maybe? ’Twas rare for a Saxon to own rabbits. Mayhap jealousy spurred the attack?
Stephen’s jaw clenched as he watched Rowena search around the pens for her livestock, all the while furtively sweeping tears off her cheeks. Once she dropped onto her knees and covered her face. He jerked forward, his fingers tightening on the wooden pommel of his saddle. The only reason he did not leap from his mount was because he knew she’d only ask him to leave again. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied his guard watching him closely, his eyes dark under the rim of his steel helmet.
Stephen turned his courser and the animal snorted and stamped its feet impatiently. He knew he could do nothing more until he completed a new task. ’Twould be one that, if employed properly, could serve both his needs and Rowena’s.
Aye. Then those Saxons who would make trouble for the king would think twice about supporting those fools at Ely in their losing cause.
Startling even his guard, Stephen galloped his horse back to his home to carry out his plan.
* * *
Slack-jawed, Rowena stared at the sight of the wrapped stalks of grain and the gunnysack of root vegetables. She blinked when the young woman in front of her set half a cheese round atop the load. Someone had wrapped the expensive treat in leaves and tied it snugly with thin vines. Everything was secured by a fraying rope that had been tied at many points.
Her visitor smiled expectantly at Rowena, but she couldn’t return it. She had seen this girl near the manor house, but had not approached her. Why should she? The rest of the village had scorned her and her babe. Why go looking for more of the same? Finally, words formed and Rowena muttered, “What is all this?”
“’Tis a gift from Lord Stephen,” the woman answered in English with an accent that told Rowena she was a local. “He said you have need of it.” Her smile increased.
Automatically, Rowena glanced to her right where she’d spent the better part of the day. So far, she’d recovered only a meager portion of her harvest. Her attempt to rinse the crushed roots had met with little success, for grit and dirt were imbedded deep in the mash of vegetables, and often the current in the nearby stream broke apart the delicate pieces. Tears choked her again but she fought them back.
The woman followed her gaze, and her hopeful expression fell into dismay. “What happened?”
“’Twould seem that I am not welcomed here.”
As if to remind her why, Andrew cried out from where he was seated nearby. The woman’s attention snapped to him and in that instant, her expression turned to joy. “Oh, such a beautiful child! Look at that lovely thick hair!”
About to answer that his hair came from his father, Rowena stopped her words. She’d be stating the obvious and adding the suggestion that she’d willingly partaken in Andrew’s creation. Was that not what the people here thought?
She smiled stiffly instead. “He’s a good boy, but hates it when I don’t heed him.”
The young woman abandoned the food to scoop up the boy. She fingered the curls that peeked out from the edges of his cap. “Aye, ’tis like all men.” She bounced him a bit. For her effort, she received a squeal and a giggle. Her smile broadened so much, Rowena was sure ’twould split her face in two.
“The villagers see this babe as the result of you conspiring with the Normans.” The girl’s expression turned compassionate as she glanced back at Rowena. “They are hated here. I know. I work at the manor and was also born in this village. Those who destroyed your winter provisions are probably my relatives, I’m ashamed to say. Sometimes, they even scorn me for working as a simple housemaid for Lord Stephen. They oppose everyone living at the manor. But we need the work and they forget the sacrifice that saved them from King William.”
Rowena shook her head. Who had saved them? What sacrifice? This woman’s? Or Lord Stephen’s? Immediately, she crushed her curiosity, for she would not get cozy with anyone here. This woman might be offering genuine friendship, or she might be a spy sent to see if more damage could be inflicted.
Still, the maid seemed kind and there was never any reason to be rude. Rowena walked over to the young servant and took Andrew from her. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Ellie. It’s short for Eleanor, but that was my grandmother’s name and I think it sounds old,” she answered cheerfully. “Your name is so pretty. But it doesn’t match your hair, I don’t think. To me, it sounds like a red-haired woman. You know, like the color of rowan berries.”
Rowena grimaced, and not because her name meant “white one.” Nay, ’twas because her hair had attracted Taurin, whose own wife was also fair-haired. Even Master Gilles, who’d set forth the terms of Rowena’s tenancy, had light hair, but ’twas uncommon among the Normans she’d seen. Most had medium to dark hair, and none as light as Saxons’.
Her hair was so fine, she could barely keep it braided, and she hated the way it would fly around at the slightest breeze. She may as well have duck down on her head. ’Twould be warmer at least. ’Twas why she hadn’t bothered to do anything with it this morning.
Forget the hair. She turned to the food that sat in a cart Ellie had towed here. From the corner of her eye, she noticed some villagers had gathered. Again. All stared her way. Oh, dear. ’Twas a repeat of earlier today, when Baron Stephen visited. And ’twould be easy enough for even a child to guess where this bounty came from.
Thankfully, no one appeared ready to reprimand Ellie for being there. Mayhap because she was on her master’s business. All well and good now, but what would happen tonight? Would those men return to destroy these gifts?
They, too, were gifts from a Norman, like what she’d brought with her from Dunmow, where Lord Adrien held his seat. He and Lady Ediva had given her livestock and the vegetables she’d stored in those destroyed mounds. Though she had convinced herself that ’twas Saxon wealth donated to her, Rowena couldn’t deny it was also in part Norman.
But today’s offerings were all Norman. They’d have to be taken into her hut for safekeeping. What would her attacker do then? Burst in? Rowena squared her shoulders. “Take them back, Ellie. I don’t want them.”
Ellie’s jaw fell. “Back? I can’t do that, Rowena! Lord Stephen himself ordered me here. He listed all the provisions I was to collect. ’Tis his gift to you!”
“I have had quite enough ‘gifts’ from Normans. I was bought by a Norman once, and I won’t be bought again.”
Confused, Ellie protested, “You’re not being bought!”
“But I am! First ’twas with coinage. Now ’tis with food. I won’t accept this.” To prove her point, she grabbed the sling Clara had fashioned for her and hoisted Andrew into it. Brushing past a dumbfounded Ellie, she wheeled the old, wobbly cart across the yard and through the village gate. Locals stepped out of her way as she bumped the cart over the dirt path that led to the manor house. It loomed tall, from its stone foundation to its thickly thatched roof. The entrance jutted from the end, with carved stone columns that forced her gaze up to the strong, straight chimneys high above the fine thatch. The front bore grand windows with panes of skin vellum thin enough to allow in much sunlight.
Forcing away hesitation at such grandeur, Rowena called out over her shoulder to Ellie, “Is Lord Stephen at home?”
Hiking
