Page 63 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Bitch!Was Roswyn the traitor?
At the door to the hall, Harald handed the stick to Eloise and walked in unaided, ignoring the twinge of pain. Beauvisage stood in the center, Roswyn at his side. A group of men gathered behind them—Norman soldiers. They wore identical livery to Beauvisage, so must be men from his estate. A man knelt on the floor, head bent forward, between two Normans, who held his arms. His hair hung limply, almost touching the floor, dripping dark red liquid onto the stones. One of the men kicked him and he coughed, sending a spray of red droplets onto the floor.
Beauvisage clasped Harald’s wrists and drew him into a brotherly embrace.
“My friend, you have no idea how glad I am to see you recovered—and how deeply it pains me to bring you such tidings.”
He gestured to the man on the floor. “Look up, Saxon dog. Look into the eyes of the man you betrayed.”
The man lifted his head.
It was Jeffrey.
His face was a bloodied mess. His left cheek was swollen and purple, but as for the right—a huge slash ran down the flesh, slicing through the right eye—or the socket where the eye had been. His chin hung at a grotesque angle where the jaw had been broken with such force that it protruded sideways.
“Mon Dieu…”
The exclamation came from behind. Eloise had followed him into the hall.
“My friend.” Beauvisage held out his sword. “’Tis your duty to ensure this traitor reaps the fruits of his sins.”
The man let out a cry but the words were unintelligible. His jaw moved uselessly, sending a fresh burst of blood from his mutilated mouth. He would never speak again. But his eyes conveyed that which his tongue could not—a plea for mercy.
Harald took the proffered sword and looked into the eyes of his friend. Roswyn’s face showed no emotion other than a slight curl in her lips. Beauvisage nodded, his expression laced with sorrow.
“I’m sorry for what you must do, my friend.”
Treachery, betrayal, deceit—they were sins Harald could never forgive. He looked into the eyes of the traitor and lifted his sword.
* * *
Eloise foughtthe nausea welling in her throat at the sight before her. Jeffrey’s body was destroyed, beaten almost to a pulp.
Despite what he was supposed to have done, no man deserved to be treated so brutally, or with such relish. Beauvisage might feign sorrow, but he could never conceal his true feelings from her. She could read those cold blue eyes too well—see the triumph in their expression.
She placed a hand on her husband’s arm.
“Harald, do not act in haste. Let Jeffrey speak for himself.”
Jeffrey choked again and a low burble escaped from his lips.
“F-fucking … Norman.”
The man behind him aimed a kick at his head and he groaned in agony.
Though Jeffrey hated her to the last, his suffering was too much for her. She tugged at Harald’s arm.
“Please!” she cried. “Can’t you see he’s in pain?”
“Do not interfere in matters that concern you not.” Harald said.
“Quite so, Harald.” The smooth tone of Ralph’s voice made her shiver. “Jeffrey betrayed your trust. A loyal subject would do as his king orders and ignore the tattlings of a woman.”
“Roswyn, what say you?” Eloise begged. “He’s your husband—will you stand by and see him tortured?”
“Be silent!” Harald cried. “Would you flout my authority in front of my men? You vowed to honor and obey me—or are these yet more vows you care to break?”
“Your husband speaks wisely, Lady Eloise.” Roswyn said. “If my husband is a traitor then he does not deserve my loyalty—or yours.. Beauvisage is right. I support him as should you unless you’re also a traitor. Do you also have something to conceal? Have you been playing us false?”
