Page 34 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“Death! Death! All is lost!”
Harald lay beside her, thrashing his head from side to side. She reached out to him and he screamed, flinging his arm out. That scream—one of a man facing certain death—turned her blood to ice.
He sat up, sightless eyes open, his breath coming in short rasps.
“Husband—wake!” She gripped his shoulders but he secured his hands round her throat, the pressure making her head throb. Though she tried to scream, no sound came as the breath was squeezed from her body. She dug her fingernails into his skin and the pressure on her neck eased.
With a groan, he released her. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. She took his face in her hands and wiped away the droplets with her thumb, and caressed his downy beard until his breathing steadied.
“England is lost…” he whispered hoarsely.
Gently, she pushed him backwards and he yielded to her touch, and lay back among the furs. She continued to caress his face, uttering the soothing words used to reassure a frightened child caught in the grip of a nightmare. He closed his eyes and gave a low moan of pain—the pain of losing friends and loved ones in battle. As she mourned her dear brother Henri, so Harald mourned his countrymen.
“I share your grief, husband,” she whispered, not expecting him to respond.
His eyes opened again, their gaze clear and true. A large hand clasped her wrist, holding it delicately as if it were the stem of a flower.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“You were distressed,” she said. “Y-you cried out in your sleep.”
His eyes darkened and he turned his head away. “You’re mistaken. I would not show such weakness.”
Despite his rough tone she took his head in her hands again, turning him to face her.
“Nay, husband, ’tis no weakness.”
His grip on her wrist tightened.
Undeterred she continued. “Our fears always penetrate our dreams at night.” He tried to pull away but she resisted. “No, my Lord, I beg you to listen. We all have fears rooted deep within us—not just children and women, but men too—the bravest of men—warriors, noblemen, even the King. Our strength is measured by how we face them. You, my Lord, face your fears at night—in the dark, and alone—so you can be strong during the day when our people have need of you.”
His gaze softened and his grip relaxed.
“As to what I’m doing, husband—if I can help you conquer your nightmares, then I am doing my duty.”
“Your duty?”
His eyes lightened to a warm chestnut brown, expressing the gratitude he could never bring himself to voice with words lest he appear weak.
She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, tasting salt on her lips.
“Aye, husband,” she said, “though it is also a pleasure.”
She stroked his forehead. “Sleep now. I shall watch over you, and keep your dreams at bay.”
She cradled his head in her arms, expecting to protest. But he did not. Before long, his breathing steadied and he drifted into sleep, his huge chest rising and falling to a gentle rhythm.
His vulnerability and willingness to trust her at his weakest was almost her undoing. The notion of desiring a man had always frightened her—but now, as she watched him, his strong facial features relaxed in sleep, a new fear gripped her—the fear that one day she might grow to love this man—that as well as owning her body, he would possess her heart.
* * *
“I’ve missed you,brother—missed your counsel.”
Summer had reached its peak and Edwin had arrived. Harald pulled his brother into a bear-hug, Eloise at his side, then he waved her away. The easy smile she bestowed on Edwin irked him, reminding him of how she’d laughed with such joy in the king’s company. Still she shied away from him, yet how readily she gave her smiles to others!
Without a word, Eloise curtseyed before returning to her duties. The tournament would begin in a little under a month. Under his wife’s direction, Harald had seen the entire household uniting to prepare for the event. A permanent cloud of smoke and steam rose from the kitchen outbuildings as the servants toiled to prepare the feasts. Men from the village worked under Collin’s orders to erect the wooden platform upon which the principal guests would sit at the edge of the field earmarked for the event.
A keen horseman himself, Harald found himself eagerly anticipating the tournament—a chance to demonstrate his prowess with none of the horrors of a real battle.
