Page 22 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“My apologies, Mildred.” Eloise replied. “I forget you cannot speak our language. Let me teach you, now—some of our names for these herbs. In turn, we can teach Jeanette a little more of the Saxon tongue.”
As it grew dark, she heard hoofbeats outside. Harald had returned from a day’s hunting. She stepped outside and followed the party to the main hall.
Roswyn intercepted her in the passageway, curling her lip into a sneer as she eyed Eloise’s dirty apron and the pile of bandages in her arms.
“You expect to secure his interest with your herbs and bandages?” she asked. “Do you think we’ll forget that you’re a cursed Norman?”
“My thoughts are my own and don’t concern you,” Eloise said.
“He’ll never love you,” Roswyn said, “whatever duties you undertake.”
“A wife’s duties will always be appreciated,” Eloise said, “unlike the duties of a whore. Have a care, Mistress Roswyn, for your talents will fade in time.”
“Why you…” Roswyn raised a hand to strike Eloise but Jeanette pushed her back, letting out a tirade of angry, rapid French.
“What’s that old hag saying?” Roswyn demanded.
Eloise looked into Roswyn’s spiteful green eyes. “She says that I tend to the household, the villagers and everyone dependent on the lord of Wildstorm—whereas you seem only capable of tending to your own gratification between your thighs and those of every man on the estate.”
A shout of laughter came from behind. Harald stood in the middle of the passage, almost filling it with his large frame. Roswyn ran to him and wrapped her arms around his body. “She’s insulted me again, my love. Would you not defend your Roswyn?” She glanced at Eloise, triumph in her expression. “Or have you forgotten the pleasures I’ve given you?”
* * *
Harald lookedat the woman in his arms. Though she turned her adoring gaze on him, he’d caught the flash of venom directed at his wife. Eloise’s expression was neutral but the light in her eyes faded at Roswyn’s words. He bent his head towards Roswyn and his contempt flared as she tipped her face up, expecting a kiss, even as Jeffrey approached.
“I believe my wife spoke the truth,” he said.
She recoiled. “Harald …”
“Begone!” he said, pushing her towards Jeffrey, “and plague the Lady Eloise no more. Jeffrey, control your wife.”
“Aye my Lord.” Jeffrey took Roswyn’s arm. Cursing, she let him lead her away. Harald dismissed Jeanette. Eloise turned to follow her maid, but Harald stopped her and held out his hand, revealing a deep cut.
“Would you tend to me?” he asked.
She nodded and led him to the outbuilding housing the kitchen, then she set about cleaning the wound. She worked quietly and efficiently, her gentle fingers securing the bandage. When she finished, she tried to withdraw her hand, but he took it and lifted it to his mouth and brushed her fingers with his lips.
“Your skill at healing is much appreciated.”
She smiled, her eyes coming to life briefly—too briefly—before she looked away.
“Was your hunt fruitful?” she asked.
“No,” he replied. “You must join me tomorrow. Perhaps your presence will improve my fortunes.”
She nodded her assent, but her smile had disappeared.
* * *
The moodamong the hunting party the next day was somber, discouraged by their previous lack of success. Harald rode alongside Eloise at the rear of the party which consisted of about a dozen riders. His wife handled her mount with a skill he rarely saw in a woman.
“You ride well,” he said.
“Thank you my Lord.”
God’s bones what a beautiful creature she was when she smiled! And she was his—all his. His manhood twitched eagerly at the thought of claiming her again, and he shifted in the saddle to ease the discomfort in his breeches.
“Did you ride much at Morigeaux?” he asked.
