The Saxon Bride (The Norman Conquest Series) (21 page)

Arthur's heavy body relaxed against John's hand.
Dead. The cold ground numbed John's body when he pulled away from the corpse. The rain puddled around him. As if in a dream, John's friends emerged from the mist, his own horse in tow. Hanging back, they gave him time. John knew they had taken care of the other men. He didn't need to ask how. They had been Arthur's lackeys. What now? There was no satisfaction. A threat had been dealt with. No more. No less.

John shook off his heavy helmet, the rain cool against his sweaty head.
His deep breath was cut off by the shot of pain across his throbbing chest. It would take time to recover, in body and spirit. His arms were dead weights, and he peeled the bloodied glove from his hand. Arthur's blood. The rain washed it clean. John sighed in resignation. Returning to the present, he stood to face his friends. He silently mounted. They headed back across the barren land.

Rowena could smell the dampness, the blood
… her blood, and feel the cold floor beneath her uncovered legs.

"No, Arthur.
Do not slake your anger on me." Her plea made no impression on the contorted face of her former confidant. "Why?" The whisper penetrated into her ear when she spoke the word aloud, forcing her to awaken from the nightmare. Sweat dripped down her neck as she propped herself to sit in the bed.

The room was empty.
All had left her to sleep or perhaps die? Rowena placed her hand on her empty womb. Many women died at childbirth. Some before the baby was even born. Many after. Some during the birthing, killing the child as well.

Closing her eyes,
she again saw her husband's haggard expression, his tears slipping down his face to fall on little Beatrice's cold face.

Where was
John now?

He had told her he was a bastard
and didn't know who his father was. It pained him to share that. She remembered his face, almost a look of surprise at his own admission. Why would he bare that inner shame, holding her all night long and rubbing her arms to keep the chill away, and sobbing with her at their shared grief?

Rowena opened her eyes.
She brought her hand to her mouth, a slow smile spreading across her face. She was loved by him.

He had said he would not go to another.
It was her choice to believe him and even trust him. He could be the very man she had always wanted as a husband. Most importantly, his love could help her through this loss. She no longer had to suffer alone. She was not alone.

Turning to her side, Rowena stroked the pillow beside her.
He would return to her. She wanted him now, beside her. She needed his arms around her. If she died now, he would never know that she had loved him. The very idea felt like a stab to her heart. She pressed her lips in a determined line. She best not die now.

§

The heavy black material of mourning was draped across the gate as John approached the castle. Peter followed not far behind but passed on to stop abreast of him.

"Your people share your loss, my lord
," Peter said.

There had been other signs along the way; boughs of dried flower
s and thistle, a cairn already as high as his horse's flank, and the deafening stillness. In their own way the villagers mourned their lord and lady’s loss.

"Out of love for their lady no doubt
," John answered.

The sight of Rowena huddled with the women sewing flashed in his mind. A smile on her lips.

"Ah, you underestimate your own worth."

John
had seen the villagers, their heads dipped with downcast eyes in solemn respect as he'd traveled the well-worn path to the castle door.

"And you have rid them of an omnipresent evil when you killed Arthur. They will not forget that."
Peter continued on into the stable.

Their
return trip had been one of silence. All appeared as if through a fog to John's mind. Perhaps now that the death of his child and the abuse of his wife had been avenged, the pain of the loss was making itself known. He was tired. His hands stiff where he gripped the reins.

"Lord John!" It took several more steps for his numbed mind to register the voice
and a few more after that before he pulled back on the reins and stopped his horse. Peter continued on ahead to the castle on foot. The saddle was hard beneath John and when he turned to look behind, pain shot through his side.

"Damn
," he cursed beneath his breath, his irritation growing. "What is it?"

Perceval took a step away
. John's deadened senses stirred. He was being cruel to one who had been his helper.

"Forgive me, Perceval.
Please." John gestured for him to continue.

John felt
removed from his own surroundings, as if watching his own movements. Fatigue was setting it. Suddenly filled with an urge to laugh, John coughed into his hand, trying to focus. The man's mouth tightened into a grimace and his eyes were cold. More bad news.

John held his hand up to stop Perceval's story.
"I cannot hear you now, man."

He impatiently gestured the man aside and proceeded on his horse into the
stable yard. Why would the man think he should approach John now? Exhausted. He needed sleep. Tilting forward in his saddle, he was able to catch himself before he tumbled out. A stable boy quickly grabbed the reins.

