Page 118 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
She patted Eloise’s hand, in the manner of an affectionate aunt, then she stood and raised her hand, and a hush descended over the company.
“The king and I are most grateful for your hospitality,” she began, and a chorus of thuds echoed round the hall as the company banged their tankards on the tables with approval.
“We are here to honor your lord for his bravery and loyalty, and to bestow upon your lord, and lady, a gift, as a mark of our respect and affection.”
Eloise felt her cheeks flush with shame. Would she be humiliated in front of the company, as she had been on the day of her wedding?
Eloise glanced at Harald, but he would not—or could not—meet her gaze.
The queen gestured toward the doors and they opened. Violette stood in the doorway, holding Jeanette’s hand. She wore a pale silk gown, embroidered with an intricate pattern. The delicate blue hue matched the color of her eyes—so unlike the plain, homespun garments the child had worn all her life.
“In accordance with Lord Harald’s request,” the queen continued, “we decree that the child Violette shall henceforth be known as Harald’s own daughter and given the status and title as would befit his legitimate child, and hereafter be known as Lady Violette of Wildstorm.”
The queen gave Violette and indulgent smile.
“Now, child,” she said, “as we rehearsed.”
The child grasped her skirt at each side, between her fingertips, then dipped into a low curtsey, fanning her skirts out.
“Your Grace,” she said. “I receive your honor with pleasure.”
She righted herself, and glanced at the queen. “Did I do it right?”
“Perfect,” the queen said. “Now, come and join your Mama and Papa, while the company honors you.”
She raised her goblet and the company broke out into a cheer.
Eloise stifled a cry of joy as her child approached her and she lifted her hands to her face to stem the tears of joy. She turned to Harald and saw a pair of dark brown eyes watching her, asking for approval.
He had no need to ask. At the same table where he’d once declared that illegitimate children were not fit to live, he now sat, having bestowed the greatest gift he could ever give her—a public gesture, before the king and queen, of his love. What better way to show that love, than to declare her bastard child, the product of her violation, as his own daughter?
She placed her hand over his, suppressing her body’s instinct to withdraw as he engulfed her hand in his own. Blinking away the tears she met his gaze, lips trembling, almost unable to form the words.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Chapter 30
Eloise waited in her chamber, as the sounds of revelry faded as the company retired.
Still, Harald did not send for her. She ached to be near him—but was beset by fear. Not the fear of physical pain, or suffering—but the fear that he would reject her.
But Marlin was right—if her husband would not come to her, then she must go to him.
She approached her chamber door and opened it. A large shape stood outside and she jumped at the hiss of metal against leather.
Wulfstan stood before her, sword drawn.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
“Protecting you.”
“Against what? Is something wrong?”
“No, my lady,” he replied. “I’ve been guarding your room each night since your return.”
“On whose orders?”
“Lord Harald.” He sheathed his sword. “Do you need something?”
