Page 42 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“It gives me the greatest pleasure to see you again, Eloise.”
Ralph of Aquitaine. A perfect male specimen—the handsomest man she’d ever met. He’d once been the toast of Norman society—many fathers eager to broker a union with their daughters. But he had only ever desired one woman, the sister of his friend, Henri de Morigeaux.
Eloise stepped back, wanting to believe the man before her was merely a vision from her past.
But he was here. He was real.
Trembling, she looked up into the cold blue eyes of the man who, ten summers ago, had smashed her body to the ground, brutally raped her and left her for dead.
Chapter 11
The tower which reared up behind Wildstorm hall threw a long shadow over the courtyard. Eloise took comfort from its solidity, the thick walls built to keep enemies out and protect its inhabitants from the ravages of nature. William’s sign of strength and superiority to secure his reign—similar towers were rising all over England.
By the time she reached the tower, the sun’s heat had burned away the mist and driven out her dark memories. A group of laborers hailed her and their greeting dispersed the remnants of the vision she’d experienced in the meadow. Not for some years had her nightmare surfaced in the daytime. Why did it besiege her now?
The past was done. She had a life here—a rich, fulfilling life, a strong husband, and people to care for. Perhaps one day she would be blessed with children…
She closed her eyes but not before another memory invaded her mind—a child, tiny and frail, paper-thin skin, body pink and bloodied, screaming at the world. Conceived out of hatred but born into love. So much love—her heart had filled with it before it burst with agony and loss, leaving a deep ache which overshadowed the physical—an which had never left her.
She must tell Harald the truth. The comfort she drew from the walls of Wildstorm was not merely due to the buildings, but the great lumbering Saxon who called her wife—a man capable of great brutality but also such tenderness. His strength would banish her nightmares. She would honor him, give him sons and in turn he’d cherish and protect her. Though she feared the consequences of revealing her dark secret, a small nugget of hope grew within—hope that he might overcome the prejudices arising from his own past, and forgive an event over which she’d had no control.
She approached the door to his study, heard male laughter and smiled. Though she’d caught glimpses of a lighter temperament, of the man Harald must once have been, she had yet to hear such merriment. She didn’t recognize the other voice—one of the tournament guests, perhaps.
She knocked and opened the door. Harald sat at his desk, a broad smile on his face and a goblet of wine in his hand. His companion sat with his back to her.
“Ah, wife.” Harald’s words were blurred by the wine. “Our guest has arrived. Baron Beauvisage.”
His companion turned to face her.
“Lady Eloise. What a pleasure.”
She gripped the handle of her basket and stepped back.
Harald frowned. “Aren’t you going to greet our guest, wife? He’s to assist us in investigating the uprisings.”
The Baron’s clear blue eyes focused on her.
She lifted her hand, repressing a shudder as his hand engulfed her own and he brushed his lips against her fingers.
“I’ve longed to see you again, Eloise,” he said.
“I’m told Beauvisage is an excellent jouster,” Harald said. “He’ll be a fine adversary at the tournament.”
“You flatter me,” Beauvisage said, tightening his grip on Eloise’s hand. “I will very much enjoy my stay here.”
“My wife will take the greatest care of you.”
Harald’s voice held an undercurrent of warning. He was displeased with her.
The Baron brushed his thumb across her palm. “Eloise and I are old friends, Harald.”
She flinched at his familiar use of Harald’s name.
“Hasn’t she spoken of me?”
“No.” Harald’s eyes narrowed.
“No matter, it’s not for me to question a woman’s actions.”
