Page 17 of Saxon Blade Norman Blood

Fueled with righteous anger, Rowena stormed to the kitchens, determined to meet Margot. William had thrown her a challenge, and she would rise to it. Even if the girl was of somewhat loose morals—and she dearly hoped that was the reason she’d been selected for the unsavory task of bedding Leowald—she did not deserve to be treated as if her agreement was a foregone conclusion.

“I would like to speak to Margot,” she told the cook, a tall lady wearing a surprisingly white apron.

The woman shook her head. “There is no Margot here. There is a Marguerite if that would serve?”

“No, I’m sure Lord William said Margot.”

“Lord William? I would be surprised. He knows full well there is no Margot here, never has been.” She frowned. “I cannot think what he could mean by it.”

Heat burned Rowena’s cheeks. “No. But I do,” she murmured to herself.

He had maneuvered like a true diplomat, making the girl up on the spot to save her from Leowald’s advances, whilst keeping his trust and compromising no one’s honor. He had indeed done his best to help her, only she had been too stubborn to see it.

How could she ever face him now?

Would he expect her to apologize for her heated, unfair words? He had been incandescent with rage, and she could not blame him. She should have listened to his explanations before lashing out at him. Their next encounter would be painful, but Rowena had to agree she deserved every reproach he deemed fit to address her. After all, she could hardly expect him to endanger the fragile alliance he was building with the Saxons for her sake.

As he’d pointed out, she had no right to expect his help at all. She was worse than nothing to him—she was the woman who wanted him dead. In those circumstances, any other man would not have hesitated in throwing her into Leowald’s arms just to teach her a lesson.

I am not any man.

His words rang in her ear. No, he was like no man she had ever met.

William de la Falaise constantly surprised and intrigued her. At first, she had done her best to suppress those unhelpful feelings, as she could not afford to think about the man in such terms, but as days went by, she found it harder and harder to ignore them.

Had she not witnessed the scene in her stepfather’s study, she would never have credited him with anything other than consideration and open-mindedness. As she had witnessed the murder, she knew William capable of ruthless violence.

Still, with her, he had never been rash or disrespectful, doing no more than raising his voice. Even today, when beside himself with rage, he had left the room rather than let her experience the full extent of his displeasure.

And now that she knew she would never kill him, there was nothing stopping her from giving her feelings free rein. This last barrier had been removed.

Lost in her musings, she almost ran into one of the two servants who was coming toward her.

“Lord William requests your presence at dinner tonight,” he informed her with a leer, allowing his gaze to rove all over her body. “You had better prepare yourself. I have never seen him so infuriated before. No doubt he’ll keep going all night in this mood.”

The dark-haired man by his side laughed. Rowena’s chest tightened. What if the man was right? True to his promise, William had never attempted to make love to her, but tonight he might finally surrender to the desire he felt for her. Would he reach out for her? Make her bare herself again? Touch her?

Her whole body heated at the thought and she knew she would not be able to refuse.

The two men exchanged a glance. “I have never fancied Saxon wenches myself, but I must admit this one is rather comely. Perhaps when Lord William tires of her we might see if she can change our minds on the subject.”

“There must be something she can do in bed,” his friend agreed. “For I have never known him to spend more than one night with the same woman.”

Disgusted by their comments, Rowena attempted to squeeze past them, but they blocked her way.

“What’s the hurry? Keen to get the man between your legs? That’s promising.”

“Let me go. Lord William is expecting me,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Yes, he is. For now. But when he finds himself another whore, we’ll be here to fill your needs.”

With a laugh that sent a shiver down her spine, they retreated slightly, but they were still too close for her not to touch them when she walked past.

Her body tensed at the contact, and she almost expected them to grab her and draw her outside—somewhere where they could have their way with her without anyone hearing. They didn’t.

As soon as she was free, she broke into a run.

Bursting into the inner bailey, she fell on her knees as a wave of nausea invaded her. It had never occurred to her before that the men at the castle only left her alone because they believed her to be William’s current mistress. They did not touch her for fear of incurring their master’s displeasure, not out of respect for her.