"Good man
," John mumbled as he came down off the horse, jarring his tired body. A twinge shot up his back, and he bit back a groan. He exhaled slowly.

"Is Lady Rowena within?"
he asked.

The young lad shook his mop of hair, stroking the horse
's snout. "My lord?"

John wanted to scream to leave him alone but the boy's face was grave
.

"Yes?"
he patiently asked the boy.

"I am sorry for your loss, yours and Lady Rowena.
I hope you will have many healthy children still." Such hopeful words. The boy gave a small smile. John nodded in response but his thoughts were of his wife.

Rowena
knew the truth now. His stomach lurched at the realization. He had talked far too much in the wee hours while their child's death had been imminent, baring his very soul to her.

What
madness drove him to tell her of his own childhood? Open himself up to any woman's scrutiny? John shook his head.

John
questioned why he had been allowed to live many times. In a different land, unwanted infants were left out in the elements to die alone. So why was he allowed to live? There was no answer.

During those hours in the cave, Rowena's eyes had been closed for much of the time.
He had been trying to distract her, ease her burden. In the process, he probably lost the only good thing he'd ever found.

"Damn fool
," John muttered to himself and headed away from the stairs and Rowena, toward the darkened room off the Great Hall. The dank smell of wet wood and parchment was heavy in the air and he shut the door, entombing himself within. The quiet of the room was interrupted by the scurrying of the unseen varmints scattering away at his approach.

Plopping heavily into a
chair, John was amazed at how comfortable a simple cushion felt. Wine and cup sat like sentinels on the trestle, and John did not hesitate to pour himself a liberal amount. How could he face her after his revelations?

John t
ossed back the bitter wine and poured himself more. Even the lees of the cask for the bastard lord. The room shifted around him. John closed his eyes. The floor dropped from beneath him. He draped his arms across the heavy wooden table and laid his forehead flat against the cold wood.

Nothing ever went well for him.
He'd learned that early enough. Most of his childhood had been spent on his arse looking up into the nasty grimace of Bruce the stone cutter. Bruce had been a moose of a man. Working stone had made him an extremely strong bully who liked nothing better than to beat his mouse-like wife and the unwanted lad left under his control.

The door opened
. His lids were heavy, and his body refused to move. It didn't seem to matter if he roused himself enough to see who stood on either side of him. The room shifted again. The overpowering scent of flowers assaulted his nostrils, stirring a memory just out of reach. Its cloying smell caused his mouth to water. A surge of warning wormed its way up his chest. His mind was unable to grasp it…but surely whatever it was would wait until after he rested.

"My lady?"
Joan's concerned voice seeped into Rowena's dream until it made sense that the horse she shared with John as she snuggled against him would suddenly find a voice.

Waiting for the pain to start behind her eyes, Rowena was relieved to find it gone.
"Joan?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"The pain seems to have subsided." Rowena slowly opened her eyes to the dawn pouring into her chamber. "Yes…" questioningly Rowena rubbed her face,"…I do believe the pain may really be gone."

Relief surged through her and the bright light of day was like honey dripping from the
comb. With great care, Rowena pulled herself to sitting. It was going to be a good day. Although her heart was still heavy from her loss, her future with John assured her there would be many more births.

Rowena turned to her friend.
"I can see your deep frown, my dear. What concerns you so on such a beautiful morning as this?"

"My lady…Lord John cannot be found."

"I don't get your meaning? How can he not be found?" Who was looking for him and where exactly had they looked that he was not found?

"My lady," Joan's urgent tone
cut into Rowena like a knife. "Your husband has left."

"
What are you prattling about?"

How quickly the unease grew despite the earlier self-assurances of how John felt.
Where had he gone to? Why did Joan need to make it sound as if he'd abandoned her?

The naysayer slowly shook her head.
Rowena felt the twist of the knife in her heart. The blonde's eyes were wide with the fear. Or was it dread?

"He has left the castle
," Joan said.

"When
had he returned to the castle?" Her tone was hard but she didn't care.

"I was told he had returned last night.
It was very late."

Rowena searched for some memory of his presence.
He had been in the castle and hadn't come to see her? Wouldn't he be interested in how she fared?

"Mayhap they were wrong.
Who was it that saw him?"

"Sean."

Her sense of urgency grew. Like a physical thing, it seemed to push her to slide her legs to the edge of the bed.

"We must find him then."

