Sheltered by the Warrior
Her unexpected guardianBaron Stephen de Bretonne's sworn duty is to serve the king–and that means finding the Saxons plotting against the throne by any means necessary. Protecting a Saxon woman and her half-Norman child? Merely a means to that end. But the lovely Rowena proves to be more than just a pawn in his plan. And his admiration for her could ruin everything if he can't stifle his feelings.While Rowena must begrudgingly accept Norman protection for herself and her baby, she knows better than to trust any man. Yet in the face of danger, can she also open her heart to her unlikely protector?
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Her unexpected guardian
Baron Stephen de Bretonneâs sworn duty is to serve the kingâand that means finding the Saxons plotting against the throne by any means necessary. Protecting a Saxon woman and her half-Norman child? Merely a means to that end. But the lovely Rowena proves to be more than just a pawn in his plan. And his admiration for her could ruin everything if he canât stifle his feelings.
While Rowena must begrudgingly accept Norman protection for herself and her baby, she knows better than to trust any man. Yet in the face of danger, can she also open her heart to her unlikely protector?
âSo, tell me, how did you end up in Dunmow, as guest of my friend Lord Adrien?â
Rowena remained stiff. Finally, she said, âI was not his guest, milord.â
Then, from within the hut, a babe cried loudly. Lifting the damp hem of her cyrtel, Rowena swung past him, and Stephen reached forward to open the door for her.
She flinched at his raised arm. Rowena was scared. Hurt, also, but mostly frightened. Stephen stepped aside as she ducked into the hut.
Wandering from the door, Stephen looked again at the vandalâs work. The cur had crushed an egg, had laid waste to late season herbs and had trampled the roots under his boots. Saxon boots. The simple style was unmistakable.
Why would a Saxon destroy this young womanâs food stocks? Because she was rumored to have allied herself with the Normans? It had been two years since Williamâs victory at Hastings. This Rowena would have been barely into womanhood back then.
The door behind him opened again. Stephen turned to watch Rowena step outside with a babe in her arms.
The babe had dark hair and olive skinâthe father could not possibly be Saxon.
His heart sank. So that was how she was aligned with the Normans.
BARBARA PHINNEY was born in England and raised in Canada. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and the love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.
And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.
âMark 9:24
Contents
Kingstown, Cambridgeshire, England Autumn, 1068 AD
She will surely starve this winter.
The mists of the early morning lingered as Rowena stepped from her hut and found herself staring at the plunder around her. Little Andrew hadnât yet awakened, so sheâd taken this time to pray, as her friend, Clara, had once suggested.
Her shaking hand found the door and she shut it quietly. Her other hand grasped the cut ends of the thin thatch that reached from the roof peak almost to the ground. In this village, âtwas cheaper to grow thatch for roofs than to make daub for walls, so the hutâs walls were short, barely coming to her shoulders. Only those in the manor house were rich enough to have fine, straight walls that reached two stories up to the thick, warm thatch above.
Stepping forward, Rowena gaped at the devastation around her. How could someone have ruined her harvest? And in the middle of the night?Aye, the villagers gave her the cold shoulder, but to move to such destruction? Why?
Gasping, she tossed off the hood of her cloak and forced the crisp air into her lungs to conquer the wash of panic. Last night, when sheâd locked up for the evening, sheâd wondered if there would be a killing frost, but had remembered with gratitude that she had a good amount of roots dug and neatly stored under mounds of straw, and enough herbs drying to make strong pottages. With the pair of rabbits and the hen Lady Ediva had given her, sheâd truly believed that she and her babe would not just survive the winter, but mayhap even flourish.
Nay, this cannot be happening!
Rowena bit back tears as she stepped toward what was left of her garden. The heavy dew soaked through her thin shoes, and her heart hung like the wet hem of her cyrtel and cloak. All her hard work of collecting herbs and gathering straw and burying roots in frost-proof mounds was for naught.
As she looked to her right, wisps of her pale hair danced across her cheek. Both the rabbit hutch and henhouse had been torn apart, the animals long gone. Someone had wrenched off the doors and crushed the early morningâs egg beneath the hard heel of a heavy boot. Chicken feathers flipped in the misty breeze.
