Page 45 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
He dropped his breeches and rubbed his cock, recalling Roswyn’s administrations of last night. He hardened at the thought of burying himself inside Eloise again. For ten long years he’d thought of little else.
Such a pity she’d been tainted by the Saxon! Sullied by a union with one of the grubby natives of this godforsaken land, she didn’t deserve the honor of being his wife. But he’d still enjoy her when the time came.
And come it would. That filthy harlot Roswyn had been obliging enough about Harald’s past, involving some woman named Margery, unwittingly revealing the fetid seed of doubt lingering in his mind. Ralph only had to nurture that seed with a few choice words about Eloise and Harald already suspected her.
How obliging Roswyn had been! Her eagerness to rid herself of her impotent oaf of a husband had loosened her tongue and opened her legs. She seemed to think she could use Ralph to serve her own purposes—to dispose of both Jeffrey and Eloise so she could take Harald for herself.
It was going to be easier than he’d ever dreamed.
And tomorrow he would begin.
* * *
Beauvisage swunghis sword and Harald parried the blow. The clash of steel on steel rang across the courtyard, followed by the stamping of feet as Harald’s men signaled their approval. The tournament was starting tomorrow and they were eager to see their lord bring honor to Wildstorm. The two men shook hands. Jeffrey passed Harald a cloth and he wiped the sweat off his face. His new friend was charming and accommodating, nothing like he’d expected from a Norman baron.
The only element plaguing Harald’s mind was his wife. Her dislike of their guest was obvious. Not only did he detect hostility in her expression, but also guilt. What did she have to be guilty for? The violence she had rained upon Harald the night of Beauvisage’s arrival had severed the fragile bond of trust between them, cutting him more deeply than the scratches she’d inflicted upon his face.
Perhaps Ralph could shed some light on the matter. Did he know something of her past? Mayhap he knew the identity of her former lover.
Harald fell into step with his friend as they returned to the main hall. “Are you being looked after well?” he asked.
Ralph’s lip curled into a satisfied smile. “Aye, Harald. Your wife is very—accommodating. The years seem to have tempered her.”
“She does not seem overly fond of you. I trust she has been courteous.”
“She’s as courteous as I’d expect.”
Harald waited for his new friend to elaborate, but he did not. Beauvisage was proving invaluable in his advice on quelling riots, his ability to root out sources of malcontent uncannily sharp. But the man was an enigma. Intelligent, cultured, clearly favored by William—yet Eloise, who’d been so welcoming to all the tournament guests, displayed a distinct lack of cordiality toward him, despite his gallantry.
Overcome by curiosity, Harald broke the silence. “You knew my wife well? In Normandy?”
“Aye.”
The terse answer only increased Harald’s suspicions.
“You don’t care to say more?”
Beauvisage sighed. “It’s not for me to speak ill of your wife,” he said. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of ensuring she stays true to her vows.”
Harald’s stomach churned. “You think her unfaithful?”
Ralph sighed. “You’re capable of controlling one woman, Harald,” he said. “She’s a beautiful creature and was very much admired in Morigeaux. I didn’t mean to imply she was a lightskirt. She’s a lady now, and I can see you’re a forgiving man.”
A forgiving man? What had she done? His wife’s words drifted into his memory…
I would have you believe, husband, that not all women are the same. What had she meant by it? Was she attempting to proclaim an innocence she lacked?
“Tell me all you know of her, Beauvisage. I don’t like to be deceived.”
Ralph turned a sympathetic eye on him. “I honor our friendship too much to conceal the truth,” he said, “though I fear it will distress you.”
Harald let out a curse. After Margery he’d sworn never to be deceived by a woman again. How could he have been so weak?
“Continue,” he said, yearning to hear her history, but dreading it at the same time.
“Her brother Henri and I were best friends,” Ralph said. I was fostered into the neighboring estate and we grew up together. Eloise followed us everywhere and we grew close. Her father suggested an alliance.”
“You were betrothed?” Harald asked.
