur," John called to the man effectively stopping him. "Have you a moment?" He fought to hide his irritation with this man. He resented having to bring his concerns to Arthur but there was no one else he could ask.

"Certainly, my lord."
Arthur seemed reluctant as he walked slowly back to stand beside John.

Good. John felt the same way.

"Is it the maps you'd like to see?"

"No, I'm leaving with my men and want to make sure the castle is well guarded."

Arthur stood taller as if he had been insulted. "Guarded against what in particular?"

"Anyone who would make trouble for us here."

Arthur frowned before he answered him. "Yes, my lord."

"
My thanks. Oh, and you will no longer need to see to the accounts."

Arthur frowned. "My lord?"

"Lady Rowena will take her rightful place as my wife and see to the stores and all that entails."

"Yes, my lord."

John watched the man swagger away. How could William have placed such a pompous ass in charge of the area? Certainly there was more to the situation than John knew about. There had to be. He would find out soon enough. Searching the area, there was no sign of Perceval so John went on to join his men.

After having to
ask
for the key to the stores for the past eight years, Rowena was a woman with a mission searching out the long-nosed steward that Arthur had appointed under direct orders from the king.

The man was quickly located lounging on the bench
in the Hall and in the way of the servants who needed to put the room back in order. His eyes were assessing each of the women as they crossed before him. Her irritation sparked, and she walked right up to him.

"Joshua, there you are."
In the way again I see
.

He stood up. "Aye, my lady."

Eye level with Rowena, she couldn't be sure if the action was meant to be respectful or intimidate. A Norman placed in authority over her usually held a definite air of smugness and superiority. Today she had recourse. She squared her shoulders.

"
My lord has decided I may be the keeper of my own keys."

His face flushed as he mumbled over the objection. "But.
..I don't know...I need to..."

She narrowed her eyes, her jaw tight. "I said my lord has ordered it."

Despite her determined stance, past instances such as these had hurriedly erupted into major confrontations. Without knowing John's exact whereabouts, Rowena felt her confidence dissipating.

"Be quick about it, man." Peter came up from behind Rowena, presumably from the kitchen area and stood beside her. His tone brooked no questions.

Rowena breathed a sigh of relief when the steward fumbled for the keys tied around his waist, unable to get the things removed quickly enough.

The steward tried to hand the keys first to Peter but he shook his head
, arms crossed about his chest. With great reluctance he placed them in Rowena's waiting palm. She tipped her head dismissively and the man departed. She glanced at Peter, a smile on her lips but found him frowning down at her. She swallowed before she spoke.

"I thank you for your assistance."

"It is the least John would expect of me."

"And yet I sense reluctance from you."

Peter bowed his head. "My apologies, my lady. That you should sense my reluctance speaks of my own shortcomings. Certainly not a reflection of how you deserve to be treated."

Something about the way he said the words gave her pause. John had told him of her encounters with the guards before their wedding. Did the man doubt her as well?

"Did you have something you wished to ask me?" she asked.

A slight curl to his lips made him look much younger. "My apologies again, my lady. I have...had questions about
the situation here. However, I do not believe our lord would appreciate me broaching the subject with you."

Her ire raised, she fought down the urge to defend herself. She had just won a huge battle and this was a moot point. She
knew what happened. Whether or not they chose to believe her was irrelevant and not worth the struggle. She began to move but his gentle hand on her arm stopped her.

"I would like you to know that my lord does not deal idly with any threat to what is his.
”

Here we go again.
Yes, he owned her.

"He would give his dying breath to defend you. Do not doubt it."

Peter turned toward the gate and continued out toward the stables.

Her breath caught in her throat. John would defend her with his life? Perhaps her husband was not her owner but her protective knight. Saxon or Norman, the difference had yet to be determined.

Rowena continued on to the closets and
outbuilding that held an abundance of supplies. Along with the inventory of the stores and cleaning out what had been left to rot, she found all well-kept under lock and key. It was clear, however, that Arthur's interest was not in keeping up with the tally and even the armory was ill-kept.

Too proud to ask directly the whereabouts of her husband,
it wasn't until before the evening meal two days later, exhausted but happy that the Great Hall again smelled of clean rushes and fall lavender, that Rowena learned her husband had left the castle proper. Retreating to the privacy of her bedchamber rather than dine alone again, she felt the loss of knowing that her anticipation of the last few days had been for naught. He would not be surprising her, finding her setting his castle to rights because he was not here. The despair overcame her when she realized she missed his company. Had she once again been abandoned?

"No, my lady, it is not the same. Your husband is seeing to the villagers. He is fulfilling the requirements of his station. That is all."
Joan tried to reassure her.

Rowena pouted at the table in her room
. "He didn't even say goodbye."

"Are you sure he was not trying to say goodbye the last time you saw him?"

Rowena raised an indignant brow at Joan. "I know exactly what he was trying to do."

Joan looked down at her sewing before she finally spoke again. "Did you not want to?" Her voice was quiet in the room. The burning logs hissed as if in answer to such an absurd question.

"I do not know," Rowena answered just as quietly, her own emotions still in turmoil. What
did
she want? She needed rest.

"You knew well enough when he wasn't here."

Rowena had often gone on little rants when she felt particularly lonely and put upon. Not allowed to act as lady of the manor left her with too much time on her hands. During her bouts of selfishness, she spoke of her abandonment by a husband who had total say over her but didn't even show his face. What Joan didn't know was that Rowena had come close to asking Arthur to be her lover, desperate to overcome her loneliness. She had spent the next two weeks in the chapel, three times a day, asking for forgiveness for her transgression.

