Sheltered by the Warrior. Barbara Phinney
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for intimidation alone often kept his king safe. As captain of the King’s Guard, Stephen had made William’s safety paramount. ’Twas the only reason the Good Lord had given him life.
But today, seeing Rowena’s fear, he found his belly souring. ’Twas obvious, based on the way she shied from him, that the man who’d fathered this child had done so using that same fear and intimidation Stephen employed in court. His belly churned further. She was hardly aligned with any Norman. ’Twas only a filthy rumor against her.
He glanced swiftly around him at the shambles. So someone in this village felt that she needed to be taught a lesson? Immediately, an idea blossomed. Tightening his jaw, Stephen turned to his guard. “Return to the horses.”
As the man reluctantly retreated, Stephen focused his attention on Rowena again. With no blade at her throat anymore, she should have been relieved, but fear still lit her eyes despite her uptilted chin and the squareness in her shoulders.
Father in heaven, take away her fear.
“’Tis all right, Rowena,” he stated calmly. “My guard thought I was threatened.”
Her eyes flared. “You were! By me! You grabbed my babe!”
Stephen shrugged mildly. “He was fussing.”
“I wasn’t paying attention to him, that’s all. He’d have stopped in a moment. ’Tis often so with babes. Sometimes, they want their mother and nothing else will do.”
She spoke with an accent Stephen didn’t recognize. But he’d learned that here in England, each tiny village had its own unique way of speaking. “I don’t remember fussing when my mother turned her back.”
Rowena flushed and shifted the boy in her arms. Away from Stephen. Again, she fixed the babe’s wayward cap.
“Please don’t mock me, my lord. You would not remember fussing.” Then, with a glance behind him, she added, “And please, if I have satisfied your curiosity, will you depart? Your presence here is rousing the interest of my neighbors, and I don’t wish to be seen in any Norman’s company.”
Stephen spun. The family living in the hut closest to the village fence was now standing by the gate, each person peering with unabashed interest. The father, a belligerent Saxon Stephen had met several times, scowled the worst. If there was ever a troublemaker, this man was it. But Stephen had no proof yet. However, with William’s new edict, Stephen didn’t need much evidence to arrest anyone. ’Twas only his personal integrity that he have adequate reason.
Like this attack on Rowena’s harvest? Stephen glanced back at her. He mentally counted the distance. Her home was closest to the forest, outside the wattle fencing and at least twenty long strides from her nearest neighbor. Hers was a hut set apart long ago for some unknown reason. And judging from the foul expressions on her neighbors’ faces, not far enough.
Noticing his return glare, the Saxons retreated from the fence. Stephen faced Rowena again. “Do you think those people vandalized your garden?”
She shook her head. “I cannot say. I heard no one last night.” She cleared her throat as she avoided his eyes. “My lord, I must return to my task and salvage what food is left. If you have no more questions, please excuse me.”
Her fearful expression shot up to him again, one that set his teeth on edge. Knowing he could do nothing about her reaction in the next few moments, Stephen nodded and strode back to the fence, sending the neighbors scurrying into their hut. As he mounted his courser, he noted several other Saxons, having been roused from their pallets, poking out heads and peering at the odd scene he’d created.
Deliberately swinging his horse and his harsh glare around that end of the village and being successful in forcing the curious back into their homes, Stephen returned his attention to Rowena. She, too, had retreated into her hut.
He sighed, the air leaking from his lungs like a pierced skin of cider. ’Twas for the best that everyone here remain intimidated and therefore subdued, but to have Rowena fall into that category left bitterness on his tongue, a taste he knew would linger until he broke his fast. And that would not happen until after he’d inspected the forest’s edge and made note of where to start the work on the embankment that would keep this village safe should those rebels at Ely attack.
At the gate, Stephen hauled in the reins of his courser and noticed that Rowena had once again slipped outside. Her soft, pale hair danced in the morning breeze as she stooped to return to her task.
She’ll find little food in that mess, and the two cages she’d owned are destroyed. She would have had a hen, but what else? Rabbits, maybe? ’Twas rare for a Saxon to own rabbits. Mayhap jealousy spurred the attack?
Stephen’s jaw clenched as he watched Rowena search around the pens for her livestock, all the while furtively sweeping tears off her cheeks. Once she dropped onto her knees and covered her face. He jerked forward, his fingers tightening on the wooden pommel of his saddle. The only reason he did not leap from his mount was because he knew she’d only ask him to leave again. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied his guard watching him closely, his eyes dark under the rim of his steel helmet.
Stephen turned his courser and the animal snorted and stamped its feet impatiently. He knew he could do nothing more until he completed a new task. ’Twould be one that, if employed properly, could serve both his needs and Rowena’s.
Aye. Then those Saxons who would make trouble for the king would think twice about supporting those fools at Ely in their losing cause.
Startling even his guard, Stephen galloped his horse back to his home to carry out his plan.
* * *
Slack-jawed, Rowena stared at the sight of the wrapped stalks of grain and the gunnysack of root vegetables. She blinked when the young woman in front of her set half a cheese round atop the load. Someone had wrapped the expensive treat in leaves and tied it snugly with thin vines. Everything was secured by a fraying rope that had been tied at many points.
Her visitor smiled expectantly at Rowena, but she couldn’t return it. She had seen this girl near the manor house, but had not approached her. Why should she? The rest of the village had scorned her and her babe. Why go looking for more of the same? Finally, words formed and Rowena muttered, “What is all this?”
“’Tis a gift from Lord Stephen,” the woman answered in English with an accent that told Rowena she was a local. “He said you have need of it.” Her smile increased.
Automatically, Rowena glanced to her right where she’d spent the better part of the day. So far, she’d recovered only a meager portion of her harvest. Her attempt to rinse the crushed roots had met with little success, for grit and dirt were imbedded deep in the mash of vegetables, and often the current in the nearby stream broke apart the delicate pieces. Tears choked her again but she fought them back.
The woman followed her gaze, and her hopeful expression fell into dismay. “What happened?”
“’Twould seem that I am not welcomed here.”
As if to remind her why, Andrew cried out from where he was seated nearby. The woman’s attention snapped to him and in that instant, her expression turned to joy. “Oh, such a beautiful child! Look at that lovely thick hair!”
About to answer that his hair came from his father, Rowena stopped her words. She’d be stating the obvious and adding the suggestion that she’d willingly partaken in Andrew’s creation. Was that not what the people here thought?
She smiled stiffly instead. “He’s a good boy, but hates it when I don’t heed him.”
The young woman abandoned the food to scoop up the boy. She fingered the curls that peeked out from the edges of his cap. “Aye, ’tis like all men.” She bounced him a bit. For her effort, she received a squeal and a giggle. Her smile broadened so much, Rowena was sure ’twould split her face in two.
“The villagers see this babe as the result of you conspiring