The Saxon Bride (The Norman Conquest Series)

by York, Ashley

  To add to her loneliness, the Lady Katherine came to call not long after John's departure. Her childhood friend came yearly for a visit. She brought news to Rowena of all her womanly accomplishments from her betrothal to one of the only remaining Saxons to the intimate details of married life.

  Giles had somehow found favor with the new king and been allowed to keep his titles and his lands. He was a powerful Saxon accepted into the Norman nobility. He also doted on his wife. With each visit Rowena was reminded of how much her life had changed and how many of her dreams would never see fulfillment.

  Rowena had hesitated a hair's breadth at the sight of her extremely pregnant friend before she embraced her. Her voice sounded stilted when she spoke.

  "It is so good to see you, my dear. Look at you so big with child." Rowena's hand hovered over the belly, wanting to feel for the child that lay hidden inside but afraid she would burst out with the tears that threatened to engulf her.

  Katey appeared to notice nothing and placed Rowena's hand against her side just as the babe gave a powerful lurch. "My sweet that was a kick. He will be strong."

  "He? You believe you carry a son?" How wonderful to have a son. Rowena choked back a cry, determined not to let her dear friend see her own distress. "How happy you must be."

  "I believe it is a boy. Giles believes it also. Oh," she quickly reached for Rowena's hand again, "that was an elbow, methinks." Katey smiled and Rowena tried to be happy at her friend's total contentment.

  The two sat side by side at Katey's insistence, settling in front of the fire. She held both of Rowena's hands and spoke as if their lives were so similar.

  "We are verily blessed. Giles is just the Saxon I had dreamed of and he is a good—" Katey winked at Rowena, "strong man."

  Katey loved to speak of her husband's prowess as a lover. The talk made Rowena uncomfortable. She did not want her virgin state to be known. It demonstrated her unwanted status.

  Rowena smiled and accepted the wine and cheese brought in by the young kitchen girl, Lydia. She was a favorite helper of Rowena's, always listening attentively to her stories. Rowena enjoyed telling stories from her childhood as she worked. They were the Saxon stories that had been passed down for hundreds of years. Some were true, some not so true. But the child was a delightful listener, and it helped Rowena pass the time.

  "Thank you, Lydia."

  Offering the repast to her friend, Rowena tried to change the subject. "I am glad you are happy. You verily glow."

  Katey's flawless skin looked like it had been kissed by the sun with the slightest blush at her cheeks. Her thick brown hair was wavier than usual and it shone with health and vitality. Giles entered the Hall and even when he was speaking to some of the Norman men, his eyes scanned the room, resting finally on his wife. He quickly finished with the men and all but bounded toward them. Katey heard him, and when their eyes met, their happiness in each other was apparent. Rowena's heart lurched at her own desire for such total contentment.

  "Greetings, Lady Rowena. How fare ye?" Finally tearing his gaze from his wife, Giles placed a wet kiss on the back of Rowena's hand.

  "I am well, sir. I see you have much to celebrate." Rowena wiped the wetness from her hand when Giles moved to sit beside his wife, kissing her cheek.

  "That we do." He was beaming as his hand went protectively to the large swell of his wife's belly. "My wife holds up very well, much to my liking."

  When his hand slipped lower, Rowena looked away in embarrassment. Like many men she saw, Giles was not afraid of crude, familial gestures with his wife in front of others. Their bawdiness did not show a care for the privacy of the intimacies they shared.

  "What of you?"

  Rowena's head snapped up at the question. She could not help that her eyes were wide with shock. Was he actually asking if she was to John's liking?

  Giles and Katey burst into laughter, and her face turned hot with embarrassment.

  "Be off with you, Giles, stop torturing our host." Katey pushed her husband affectionately, and he stood beside her at the bench.

  "Will your husband be returning anon?" he asked.

  Rowena struggled for composure when all she wanted to do was scream at this man. What right did he have to question her about the intimacy of her marriage? Or was he simply asking how she was? Heat flooded her face again, and she stumbled over her answer, "Sir, I am… I am not sure when my husband will complete his duties. I have not… I have not heard."

  Giles and Katey exchanged quick glances.

  "I am sorry I will not be here for his return." Giles kissed his wife. "I beg your leave, my lady. I need to see to the horses and gather the supplies I have brought for your husband. The grape yield this fall was especially good."

  Giles winked at his wife and removed himself. Although disappointed at having missed John, Giles seemed contented just to see the smile on his wife's face.

  "He does love me so." Katey leaned in closer and added, "He does not seem to be able to get enough of me."

  Rowena's jaw dropped at the admission. "Even in your condition? Is that safe?"

  Katey tilted her head and frowned, all but scolding her. She was going to make an excellent mother. "I will not disappoint my husband, Rowena. I will not have my husband seeking another for his pleasure."

  Duly chastised, Rowena said, "Of course not, Katey."

  The firm set of her lips was unmistakable. Katey was determined to not lose her husband's attention merely because she was with child. A change of subject was in order.

  "Will you be staying for supper then? And overnight perhaps? Can I see to your rooms?"

  "That would be lovely. I was so looking forward to meeting your Norman. Will he be back soon?"

