Page 31 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“I don’t understand. Why would you be punished for an affair that was another’s doing?”
“She accused me of rape.”
“But you said her lover discovered you together.”
“She was very convincing,” he said. “A few screams and false tears and she was in her lover’s arms while I was dragged out into the yard by her father and brothers.”
“What of your family?” Eloise cried, “Surely your brother spoke for you?”
“It happened when I was fostered. She was the daughter of the lord of the estate. I had none to speak for me. After my—punishment—I was sent home, declared a disgrace to my family. Wildstorm would have passed to Edwin but our father died before he could disinherit me. Edwin prefers the life of a scholar but ’twas I who learned the lesson.”
“The lesson?”
“Aye.” Harald spoke so savagely Eloise recoiled under the force of his voice. “The lesson that all women are deceitful harlots.”
She shook her head, though Harald had his back to her. “Not all women, my Lord.”
“Do not try to poison my mind,” he said. “The scars on my back are the lines of experience, marking my ability to withstand your lies. Didn’t you say you’d never given yourself to a man, the very night I discovered you were no maiden?”
He bowed his head forward, the tension in his shoulders the only evidence of the scars he bore within—scars which, though invisible, pained him as much as those on his back. His body shuddered and he spoke quietly, as if to himself, his voice laced with pain.
“I didnotrape her.”
Eloise recalled the night he’d found the lock of hair. He had been poised over her, about to take her, as was his right as a husband. Yet he’d drawn back, self-loathing in his eyes.
She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched, as if anticipating another lash.
“Aye, husband,” she said. “You’re not capable of such wickedness.”
“It matters not,” he said. “I’ll never fall prey to a woman’s lies again.”
“Not all women are the same,” she said, “And not all men are the same. Many are strong, others weak. Some kind, but others...”
The words failed to escape her as her throat constricted in fear at her memories. She picked up the washcloth and rubbed it gently across his back, following the lines of his scars. The thought of his pain, evident in the ugly misshapen lumps of flesh brought forth hot tears which splashed onto his skin. She traced a light fingertip along one scar, watching the bead of salty moisture trail down his body. A sob escaped her lips.
“What ails you now?” Harald asked.
“The pain you must have endured.”
“Shed no tears for me, woman,” he said.
She placed her lips on the scar where her tear had fallen. “I would weep for you, my Lord, for if not me, then who else?”
He said nothing but no longer resisted when she caressed his scars. She continued to administer to him in silence, massaging the muscles until they relaxed and softened in her hands. At length the water grew cold, and she helped him out and rubbed his body with a cloth before wrapping a fur around him. After helping him dress, she took her leave.
Before she closed the door behind her, she caught his soft words of thanks, but the sob welling in her throat prevented her from replying. His previous acts of kindness had made her hope that she could trust him with her secret. But his words crushed that hope, for he’d never believe her. The burden of her past must be borne alone. Though she valued honesty and loyalty, she had no choice but to continue to deceive him.
Chapter 9
Spring advanced into summer, farms prospered, crops and livestock thrived and the people of Wildstorm enjoyed fuller bellies than they had for some time.
News of uprisings continued to circulate. Most were small, localized gatherings, and Harald sent his men to assist the lords overseeing the neighboring estates in quelling any riots. With the exception of Jeffery, his men followed his orders uncomplainingly. Jeffrey’s protests, though potentially treasonous, were merely the rantings of a young man grieving his family. Nevertheless, Harald kept Jeffrey at Wildstorm. Harald could turn a blind eye to Jeffrey’s rantings, but the neighboring Norman lords would not.
Were Roswyn to be trusted, Harald would have voiced his concerns to her. But Roswyn despised her husband. Her father had been a wealthy merchant and Roswyn, along with her older sister Marlin, had been orphaned ten summers ago by a fever which had killed many villagers, including Marlin’s betrothed. When it became clear that Marlin was with child, the sisters were evicted. Harald’s father had married Roswyn to Jeffrey, but refused to help Marlin, and Marlin had turned to whoring to survive.
Of the two sisters, Marlin should have evoked more pity, having lost her betrothed and her unborn child shortly afterwards. But when a person was reduced to nothing, their true strength was revealed. Though an educated woman, Marlin thrived as the village whore, using her innate intelligence to anticipate a man’s needs. The men sought her out for both comfort and pleasure. It was she who Harald had turned to after Margery’s betrayal when he’d returned to Wildstorm a broken man. Though Harald would never be foolish enough to give his heart to a woman again, Marlin would always own a piece of it.
As for Roswyn, in the eyes of the world she was the more fortunate of the sisters—a respectable marriage to a soldier who’d risen to become Harald’s right-hand man. Yet her beautiful features showed only malcontent—eyes hard and envious, mouth downturned into a sneer. Trapped in an unhappy marriage to an impotent man, her situation should be pitiable, yet she guiltlessly rutted her way through Harald’s men to satisfy her desire for pleasure. At least Harald recognized her for what she was. He would never again be deceived by the appearance of meekness and beauty. Margery had taught him a harsh lesson.
