Page 57 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“He loves you not! He lovesme—has always loved me.”
If only she would be silent! He wanted to hear the softer voice—the gentle, loving words that whispered to him at night. But the first voice would not stop—it only grew louder, harsher. More voices joined the first—two men’s voices, the familiar tones of his brother, and the cultured voice of another—then the shrill woman spoke again.
He needed her name—to tell her to stop. He fought to remember her name—a lush body, vibrant red hair and cunning green eyes, betraying her greed.
Roswyn.
Her name was Roswyn. And he wanted her to be quiet.
He drew a deep breath and summoned his strength to cry out.
“Roswyn! Roswyn!”
* * *
Roswyn smiled coldly at Eloise,her eyes glittering with triumph.
“He wants you not,” she said. “He’s asked forme.”
“He knows not what he says,” Edwin argued.
“You heard it yourself,” Ralph interrupted. “Harald calls for Roswyn. You’ve also heard from Collin that Harald gave instructions that I was to have authority over Wildstorm in his absence. Until he’s recovered, I must insist I be given that authority.”
Authority over Wildstorm! Lord save her! Eloise dared not look into Ralph’s eyes for she knew he looked directly at her when he spoke of his authority over Wildstorm which would extend to include everything—and everyone—in it. And tomorrow she would be friendless, for the king had summoned Edwin, who was leaving that morning.
Roswyn sided with Ralph. “You said yourself, Master Edwin, that you’d send for me if Lord Wildstorm wished it. How long has he been calling for me while this woman weaves her spells around him?”
“He hasn’t called for you,” Eloise said. “Those were the first words he’s spoken.”
“If that is so, then you must concede that it’s me he wants,” Roswyn said. She pushed past Eloise and sat on the bed beside Harald.
“My love—your Roswyn is here. I shall tend to you—you’re safe, now.”
“Roswyn…” the word on Harald’s lips tore a hole in Eloise’s heart.
“Come, Lady,” Edwin took Eloise’s hand. “You must rest.” To prove his point he nodded to her gown, soiled and bloodstained. Since Harald’s injury she’d barely slept or bathed while she tended to him almost constantly.
She let Edwin lead her to her chamber.
“Edwin, I fear for him,” she said. “Who will tend to him if I’m not there?”
“Roswyn will care for him,” he replied. “I like her not, but she wishes him no harm. Rest assured that when he fully wakes, it won’t beherhe asks for.”
She hesitated, wary of showing her fears of Ralph. But if she must trust someone, then Edwin was the least abhorrent confidante. “What of Beauvisage?” she asked. “Despite appearances, I fear he’s not my husband’s friend.”
“It’s not in his interests to see Harald come to harm,” Edwin said. “The king values loyalty above all things. Only last month I heard of a baron—a Norman baron—who was put to death for conspiring to harm another. William had him publicly tortured, then executed, as a warning to others. Until England is at peace, such punishments will come swift and hard.”
He took her hands. “I shan’t be gone long. Trust Collin in my absence. He’ll manage the estate and is a loyal man.”
“Can I trust no-one else?”
“Wulfstan, perhaps,” Edwin replied, “but be wary of Jeffrey. He’s loyal to my brother, but his hatred of Normans clouds his judgement, and his own feelings of inadequacy as a husband to Roswyn have eroded his reason.”
A ripple of fear threaded through her as she recalled Jeffrey’s resentful eyes on her. “Is he dangerous?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” he replied. “You fear for my brother, but you must consider your safety, also. Promise that if you have need of me, or if my brother’s condition worsens, you’ll send for me. Believe me when I say that I’m your friend.”
“I do,” she said. And, in that moment, she did.
