by Ashley York
Tadhg stepped closer as well. “They have not.”
Brian and John, his face still hidden, came to stand before Leofrid. The panic of the man between them could be measured by his breathing but still no one said anything.
“How have you been, Leofrid?” John asked.
“Do I ken ye, man?” Leofrid’s accent had become a bit stronger. “I dunna ken ye. Show me yer face.”
“Oh, you do know me, Leofrid. And my wife sends her regards.” John shook off his helmet.
Leofrid jerked away but not fast enough. Tadhg and Peter each clasped a hand on his arm. Tadhg held tight against the jerking motion Leofrid made in an attempt to free himself.
John raised both brows. “No words for your dear cousin’s husband? The dear cousin who begged your life be spared?”
“Oh, John! I dinna recognize ye. How fare ye?”
Peter turned to face the man. “Not well, since the man whose life he spared now plans an attack on the very soil he was told not to return to. Ever.”
“Hello, Peter.” John smiled, looking at Peter and then Tadhg. “Tadhg.”
Leofrid glanced at the men on either side of him as if he’d never seen them before. “Ye ken this Norman?”
“Very well,” Peter said. “I am a Norman as well.”
“Married to my only sister,” Tadhg added, not holding back his own smile.
“Unhand me. I have done nothing wrong.” Leofrid’s blustering seemed so sincere.
“So that you can get away and start more trouble for me?” John’s even tone did not match the fearsome anger etched in his face. “I prefer to be with my wife now, yet here I am. With you. I do not wish to have to do this again.”
“Ye will not, my lord.” Leofrid bowed his head, trying to kneel but they would not release his arms. “Beg pardon. I had forgotten myself. I am forever in yer debt for sparing my life—”
“Silence! You beg pardon only for being caught.” John glanced around the camp. “And where is that she-devil Abigail?”
“I dunna—”
“John!” The blur of a woman running past and throwing herself at John startled Tadhg. “My John! You’ve come to take me back.”
Abigail gripped John’s face and kissed him. He shoved her off.
“Enough, Abigail. I have come to arrest you—you and your lover.”
“Arrest me? Whatever for?” Abigail’s innocent expression was well played. “I have done nothing but love you and wait patiently for you to come back to me.”
John took a step away, his eyes studying her intently. “Do you think me the fool?”
She took a timid step forward. “Of course not, my love.” Abigail placed a hand on John’s chest. “I wish only to be with you again. Our son—”
“Ah, yes. The lie you told my wife.”
“Ye have a son?” Leofrid asked.
“There is no son!” John barked the statement as he jerked back, his eyes never leaving her face. “There will be no son. I am married to the woman I love. You are not that woman. You have never been that woman.”
Fat tears slid down her cheeks, her eyes rounding in pain. Tadhg noticed her hands clenching at her side. If not for that, he would have believed this entire act. He moved his hand to his sword. Leofrid had stopped struggling, seemingly as mesmerized by the black-haired woman as everyone else. Her long, flowing gown did little to mask the sensual body beneath. She slid her hand down her side as if to call attention to it as well.
“You have hurt me to the core, my love. That woman has bewitched you.”
John finally looked at Leofrid again. “You have accepted this woman into your bed, have you not?”
“Isn’t that what ye had hoped for when ye sent her away with me?”
Abigail spit on the ground at Leofrid’s feet. “I never wanted this man to touch me. Ever.”
“I would not wish this woman on anyone,” John said.
“You do not mean what you are saying. That witch—she has cast her spell on you.”
John kept his eyes on Leofrid. “And you allow her to speak of your cousin in that manner? Intimating she is a witch?”
Her jaw dropped when she turned her face to Leofrid. “Your cousin? My John is married to your cousin?”
Abigail screeched her outrage, the ungodly sound piercing the air. In one swift motion, she pulled the dagger from John’s belt and buried the blade into Leofrid’s gut. “You foul pig!”
Leofrid collapsed, his body heavy between Tadhg and Peter. Dark red blood dripped from Abigail’s hand where she still gripped the weapon. John shoved her down, face first, his knee in her back, and ripped the dagger from her tight grasp.
“Let me up, John.” She wiggled beneath him, throwing the words over her shoulder. “I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
“Phillip!” John called and a man came forward from the ranks. He tied her arms behind her back but left her on the ground. Her wriggling working her deeper into the mud.
John was breathing heavy when he dropped to his knees beside Leofrid. The man’s unseeing eyes were wide with surprise.
“He’s dead,” Peter said.
They exchanged glances. Tadhg searched the crowds that were closing in, looking for any sign of a threat. But there was no malice on any of the faces, just a morbid curiosity.
“Well, you will not have to worry about what to tell Rowena.”
“Rowena. Rowena.” Abigail had managed to get to her feet, her gown caked with mud. She spit again. “That whore.”
Rage covered John’s face. Tadhg wasn’t sure whether he hoped John would slap her or if Tadhg needed to defend her from him. But John merely gripped her chin tight, piercing her with his eyes. “I am sorry I ever laid eyes on you, Abigail.”
