Page 17 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
She shook her head. Edwin held her close until her shivering subsided. Her breathing came in shallow gasps, the throb of her heart in her ears almost obscuring his soft voice.
“You’re deathly pale. Are you well? What—or who—did you think I was?”
“Forgive me, Edwin,” she gasped, “I thought you were…”
“My brother? Is that what frightened you so?”
“No,” she said. “For a moment I believed myself back in Normandy. Nothing more than a—a memory. I’m quite well now.”
She withdrew from his embrace.
“I wish you well, Edwin.”
He bent over her hand and brushed his lips over her fingers.
“And you also,” he said softly. “You’re safe at Wildstorm. I beg you to look beyond my brother’s appearance. He’s an honorable man at heart.”
“Aye, he is,” she said, blinking away the tears.
“Give him time,” Edwin said. Then he mounted his horse. As he rode away and disappeared along the path, she could see that the horse was white, not black. Her fear had been brought about by a memory.
She was interrupted by a child’s scream. Did her memories, now awakened, invade her thoughts again? No—the sound was real, and came from the direction of the river. She picked up her basket and ran toward it.
“Alyce, Alyce!!” A shrill voice accompanied the scream. A young boy stood at the riverbank, crying.
“Child!” Eloise cried. “What’s wrong?”
“My sister!” The boy pointed toward the water. A little girl was struggling in a patch of reeds on the other side. Every so often, her head dipped underwater before she surfaced, panicking, grasping futilely at the reeds. She was clearly tiring—her screams grew fainter each time her head emerged.
Sweet heaven—the water looked so deep! But there was no time to waste. Summoning her courage, Eloise jumped in, taking in a gulp of air as her body tightened with shock at the cold.
The river was fast flowing but only reached her waist. Testing the depth with each step, she waded toward the little girl while the boy continued to cry out. As she drew close, she lost her footing, and fell underwater. Panic seized her and she fought to resurface, choking as she took in a mouthful of water, her throat aching.
The little girl was barely conscious when Eloise reached her. She pulled the child into her arms.
“Hold on to me, little one,” she cried, blinking back tears as she felt the child clasp her tightly and she waded back across the river, the child’s weight round her neck making it an effort to climb out.
She sat by the water’s edge, exhausted, clasping the little body. To her relief, the girl still breathed. The boy stood close by but did not move, as if scared to approach.
“What is your name, child?” Eloise asked.
“Robin.”
“Where do you live, Robin? We must take your sister home.”
Robin nodded and led Eloise toward a collection of huts. A number of villagers looked up and stared.
A door opened and a woman ran out, screaming.
“What have you done to my daughter!”
“Mama!” Robin cried, “she fell in the river. The lady saved her.”
The woman stepped back, eyes widening in fear. “She’s the Norman?”
“Aye, Mama,” the boy replied, “I’ve seen her at the hall.”
“Robin, I’ve told you not to go there – it’s not safe.”