  Over the years, Rowena had needed to make up stories to explain her missing husband. She did not want it known that he had abandoned her.

  The implication of ownership and desire in Katey's question caused a catch in Rowena's throat. "I am not privy to that information. He has a lot of land to cover."

  Katey frowned before she answered. "That's true. The Godwinson’s legacy is not easily managed. We will stay just the one night, I am sorry to say. Giles prefers his own home and does not travel well. To me," Katey smiled warmly, "this is just like home with all the time I spent here as a child."

  "I treasure the memories, Katey. Things were much simpler then."

  Giles returned to the Hall and begged leave for him and his wife to both rest after their long travels and to prepare for the evening meal. Rowena suspected from their giggling that there was a double meaning to his request for privacy. The whisper into his wife's ear and the possessive way he wrapped his arm about her waist as the two ascended the stairs seemed to confirm her suspicions. It had been a very trying visit.

  With nowhere else to go, Rowena now sat in front of the fire. She glanced at her hand, still able to feel the little foot as it had kicked out from within its mother's womb. She placed her hand on her own middle and rubbed slightly. At least one of them had the life they'd dreamed of.

  Chapter Twelve

  John brushed the dirt from his knees as he stood beside the decapitated body. On the hill, his men searched amongst the rest of the fallen villagers for any sign of survivors. There did not appear to be any. The houses stood in dark silhouette against the setting sun, the burned out shells still smoking as the last of the fire died out.

  Peter shook his head, his voice raw with emotion. "We will be blamed for this as well."

  "I believe that is the point." John wiped the soot and sweat from his face. The smoke burned his nostrils. "They were thorough. Not one survivor."

  "So they murder their own? That is insane."

  "This certainly justifies the villager's total distrust of us."

  For weeks now John and his men had traveled hundreds of miles from village to village with nothing to show for it. The overseers were polite enough, always offering him meat and wine for his men, and fodder for the horses, but the people
did not trust them. Instead of engaging with the new lord, the tenants shied away from him, averting their gaze, and only answering questions reluctantly. He soon found out why.

  On the road to Buckinghamshire, John and his retinue had stopped at an inn to rest but found it filled with angry men. He'd slipped in unseen. In short order John learned what had the villagers so upset. They believed that at the king's bidding, the Normans were laying waste the land, murdering the people, burning their villages, and driving off their livestock. When they spotted John, they stopped talking.

  Within a few days John had arrived at one of the devastated villages to see the destruction first hand. It was a village north of the castle. And there were more spread far across his lands, but John always arrived too late, never discovered any sign of who they were, and always found total destruction. To a man, the other villagers blamed the Normans.

  John did not appreciate being wrongly accused. Nothing he said could convince them, and he needed to find who was doing this. His frustration with their lack of progress grew. How could he win people over that believed him capable of these things? He wanted the situation settled; he wanted to be home. If his travels brought him nearer to the castle, he wanted nothing more than to go to his wife but he knew the destruction needed to be seen to first.

  It was all new to him, this idea of home. To be able to sleep protected from the elements; out of the cold, the rain, the wind, these basic desires satisfied a soldier. John now had unsettling dreams of a soft place to sleep, warm meals, comfortable surroundings and well kept grounds. He also had dreams of the feel of Rowena's hands on him, of her soft voice whispering words of pleasure at his company, and the desire to bear his children. Every morning he awoke with feelings of desolation and longing. He was miserable.

  "Here." The shout came from the far end of the field. A soldier struggled with moving one of the bodies. The Normans all ran toward him.

  "He is alive?" Peter's voice sounded hopeful, but John tried to keep his own emotions in check. They had been wrong before.

  "The buggar was buried under tha' rottin' carcass." All looked to see the maggot covered torso of a man. "Heard him moanin', I did. Gaw, that is disgustin’." The scraggly-haired man with only one front tooth frantically brushed the squirming vermin off his mud encrusted sleeve.

  Peter brought the water skin to the lips of the boy he'd uncovered. He looked to be eleven or twelve. His eyes were wide, hauntingly staring at nothing. "Here, son, have some water."

  Greedily sucking on the skin, the boy's eyes never focused on them.

  "Is he mad?" John whispered to Peter who shrugged uncertainly.

  The boy began to shake and the soldiers backed away in fear.

  "Remove the bodies," John ordered, worried the closeness of his dead companions may be affecting the boy's state of mind. The soldiers set about lifting and dragging away the victims of the brutal attack. The boy's eyes closed and John reacted with a start, afraid he'd lost his only witness to the atrocities around him.

  "I will stay with him," Peter offered.

  Sighing, John walked to where a makeshift grave had been dug, the pile of carcasses accumulating at the bottom of the hole. Senseless death. The smoldering buildings were a good sign. It meant they were getting closer to whoever was doing this. They were perhaps two days too late. At the last decimated village, the vultures were already well into their work.

  By moonrise, the boy had taken some broth and seemed to be getting better. His fingers had been chopped clean off but Peter had bandaged his hand as best he could. The boy had not said a word. Camped a short distance from the burned out village, the men were hidden just beyond the tree line in case anyone returned to the area.

