Page 1 of Saxon Blade Norman Blood
“Hush. Do not move.”
A hand closed over Rowena’s mouth. Eyes wide with horror, she looked at her mother and nodded. The grip relaxed just enough to allow her to speak.
“Is he d-dead?” she stammered, fighting the nausea invading her.
Her mother gave what sounded like a sob. Godric was sprawled on the chair, immobile, his tunic stained a deep red. “Yes. That man killed him.”
The man in question was a stranger, a Norman baron, who had come to meet Rowena’s stepfather. Not trusting his intentions, her mother had insisted they hide in the secret room concealed behind a thick tapestry, where they witnessed the entire encounter.
With her limited knowledge of the foreign tongue, Rowena had not been able to make sense of their conversation, but it had been obvious the two men were in disagreement. At first, the Norman had been calm, but then he began to yell and make what sounded like threats.
Godric answered in kind, before unsheathing his dagger without warning. Before he could use it, however, his enemy had drawn his sword with a warrior’s efficiency and plunged it deep into his heart. It happened so fast, he was dead before Rowena had time to utter a single cry.
Her head still spun at the violence of it all.
“Stay here,” her mother whispered. “I need to go in there. I’m not letting him leave before he has paid for this. Whatever happens, do not show yourself.”
There was no chance to protest. Her mother stepped into the room to face the Norman. Alone. He was wiping the blood off his sword, but raised it when he heard the noise behind him, as if ready to strike. When he saw her mother, he slid the weapon back into its sheath. The meaning was clear.
A woman on her own was no threat to a seasoned warrior.
He turned, and for the first time since he’d arrived, Rowena got a glimpse of his profile. Thus far she had only seen that the man had cropped, blond hair and was uncommonly tall. Now she saw a straight nose and tanned skin, the color as different from her own as milk was from honey.
Her mother began to speak. She was not as fluent in the Norman language as her late husband had been, but nevertheless she seemed to make herself understood. The man answered with what sounded like regret in his voice.
The change in his attitude was quite spectacular. He was as polite to her as he had been stern and unyielding with Godric. Rowena blinked. Had she not just witnessed her stepfather’s murder she would have thought the Norman a respectful, well-mannered courtier.
As shehadjust seen him run the man through with his sword, she knew differently. He was nothing but a ruthless killer under the guise of the perfect knight.
Her mother took the horn-hilt dagger her husband had dropped on the table and turned it in her hand. Her face was an expressionless mask but there was no ignoring the glint in her eye indicating she would never recover from Godric the Redman’s death.
To her shame, Rowena could not share her distress. Now that the initial shock had passed, she was surprisingly calm. Her stepfather had never commanded her respect, much less her affection, and though she had never wished him dead, she already knew she would not miss his overbearing presence.
The man went over to the door and called out for someone.
Two rough-looking individuals entered and, after one last word to her mother, the tall Norman left. As soon as he wasgone the atmosphere changed dramatically. The men took one glance at her mother who had hidden the dagger in the sleeve of her bliaut.
One of the men said something in a raspy voice. His friend laughed and looked at the door where their master had disappeared. They were evidently commenting on something he had told them.
For a moment no one moved. Then, of a common accord, the two men lunged at her mother.
There was no need for translation, the situation was perfectly clear. The shorter man fumbled with his hose whilst the other one placed himself behind Rowena’s mother and gripped both her arms, immobilizing her.
Rowena was about to step out of her hiding place when a direct stare from her mother stopped her.
“No!” she cried, ordering her not to come into the room. The men thought the word aimed at them. They gave a horrible sort of laugh, and the one in front of her tried to kiss her.
“No,” her mother repeated, this time addressing him.
Predictably, he was unmoved by her plea. His friend let go of her arms to unfasten his own hose. As soon as her hands were free, she retrieved the hidden dagger and stabbed herself in the chest. With their hands busy, the men didn’t have time to stop her. She stumbled forward, blood pouring from her mouth.
The men looked at each other, uttering what had to be curses and fled as fast as if they feared for their lives. A scream bubbling in her throat, Rowena burst into the room.
“Mother!”
She caught her in her arms as she faltered. The two women fell to their knees, her mother clutching onto Rowena.
“Avenge us,” the dying woman whispered, her eyes already closing. “Kill… William de la… Falaise.”
