Sheltered by the Warrior (Viking Warriors Book 3) (Historical Romance) by Barbara Phinney

Author:Barbara Phinney [Phinney, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857996619
Publisher: Love Inspired Historical
Published: 2015-02-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Her roof was done! Having just arrived despite the late hour, Rowena looked up with immense satisfaction. A thankful smile curled her mouth upward as she murmured a prayer of gratitude to God. She was home again. And as she looked around, she saw the new pallet Ellie had brought, one filled with fresh straw. ’Twasn’t as plump as the ones in the maids’ chamber, for straw was scarce this time of year. But still, ’twas a gift from Lady Josane, and ’twas thankfully received.

Her smile sagged. Despite her delay at returning home, she knew why she was here. She’d asked Ellie to mind Andrew for one more night. As she sat on her single bench, she strained to hear the world outside. Only the lone call of some distant bird reached her.

She lit both the lamp and a small fire from a spark box she’d found on the mantel.

The bird called again, and the urge to return to the manor house reared up with the unfamiliar sound. She took her lamp and walked outside. The bird repeated its call. ’Twas closer, she was sure, and not a breed she recognized. Rowena rounded the back of her hut, where her retted stalks lay in the trough under the eaves. The past day had been warm and dry, and she noticed the level of water had dropped considerably.

Setting her lamp on the trough’s corner, she peered into it. Along the side where she’d smeared the tow fibers up and out of the way was now a layer of something grayish and cloth-like. She carefully peeled it from the wood. ’Twas barely wet, thanks to the dry day.

It looked like bumpy parchment, a sheet of something upon which one would write a missive. Intrigued, and glad for the diversion, Rowena returned to her hut. She smoothed it out on the table and, finding a stick of charcoal from the cool edge of her little fire, drew a line along the driest corner.

Oh, if she only knew her letters, this strange parchment would be perfect. Allowing her mind to wander, she began a simple sketch. Around and up again she drew, wondering if making this parchment could become a source of income. Mayhap she could sell the sheets, with quill-like bits of charcoal, or exchange them for reading and writing lessons for her son.

Rowena stopped her sketching. She’d drawn a profile of a man. Of Stephen. Setting it away, she swallowed, then lifted the sheet again. She could draw? Who would have guessed?

A noise sounded outside. She froze. ’Twas not that odd bird she’d heard earlier. Taking her lamp, she eased open her door and peeked out, hoping only an animal had brushed against her hut. Somewhere out in her yard came the quiet clucking of her now-freed hen. Rowena stood still as stone, listening, but her heart thumped so loud she was sure the whole village could hear it. To her left, above the distant manor house, the full moon had risen.

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