servants’ end.
Ahead, Josane opened a small door. Stephen ducked as he took Rowena inside the tiny room. Its floor was filled with pallets, except where a table, a chair and an old chest stood. Ellie had already moved a crude chair beside a pallet that held little Andrew. Stephen set Rowena down on it.
For one brief moment she clung to him, her arms still locked about his neck. Whether ’twas because she could not feel the chair beneath her or because she wanted to remain in his arms, he didn’t know. But in the instant, he stilled.
Two lamps lit the room, making it easy for him to see the apprehension swimming in her pale blue eyes. She wet her lower lip, then held it tight between her teeth.
Sympathy—something he did not want to own—washed through him as he held her close. Immediately, the sermon from the previous Sabbath echoed within him. Be ye kind, one to another, tenderhearted. He felt his jaw tighten.
Why this sudden piety? Stephen had never felt conflicted with his faith before, even when trapping plotters against the crown. His God-given duty allowed him to punish evildoers without so much as a blink of the eye. Was it because he’d erred here? He hadn’t expected that the malcontent bent on hurting Rowena would return so quickly.
Stephen found himself saying “’Tis all right, Rowena. You’re safe here.” His whisper was for her ears only, and in response, she nodded briefly and released him.
“Thank you. And may God bless you, milord.” Her voice was as soft as her eyes as she spoke to him.
Stephen straightened, regretting his warm, quiet words. They made him sound as if he cared. He didn’t. He wanted only for his newly formed plan to work. He needed those troublemakers to show themselves, because next time he would be ready.
He cleared his throat. “Ellie will see to your care. I must ensure the fire is completely out.” With that cool statement, he left the chamber.
In the corridor, Josane caught his arm. Speaking in French, she hissed, “You should not have brought that woman here. We know nothing about her.” Her expression bored into him, the torchlight reflecting in her dark eyes. “She could be a thief. And look at her babe. ’Tis obvious already she is a prostitute.”
Stephen yanked back his arm. “She was a slave, given her freedom by the king himself.”
“That’s ridiculous! King William banned the sale of Christian slaves three years ago. See? You know little of her! I’ve heard the rumors about her aligning herself with Normans. See what it got her? A life of shame. Stephen, she will bring us nothing but trouble!”
Stephen said nothing in answer to her warning. They stared at each other, and after a long minute, Josane shook her head in disbelief. “Nay, Stephen,” she breathed out.
He looked away. “’Tis necessary. The king has already ordered it.” Only Josane and Gilles knew of the king’s order to root out rebels and quell any unrest that could threaten the crown.
King William, on his trek north shortly after Hastings, had found this village filled with sly Saxons. Although they had done nothing to warrant razing their land, they had pricked William’s suspicions enough for him to assign Stephen to the task of finding agitators. Such were in every village, and William was canny enough to know they abounded here. ’Twas the only way to control this village when most of William’s soldiers were fighting the Welsh.
These villagers are just waiting for us to turn our backs, the king had told Stephen after he’d agreed to spare this village. I made a promise that I would not raze this land, but I will destroy any Saxon who defies my law. Arrest anyone suspicious. I will have no one rebel against me.
Josane sliced into his memory. “All the more reason to foster Rowena somewhere else. You of all people know what Saxons can do. Did they not take our brother’s life at Hastings?”
He inwardly recoiled. Their younger brother, Corvin, had been a fine, dedicated soldier. He’d fought hard during that battle, but his life had ended when a Saxon blade pierced his heart moments before King Harold’s own death. ’Twas mayhap the reason William had bestowed so much honor on Stephen. He’d inherited his brother’s share, as well.
Such a hefty price. Immediately, he tried to harden himself against the inner pain. He would die to bring his younger brother back.
Josane folded her arms. “For all we know, these Saxons set that fire themselves in order to create dissent here. And with that girl already aligned with Normans, they would gladly rid the village of her.”
“’Twas an unfastened spark box that caused the fire,” he responded.
His sister shook her head in disgust as she continued in French, “You may be able to handle the intricacies of court in London, Stephen, but this village is totally different. Do not allow your heart to lead you because one maid looks at you with eyes like a fawn. I fear you’re getting soft away from the king.”
He darkened. “My heart does not rule me, woman!”
“The villagers—”
“Will obey me,” he snapped back in his mother tongue. “And you will obey, also! This is my estate, Josane, and you work as chatelaine for me. Remember that!” He tossed a look over his sister’s shoulder. The maids’ chamber door remained ajar, and he caught a glimpse of Rowena peering wide-eyed at him across the small room. Aye, with those great fawn eyes Josane had been kind enough to mention. He drove his attention back to his sister. “I may not be the best person to trust, especially after Hastings. But you will obey me!”
Josane went dead silent. He could feel her stare. “I will, but you’ve brought home a Saxon like ’twas a lost puppy. And I know you. You plan to—”
He pierced her with a harsh glare. “Be quiet! And be advised, Josane—Rowena speaks French.”
His sister suddenly recoiled. “So the Saxons do have good reason to suspect her. And you dragged her here. So typical of a man to see only to his wants.” With that, she stormed off.
Stewing at his sister’s accusation, Stephen turned his back on her, only to have his gaze meet Rowena’s again. Though her eyes were as round as bowls, they gave away nothing but innocent concern.
Was there such a thing in a Saxon dealing with a Norman? Doubting that, he was about to turn away when her voice reached him.
“Milord?”
Lord Stephen turned, stretched out his arm to push the door open farther. At his sheer size, Rowena drew a long breath. Aye, this chamber’s door was smaller than the others she’d passed in the manor, and he had to duck just to enter, but to have him straighten up once again in the middle of this tiny room completely overwhelmed her.
“What is wrong?” he asked tightly.
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
