Fearless by Tamara Leigh

Author:Tamara Leigh [Leigh, Tamara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Medieval
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Wulfenshire Rebel Camp

England

Speak, Rosa.”

Though she sealed her lips, she would reveal what he asked of her—and what he was certain she had come to tell. As ever, she required coaxing to relieve her of guilt over confiding in a Norman.

“Ill has befallen your lady, aye?”

Her widening eyes confirmation, Guarin wished he was concerned only for how it would affect the good amongst the rebels. But he saw Hawisa again, felt how well she fit his arms, recalled her mouth beneath his, and was moved as only she had ever moved him.

Muscles tightening beyond the rigor to which he had recently subjected them, he prompted, “She is too long absent to be well, Rosa. It has been…” He feigned numbering the days since telling Hawisa to go home and heal. Was she gravely ill because she had not? Likely. Her leadership of the rebels on shifting sand, only the inability to rise from bed would keep her from doing so.

Hoping he did not know her as well as believed, he said, “It has been a fortnight since she was here, aye?”

Rosa’s brow cramped. “I believe.”

Fifteen days, he silently corrected. Feeling every tedious sunrise in this loathsome cave, he shifted on the folded mantle that had long lost the scent of its owner and eased back against the cool stone. “Tell, Rosa, else leave me to my own good company.”

Her teeth plucked at her lower lip, then she stepped alongside and lowered to sitting. “I know not all, but what I do know took much effort to listen in on, and ’tis not good.”

He shrugged, which often greased her tongue.

“That man came again,” she hissed.

Gytha’s man, as ever she referred to him. Counseling patience since pushing Rosa first in the direction of her lady’s health could close her up, Guarin nodded for her to continue.

“He told Jaxon my lady met with the Norman warrior finally come to claim the barony given by your king—those Wulfrith lands known as Stern.”

Anger over the theft of Hawisa’s lands nearly made him curse. Certes, if Rosa knew his mind in this moment, she would more quickly spill her tale in the belief she did so to a fellow Saxon.

“Most curious,” she said, “this new baron of England shares your name.”

It was difficult not to react to that, but he maintained a passive enough expression she continued, “Either D’Argent is a common name in Normandy, else he is a relation of yours.”

One finally come to claim his reward, meaning Hawisa knew all along one of his brothers—or cousin—was to become her neighbor. Another shrug to mask anger, then a lie. “A common name, though mayhap he is known to me.”

Far more believable a lie, his uncle had instructed, when truth is sprinkled on it. Guarin had mostly eschewed such advice as his sire would have him do—until Hawisa Wulfrithdotter.

“Know you one named Cyr?” Rosa asked.

He drew a slow breath. “I have heard of one.” Silently, he added, Only one. And I know him well, indeed. “You say this Cyr D’Argent met with your lady?”

She nodded.

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