“NO! You don’t mean that, John.”
But John had turned away from her.
“Brian, have you any use for her? If not, I will bring her to King William and he can do with her as he likes.”
“No! No, John!”
Brian glanced at her, a grave expression. “My sister has need of help. I could present her as a gift, see if it is something Lilith would appreciate.”
John nodded.
“We will need to brand her first in case she believes she can escape,” Brian said.
“John! I do not belong here. Take me back with you.”
“And keep her well secured.”
John agreed. “Do with her what you will. I have no objection.”
Brian signaled to one of his men who came forward. “Where would ye have me bring her?”
“Give her some time in the prisoner’s hole. Methinks she’ll be a much better help after that.”
Kicking and screaming, Abigail was dragged up the hill and away from the longhouse.
All eyes remained on the beautiful woman whose continued screams carried to them until she could no longer be seen or heard.
The men exchanged glances.
“We need to have Leofrid buried,” Peter stated the obvious. “Is there a priest who can help us with that?”
Brian nodded. “At least for now we have a priest.”
“Is he going somewhere?” John asked.
“I believe he wishes to travel south with Tadhg,” Brian replied. “Something about wishing to spend his last days in a warmer clime and among people from his past.”
“Bah, he has many days left. A ploy for us to take him with us.” Tadhg laughed quietly. “We will be happy to have him return with us to MacNaughton land.”
“And Tisa?” Brian asked.
“Aye. She will return to where she belongs.”
“I have heard enough of yer story to ken that is true, Tadhg. But for now,” Brian wrapped an arm around both Tadhg and John’s shoulders, “Come! Finally we have real cause for celebration.”
As they headed toward the longhouse, John stopped to look back at Peter. “Are you not coming?”
“I would prefer to find Brighit. I can let them know all is well and bring them ba
ck down. Besides,” Peter tipped his chin towards the other soldiers just coming up the beach. “You will have your hands full explaining to the men there’ll be no more excitement here.”
“That is the way of it,” John said. “And I would choose that for this night. Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow I return to my Rowena whom I hope to not leave again anytime soon...if at all.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
~
WestminsterAbbey, London
After seeing Peter and Brighit back to York, John had returned to Rowena as quickly as he was able. If not for the added protection of guards required for all earls, he’d have made much better time. All he wanted was to be home and have some time with his wife and new born. To instead be met by a missive from the king demanding not only his immediate presence but his wife’s as well, had pushed his patience beyond endurance. It was Rowena alone that soothed his ire and kept him focused on the truly important things.
Rowena pulled at her bodice, the babe crying across the Great Hall at Westminster Abbey no doubt causing havoc to her own need to feed her child. Ruth, however, was tucked safely away in the upper chamber, sleeping. The trip here had been difficult for both of John’s ladies. He wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder holding her tight against him.
“My thanks for attending me in this as well,” he said.
Rowena shook her head, “Even if I had been given a choice, which I was not, I would not have you come to this man unprotected.”
“Ah, you are my protection?”
Her eyes widened in one of her do-you-really-need-to-ask looks. “I am. I have no fear of this man. He is nothing more than a bully.”
John kissed the top of her head and took a quick look around to ensure no one heard her comment against the king. “I see. Being wed to me has made you fearless.”
She dipped her head, as if trying to hide her smile from him. “It has indeed.”
Rowena wiggled closer to him. The dampness of her dress made him sorry he’d not left her home, accepting the wrath of the king for not bringing her. As it was, he was most certain the king had heard about Leofrid, hence the summons.
“Would you prefer I return you to see to Ruth?”
“I thought you preferred my company to standing here and waiting for William alone.”
He indicated the crowd of people in the large room with a sweep of his hand. “Verily I am not alone!”
Tipping her head back, she smiled. “None as desirable as me!”
“Not even close.” He dropped a chaste kiss on her mouth.
She darted a glance around herself and put her lips closer to his ear. “I had been raised a genteel lady, my lord, having to fight was not in my training but I have learned. Have I not?”
Pulling away, her frown deepened when he didn’t answer immediately.
“My love, you know I would not have you fight on my behalf.”
“I will not allow the slander against you to continue. Any who would speak ill of you will have a piece of my mind.”
“Truly it is not necessary. It concerns me that you have not made up with your handmaiden. Are you certain that is how you want things to be? Even now with Ruth? Would you not trust Joan more with our daughter than Helen?”
Helen was matronly but not doting. Rowena spent very little time apart from their daughter. John was just not convinced it was totally her choice.
“You are wrong.” Rowena shook her head. “It is not the way I would have things. It is just the way things are. Joan would have had me choose Arthur over you. I would not. She did not acquiesce even after my choice was made so I set her aside. Her choice.”
“I’ve seen her attempts at making amends, my lady. Mayhap when we return home, you can sit with her and assess her feelings again?”
Rowena rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes, my lord.”
John lowered his face to her. “I would prefer you willingly agree with your husband than to merely give in.”