What would happen when she was no longer under his protection? His unexpected leniency protected her, but what would happen when he let her go? If it became known she was only here because she had tried to kill him, the men would have no scruples in showing her how they treated dangerous Saxon girls. They would have their sport first, then unleash their anger on her. She might not get out of it alive.

The nausea became overwhelming, and she was sick all over the ground.

She would rather die than endure their combined assault. She would do everything she could to prevent them from taking their pleasure with her. Like stabbing them.

Or even herself.

For the first time, she felt some compassion toward her mother. More miserable than she had ever been, Rowena hugged herself tight and cried.

Eventually, and though she feared she wouldn’t be able to eat a single thing, much less say a single word, Rowena gathered herself to go find William for dinner, as requested. Now that she knew what he had done for her, she did not want to offend him by disobeying.

When she entered the room, he was waiting for her, seated at one end of the table. She walked in silently and took her place opposite him. His face still bore traces of his earlier displeasure, but he did not confront her. He seemed to think her change of attitude made her contrition clear enough. She was grateful for it, for she wasn’t sure she could have borne to talk about their argument.

The meal was spent mostly in silence. One of the male servants who had provoked her earlier came to bring her a plate of meat. She almost screamed when he brushed her sleeve. The contact had been deliberate, she knew, a way of reminding her he was lying in wait, until the moment William discarded her.

As soon as the table was cleared, she asked to be excused. “I do not feel too well, I’m afraid.”

William frowned. “Go to bed. It has been a trying day,” he agreed eventually, as if worried for her.

Later, in his room, when he closed his arms around her in what had become their usual position, Rowena melted into his embrace. She’d been waiting for that precise moment ever since the incident in the kitchens, she realized. She desperately needed the comfort, the warmth, the feeling of safety he offered her.

He seemed to sense her need and drew her closer without a word, nuzzling at her neck in reassurance. His bed, his hold around her, were no longer a prison but a safe haven, the only haven she had ever known.

Rowena stifled a sob.

*

A whimper reached his ear.

William frowned. Was the girl crying? He held her in silence for a while, waiting to be sure. Something had happened to her that afternoon, he sensed it. She had seemed unwell at dinner.

What was amiss? She hadn’t been herself, looking pale and frightened, so much so that his fury had dissipated at the sight of her anguish. The last time he had seen her she had been bristling with anger, defiant, unreasonable even, but tonight she was thoroughly repentant. She must have gone to the kitchens to ask for Margot and realized he’d done his best to help her. There was no other explanation for this reversal in attitude.

But there was something else. She also appeared distressed.

Perhaps she had genuinely been frightened he would agree to Leowald’s request.

That, though, would never have happened. He would have compromised months of hard negotiating rather than agree to let her go to him. This woman attracted him like no other. He would never have sent her to anyone else, much less to Leowald, much less against her will.

He’d long stopped telling himself he made her sleep in his bed because he wanted to keep an eye on her. She slept with him because he liked it, and he didn’t hold her in his arms because it was the best way to ensure she did not disappear during the night anymore. Against all odds, he found her presence soothing. He didn’t need to sleep next to her, but he wanted to, even if it never lead to more.

His hold on her tightened fractionally, but it wasn’t to restrain her, nor was it the tender embrace of a lover preparing his conquest for lovemaking. It was the proof of an intimacy he had never before felt compelled to share with anyone.

This woman awoke cravings within him, cravings he never suspected he had.

If he woke up during the night and found she had slipped out of his embrace, he sought her out. Only when he had her safely in his arms could he return to sleep.

One night, unable to resist, he’d watched her in the moonlight, taking in the flawless, milky skin, the delicate eyelashes resting against her cheeks, the arch on her top lip. After a while she’d stirred and given a grunt of dissatisfaction at feeling herself alone. Eyes closed so as not to betray the fact he was awake, William had felt her snuggle against him, rest her head on his shoulder, and place a hand on his chest. A soft sigh had told him she thought order had been restored. She’d softened against him and fallen back to sleep. His arms had closed around her of their own accord.

He’d guessed then that they found each other thus in their sleep every night. It felt too natural for it to be a first occurrence.

