Page 103 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
A tall man stepped forward, his hair jet black, close cropped in the Norman fashion, holding a sword.
“You dare question us, Saxon dog? A man who locks his wife in a convent before rutting his whore all night?”
“What I do is my own affair,” Harald growled. Let me up—I’m a loyal subject, and you shall answer to the king for your treatment of me.”
“Loyal subject!” the man scoffed. “You’re to come with us to answer to the charges.”
“What charges?”
“Murder, and conspiracy to treason.”
“Murder?”
“Baron Beauvisage’s body has been found at his estate. You were seen there.”
“That evil bastard!” Harald cried. “He deserves everything he…”
A swift kick to the head cut him short, and he lurched forward, coughing spurts of blood onto the same floor on which Jeffrey had knelt, his body smashed to pieces. Was he to share Jeffrey’s fate?
“William has demanded the murderer’s head—and it’ll be by pleasure to deliver it.”
The murderer—heaven help her! Eloise—at all costs she must be protected.
“You killed him, did you not?” the man demanded.
At last, Harald understood the price he must pay in order to atone for what he’d done to his wife—a price he’d gladly pay, to protect her. It was all he had left to give.
His life.
“Aye, I killed him,” he whispered, pain radiating from his jaw. Another blow to the head, and he crumpled forward.
“Bring the shackles.”
Cold metal grated against his wrists and ankles.
“Why not kill me here?” Harald choked, “I have confessed.”
“The king wishes to question you first,” came the reply. “I’m sure you’ll be eager to give us the details of your fellow Saxon traitors. You will find we Normans are particularly skilled in the art of—persuasion.”
Persuasion…
Another word for torture.
They pulled him to his feet, and dragged him outside. A small crowd had gathered, watching silently as their lord was hauled across the courtyard. Jeanette stood at the edge, holding Alfred in her arms. Their eyes met—did she understand that Harald was, at last, paying the price for what he’d done to her mistress?
His only hope was that he would face his fate as bravely as Eloise had faced hers—and that when death would come swiftly.
Chapter 27
Almost a sennight had passed since Harald had begged Eloise’s forgiveness, and asked to visit again. But he had not come.
Where was he? Had he decided, on reflection, to abandon her?
She drew the fur around her shoulders, as she waited on the bench in the garden, as if, by sitting in the very same spot where he’d knelt before her, she could summon him back.
Loud hammering disturbed the tranquility, followed by a man’s voice raised in anger, accompanied by sharp cries of protest. A flurry of urgent footsteps echoed in the courtyard then he came into view. He approached her in swift, purposeful strides, followed by Agatha and two other nuns.
But he wasn’t Harald.