  John sat propped against a log at the edge of the clearing. It was his watch and he was glad for it. His dreams of Rowena were keeping him from getting a good night's rest. The stars twinkled in a clear sky and an owl could be heard close by. The night passed peacefully, but John's mind would not settle.

  Seeing Arthur go into her room in the wee hours of the morning could not be explained any other way. John knew that. Yet he struggled to come up with a different explanation. She was a contradiction; one moment the passionate lover and the next the untried virgin. They could not both be true. If she had taken a lover, he would not feel the need to continue as her husband, consummated or not. He could actually be done with her and rightfully take the land that was now his by marriage. The very idea sparked his pulse. He did not want to be separated from her. He wanted her to be his.

  Peter joined him, a mug of warm cider in his hand. "Nice night."

  John grunted in response.

  "Thinking of her again?"

  John turned to his friend. He thought he had been so circumspect. Apparently not so much. "How is the boy?"

  "He is sleeping."

  "Has he said aught?"

  "He did wake up and asked me who I was."

  A small man came from the woods behind them. "My lord?"

  "Yes, Sean?"

  "The boy has awakened. He is sitting up and asking questions."

  Peter and John followed the man back toward where the small fire still burned. The drawn faces of the soldiers reflected the eerie firelight, their fear of the boy apparent. Perhaps a soldier's worst nightmare was to be left for dead on the battlefield. That this boy had survived such an event awed them and frightened them at the same time.

  The boy's eyes went immediately to Peter who smiled at him. John sat beside him. "How fare ye?"

  "I am alive. No one will answer me, sir. Are you Normans?"

  John met Peter's level gaze before he answered. "We are. Is there aught you require?" An empty bowl sat in his lap and the boy appeared to understand him.

  "Normans are not as bad as they say, methinks."

  John smiled at his frankness. "What is your name?"

  "I am called Aldred."

  "Aldred. Do you remember what happened in your village?"

  The boy's pained look said he did. John's heart quickened in anticipation of finally getting some answers.

  "Aye." The boy looked at the men watching him. "The men…they dressed the same but they didn't sound like you."

  They were dressed as Normans. It was intentional, then, they were in disguise hoping to have people believe they were indeed Normans. "Do you remember aught else?"

  "Yes. They went into the priest's house first. I heard screaming from Father Anselm and ran to me mum." Aldred's eyes overflowed with tears. "They did terrible things to her. They cut my fingers clear off me hand when I came at them." The boy's mangled hand waived in the air, he seemed mesmerized by the sight of it.

  "I'm sorry about your mum." John tried to be patient with the boy. He had been through a lot, but John desperately needed answers.

  "One man, he had bright red hair, had these blue eyes that pierced right through me." The boy shivered as if the memory could hurt him. "He looked like a crazed one. He cut the head off of the butcher, he did."

  The headless body must have been the butcher. Perhaps a closer look might give them a better idea what he used to do the deed. He had not seen many red-haired men in the area. One sniffing after his wife was enough.

  "Do you remember aught else?"

  "They sounded like we do."

  "You think they were from around here?"

  "You are not, right?"

  John nodded.

  "Then I would say they were."

  If this was all the boy knew, then they only had confirmation that their suspicions were correct. They weren't any closer to finding them, though. One of them had red hair. Taking a chance, John smiled at the boy reassuringly.

  "It cannot have been easy to wait them out."

  "No. The sweat poured off me. The butcher is very heavy. When I awoke to them standing over me, I tried not to move. They thought me dead."

  So he had been close enough to hear them talking. He might have heard something that could help them but John did not want to
cause him undue pain.

  "Were they laughing?"

  "Oh no. They were angry. The one man— the red-haired man— yelled at them. He told them they were wretched men and if Leofrid knew they wanted to plunder, he would have their heads."

  John patted the boy's shoulder and stood up. Peter put his arm around the boy and told him he was a good help. Leofrid. Was it Godwinson? Weren't they all killed years ago? He ran his hand through his hair. When Peter stood beside him, he saw that he, too, had recognized the name.

  "But it cannot be him. He was killed."

  "You are right. It cannot be. If he had lived," John measured his words carefully, "would he really stay around? I know Harold is dead, as are his brothers."

  "Then where would Leofrid's allegiance lie?" Peter completed his thought. The two turned toward each other. There was only one man who still lived and still desired to be King of England. Canute. He would take great pleasure, no doubt, in daily annoying the current king.

  "I must get word to William."

  "I will go, John. Mayhap you should return to Rowena. The king will receive me. I will leave without delay."

  The thought of Rowena brought turmoil and desire. He couldn't leave the villages unprotected from men who would kill their own just to lay the blame at his feet. "No. I must see to my people. They are under my protection."

  "As is Rowena. Philip can see to the villagers. Philip." Peter did not wait for confirmation and John did not gainsay him.

  John gave the order. "Break camp at daybreak and see that the villages are protected. Peter travels to the king posthaste."

  "I will send reinforcements for you to have a well-protected area around my lands," John added, already gathering his few belongings. "Since I don't know where the local men's loyalty lies, I will send only our men. Do you understand?"