“John!” King William’s loud voice caused all other chatter in the room to stop abruptly.
John and Rowena glanced around the twenty or so people in front of them in line to search out the king. He sat in his large chair, great furs about his shoulders, and a large, gold chain around his neck. With beckoning fingers, he motioned them both closer. No one dared object as they passed by the others who had been waiting much longer than them.
King William was much more imposing than her Uncle Harold had ever been. Harold was kind and loving. William never smiled, not a real smile. His eyes were never kind. He was a brute.
Rowena curtseyed deeply, pulling her shawl tight around her milk-stained gown while John bowed at the waist. King William’s eyes held that condescending look she remembered far too well from his many visits during John’s absence from the castle. John had returned to Normandy in the hopes of never having to consummate his marriage to her since he believed her some wild creature that would murder him in his sleep. That was until he found her no longer being threatened by the king’s guard. He found her quite fetching and desirable then. Rowena smiled at the memory of his eagerness to get in her bed.
“Rowena. Your smiling face assures me, as does your untouched figure, that motherhood becomes you.”
“My thanks, my lord.”
William looked at John. “And you! You look no worse for wear and mayhap in need of a few more hours of sleep.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Leave us!” King William made the announcement with a clap of his hand. None hesitated to follow his orders, quickly exiting the room. He motioned for food, drink and a seat to be brought forward.
The cushioned seat was wide enough that both John and Rowena could sit before him, like good little puppies. She struggled to maintain her composure when her nerves were making everything seem extremely funny. If John were to find out she was pregnant yet again, she wondered if he would radiate as happily as he was now. His smile was quite genuine.
“I will not make you stay overlong here. I just wish to see how you two fare.”
William’s eyes stayed on Rowena’s a bit too long. She focused on keeping her hands still in her lap.
“We are well, my lord. The villagers have accepted me as lord and sworn their allegiance to you as requested. They prosper in the fields under your generosity.”
“And how do you see the villagers, Rowena?”
“They have great respect for their lord.” She turned a genuine smile of appreciation toward John. “They know him to be a kind man. They do not hesitate to bring to him their many concerns and he deals fairly with them.”
“These are the Saxons you speak of?”
John’s sharp gaze turned on the king.
Her pulse quickened. “There are both Saxons and Normans on our lands.”
“We have a great mix of Gaels and Celts as well, my lord. Did you wish to have an exact accounting of those living on our land? It would take me time but—”
William waved his hand. “No. No.”
Moving his jaw side to side, William kept his gaze fixed to Rowena’s face. Her hands grew slick. A slow nod followed by a harrumph, Rowena swallowed with a loud gulp. John cleared his throat.
“My lord, is there anything in particular you need to speak with us of?”
King William finally faced John, his back stiffening as he adjusted himself, his shoulders pushing back against the fine cushion covered in silk, the color of robin’s eggs.
“Tell me why you were in Eire.”
Rowena pressed her lips together to keep her gasp from escaping. John had told her the king would know. They were his ships, his knights, his earl.
“My lord, I had heard a rumor that supporters hoping to overthrow you were gathering in the north. I had two choices. I could send you word, wait for your reply, and then act or I could immediately see to the rumors and report back to you after the fact.”
“Hmm, and is that what you are doing now? Reporting after the fact?”
“I hav
e nothing to report. I found no reason to bring it up. Rumors, nothing more. The adventure cost you nothing as I saw to all expenses including the refitting of your ships. They are in better repair now than before we went.”
“Mmm, a loyal knight you are, John. Always following my dictates, yes?” His words were wrapped in sarcasm.
Rowena’s heart pounded loudly in her chest. She wouldn’t be surprised if they both turned to her and asked, “Is that your heart I can hear?”
A giggle threatened to erupt and she coughed into her hand.
“My lord, I cannot possibly report everything that I do. You must trust that I act in your best interest as I always have. Do you question my loyalty? You have only to say so. If you wish me to step down as earl, I will do that as well.”
John’s humbling tone riled Rowena. Her husband was the better man here and she resented vehemently the king implying anything else.
King William settled back again, his lips puckering in that thoughtful way. A door opened behind them. The king barked his command to leave.
She gulped again, torn between throwing herself at this man’s feet and begging for mercy or obeying John’s suggestion that she stay calm, sit still, and only answer what was asked. The moments dragged by. The king glanced down and sighed quietly before facing John. Trepidation flooded her until she noticed the softening of his features, the brighter blue of his eyes.
“John. I have never spoken of your father to you.”
Rowena’s throat clenched. She was certain John was no longer breathing. The black cloud that had always hung over him came from the fact that he could not name his father. No claim made on him. To John, that spoke of his own worthlessness as a man. A difficult thing to overcome.
“You know who my father is?” His words were tight as if they’d been squeezed out between clenched teeth.
She dare not look at him and see his pain.
“I do.”
Silence ensued. Complete, utter silence. She imagined John running over his miserable life in his mind. All this time, William could have named his father, given John rest from the constant uncertainty that hung around his neck like a stone.
“How long have you known?”
