Page 15 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“Not forgiveness,” she said, “but, perhaps, understanding of circumstances outwith my control.”
“Enough!” He leapt out of the bed. She stepped away until her back met the hard stone wall.
He placed his hands on the wall, imprisoning her with his body. He towered over her, nostrils flaring. The heat from his body radiated over her, overpowering her with the musky smell of sweat and man, the scent of a huge animal poised to strike its prey.
He was trying to intimidate her as if she were an enemy on the battlefield to be vanquished even before he struck with his axe.
He had succeeded.
He had no need to speak—Eloise had heard tales of what these barbaric Saxons did to unfaithful wives. And she knew from experience that the woman would always bear the blame for a liaison, whether she had been willing or not.
With nothing to lose she held eye contact as steadily as she could, waiting for his hands to take her throat and crush the life from her.
“Husband, I will send someone to break your fast before I return to my chamber.”
* * *
On hearinghis wife’s calm voice, Harald’s anger faded. Her fear was so tangible he could almost taste it, yet this tiny creature had met him eye to eye more bravely than the Norman soldiers he’d cut down at Hastings—huge men who had begged for mercy rather than face their fate with honor. He drew back and her shoulders relaxed. Then she curtsied and took her leave.
His wife made no sense. Small and childlike, she faced him with a courage all the more admirable due to the evident fear in her eyes. Tender and gentle in demeanor yet he had proof that she was not an innocent.
In short, she was an enigma who intrigued him more than any other woman—even that whore Margery.
For the rest of the day, he stayed within the main building, leaving his men to train outside. He told himself he needed to spend time discussing the estate with Collin, his steward, but, in truth, he wanted to be near his wife. He could see how she favored her injured arm.
As he followed her to her chamber, a hand touched his shoulder and a soft voice spoke.
“Why do you follow your wife?”
Harald sighed in irritation. His brother had the unnerving ability to appear at the most inopportune moments, moving as silently as a shadow.
“Your wife seems unwell,” Edwin continued, disapproval in his tone. “Mayhap it has something to do with the screams I heard last night.”
“That is no concern of yours.” Harald said gruffly.
“I heardyourscreams also,” Edwin said. “What happened last night?”
Harald shook his head, the memory of the previous night clouded by nightmares and earlier, darker memories from the past.
“What matters is that I have been deceived, Edwin. My wife is a harlot.”
Edwin snorted. “You’re weak in the head, brother, to say such a thing.”
“She came to my bed sullied,” Harald said, “already touched by another man. If I had to wed a whore, I might as well have taken Roswyn.”
“You’re a fool to say such a thing!” Edwin cried. He pointed in the direction Eloise had gone. “Does your wifelooklike a whore?”
“Looks deceive,” Harald said.
“Only up to a limit, Edwin replied. “The Lady Eloise works hard to manage the household, and has already earned the love and respect of the servants. You cannot compare her to Roswyn who, with her shrewish behavior and unreasonable demands, has only ever earned their fear.”
“Don’t plague me with your bookish nonsense, Edwin,” Harald said. “Save that for your monks. Leave me to rule Wildstorm—and my wife—as I see fit.”
“Come, brother,” Edwin sighed. “I leave for the monastery in the morning and would have you listen to my counsel.”
“For what purpose?”
“I promised her father she would be taken care of.”
