Page 46 of Saxon Blade Norman Blood
And had failed both times.
“There has been a change of plans,” he informed her, breaking a loaf of bread in half. “Other lords will join the meeting. It will be easier this way. It is only Leowald who might prove difficult. Eilmund is a reasonable man, and I believe Alfred is already gained to our cause.”
“What if things turn ugly?” she asked, remembering the meeting with Cuthbert. William had also been confident then, and that had not turned out well. The man had demanded she kill him.
“Don’t worry. I will handle the men. All you have to do is dumbly translate our words, remember?”
“What makes you so sure I will not try to influence the proceedings?”
He smiled. “Nothing, except that it would be foolish of you to draw my attention to the possibility if such was your intention. In any case, even though I do not speak your language, I understand it fairly well. I will quickly see if something is amiss. Even more to the point, as a Saxon, surely you want me to succeed in my endeavors. Why would you not want to help me?”
“That is an odd question to ask a woman who tried to kill you.”
He gave a laugh, incongruous in its honesty. “Yes, I suppose it is, rather. But I think you have changed your mind about killing me.” To her surprise he cupped her cheek in a tender gesture. “You will never survive another attempt on my life.”
Rowena wasn’t sure what he meant by this odd turn of phrase. Did he mean she would faint in horror, never to recoverfrom the shock of what she had done? Or that he would kill her himself for trying next time? She gulped, unsure how to react.
Finally he released her, then gestured toward the door.
“Come. Let us not keep them waiting.”
The three lords had not come alone. In total, about a dozen men were waiting for them in the main hall. Such an assembly was undeniably daunting, even if Rowena was determined not to let her anxiety show.
As soon as they entered, all eyes went to her, not William. With her coloring, she would be immediately identified as a Saxon and, in her rich clothes, she felt ill at ease. She knew the men would assume she was William’s mistress.
She clasped her hands together to hide the Norman ring on her finger. Being in possession of such an item would only confirm their impression. Drat! How had she not thought to take it off for the meeting?
The men looked at each other. Some faces showed incredulity and doubt, others plain disapproval. There were a few nods of appreciation. She knew they had nothing to do with William’s decision to include a woman in the proceedings, however, but rather with the way her dress hugged her body. She fell behind him, hoping to be as inconspicuous as possible.
Assured as ever, every inch the powerful lord, William addressed the three men in the middle of the room.
“I bid you all welcome. Pray be seated.”
Rowena translated the words in a timid voice. It was disconcerting to be indispensable to a Norman. Then in the corner of the room, she noticed a man with his hands clasped behind his back. An interpreter no doubt, ready to report on her performance to his master.
She gave a rueful shake of the head. What a naïve fool she really was! She was not indispensable, and William did notreally trust her. He was merely using her to send a message to the reticent Saxons.
“As you know, we are here to discuss a potential accord between us,” he said once this guests were seated.
The man opposite her gave a scoff. Leowald of Tillburn then. William had said he would prove reluctant. Only one of the Saxon lords tilted his head with grace, whilst the other men muttered various sarcastic observations under their breaths. Should she translate these comments, as they were evidently not aimed at William? A sharp glance told her she had better do it. Privately she agreed that it made sense for him to know what he was up against.
She told him what had been said, but it was not an encouraging beginning, to say the least. When she whispered the comments in his ear, however, he didn’t seem worried or offended, least of all surprised.
Obviously, he had expected nothing less of the delegation.
During the rest of the negotiations his face gave nothing away, even if on occasion she had to relay what could only be construed as insults. She was ashamed at this lack of cooperation from her countrymen. Their display of ill grace as William tried to find a satisfactory compromise was infuriating. How could he stay so composed, faced with the men’s blatant scorn?
She’d had ample opportunity to admire his self-control over the last few weeks, but truly this was inspiring. If all the Norman invaders had been half as respectful of her people, then the reception they’d gotten might have been very different.
A few moments later, the negotiations were completed. Rowena was not sure they had made much progress, but William seemed satisfied.
While the others made to depart, a man called Alfred walked up to them.
“Where did you get such a wound, Lord William?” he asked, gesturing at the red welt on William’s cheek.
Before she translated the question Rowena hid her injured hand behind her back, feeling as if she’d been caught in the act of stabbing him. Would William reveal to his friend what she had done? No one would blame him if he did.
“’Tis nothing,” he said, fighting a smile. Drat, he had not missed her reaction and was amused by it… Perhaps he did not intend to tell Alfred anything.
