скачать книгу бесплатно
Looking up at him, Rowena swallowed her sudden apprehension. “I—I couldn’t help but overhear, milord,” she began in English. “I did not start that fire, not even by accident. The spark-box lid was closed, I know it! The fire was started from outside and burned its way through the thatch. I could see it.” She paused. “Your sister is older than you. She expects you to respect her beliefs, but she’s wrong about me.”
“How do you know we are siblings?”
“She said ‘our brother’ when she mentioned Hastings. Milord, she doesn’t want to be here, and—”
“How do you know that?”
“I can tell. She’s not happy here. And angry at you. Not because of your brother, though his death haunts you.” She stopped and shrugged. How did she surmise all of this? ’Twas just by looking at Lady Josane that she knew. For years she’d been able to guess people’s motives. And she’d learned Taurin’s emotions easily. She did not catch all of the conversation between the siblings, but she knew something serious was stirring. “’Tis of no import right now. My home is. I did not leave the spark box open!”
Lord Stephen folded his arms. When he did not answer, she tried again. “You have to believe me! Why would I put my child at risk? Why would I set fire to the roof directly above the door, my only escape? If I didn’t care about my child’s life, would I have shoved you back when you reached for him yesterday morning? Would I have risked punishment?”
Rowena had no idea whether her earnest words convinced him. He did nothing but stand in the middle of the room, and the only sounds were of Ellie shifting as she stood over the pallet that held Andrew. The baby had dropped off to sleep, oblivious to the events around him. Rowena thought out a fast prayer. Lord God, help Lord Stephen to understand me. Help me to convince him.
Finally Stephen spoke. “What do you want me to do?”
Rowena hesitated. What did she want him to do? She didn’t want to stay in her hut, but she didn’t want to stay here, either. And she certainly did not want to be bound, albeit through gratitude only, to another Norman.
When Taurin had purchased her, ’twas as if she’d gone from the fry pan into the fire. Now it seemed as though she had been tossed back into the fry pan again.
Nay. She was a free woman, and in the time she’d spent with Clara, both in hiding from Taurin this summer past and here as the midwife had helped her settle into her new home, she had learned how to stand up for herself. Clara was a good teacher. ’Twas time to put the lessons to use and make her mentor proud.
Rowena straightened her shoulders. “I have been vandalized, milord, and my life put in jeopardy. Is there anyone here who can find out who is to blame? Your brother-in-law, mayhap? He assigned me my hut. He seems to run this village. Can he not help me?”
At the mention of his brother-in-law, Stephen’s mouth tightened. “Gilles is my bailiff, but he hears only civil cases. It is a bit complicated what is civil or criminal. But the major criminal cases are decided in London. We can convene a manorial court, which is a civil court, but the case must be compiled first and the culprit found. Gilles cannot investigate if he is to be the judge.”
Rowena sagged. “So, I have no one to help me?”
Stephen pulled up a chair and sank heavily into it. It creaked under his weight. The two small lamps flickered warm light onto his tired features, cutting sharp angles along his jaw and cheeks. It had been a long night, and Rowena wondered if they shouldn’t leave this until the morning.
But she couldn’t. Any desire to delay was caused by naught but fear and shame for asking. She leaned forward again. “Who could possibly help me? I have no relatives here.”
Stephen shook his head. “You are a villein here. Do you know what that means?”
“Aye. Master Gilles told me how I cannot leave without your permission and of my obligation to work your lands, milord, three days each week. I have started to do so! He also spelled out my right to protection. But if he cannot help me, who can?”
Stephen leaned back. After a moment when nothing was heard but the soft breaths of expectation, he said, “I will help you.”
Hearing Ellie’s short intake of breath, Rowena gaped at Stephen. “You will?”
“You say that you’re being persecuted but don’t know by whom. I will find out who it is and why.”
Hope surged in her, but there was something about his words that didn’t feel as open as they should. Or was it the look around his eyes?
Still, Rowena said, “Thank you.” For a brief moment, he’d shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, their gazes met. Even in the dimly lit chamber, for one lamp had just winked out, Rowena could see his eyes. The remaining lamp’s flame flickered in the dark brown circles, and when he parted his lips as if to speak, she found herself drawn toward him like a thirsty animal toward water. Her heart thundered in her chest and she quickly prayed that he would not renege on his offer.
“Bienvenue,” he finally murmured in French. “But ’tis not as simple as it sounds. You must trust me completely in this.”
Rowena stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“You will stay here out of harm’s way while I investigate these attacks.”
“But—”
“No buts. You will say and do nothing.” Those dark eyes hardened. “You must put all your faith in my ability to handle this situation. Do you understand?”
