Free Elaine Barbieri by the Rose, the Shield

degree.
    Yea,
feminine
…
    Confusion reigned. Drawing himself up short, Dagan clamped his lips tightly shut.
    “Your stomach will hold no more?” Ross frowned.
    “Nay.” Dagan shook his head, determined to clear it.
    “Then I will leave you now.”
    “Leave?” Dagan’s eyes narrowed. He paused and then said, “Then two days have indeed elapsed since we were visited by the baron.”
    Surprised that he recalled the baron’s visit, Rosamund replied, “That is correct.”
    “You must return to be with Hadley today or suffer the baron’s disapproval, is that not also correct?”
    “I did not realize you had heard what the baron said.”
    “I heard him threaten you.”
    “I do not fear his threats.”
    “You should. I am acquainted with the influence he possesses.”
    “Are you? Then you also know how the people of Hendsmille despise his treatment of them, how he imposes his will on them and curtails even the simplest freedoms while still claiming to be a fair and honest holder of the land awarded to him by William in reward for the shedding of innocent blood.”
    When Dagan did not reply, Ross continued, “You are already acquainted with the wrath of his soldiers, since it was most likely they who sought to steal your war horse from you.”
    “Conqueror…”
    “Yea, Conqueror.”
    “The animal maintains his strength?”
    “Yea, and tolerates me as you commanded.”
    When Dagan did not respond, Ross said, “I will dress your chest wound, and then go to the building grounds—but not out of fear for myself. Rather, it is my father’s fate and the fates of others that I do not trust tothe baron’s savage idiosyncrasies. My father awaits me there, and you are well enough to tolerate my absence until the midday meal, when I will return briefly.”
    Dagan raised his chin and said, “I am well. I will dress and I will—”
    Ross’s eyes widened. He slapped the bowl down on the floor and said, “You will sleep on that mattress until I return or I will not leave!”
    Dagan countered, “The baron insists that you go back to work today.”
    “I do not care what the baron says.”
    “It is wise to care.”
    “I have not always been accused of being wise, but I have always been accused of being stubborn. I will not leave unless you promise that you will rest until I return.”
    “And if the baron comes to force you back to work?”
    “I will handle him.”
    Dagan admired the determination in Ross’s eye. He could not help but feel amused that such a slender youth should attempt to threaten him, even in his weakened state, or that Ross would believe he could face down the baron’s might.
    “I will rest until you return,” Dagan responded.
    “You give me your word?”
    “Yea, I do.”
    Picking up nearby strips of cloth, Ross bandaged his chest wound, looking up unexpectedly to say, “It occurs to me that although I have tended your wounds, I know little more about you than your given name. The baron may ask for more information. I feel it would bewise to reply, for your sake, and so that I may function without hindrance.”
    Ross waited for his response. Reluctant to respond with the name Sir Dagan de Lance, since it so clearly declared the Norman side of his heritage, Dagan instinctively replied with his mother’s maiden name.
    “My name is Dagan
Waterford
.” Dagan added, “My home was originally in Horstede, but I live there no longer.”
    “You need say no more.” Ross stood up. “I am aware of the devastation of that shire, and of the hatred that the few survivors bear for the Normans.” Ross paused. “Rest. Your time will come.”
    He left the hut with Dagan frowning behind him.
    Hyacinthe Dupree watched Baron Guilbert de Silva pace as she paused silently in the doorway of his quarters. She knew that the day presently dawning was one that he had anticipated. She had seen his temperament fluctuate between anger, anticipation, annoyance, and impatience, but she had sensed there was more.