Page 101 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Did she think herself the sinner—even now?
“You committed no sin, Eloise,” he said.
“I did!” she cried. I let him take me—then I killed him. How I must disgust you!”
“You do not!” Harald roared. The tightly-strung arrow of anger finally let fly. “You’re innocent! ‘TisIwho must beg forgiveness. I should have protected you—but I neglected you, abused you, and brought you to this. I welcomed Beauvisage into your home.”
“Harald, I beg you, no!”
“Forgive me, my love,” he said. “I shall never utter that man’s name again. All I wish for is to have you return to me. At first, to me, you were merely a means to keep my home—but Wildstorm is no longer my home.”
“It is not?”
“Youare my home, Eloise,” he said, his chest tightening with loss.
He was too late. For too long, he’d neglected and humiliated her—urged on by the man who’d sought to destroy her. He had ignored the whisperings of his heart and the counsel of his brother, listening instead to his mistrust and hatred. Only now, did he understand what he had lost.
A soft fingertip brushed his ear. He lifted his head and looked into her clear blue eyes, which glistened with tears of compassion.
“Do not weep for me,” she said. She caressed his cheek then withdrew her hand as if it burned her. She cared for him, yet couldn’t bear to touch him!
“Selfish creature that I am, Eloise, I weep for myself. Knowing what I’ve done to you gives me more pain than I ever endured in battle. All I want, is for you to come home.”
“At times I–I think of Wildstorm,” she said, “but it frightens me.”
Her body began to shiver. The sun had fallen behind the walls of the courtyard and the air had grown cooler.
“My Lady, you must come inside!” a voice cried. “Lord Harald, it’s time you left.”
Harald jumped at the voice. Had the nun witnessed his disintegration? She stood behind him, holding Violette’s hand and called again. But Eloise remained sitting. Was she too afraid of Harald to move from the safety of the bench?
“Won’t you come home with me, Eloise?” He rose to his feet, stepped back and lost his balance. Instinctively she reached out and he caught her hand. She flinched, but made no attempt to withdraw.
Brave little soul, she fought against her urge to flee. At length the effort became too great, and she withdrew her hand.
“May I visit you again?” he asked, uttering a silent prayer.
She gave a small nod—his had been answered.
“Aye,” she said. “You may.”
Agatha rushed toward Eloise, wrapped her in a fur and helped her across the courtyard. His wife’s limping gait pierced Harald’s heart.
A tiny hand tugged at his sleeve. He looked down and the image of his wife stared back at him, the little face twisted with anger.
“You made my mama sad,” the child said, her usually light voice heavy with accusation. “I want her to be happy again—like she was before you came, today.”
“So do I, my little lambling,” he said. “I want my sweet lamb to smile at me again—for I love her more than my own life.”
“Violette!” At Agatha’s call, the child slipped away to join her mother. The small nugget of hope which had begun to grow inside his heart shattered as the young nun and child took his wife inside without a backward glance.
He was too late—he’d lost her.
* * *
As soon asHarald reached the outskirts of Wildstorm village, he dismounted. He had no wish to return to the main hall, where all that awaited him were the accusing stares of Edwin and Jeanette, and the boy Alfred’s incessant enquiries after Eloise.
He wandered among village dwellings until he reached a familiar door.
