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
