Page 80 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Sister Agatha took a deep breath, as if to steel herself against painful memories.
“I remember, it was a hot day,” she said. “I ventured into the forest near Morigeaux, and I heard a hunting party in the distance. Then I saw a man and a woman riding together. I followed them—I wanted to see the lady, because her laugh was so full of life.”
She closed her eyes, and a tear spilled onto her cheek.
“The laughter stopped, and he started to kiss her. She tried to fight him off but he was too strong. He dismounted, then—then …”
She let out a sob. “I cannot bear to say it!”
“Agatha,” the old nun said gravely, “by telling all you may be helping her now, as you were unable to help her then. Be strong—be brave—and continue.”
“He dragged her off her horse and forced her to the ground,” Agatha said. “She struggled like a wild animal caught in a trap.” She shook her head. “He held her down, but she continued to fight. I couldn’t believe how a woman so young—so small—could fight with such ferocity. But he was too strong. I saw a knife—saw him raise his arm—then I fled. I couldn’t bear to see it! But I heard everything. I covered my ears, but the screams! Even now, her screams plague my dreams.”
She broke out into a sob, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “The screaming stopped but I could still hearhim. I was so afraid—I hid, until I heard them ride away. When I came out I thought they had gone—I was so relieved! I thought perhaps they’d been playing a game. But no—she was still there. On the ground.”
Agatha began to cry again then shook her head as if to dispel the memory.
“May God forgive me!” she cried. “The screams—I’ve never heard the like—before, or since!”
But Harald had—in his own chamber—the night she hid from him, and pleaded for mercy. A scream like no other…
“Continue, Agatha,” the mother superior said.
Agatha nodded. “At first I thought she was dead, but then I saw her move. But her body! To think that I could have prevented it!”
“Tell him what you saw.”
Agatha turned to Harald, her soft green eyes red-rimmed with despair.
“Blood,” she said. “Her gown was soaked with it. Her legs, twisted and bent, huge gashes on her thighs. But her arm—sweet lord—her arm! I cannot bear to think of it!”
“Go on,” the mother superior said. “You owe it to her, to tell all.”
“Her arm…” Agatha lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper, “…twisted beyond recognition. Something jutted out but I didn’t know what it was until I touched it. A piece of bone, breaking through the flesh. She must have been in agony.”
A sharp needle of pain shot through Harald’s leg at the memory of his own injury. Now he understood how Eloise had known how to heal him.
“What did you do, woman?” He barely recognized his voice, laden with the guilt.
“I dragged her to the convent. Though only a short way, it took me so long! I thank the Almighty she was so small, for it took all my strength. She cried out with every stone in the path, every jolt. When I reached the convent I thought she had died.”
Eloise—what had she said when she’d bathed him, after he had spoken of the treachery of women? That some men were good, yet others…
“We set her arm as best we could,” Agatha said. “No-one expected her to survive the night. But she did. Though small in stature, she had a strong will. But we couldn’t straighten the arm. Every time we touched it she screamed.”
Harald recalled his own screams while they straightened his leg bone, and her calm voice, instructing the servants. He stretched his leg—straight and true. Were it not for Eloise, he’d be crippled for life—his own leg twisted and deformed, or missing altogether. Even Edwin had wanted to hack it off.
As if he read Harald’s thoughts, Edwin’s hand squeezed his shoulder. His brother’s admiration for Eloise had never wavered. Harald now recognized it for what it was—admiration for one who had endured more than the strongest of men could be expected to bear. Yet she did not harbor bitterness, neither had she surrendered to the darkness. Instead, she had drawn on her suffering to lessen the suffering of others.
“Did she recover at the convent?” Harald asked, “after you failed to heal her properly?”
Agatha flinched, as if he’d struck her.
“We did what we could. When she woke, and we discovered who she was, we sent for her father.”
“Did he seek revenge on her assailant?”
Agatha shook her head, “She begged him to say nothing. The man was held in high esteem, and she feared for her family.”