But tonight, she was different, stiff and tense. It perturbed him. It was obvious something was weighing on her mind. It could be that she was still angry at him for offering her to Leowald, but if it had been the case, William was sure she would have told him so. She had lifted her gaze to him once or twice during dinner, only to glance away again as if she was ashamed of her lack of faith in him. So then what—

The servant.

His mind suddenly came into sharp focus as he remembered something he had not paid attention to at the time. After clearing the pottage, the man had brought them a platter of meat, and the girl had recoiled when he’d leaned in to offer her food. She had blanched even further and seemed to withdraw within herself.

Why? What had happened between her and that man? William breathed in the scent of her hair, feminine and floral. She wasn’t asleep, he knew, though she kept very still.

“Tell me. Did anything happen to you this afternoon?” Her body tensed further, answering his question. “Did anyone touch you?” he asked, moving her hair out of the way.

This could be one explanation for her attitude. He’d had ample opportunity to notice she stirred men’s lust—and the idea scared her as much as it infuriated him.

“No,” she said in a low voice, sounding close to tears. “Thanks to you they did not.”

Of course. She was referring to the incident with Leowald. That was what was bothering her. William grunted, far from satisfied by his handling of the affair with the Saxon lord. Now that he’d had time to calm down, he could see how it would have appeared to her.

“I’m sorry, but I could not see a way of warning you before giving my answer,” he explained softly. “Leowald would have picked up on any word of caution I would have given you. He has a rudimentary understanding of our tongue. I had no choice but to act as if I truly did not mind him taking you to bed and trust you would guess I did not mean a word of it.”

The girl stayed silent. They both knew that, far from trusting him, she had accused him of treating her like a piece of meat. He had taken a gamble, true, but he’d had no choice. His instinct had told him Leowald was not truly interested in bedding her, but merely testing his sincerity. Nevertheless, the Saxon could well have decided to kill two birds with one stone. Ascertain how far his Norman enemy was prepared to go in his bid to appease the Saxons and indulge his senses with a beautiful woman at the same time.

Fortunately, the vile man had been satisfied by William’s apparent willingness to share his women with him.

“I know you lied to Leowald to spare me his advances. There is no Margot in the kitchens, I went there this afternoon and asked,” she said in an even lower voice. “I thank you for protecting me.”

“You do not need to thank me for sparing you from that pig.” William groaned. “It is the only thing a man of honor could do. And I hope you know I would never have let you go with him, had he elected to have you instead of the elusive Margot.”

“I do now. I trust you. But I don’t understand… Why are you so considerate toward me?” she croaked. “Other men seem only to be interested in one thing, yet you have never tried to force me, despite sleeping with me every night. Why is that? Don’t you desire me?”

William closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Not desire her? He was dying with the need for her, never more so than now, when she was in his arms, warm and soft and sweet-smelling. He gritted his teeth. It would be too easy to show her just how much he did want her.

But he could not.

Her trust was his most cherished possession, he would do nothing to jeopardize it, not when he knew that, if he ever bedded her, she would be more to him than a meaningless conquest.

“I do desire you.” There was no point in lying, surely she could feel the proof of it against the small of her back—and felt it night after night. “Against my better judgment, I might add, but I do not think you desire me, not in that way. You came to my bed to kill me, not because you wanted to, and I cannot imagine you would want a man you hate to make love to you.”

Silence followed his declaration. Then she said in a breath, “I do not hate you. I never have.”

His heart flipped over in his chest. That assurance meant everything to him. Perhaps they could build something together after all… But before that, they needed to overcome one last obstacle.

“Then why?” he asked, still holding her tight. “If you don’t hate me, why do you want to kill me? You said you were not obeying anyone else’s orders, so you must have your own reasons for it. But we have never met before, I know it. So why would you want to kill me? Please tell me. I need to understand.”

*

It was time to tell him.

Rowena knew she would have to go in the morning, and now that she had finally accepted that she would never harm him, she had no reason to keep the secret to herself.

She took a deep breath, about to relieve herself of a burden she’d been carrying for too long. “You killed my stepfather.”

Behind her, William grew very still. “Your stepfather?”

“Godric the Redman.”

