Page 43 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Beauvisage loosened his grip, and Eloise pulled her hand free. “Husband, I’ll see to our guest’s chamber if you’ll excuse me,” she said.
Harald nodded, anger in his eyes, before turning to his guest. “Come, Beauvisage, let us take more wine.”
“Certainly, my friend.”
Eloise closed the door and leaned against it, shutting her eyes to stem the tears. Raucous laughter erupted from the study. Harald was enjoying his new friend’s company. By the time the sun had reached its peak he would be well into his cups.
Her stomach curled into a knot, not due to her husband’s inebriation, but the evidence that her encounter in the meadow had not been a dream.
Ralph of Aquitaine had come to Wildstorm.
* * *
In the daysleading up to the tournament Harald and Ralph became inseparable. Each time Eloise passed her husband’s study, she heard his drunken laughter accompanied by the softer, richer timbre of Ralph’s voice. Occasionally Roswyn’s sharper tones and shrill voice joined them.
Outwardly handsome and charming, Ralph drew the attention of many women, Roswyn included. Only the whores seemed immune to his charms. Perhaps they recognized that a man such as he had no need of a coin to secure a woman’s attentions. His tanned, toned body was leaner and sharper than Harald’s bulkier frame, and Eloise could almost hear the women sigh when he swung his sword in the courtyard to demonstrate his prowess.
Indulged as a child, and blessed with stunning, handsome looks, Ralph had been popular in Normandy. Flattered by his gallantry, Eloise had looked up to her brother’s friend, even thought herself in love—the foolish fancies of a girl on the cusp of womanhood. Only after, when she’d lain alone in a dark convent cell, her body broken, had she understood his true nature.
Papa had been one of the few people not to fall prey to Ralph’s charms. Even dear Henri, with all his wit and intelligence, had only ever seen him as a gallant friend and charming man. What hope did Eloise have, that Harald would not fall prey to him?
The only man Harald might listen to was Edwin, but Harald’s brother had left to resume his studies until the start of the tournament. Despite the part he’d played in attempting to trick her, she recognized the effect he had on his brother, as well as his superior intelligence, and she longed for his return. He alone could temper Harald’s excesses.
The night of Beauvisage’s arrival, after taking her with a soulless passion which belied the tender moments they’d shared only the previous evening, Harald had rolled onto his side and fallen into a stupor, fueled by wine and ale.
In her dreams, Ralph’s handsome face, twisted with lust and hatred had smothered her, the sound of laughter and snapping bones echoing in her mind…
She woke, shrieking, fighting off hands that reached for her, screaming at him not to touch her. A wild animal striking out with nails and teeth, she fought for her life as she had ten years before, until hands gripped her shoulders and returned her to reality to find her husband staring at her, his face bloodied and scratched.
“Be still!” he cried. He reached out to her and she slapped his hand away, overpowered by the memory. When she refused to tell him what ailed her, he sank back into a stupor. Though she knew he’d never hurt her, the memory of her ordeal was too strong. Shaking, she returned to her own chamber, taking comfort from the solitude.
* * *
The following evening,Eloise was hanging up bunches of herbs to dry in her store, when she heard a knock on the door. Harald had come to her. After the household had broken their fast, she’d fled to her store, unable to bear the sight of her husband so close to his new friend. Ralph encouraged Roswyn’s advances, while Roswyn turned her spiteful gaze on Eloise, seemingly oblivious of Jeffrey who was slumped over the table after imbibing too much wine.
She opened the door, but her visitor wasn’t Harald.
Ralph leaned casually against the doorframe, a predatory smile on his lips.
“Aren’t you going to invite an old friend inside?”
She backed away as he entered the room.
“I’m so pleased to renew our acquaintance. I would have come to see you before, hadHaraldnot kept me so occupied.”
His voice was smooth and cultured, yet Eloise knew him well enough to detect the contempt in his tone as he referred to her husband. He moved to touch her hand but she snatched it away. His lip curled, the crooked smile not reaching his eyes.
“Why so hostile, Eloise?”
Though her heart beat a rhythm of terror in her chest, she stood erect before him and met his gaze.
He laughed softly. “My lady has gained in boldness.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“You, my love,” he said. “It’s always been you.”
He reached out and caressed her face with his fingertips, smooth in contrast to Harald’s calloused hands, and a ripple of revulsion crawled across her skin. Her palms itched and her arm throbbed at the memory of his touch. She was a child of twelve summers again, looking into the beautiful eyes of the demon in the guise of an angel.
