Page 71 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Every time he thought he was beginning to understand her, she drew back—or some revelation about her history severed the growing connection between them.
And it always seemed to center around Beauvisage.
A voice in his mind whispered to him—the voice which became clearer when his conscious mind was focused elsewhere—at that precious moment at night just before he drifted into sleep, or during those moments of horror when the visions of Hastings invaded his dreams.
What had Edwin said he should do? Have faith in the actions of his wife, not the words of his friend.
Perhaps he should heed his brother’s words, and take more care around Beauvisage.
Would Eloise tell him anything about the man?
No. Seeing her closed expression, it was clear that the brief connection they’d shared had been severed.
Chapter 17
Over a month later, Harald rode back to Wildstorm, Beauvisage at his side. The riots had been well organized but were crushed thoroughly and efficiently under Beauvisage’s instructions. Guilt plagued Harald at the notion of slaying his countrymen, but his friend had sliced through them with ease, his ruthlessness evident to all.
After the last of the rebels had been slain, Ralph insisted the bodies be rounded up and burned, as a signal to all who opposed William’s rule. The smell of charred flesh still in his nostrils, Harald watched his friend on the ride back. Eyes bright, he bore the expression of a predator who relished the kill.
Harald’s men were subdued, but he ignored their disapproving gazes and Wulfstan’s remarks. Now Jeffrey had been slain, Wulfstan had taken his place as Harald’s right-hand man. Wulfstan’s loyalty to William had not wavered since Harald had pledged fealty at Hastings, but he couldn’t hide his disgust at the campaign to crush the rebels. Now, Wulfstan brought up the rear of the party—clearly wishing to be as far from Beauvisage as possible.
Was he wise to place so much trust in Beauvisage? William thought highly of him, and Harald respected and trusted the king. But, unlike William, Ralph showed no regret for the hardships caused by the Norman invasion. The king’s eyes conveyed his suffering for what he’d done to conquer the Saxons. The light would always be balanced by the dark—with victory over England, came responsibility. A successful king must show strength, but also have the capacity for mercy.
And each and every action over the past month, made it plain that Ralph of Aquitaine was not merciful.
As the party approached the main hall at Wildstorm there seemed fewer people about than usual. The main doors opened and his steward stood waiting, his expression serious.
“Welcome home my Lord.”
“Collin, what’s wrong?” Harald asked. “Why is there no proper welcome party?”
“A sickness has struck down many in the village.” The steward’s next words froze Harald’s heart, “including the Lady Eloise.”
“Eloise? But I left her recovering in her chamber with orders to rest until my return.”
“She insisted on tending to the sick, and would not be gainsaid,” Collin said. “She succumbed to the fever almost immediately.”
“I must go to her.”
“Nay—you cannot,” Collin replied. “She gave express orders that you were not to be admitted into her room.”
“Me?”
“She was most insistent.”
Did she hate him still?
“Then I’ll leave her be,” he said roughly. “If she has no wish to see me, then I have no wish to see her.”
It was a petulant and childish response, but he didn’t care. Grumbling orders to his men, he shed his armor and retired to his bedchamber.
* * *
Harald woke,screaming, his nightmare dissipating into the air.
Dear God—it had been so real!
Once again, images of Hastings invaded his dreams, the hoarse cries of the fallen. But the faces of the enemy, once amorphous and gray were so vivid—one in particular, reddened with exertion, dark curly hair framing clear blue eyes glittering with bloodlust.
