Page 106 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Edwin was refused entry—it seemed that Saxons were no longer welcome. Two soldiers escorted Eloise into the hall. Though she knew she was going to her death, she held her head high as she came face to face with the king.
William’s countenance had changed since she’d last seen him. The courteous man who’d kissed her hand with such gallantry at Wildstorm, now sat stiff and erect. His eyes focused on her—their expression filled with mistrust and anger—crushing what little hope she had of pleading to an old family friend for mercy. No longer a friend, he was a king—harsh, ruthless, and unwavering in his destruction of those who betrayed his trust.
A woman sat beside him. Even sitting, it was plain to see she was tall. Strong facial features framed sharp intelligent eyes. Two golden braids hung either side of her headdress, cascading into her lap where her hands were crossed, long slim fingers bedecked with large rings. A brilliant flash of red shone from one finger—an enormous ruby, which glittered in the beam of sunlight from the window.
Eloise had never met Queen Matilda—a woman who, despite living in the shadow of her husband, was rumored to rule him as effortlessly and effectively as he could ever hope to rule England.
A hand on her back pushed her forward and she fell to her knees.
“My Lord,” she said, bowing her head.
“Why does Lady Wildstorm visit us?” the king asked.
“I-I have come to plead for my husband’s life.”
“It does not please us to hear petitions for traitors—particularly the man who murdered one of my most loyal subjects.”
“But…”
“Remove this woman.”
A strong hand grasped her arm, forcing a cry of pain from her.
“My lord, I beg you!” she cried. “My husband is not the one you seek.”
“He has confessed, woman,” the king said. “Get thee gone.”
“He lied!” she cried. “I beg you—you are a just man, and I know you wouldn’t wish to punish a loyal subject for the crimes of another. Let me speak to my husband.”
The ruby on the queen’s finger sparkled as she placed her hand on the king’s arm. His shoulders relaxed a little at the gesture and she leaned across to whisper in his ear. Then she resumed her position, her eyes focused on Eloise.
After a pause, William nodded.
“It appears that my queen is desirous of a little entertainment,” he said. “Fetch the traitor.”
Eloise remained on the floor.
Entertainment…
Dear lord—what did he intend to do with her—with Harald?
The king resumed his conversation with his men, as if Eloise were of no interest. But the queen looked about the hall, occasionally settling her imperious gaze on Eloise.
Eloise’s cheeks burned with shame at her appearance. In her desperation to reach Harald, she’d spared no thought for etiquette—her gown was splattered with mud from the ride, and torn at the hem.
But punishment for lack of proprietary was trivial in comparison to the punishment William would mete out once he knew the truth. She prayed that he might believe her and spare Harald’s life.
At length, two men-at-arms entered, dragging a limping figure behind them, and they pushed him to his knees at William’s feet. Hunched and broken, Harald’s stance belied his years. His garments were filthy, the stench of the rot and decay of dungeons penetrating her nostrils even at a distance. His tunic hung off his back, ripped, and stained with blood. Fresh lash marks stretched across his body, glistening in the light.
“Harald!”
He lifted his head at her cry, and her heart almost broke at the sight.
His face—his beautiful, strong face—was a bloodied mess. Purple bruises adorned his cheeks, the nose twisted and misshapen. Beneath bedraggled, matted hair, one eye was swollen shut while the other stared at her in horror.
“Eloise, no…”
A blow silenced him and he fell forward.
