Page 19 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Eloise coughed before answering, her voice hoarse.
“H-how did you find me, my Lord?”
“Torfin saw you in the village. Why you are here, and not at the hall where you belong?”
The peasant woman cowered in fear but the boy ran towards him and pushed against him, his thin frame no match for Harald’s bulky body.
“Don’t hurt my mama!” he cried, “The lady saved my sister from the river.”
The peasant woman screamed before pulling her son back.
Harald looked more closely at his wife, taking in the fur round her shoulders and her wet hair. Ye gods—she was soaked! A delicate creature such as she would catch a chill.
He took his wife by the arm and pulled her against him. She took the fur off her shoulders to pass back to the peasant woman but he stopped her.
“Don’t be a fool,” he muttered, wrapping it around her again. “It’s cold outside. Come with me now. You’ve no need to see these people again.”
“Nay, husband,” she protested. Anger rose within him at yet another woman making demands, though her voice was soft and gentle, unlike Roswyn’s harsh tones.
She took his hand and a tingling sensation ran along his arm at the contact, sending heat rushing into his core and he gave a sharp intake of breath as he hardened almost instantly. She colored, but did not move, though she must feel his manhood pressed against her.
She lowered her voice and whispered in French. “I have no wish to shame this woman but she’s a widow with very few possessions. A fur is nothing to us but everything to this family. If we must take the fur, she should be compensated. I’ll give her something of my own so you’re not inconvenienced.”
“No matter, wife,” he said. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Husband, I…”
“I said I’ll deal with it. You have my word.”
He pulled her out of the hut where Torfin waited beside his horse.
“You found her, my Lord.”
“Aye, Torfin,” he said, “but we must make haste. She’s wet through.”
He mounted the horse and with Torfin’s help, pulled Eloise into his lap. He squeezed his thighs on the horse’s flank. The animal responded and he set off towards the hall.
On arrival, he dismounted and carried Eloise to her chamber. He placed her on the bed as tenderly as if she might break, and he summoned Jeanette.
Watching the maidservant undress her, he marveled, once again, at her slight frame. She looked as fragile and delicate as a bird’s egg. Compared to her, he was nothing but a brutish, uncouth oaf capable of nothing save the ability to frighten her. Flooded with shame, he instructed Jeanette to ensure her mistress stayed abed for the remainder of the day. Then he left in search of his steward.
* * *
Eloise woketo find two strange women tending to her, one clumsily applying bandages to her arms and the other, a much older woman, attempting to press a wet cloth against her thigh. With a squeal of embarrassment she wriggled away.
“Leave me alone!” she cried. “Where’s Jeanette?”
Her nursemaid entered the chamber carrying a bowl of hot water and exclaimed in rapid French. The women understood her tone and stepped back, whispering to each other in Saxon.
“These Saxons are so barbaric, my Lady,” Jeanette exclaimed. “They have no one to tend to the sick other than these peasants who’d call a dirty sack a poultice if it earned them a coin. And I cannot tell what they’re saying—their language is so harsh!”
Eloise motioned to the younger woman, speaking slowly in Saxon.
“What were you doing?” she asked. “Who sent you?”
“Lord Harald sent us, my Lady. He said you were badly hurt.”
“Send them away.” Jeanette pleaded. “They’ll do more harm with their clumsy hands.”
