Page 116 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“Leave us, Jeanette.” Eloise said, then she addressed the woman. “Follow me.”
“Nay, Lady,” the whore said. “I wouldn’t bring disgrace upon your home by entering it. I merely wish to speak with you.”
“I insist.”
The woman followed Eloise, but refused to move further in than the doorway. “I won’t take long, lady,” she said, “for I know you’re still recovering from your illness. I wish to speak of your husband.”
“Then you’ve had a wasted journey,” Eloise said, unable to disguise the weariness in her voice. “I understand my husband has—needs—and he satisfies them elsewhere. If it makes him happy then I’m glad of it, for his sake. But do not pain me by speaking of it.”
“He has needs, aye, but they go unsatisfied.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Onlyyoucan meet his needs, my lady.”
“But he lies with you!” Eloise said. “The servants gossip about it. They think I don’t know, think I’m a weak-minded fool—but I have eyes, ears, and wits. He visits you while I sleep alone.”
“He hasn’t—taken my services—since he wed you.”
“What about the other women?” Eloise asked. “Roswyn…”
“Not even Roswyn.” The whore blushed. “Roswyn was my sister. Perhaps she deserved her fate, but I beg you to forgive her. Her ambition and desire for Lord Harald drove out her wits. But he cared nothing for her—and his interest in her died the moment he married you. He still visits me, aye, but only as an old friend. He comes seeking comfort, for he’s broken-hearted over what happened to you. I know you need to heal, but so does he.”
So—Roswyn—the beautiful, flame-haired seductress—had never been a rival for Harald’s affections. Instead, it had been the woman standing before her now—the whore he’d known all his adult life, who knew how to satisfy a man in ways Eloise could never aspire to.
“You love him,” Eloise said.
“Aye—as a sister loves a brother, as a friend loves another. And ’tis because of that love that I speak to you now. I cannot begin to understand what you suffered—but I see that his happiness is entwined with yours. Only when you are whole again, will he find peace.”
“How can I trust what you say?” Eloise asked.
“Because no whore seeking trade would wish to reconcile a man with his wife, neither would she tell the wife that her husband wants her instead. Why, he even asked me…”
She turned her head away, her cheeks reddening. What would make a whore blush so?
“What did he ask?” Eloise asked.
“He asked me to teach him how to please you,” she replied. “Whenever he lay with me, he—like most men, perhaps save his brother—only ever soughthispleasure. But after you entered his life, he wanted to give pleasure, rather than take it. His only wish, Lady Wildstorm, is to be in your arms, and have you in his bed.”
“Then why doesn’t he come to me?” Eloise cried. “He can’t even look at me! If he touches me, he withdraws so quickly, as if it burns him.”
“Oh, sweet lady! Can’t you see he’s afraid?”
Afraid? What of? The woman whose insanity led her to murder another?
Eloise shook her head, as if to disperse the image of Harald’s face contorted in revulsion. She backed away but the whore captured her hands.
“Lady, he’s afraidforyou, not of you. He fears what he might do if he…succumbs to his desires. And he has no wish to hurt you again.” She sighed, and shook her head. “I have never witnessed a love as great as that which I see in his eyes—and hear in his voice—when he speaks of you. He is a great warrior, a strong man with the blood of Vikings running through his veins. Yet, I’ve seen him reduced to a shadow of a man—shedding a woman’s tears at the memory of what he did to you.”
Eloise blinked and a tear spilled onto her cheek. “What would you have me do?” she whispered.
“I have no right to expect anything of you,” the whore replied. “But Harald has spoken of your bravery. He told me that you offered your life so he might be spared—and I love you for it. But in matters of the heart, men lack the strength of a woman. Only you can heal his heart—but first, you must show him that he can heal yours.”
Only a whore—a woman who sees men at their very worst, and services their deepest needs while bearing the contempt of the world—could speak with such candor.
“What is your name?” Eloise asked.
“’Tis Marlin, my Lady.”