Indignation flared within her. Was she a dolt who needed everything spelled out? Did he expect her to trust blindly? Was he addled?
Still, Lord Stephen had promised to help her when no one else would. “I understand,” she murmured. “But I can—”
“Nay. I expect your completeobedience.”
Like the bone in her spark box receiving fresh air, she felt heat flare inside her. “Obedience? Am I a slave again, or mayhap a prisoner here? I know I am a villein and bound to the land, but why should I be punished for the suffering I’ve endured? I should be helping!”
Stephen stood. He towered over her like the keep at Dunmow when she’d finally met her sponsor, Lord Adrien. “You cannot! Nor are you being punished. I know exactly how to deal with this situation and these people. Nay, you are not a slave. But you will do as I say.”
Rowena folded her arms. “I will not live here owing you.”
He blew out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. You can be in my employ.”
“Doing what?”
He rolled his eyes. Then he paused, and Rowena could see his gaze turn calculating. Her heart chilled.
“Mayhap since you are so good at identifying people’s feelings, I can use you to read those who come to this manor looking for an end to their disputes.” He held up his finger. “Perhaps you can tell me when people are lying.”
Rowena shook her head. “Use me to read people? Am I a tool, like a pitchfork?” She stiffened. “Nay, milord. I have had my fill of intrigue. I will not be forced into the middle of it again.”
“Your fill of intrigue? How so?” His brows shot up in question, but she refused to enlighten him.
Instead she dropped her gaze, wondering if she had pushed her demand to earn her stay here too much. Would he turn her out to fend for herself?
Nay. There was a goodness in him, she was sure of it.
Lord, guide me.
“We had agreed that I could make rope in exchange for food. Mayhap I could make more to pay for my stay here?”
She craned her neck to see his face. Would he accept that instead? He met her searching gaze, but she couldn’t read it. He’d been in London, he’d said before, and from what she’d learned from Taurin, London was filled with conspiracy and danger. Stephen must have learned to hide his feelings there.
Finally he nodded, stirring up all scenarios. What were his plans for an investigation? Why was he willing to help locate her persecutor? No man had ever just volunteered anything. Would his plans involve punishing everyone here in order to extract a confession? How could that possibly help? She asked, “What will you do to find my attacker?”
“Did I not just demand faith in my abilities?” Lord Stephen snapped. Then, with a long sigh, he rubbed his forehead. “’Tis the middle of the night, Rowena, and we are both tired. I will speak to you on the morrow.”
He turned to Ellie, and her heart sinking, Rowena knew he was right. They were exhausted. “See to Rowena’s needs. Her ankle will need attention, and clearly she needs some clothes. I believe my sister has given you maids some old cyrtels. One should be suitable.”
Rowena drew the edges of her undertunic together at the neck as Ellie bobbed in obedience.
With a final glance around the tight quarters, Stephen bid her good-night and left.
Rowena slid her gaze over to Ellie. Still standing beside the pallet, the maid wrung her hands. “Rowena, you must not argue with Baron Stephen!”
“I didn’t argue with him. I asked for his help.”
The maid walked around the pallet to reach a crude wooden box in the corner. There were several pallets packed into the room, but Rowena had yet to meet the other maids who used them. Mayhap they were busy in the kitchen? Ellie dragged the box into the meager circle of lamplight. “Lord Stephen’s giving you his help, is he not?” she said, pulling out a dark blue cyrtel and holding it high to examine it. As if satisfied, she lowered it to peer pointedly at Rowena. “But you can’t tell him how he must help you!”
Rowena folded her arms. Her ankle had begun to throb, and she was in no mood to explain her reasoning. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” she responded testily. “I may be a foolish farm girl, but I have every right to ask how Lord Stephen plans to help me. What if his plans would hurt my son? Had I been asleep, Andrew would have died. I don’t care about my own life, but I do care for his!”
Ellie folded the cyrtel and set it on her pallet close to Andrew’s tiny feet. Clara had made him a warm bunting outfit, warning Rowena not to swaddle him too tightly for too long. By now, his feet pressed against the lower seam. Ellie tugged on it to help make more room for him, but ’twas a wasted effort. She then pulled up the chair Stephen had vacated to gently prop up Rowena’s injured foot and lift the hem of her undertunic to see the ankle.
While wincing, Rowena fought the urge to press her point of not trusting any Norman until he’d proved himself. Should she really rely upon Lord Stephen? “Do you think he will do as he promised?”
