Page 25 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“I’ve missed you,” the little girl whispered.
“And I you, little one. I promise I’ll visit you more often now you’re settled here. Would you like to show me the gardens?”
“I’d be happy to.”
The child took Eloise’s hand and led her round the garden, pointing out her favorite spots, proudly identifying the herbs and the purposes to which they could be put. Tears formed in Eloise’s eyes at the thought of how she would never be able to show Violette the gardens at Wildstorm.
As the afternoon sun slid behind the trees, she bade goodbye to Violette and thanked the nuns, promising to visit again soon. Once again, she experienced a disturbing sense of being followed, which grew stronger as the village came into sight. Ignoring her unease, she took her mount to the stables. Distant sounds of steel on steel and male voices told her Harald was still training with his men and had not missed her. She sighed with relief. Concealed in her basket was a pouch containing a lock of Violette’s hair and a garland of herbs the child had fashioned. She returned to her chamber and drew the precious gifts from her basket, pressing them to her lips.
She opened the door to her chamber and an angry voice rang out from within.
“Where have you been?”
Harald stood in the center of her room.
* * *
Harald eyedhis wife with suspicion, watching how she clutched the small pouch in her hands and tried to conceal it behind her back.
“What do you have there?”
“N-nothing my Lord.” Her eyes widened and she stepped backwards.
Curse her! She had deceit painted all over her expression.
“Give it to me.”
Her face paled and with trembling hands she held out the pouch. He snatched it from her, pulling out its contents. He curled his fingers around the lock of hair.
“What’s this? Does this belong to your lover?”
“No my Lord, it…”
“Silence!” he roared. “You belong tomeand no one else. Do you understand?”
Deceitful she may be, but by God was she beautiful! He could not deny his body’s craving and his manhood strained to break free. He took her hand and pulled her toward the bed, then he crushed his mouth against hers. He kissed her like a man dying of thirst, savoring her delicate taste, reminiscent of honey and delicately spiced wine, the flavor of virtue. How could such treachery taste so sweet?
He toppled onto the bed, taking her with him. Her body grew limp and she lay before him, as helpless as the deer in the forest.
“What are you doing?” he asked
Her voice was barely audible. “I-I will not fight you.”
Devil’s holy cock—what washedoing? Old memories of seduction and betrayal had obliterated his reasoning. He stood up, shaking, sweat forming on his brow. He flexed his fingers before curling his hands into fists – hands which had brought about the death of so many men in battle—hands which were large enough to crush his wife’s throat in a heartbeat. Self-loathing and shame replaced the bloodlust.
“I am not a rapist.” He spoke softly, barely able to control his voice.
“My lord?” She opened her eyes. Sickened by the fear in their blue depths he roared out in anguish.
“I will not take you unwilling!” he cried. “Do you hear me? I will NOT!”
She lay unmoving, a helpless animal caught in the jaws of the wolf, a creature that plays dead in an attempt to escape Death.
“Do not leave this chamber,” he said. Before she could respond, he exited the chamber, slamming the door behind him.
Uncurling his fist he let the strands of blonde hair fall to the floor. To whom did it belong? Suspicious of her solitary excursions he’d followed her after the hunt, but she had merely sat in solitude by the waterfall pool in the forest. That very afternoon he’d followed her again but she had visited the convent. Surely the nuns there were not so immoral as to furnish her with a lover?
He could not make her out. Their first bedding had given him evidence enough that she was not an innocent, but her outward appearance suggested otherwise. He’d noticed her distress at the sight of the deer—a genuine compassion for another life which was rarely to be seen. Panic had risen within him at the sight of the flaying hooves so close to her head and he’d thrown the spear and made the kill too early. As she’d knelt beside the animal she stirred something inside of him he’d never felt before, the need to place another’s wellbeing before his own. But the blood spatter on her gown—blood which invaded his mind, bringing forth the screams of agony and impending death—he’d lost his mind and appeared weak in front of his men. For her. Jeffrey had protested at his orders to protect her, arguing that Harald’s cock was making decisions for him.