"No, please, my lady. You are still too weak to stand." Joan was at her side the instant her feet touched the cold, stone floor.

"Rest assured, Joan, I will be getting up and now."

Rowena was startled at the sound of her own strong convictions. But she did indeed have something to fight for…her marriage…her husband…her people, even. They should not live in constant fear of these Norman invaders.
She
should not live in fear of these invaders.

"Call my guards, please
," Rowena said. The cold from the floor seeped into her limbs. "Help me to cover myself."

Joan turned abruptly to the chest at the foot of
the bed. She pulled a thick, woolen robe from the chest. "Allow me to assist you."

She
helped Rowena guide her tired arms in through the sleeve. Rowena took a deep breath to steady her trembling muscles. "I fear it has been a long time since I have been out of this bed."

"It has been
two weeks since you lost the babe." Joan pulled the thick material together in front to hide Rowena's nightgown. "Sit back down and I will fetch the guards."

Having spent her small reserve on her initial surge, Rowena felt suddenly tired and overwhelmed.
"My thanks."

Joan helped her to slide her legs back under the heavy bed coverings.

"I will return." Joan dashed through the door, leaving Rowena.

How could John just be gone?
Perhaps she slept right through his visit. Without forethought, she turned to the undisturbed film of ash covering the table beside. No lady slippers or dying flowers, no sign at all of a missed encounter.

He wouldn't have left without seeing her.
The time in the cave had changed everything for her—for them. The dread he had been unable to hide was too real. He had admitted his deepest fears to her—abandonment. He'd never belonged anywhere.

"I have no one to call my own.
When I was born, I was quickly discarded, of little importance. Do you see why marriage is…was…not for me?"

The heavy weight of his head leaning
against her own in his sadness tugged at Rowena's heart. She realized he did not know his own true worth. He was not just a knight or a conqueror; he was a good man, a decent man.

"You are a good man, John of Normandy."
The words echoed back to her from the chamber walls. "I will believe in you even when no one else does."

The door was thrown against the wall as Joan entered with three soldiers.

"Sean, come quickly," Rowena demanded, leaning forward in her determination. She refused to acknowledge the look of pity that passed over her servant's face. "Tell me when it was that you saw John."

"It was very late, m'lady.
He was well worn, near exhaustion. I had seen the stable boy catch him when he all but fell off his horse."

John was exhausted.
Pride and gratitude swelled within her breast when she realized he must have gone to avenge her.

"Arthur is dead." Rowena's voice was a whisper but she knew that it was true.

"M'lady?" Sean's brow creased in question.

Rowena pushed on with new orders.
"Sean, see if his horse is in the stable. If it is, you must search the castle and beyond. Some terrible fate has befallen my husband."

He averted her gaze and shifted uneasily before her.
His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "M'lady, many of the soldiers believe he has returned to Normandy."

Pain tightened her heart and all sound seemed to stop.
Joan's expectant face showed concern. The similar look of pity on the other men's faces caused Rowena to pause but only for one small second. No! She would not be taken in by this. John would not abandon her. He had gone and avenged her mistreatment. Rowena held her head high.

"You overstep your ground,
sir. You will do as I bid." Just beyond him, the other soldiers straightened at her tone. "You two, help him search. Perhaps in his exhaustion, he has had an accident." She turned back to Sean who had stepped away. With a stern tone Rowena spoke her mind knowing the message would be carried to the other soldiers. "My husband would not abandon me." Pausing for emphasis she searched their faces for any contradiction. Seeing none, she continued. "My husband loves me. Since he is not here beside me, clearly something terrible has befallen him. Go…find him!"

The soldiers moved quickly to do her bidding.

Joan, her rounded shoulders speaking volumes, stepped closer to the Rowena. "Are you cert—"

"Enough, Joan!"
Rowena's tone brooked no further discussion. "You are of no help to me if I must convince you of what I already know in my heart. I spoke the truth to my men. Either you are with me and believe John loves me, or you are against me and of no further use. Please send Evelyn to assist me." Rowena sat up straighter in the bed. The pain in her friend's eyes needed to be ignored. Her loyalties shifted. She loved him, and she chose to believe all that he'd said. "Now."

§

The pungent odor assaulted John's senses, creating a terrible taste at the back of his throat. He lay flat on his stomach with his arms trussed up behind him. Pulling at the bindings on his wrists, John's eyes flew open when he recognized the odor.