“Aye.” Ellie paused in her examination as she nodded to Rowena. The lamplight shone warmly on the girl’s earnest expression. Her cyrtel fit snugly, as if she had blossomed into womanhood too soon. She needed those secondhand cyrtels as much as Rowena did. Mayhap Lady Josane had passed them down to her because she’d seen the girl nearly busting from her own cyrtel. “I understand what you’re saying, Rowena. I, too, wonder what cost his promise will be to us Saxons.”
Was Ellie suggesting that this village would suffer punishment for Rowena’s misfortune? She wet her lips. Not a good start to living here when already the villagers distrusted her. “What do you mean?”
With a glance to the closed door, Ellie answered, “Lord Stephen is said to do the king’s...how do I put it? Filthy work? His dirty work that no one else can do.”
Rowena gasped. “Like murder?”
“Nay!” Ellie shook her head briskly. “Oh, I’m not explaining this right. How can I say it? The court in London is rife with intrigue, they claim. People switch allegiances as quickly as the weather turns. ’Tis said the king needs an ear to be where the schemes against him are plotted. He needs someone who can rid him of those against him.”
Rowena swallowed. That did not sound good. “So Lord Stephen is as sly as a fox?”
“’Twould be wise not to irritate him. His allegiance is to God and the king, and only them. Some say he is more ruthless than the king himself.”
“’Tis hardly Christian.”
Ellie pressed her knuckles against her mouth and thought a moment. “I heard Lady Josane say once that Lord Stephen has never done anything unbefitting of his duty to King William, and that since God put the king on the throne, Lord Stephen’s duty was also God-given.”
“God didn’t crown King William. Lord Taurin sa—The king crowned himself.”
Setting the hem gently over Rowena’s swollen ankle, Ellie went on, “’Tis a dangerous attitude, Rowena. Speak no more of it. Aye, milord is harsh, but he will keep this village safe for both Saxon and Norman. I have faith in him.”
“How? He hasn’t done a good job so far.”
“Beyond the forest and fens is Ely. Many here feared the king would destroy us if he marched through to fight the rebels there. Indeed, he would’ve razed our land two years ago had it not been for our anchoress, Lady Udella, who pleaded for our safety, and for Lord Stephen, who offered to keep her here. We should be grateful that milord took this holding, instead of one who cares not for anything but power.”
Rowena swallowed. Aye, she knew one baron who cared for nothing but power.
Ellie continued, “Some men in the village say that Baron Stephen is here to punish men who would try to be rid of a Norman king.” She shivered openly. “I have heard talk in this manor house that the king is moving north to harry the rebels there. I pray he bypasses Kingstown. ’Tis not a good time to live here. Some of the villagers would swear fealty, then break their promise as soon as the opportunity arises. ’Twill not bode well for our village should even one of us turn our allegiance from the king.”
With that, Ellie spun on her heel and left, adding a quick mutter that she would return with some knitbone leaves in which to wrap Rowena’s ankle. Alone and unable to move in the near dark, for the second lamp threatened to die, Rowena fought back fear. She was to trust Baron Stephen, a man whom his own servants said was harsh?
Nay. She’d be a fool to put her faith in him during this dangerous time. Baron Stephen’s sister, the chatelaine and obviously his equal, didn’t want Rowena here. Saxons shunned her. She couldn’t even go home to her parents’ farm, for she would surely be turned away, what with bringing another mouth to feed. Not that she would return. Not after her father had sold her.
She had no champion, save herself.
She stopped her thoughts. Wouldn’t God help her? Did she have so little faith? Forgive me, Lord.
Ellie returned with the leaves and a dark poultice to plaster carefully around Rowena’s ankle. Rowena sucked in her breath as Ellie pressed the cool remedy against the swollen flesh. She would be laid up for days, a prisoner trapped by her injury, obliged to let Baron Stephen act as he would. The baron’s priorities were not to find her attacker. They were to suppress a rebellion. He would hardly allow his promise to her to hinder that great task.
And, Rowena’s heart reminded her furiously, she would never trust a Norman. Taurin had done what no man should ever do and had even planned to kill her afterward, lest she reveal the truth about the babe.
Fury rose anew and she gritted her teeth to bottle it, leaving her shaking. As Ellie finished her ministrations on her ankle, Rowena finished her thoughts.
She had no choice but to stay here. But count on Lord Stephen to see to her best interests? Nay. Only a fool would stand behind the horse after it had kicked him.
Chapter Six (#ulink_28a49ca7-418c-5603-868d-c7058ab81865)
His short nap done, Stephen rose. After quick ablutions, he threw on a light cloak and took his sword. He departed through the front door, a personal guard at his heels. The only other soul awake outside, for it had been such a late night for everyone, was the soldier on guard. Stephen had even allowed Gaetan, his squire, to sleep in. The duty guard snapped to attention, and after acknowledging him, Stephen strode down the lane toward Rowena’s hut.