"Now that he is here, though…" Rowena stopped midsentence.

"It is just shyness, my lady. He is your husband." Joan took her hands in a motherly gesture. Her voice was quietly reassuring. "You do not need to be afraid of him. He is ordered by God to love you and care for you, as his own body even."

Rowena snorted at the suggestion. "Where has he been then
? Do you know he questioned me about Arthur?"

Joan's tone quickly changed to disapproval. "Arthur is too protective of you."

"Someone has had to be." Rowena knew her defense was weak. True, she had been left unprotected but surrounded by Norman wolves since the death of her father. Her only memory of that day was crying over his blood-soaked body. These wolves would as soon devour her as look at her. Remembering the cypress tree, Rowena was almost afraid to ask but knew she had to. "Was it John who told you my mother's tree was diseased?"

"Oh, no, my lady!" Joan was quite adamant. "I am sure the man had lighter hair."

"You are sure?"

"Well, I am almost sure. I do not really remember. What reason would he have?"

"Because he hates all things Saxon?"

Joan frowned as she considered this. She began to slowly shake her head as she spoke. "No, your husband does not seem to harbor any malice against the Saxons.
Why the rest of the Normans amongst us do seems strange to me."

Rowena blew a puff of air in exasperation. She knew nothing about her husband.
Joan was correct in her assessment of John's apparent fairness to the Saxons. Word of his visit to the injured boy had come to her. She'd swelled with pride that her husband would care for her people so.

"I do not want to turn Arthur completely away from me. I need him as an ally
in case John does not stay." Rowena struggled with how she felt about the man who had been so very protective of her.

"I would not suggest you count him as an ally against your husband and his people. If he is inappropriately attentive, he may find himself at odds with his lordship."

"What would make you think his lordship would care?"

"Do you not understand that is why he questioned you about Arthur?"

"I thought it was more that he owned me and no one else could have me. Even if that meant that no one had me." Rowena pushed herself away from the table, her agitation getting the better of her. If what Peter had told her was true, and she had no reason to doubt his sincerity, John would defend her always.

Pacing the small area like a confined animal, she finally paused to look out the window. The dreary day reflected her feelings, rain threatening at any moment. "Do you know when my husband will be returning?"

"I am back now."

John stood in the doorway handsomely dressed as befit the new Lord of Essex. Rowena's breath caught in her throat. She looked away before the immense pleasure she felt at his return showed on her face.

Joan quickly gathered her sewing and removed herself from the room, closing the door behind her.

"Will you attend me, my lady?"

Rowena went to him and helped him remove his surcoat before seeing to the heavier chainmail. He smelled like horses and leather. Manly. Rowena tried not to close her eyes as she drank in the intoxicating smell of him. Why would a dirty, sweaty man make her feel so light headed? She stepped away when she realized why, the chainmail slipping forward off his arms. His hooded eyes told her that he knew what she was feeling.

"Is there a problem?" His deep voice seemed to reverberate through her body.

Quickly putting the heavy material down, she headed to the door. "I will order a bath for you."

"Wait."

Rowena froze with her hand on the latch and heard him coming closer to her. He stood close behind her, his breath soft against her cheek.

"Yes?"
Be done with this
. Her body yearned for his arms to pull her against him, to feel his kiss again. She licked her lips.

"Why are you leaving in such a hurry?" His hand lightly touched the side of her head as he spoke, pushing her hair
away from her face. He leaned in closer to her exposed ear. A responding shiver ran down her body. "Are you afraid of me?"

She backed up to the door with a thud and faced him. Her pulse was racing as she lied. "No, my
lord. Methinks you have a rather strong odor about you and I would have you take a bath before the evening meal."

John backed away quickly, his eyes flying open. "I am sorry if I offend you. Please see to the bath."

Rowena felt only slightly guilty when he turned away from her, standing like a lost little boy in the middle of the room.

§

John rubbed his scalp with his hand then realized that too was dirty. He'd been offending her with his smell? He could have sworn there was desire in her eyes. Damn. Would he get nowhere with this woman?

Dropping down on the stool in disgust, he grabbed at the mud covered boot. Another reason to see him as dirty. He flung it across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfactory thud and the second one followed suit. Standing up to remove his breeches, he pulled at the belt viciously. Perhaps he was just wrong about her. Maybe there was no
deep-seated passion for him. Perhaps she's already had many lovers and doesn't want to be saddled with a husband. This was just insane. His breeches fell to his feet and he heard the gasp behind him.

Turning toward the sound, Rowena's eyes seemed glued to his nakedness. Her gaze traveled the length of his legs and stopped a bit short of his navel. Perhaps being near him had done nothing for her, but he was clearly aroused. She appeared to be in shock at the sight. Not exactly what he would have expected from a tried woman.

For a split second, John had thought of covering himself to ease her consternation then thought better of it. Slowly, he pulled his feet from the cloth puddled around his legs. His gaze stayed on Rowena's face as she stared at him. He stood akimbo. It was time she face his desire for her.

"Rowena?"

She dragged her eyes up to his face and he saw her embarrassment in the crimson red of her cheeks.

"Is there something else you needed?" The color suffused her face as she mutely shook her head and started to back away. "No. Wait."

John got to the door just short of grabbing her and she was gone. The women in the hall giggled at his nakedness when he stopped in the doorway. He pushed the door shut and sat again on the stool. Damn. She looked so frightened. Why did he have to embarrass her? Shoving his legs back into his pants, he grabbed the rest of his clothes and huffed out of the door, slamming it behind him.