A pause, then a sigh. He had evidently identified who she was talking about and remembered what had happened. “Yes, I did kill him, but—”

“Do not say it was an accident like with your overlord. Do not think of lying to me!” Rowena’s anger flared, remembering his story of the Comtesse du Vallon. She had no reason to doubt what had happened then, but this time she knew the truth. The attack on Godric had been deliberate. “I was there, hidden, when you plunged your sword into his chest. You meant to do it. It was so savage. The blood… My mother was with me. We saw everything.” She started to shiver uncontrollably at the dreadful memory. “It was no accident.”

William gave a series of frightful curses in her ear then drew away from her. “I had no idea. That woman was your mother?”

“Yes. She was my mother,” Rowena spat, turning around to face him at last. “So you see, I do have my reasons for wanting to kill you, I was not sent to do someone else’s dirty work. First you killed my stepfather in cold blood, then you told your men to use my mother as they wished.”

“ What ? That’s not what I—” he started, but she was not in the mood to listen to him. Now that she had begun, she could not stop. She was determined he would feel the full extent of her rage and pain. “She was a spoil of war to you, nothing more, so you called your henchmen and you told them to do what they wanted with her. You didn’t even—”

“Wait, wait, I never said any of those things. Look at me,” he ordered, sitting up in outrage.

She shook her head, refusing to obey.

“ Look at me ,” he repeated, taking her chin in his hand to force her to meet his gaze. “I cannot let such a terrible accusation pass. Do you really believe I would ask my men to rape a woman, regardless of whether I had just killed her husband or not? Do you? Think carefully before you answer,” he warned, articulating every word.

His eyes flashed in such fury Rowena knew he was telling the truth. He had not had any part in the men’s decision to assault her mother.

“They said… I could not understand them very well at the time, but they said something about Lord William being very generous, and they lunged at her.” Her voice failed her when she remembered their horrid laughs. Despite the finger holding her chin up she averted her gaze.

There was a pause.

“I did kill your stepfather,” William said, sounding marginally calmer. “I had no other choice. He would only have killed me if I hadn’t. And I did call my men into the room afterwards. But I swear I had no idea they would…” He paused and forced her to meet his gaze once more. He looked appalled, horrified even. She bit her lower lip. “They raped her? While you watched?”

“No. In the end they did not. S-she stabbed herself first. The men ran away after that.”

Another muttered curse. “Did she survive the wound?”

Rowena shook her head slowly. “Once the men were gone, I ran to her, but it was too late. She died in my arms.”

“ Par tous les saints !” he exclaimed, rubbing a hand over his face like a man trying to chase a nightmarish vision.

“I wanted to find out who the men were, but I could not. I had no idea of their names or whereabouts. I only knew who you were.”

“Therefore you settled on killing me, believing me responsible for the death of your stepfather and the ordeal of your mother.” Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. “I am not responsible for what Gilles and Sylvain did, do you hear, even if I did kill Godric the Redman. I merely instructed the men to go in and…” His voice trailed, and he paled. “I told them to take care of the widow,” he finished in a deathly voice.

Bile rose in Rowena’s throat. It was clear his men had interpreted his words in a very different light, as an invitation to help themselves to whatever they wanted.

William swore and jumped out of bed, realizing it as well.

“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should not have entrusted such a delicate mission to men I knew to be little more than thugs.” He began to pace around the bed in vivid agitation, his rippling chest pale in the moonlight. “And you saw everything? Dear God. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

There was such anguish in his voice that she shivered. Instantly he was at her side, wrapping a fur cover over her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, placing his forehead in contact with hers. “I don’t know how you can even countenance the sight of me.”

Something tightened in Rowena’s guts. He was shouldering the responsibility for the men’s actions when he had done nothing wrong. The relief of knowing he had not known about, much less ordered, her mother’s rape was overwhelming. Then she understood that deep down, she had always known it. That was why she had never been able to steel herself to kill him. Because she knew he was innocent of that crime.

“You don’t need to—”

“Please,” he interrupted. “Don’t say anything. I can’t bear to think of what you’ve been through when it’s all my fault.”

With those words, he left the room.