"Abigail
."

"Oh, my love, you have awakened."
Her bright green eyes came into full view as she kneeled beside him. "You look so surprised."

"
You expected a different response? Then why am I tied up? Except that you knew I would wring your pretty neck if my hands had been free!" His voice had gotten louder with every word and she backed away at his display of anger. Closing his eyes, John took a steadying breath. He had no idea what was going on but he needed to stay calm. He needed to get his hands free.

Searching the small area he
saw from his location, he spotted her a few feet away. Aw, her smugness. How could he have forgotten her true reaction to his constant irritation with her?

"Well?"
His voice now under control, he waited for her to show her true intention. If he had acquired nothing else of value to his character, he did have great patience.

He shifted his legs slightly to find they were not tied down.
Knowing now that he did indeed have a means in which to acquire the upper hand and stand over a cowering Abigail rather than be the mouse which she chose to play with, his patience increased.

"My love, I thought you would be happy to see me again.
I have missed you." Her syrupy voice grated his nerves. As she returned to squatting by the bed, John took in her full attire. The laces at the bodice of her gown were loosened enough to reveal a good amount of bosom and her real purpose for being there. When she dropped her hand to his face and traced her finger down his arm, he did not lurch in revulsion.

"Why would I be happy to see you again?
You have again disobeyed my orders."

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. "Orders?
What orders would you give me?" She dragged her fingers down his side, drawing circles along his back.

Raising his eyebrows as he
compressed his lips, he paused before he answered. "Abigail? What did I say to you when last we parted?"

She tipped her head coyly and avoided looking at him.
"You were not yourself. I knew you didn't mean it." She leaned in closer to his face. Her breath hot against his cheek, a mere whisper meant to entice him. "You can't have meant to never see me again."

"My intent was not for you to reason."
His voice did not reveal his boiling anger at the situation. He rolled onto his side. "My orders were to be followed. I am not moved by disobedience."

"My lord, forgive my disobedience.
It was my desire for your company that has brought me to you."

John closed
his eyes."Will you untie me?"

She paused, then moved in closer. "
Do you forgive me?" Her voice was low and sultry. Her hands roamed over his body.

"Do you deserve to be forgiven?"
He opened his eyes and watched her struggle to hide her fear at the anger she must have seen there.

"I have missed you immensely." Her hands were moving more boldly along his body."I have been very lonely."

"You were lonely long before I sailed for England.”

"I have missed you so." She tucked herself in close at his neck. "Do you not desire my presence at all?"

"How would I ever desire you when you tie me up like a spring hen?" His voice remained steady. "Untie me and I will see to your loneliness." He turned to her, pressing his lips against hers. "Do it now, Abigail."

His words spoken against her lips were getting the desired results.
Her body melted against him. She reached behind him and pulled on the rope at his hands when he heard a loud bang, as the door was thrown open behind him.

Abigail
drew back, her eyes round in fear at the sight behind him.

"
Yah are such a whore!" A man's voice boomed in the small room. John was kicked from behind to fall flat on his stomach again. "He was not left here merely for your pleasure."

The man who finally came into John's view was no one he'd ever seen before.
The hairy man grabbed at Abigail and shoved her past the bed, out of sight. The door slammed shut. John waited but there was no one left in the room.

His
initial reaction was that Abigail was playing some sort of cat and mouse game with him although he did wonder how she'd gotten him here. The fear on her face had been real. Perhaps the only real emotion he'd ever seen her have. So who was the man that she was so afraid of? What was this all about?

John rolled back onto his bound hands and worked at the rope with his fingers. The binding was not so tight that he was unable to shift the rope up and down, loosening the knots. The hammers against his skull were causing havoc to his thinking. The wine had tasted bad. John should have realized it was poisoned. Only the best wine was served to the
lord of the manor. He had always been treated with respect there. How Abigail treated him was another story.

The woman cared little for others, and thought only of her own welfare. She would not have left his manor in Normandy unless a better offer presented itself. In Normandy, no one would gainsay her authority, and she would have been left to her own pleasure. The gain by coming here must
have been great indeed.

Who was the man she'd been so frightened
of? He'd called her a whore and the feel of his foot pushing John down spoke of a large, powerful man. Perhaps even a trained soldier. A Saxon then? John dismissed that notion despite the strange accent. He was safe here among Rowena's people. They were his people now. And he would do whatever he needed to see them protected from harm.