Page 69 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
* * *
When Eloise bent down towash her hands in the waterfall pool, she hardly recognized the pale, drawn face staring back. She dipped her hands in the water, and swirled them round to obliterate the reflection. How long had it taken for the young woman hoping for a fresh start in England to become the pathetic creature she was now?
When the ground yielded, and the blessedly cool water claimed her, she did not fight the inevitable. It was time to succumb, to accept she had no place in a world where virtue was punished and evil rewarded.
She looked up at the ripples of sunlight penetrating the water, which grew fainter the further she sank. The pressure of the water forced the air from her lungs, expelling it in a stream of bubbles which floated toward the surface disappearing into the world above.
Her thoughts turned to Papa—the one man who’d stood by her, believed and trusted her—who had done everything in his power to protect her.
Forgive me, Papa, for what I have done to you.
Her last waking thought was of Violette—another child whose parent had been unable to protect her. She could only pray—to the unforgiving God that had forsaken her—that others could fulfil the task she had been so incapable of.
Violette…
A vice-like grip took her hand and pulled her against her will. Had the devil already come to claim her?
Though she waited for the fires of hell her body only grew colder. Demons crushed her body and expelled the water from her lungs. She opened her eyes and looked into the darkness—two black pools, mirroring her despair.
Choking, she lifted her head. “Am I in hell?”
The darkness faded, morphing to a warmer, deep brown and a soft voice spoke before the darkness claimed her.
“Nay, wife. You’re safe—here with me.”
* * *
“My Lady! What has happened!”
The maidservant, Jeanette, shrieked at the sight of Harald’s wife hanging limply in his arms, her sodden gown dripping on the floor of her bedchamber.
He gestured toward the bed. “Don’t waste my time with foolish questions.”
She picked up a fur to wrap round her mistress’ shoulders. The fur was misshapen, the fibers matted.
It was the very same fur in which Eloise had been wrapped, the day he’d found her in the peasant’s cottage—the day she had jumped into the river to rescue a child.
“We must undress her, my Lord. Her wet clothes will keep her cold.”
Together they stripped her body. She had grown thin since he’d last seen her naked, save a slight rounding of her belly—the effect of ingesting water, perhaps. Her face—paler than the linen of the bedsheets—seemed overly large for her fragile neck. Jeanette rubbed her mistress’ limbs, seemingly unfazed by the scars on Eloise’s thighs and deformed arm. Perhaps she knew how she’d come by them.
“What happened to her, my Lord?” Jeanette asked.
“She fell into the pool in the forest.”
“You saved her?”
“I pulled her out, aye.”
The woman sobbed. “Then you saved her life, for she cannot swim.”
“Can she not?”
“She’s always been terrified of the water. She was sorely ill on the voyage from Normandy and could not even look over the side of the boat.”
How can that be? Within days of arriving at Wildstorm, she had thrown herself into the river to save a child from drowning. Knowing that she couldn’t swim? Was this the action of someone capable of evil?
“Leave me tend to her, my Lord,” Jeanette said. “She’ll be safe with me, for I love her. I’ll send for you if she wakes.”
