Page 100 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“Hush, child.” The nun held her firmly, but Eloise still struggled, her mother’s instinct to protect her child outweighing the weakness of her body.
He set Violette down. “Go to your mother—quickly! Let her know you are safe.”
She ran towards Eloise, who pulled her close with a desperation that stabbed his heart. Had he brought her to this?
Together, the old nun and the child helped Eloise back to the bench and sat her down. Her cries lessened and he edged closer to listen to the child’s words.
“Hush, Mama—all is well.”
“But you, Violette—I must protect you from him.”
“Mama, he’s my friend, he helped me care for you.”
“No! You’re mistaken.”
“She speaks the truth, Eloise,” the nun said, “he has visited each day since he brought you here. Do you not remember?”
Eloise turned her gaze to him, tightening her hold on the child’s hand.
As if to calm a wild animal, he held his hands out, palms up, to show he meant her no harm.
Unmoving he waited. Patience was the tool to fashion his wife’s return. He kept his eyes on his wife but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the old nun return to the building with Violette.
The nun had placed her trust in him—he was alone with his wife.
“Eloise,” he whispered, not daring to move until she responded. She continued to stare at him, eyes wide with fear. Then, at length, her features began to relax and her jaw unclenched. Her lips formed a word, her voice a soft, wavering breath.
“H-Harald?”
“Aye, my love.”
He moved closer. One more step and he could touch her, but her body tensed again. Chest tightening with shame, he drew back until her shoulders relaxed a little.
“I’ll not hurt you, Eloise,” he said. “Can you believe me?”
Her eyes widened, as if afraid he was trying to entrap her, then she nodded slightly. Her lips trembled, the whisper almost lost among the sound of the leaves dancing in the breeze across the courtyard.
“Aye.”
He stepped towards her, and she drew in a sharp breath. Her hands gripped the material of her gown until the knuckles protruded, almost blue with the cold. She needed to be inside but he had no wish to break the spell. He had so much to ask her forgiveness for, a penitent soul kneeling before a goddess as his ancestors had done before him…
He lowered himself to his knees, to show he was no threat. He touched the skirt of her gown and she stiffened, but made no attempt to flee. He lifted the hem and pressed it against his lips then he held out his hand. Her fist slowly uncurled—a sign, albeit a small one.
“May I take your hand?” he whispered.
She nodded, a tear spilling onto her lap at the movement and he closed his palm over her hand—his huge calloused hand completely engulfing her small fingers.
She drew back with a cry, covering her face with both hands.
“No!—I cannot bear it!”
Was there nothing he could do?
“Forgive me,” she whispered, her weak plea sending a thread of shame coiling in his gut.
“Eloise?”
“I-I cannot bear it. When you touched me I saw—him—remembered his hands on me. Lord save me—the sins I committed! How can you bear to look upon me!”
