Page 52 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
She continued to fight, ignoring his words. Brute strength would have no success. Perhaps he should employ her methods, and wield a more delicate hand. He closed his eyes and hummed a lullaby his mother had sung to him as a child which, in turn, he’d sung to Edwin when his brother was a baby. How he loved him! Holding his baby brother in his arms within hours of Edwin’s birth, was the first time he’d understood the true meaning of love. Perhaps, one day, he would do the same with his own son.
A son—that was why he’d agreed to marry this woman. That—and to keep his beloved Wildstorm. But a faithless wife might attempt to deceive him with another’s bastard.
At the thought of her adultery, he clenched his fists and she cried out.
“Please! Don’t hurt me again!”
“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I want to prevent you from hurting yourself.”
She continued to resist.
“Eloise!” He cried her name and she stilled.
“Husband?” Her voice was weak, but her eyes began to focus on him.
“Aye,” he said. “It is I, your husband.”
“Harald?” She reached up and curled her fingers around his shoulders. She had only ever called him “my Lord,” or “husband,” except at the moment of her climax when he pleasured her. Yet now—afraid, and vulnerable—her use of his name spoke of such tender intimacy. She had already trusted him enough to bare her body to him. But tonight—looking into eyes which held such trust, she was baring her soul.
“Please,” she whispered in French, her voice faltering as her body shook with terror. “Don’t let him… Please don’t leave me.”
The expression in her eyes was all too familiar. Friends and comrades cut down at Hastings wore the same expression at the moment of death. When a man’s life drew to a close, and he had yet to banish the raw terror, only then did he reveal his true self—his soul.
She clung to him, her body trembling as she dug her fingers into his shoulders.
“Please, Harald,” she whispered, “you must promise me.”
He nodded. “I promise. Tonight I shall protect you from that which you fear.”
She loosened her grip, and let him push her back onto the bed. He kissed her forehead and she let out a sigh, releasing the tears which had filled her eyes.
He drew the fur around her, then joined her in the bed. But this time, instead of turning his back, he pulled her into his arms. She relaxed into his embrace, and nestled her head against his chest—her voice a warm breath on his skin, so quiet, that he nearly missed it.
“Thank you my Lord.”
The following morning, he woke early from the ray of sunlight through the window where he’d drawn back the hanging in the night. Eloise lay against him, her body relaxed and trusting. A ball of anger tightened in his gut at the thought of her sinful past, but when his body tensed, she opened her eyes. He’d not seen them this close in full sunlight. Their blue held a hint of violet, the vivid color that adorned the meadows surrounding Wildstorm when the spring flowers were in full bloom.
Her expression held none of their usual wariness, and trust filled her eyes—a trust which swelled his heart. He took her hand on impulse.
“I have a request to make of you, Eloise.”
Her body stiffened, the light in her eyes fading. “Anything my Lord.”
“Will you give me your favor at the tournament today?”
She said nothing, but nodded, and gave a shy smile. God’s bones—when she smiled she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen! And she was his—all his. He didn’t need the familiar stirring in his groin to tell him he wanted her body. But the tightening in his heart told him he also wanted her love.
Chapter 13
Standing in his tent, Harald secured the strap on his armor. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the field, matching the warmth in his heart.
The eight remaining competitors were now whittled down to the final two—Harald, and Beauvisage. Harald was a skilled archer, but Beauvisage had it all—looks, strength and prowess on the field. No wonder the king thought highly of him.
Harald gripped his lance and mouthed a silent prayer. A Saxon victor today would show these Normans that they were not, and would never be, all-conquering. He desired peace—but not at the cost of the freedom of his people.
Edwin appeared at the entrance to the tent.
“Is it time?” Harald asked.