Yesterday had seen him weary of fighting and being ever watchful. But today Stephen felt invigorated. Now he had a plan to root out the rebels he knew lived here. They hated Rowena, and he would use the young woman to lure them out. It was the only plan that didn’t include arresting every man.
But before he could use her, he had to do a quick investigation of the fire. It was probably an accident, but Stephen was not one to leave a stone unturned.
Though dawn had just begun, the day was light enough for him to start his investigation. Rowena’s home looked a sodden, useless shell now, he decided as he closed in on it. Thankfully, a tributary of the Cam River flowed east of the village, mere yards away, and the easy access to water had helped to save the building from far worse damage. Rowena’s garden, where she’d attempted to salvage her food stocks, had been trodden down even further.
Ordering his guard to remain out front, Stephen walked slowly around the small home, thinking one more time of what Rowena had said. She would never be so foolish to put her son’s life in danger. Hadn’t she been protective of the child when he’d picked him up? She’d given Stephen a shove for all she was worth, and she’d risked punishment for it. No Saxon would dare openly attack a Norman.
Although, Stephen recalled, she was also terrified of him. In London, he could make maidens shrink back in fear with one glower and it bothered him not one jot. Rowena had flinched when he’d raised his hand to open her door.
This kitten—aye, Rowena was a kitten, fearful and yet bold at the same time—had acted in a way that had made him feel compassion, which hindered him in the way he preferred to work.
Stephen’s tasks had always been to listen for dissension, coax those whose allegiances were faltering and maneuver the intrigue of court life to keep it safe for the king. He had allowed dissidents to form plans, caught them in their lies and manipulated their friends into turning them in. Stephen had drafted the Act of Surety of the King’s Person to assist in arresting those who would want William dead. He was good at his job and knew without forethought he was doing his Lord’s work.
So, why bother investigating a simple fire? Did Rowena need protection so much that he likened her to the king?
Nay, he needed Rowena to draw out troublemakers, and there were plenty of them around. Kingstown sat too close to Ely, which housed that unpleasant Saxon abbot who nursed an inconsequential grievance against Cambridgeshire’s new Norman sheriff, all the while encouraging Hereward the Wake to come fight for England’s sovereignty. ’Twould be best, Stephen thought, that he remove all rebels here. The least he could do for his brother’s memory was to keep this town safe. And if it took using one Saxon woman and her babe to arouse rebels and arrest them, he would do exactly that.
An insect buzzed about Stephen’s head, some late-season mosquito from the marshes around Kingstown. He swatted but missed it, and it annoyed him.
With his guard waiting patiently, Stephen finished his survey and circled back to what remained of the front of Rowena’s hut. The scent of smoke lingered. The fire had been hottest here, and most of the thatch was nothing but ashes spread out on the ground. The door was charred at the top, while the wattle and daub of the short walls showed only scorching. Very little repair would be needed.
Thank You, Father, for getting her out so quickly.
The prayer came unbidden to his forethought, for he usually reserved his prayers for the king alone. With a slight frown, Stephen opened the door beneath the bared roof. Dawn was now complete and the sun high enough that he could easily see into the single-room home. Mud pooled in slurries, and as he stepped into one, something between the puddles caught the sun’s first rays as they slipped through the open door.
The spark box, he noted as he picked it up. With all the water that had been tossed on the house, the box now gleamed. He weighed it in his palm. ’Twas still warm.
And fully closed. Snapped shut firmly.
Stephen’s heart chilled. With a single deft movement, he flicked open the lid. ’Twas exactly as Rowena had said. A small piece of bone glowed within.
Dry bone was good in a spark box. It burned far slower than a hunk of hardwood. With the sudden breath he streamed out in a sigh, the bone flared from its slumber. Jaw tight, Stephen snapped the lid closed. He looked back toward the small front door and the shelf beside it. Only for ease of access was the spark box shelf there at all. Now, as morning lit the sky, Stephen could see how the shelf, though charred, was still intact.
Rowena had been correct when she’d said that ’twere not possible for the spark box to have caused the fire, for surely the whole shelf would have burned and the wall scorched. Stephen set the box on the mantel above the small, crude hearth. His heart hammered at the truth before him.
’Twas arson, indeed. As he’d surmised last evening, Rowena’s enemy had struck two nights in a row. If he’d known that would happen, he’d have hid a guard beyond the village gate to ambush this troublemaker. But he’d thought that his presence yesterday morning would have deterred them for at least a day. His jaw tightened, his neck heated. Rowena had been vandalized and then attacked. More than attacked. Someone wanted her dead.
