The Saxon Bride (The Norman Conquest Series) by Ashley York Page A

logs hissed as if in answer to such an absurd question.
    "I do not know," Rowena answered just as quietly, her own emotions still in turmoil. What did she want? She needed rest.
    "You knew well enough when he wasn't here."
    Rowena had often gone on little rants when she felt particularly lonely and put upon. Not allowed to act as lady of the manor left her with too much time on her hands. During her bouts of selfishness, she spoke of her abandonment by a husband who had total say over her but didn't even show his face. What Joan didn't know was that Rowena had come close to asking Arthur to be her lover, desperate to overcome her loneliness. She had spent the next two weeks in the chapel, three times a day, asking for forgiveness for her transgression.
    "Now that he is here, though…" Rowena stopped midsentence.
    "It is just shyness, my lady. He is your husband." Joan took her hands in a motherly gesture. Her voice was quietly reassuring. "You do not need to be afraid of him. He is ordered by God to love you and care for you, as his own body even."
    Rowena snorted at the suggestion. "Where has he been then ? Do you know he questioned me about Arthur?"
    Joan's tone quickly changed to disapproval. "Arthur is too protective of you."
    "Someone has had to be." Rowena knew her defense was weak. True, she had been left unprotected but surrounded by Norman wolves since the death of her father. Her only memory of that day was crying over his blood-soaked body. These wolves would as soon devour her as look at her. Remembering the cypress tree, Rowena was almost afraid to ask but knew she had to. "Was it John who told you my mother's tree was diseased?"
    "Oh, no, my lady!" Joan was quite adamant. "I am sure the man had lighter hair."
    "You are sure?"
    "Well, I am almost sure. I do not really remember. What reason would he have?"
    "Because he hates all things Saxon?"
    Joan frowned as she considered this. She began to slowly shake her head as she spoke. "No, your husband does not seem to harbor any malice against the Saxons. Why the rest of the Normans amongst us do seems strange to me."
    Rowena blew a puff of air in exasperation. She knew nothing about her husband. Joan was correct in her assessment of John's apparent fairness to the Saxons. Word of his visit to the injured boy had come to her. She'd swelled with pride that her husband would care for her people so.
    "I do not want to turn Arthur completely away from me. I need him as an ally in case John does not stay." Rowena struggled with how she felt about the man who had been so very protective of her.
    "I would not suggest you count him as an ally against your husband and his people. If he is inappropriately attentive, he may find himself at odds with his lordship."
    "What would make you think his lordship would care?"
    "Do you not understand that is why he questioned you about Arthur?"
    "I thought it was more that he owned me and no one else could have me. Even if that meant that no one had me." Rowena pushed herself away from the table, her agitation getting the better of her. If what Peter had told her was true, and she had no reason to doubt his sincerity, John would defend her always.
    Pacing the small area like a confined animal, she finally paused to look out the window. The dreary day reflected her feelings, rain threatening at any moment. "Do you know when my husband will be returning?"
    "I am back now."
    John stood in the doorway handsomely dressed as befit the new Lord of Essex. Rowena's breath caught in her throat. She looked away before the immense pleasure she felt at his return showed on her face.
    Joan quickly gathered her sewing and removed herself from the room, closing the door behind her.
    "Will you attend me, my lady?"
    Rowena went to him and helped him remove his surcoat before seeing to the heavier chainmail. He smelled like horses and leather. Manly. Rowena tried not to close her eyes as she drank in the intoxicating smell of him. Why would a dirty, sweaty