So Speaks the Heart (11 page)

“No.”

“Then tell me what I did so that I will be sure not to do it again!” she said hotly.

Rowland laughed heartily. “Ah, little jewel, you are so innocent. Just being near you entices me. Do you not know how very beautiful you are?”

“You must stay away from me.”

“Oh, no, Brigitte,” he replied, shaking his head slowly but adamantly. “You are every man's dream, but only one man's treasure—mine. I will not stay away from you.”

“I am not yours, Rowland.” She struggled away and moved backward a couple of feet. “I will never be yours.”

Rowland slammed a fist against his thigh. “Why do you hate me so?” he cried in exasperation.

“You know why.”

“I have said I will change.”

“You said so, and immediately afterward you grabbed me again. I cannot believe what you say.”

“You judge me harshly, Brigitte. What happened just now was beyond my control.”

“Must I live in continual fear then? I want to know now, Rowland.”

He frowned darkly. He could not tell her truthfully that he would never force her again, for, although he did not want it to be that way, he knew now just how little control over himself he had where she was concerned. But, damn, he did not want her to fear him either. And it angered him that she should fear him.

“Well, Rowland?”

He turned away in agitation. “Do not push me, wench!” he barked.

Her eyes pleaded with him. “I must have an answer.”

“I will have to think on it. Now let us go,” he snapped. “It is time for a meal.”

T
he hall was not as crowded that morning, but Luthor was there and called Rowland to join him.

Brigitte went to the cooking fire. A large room near the hearth was where food was stored and prepared. All the utensils for cooking were kept there; iron and leather cauldrons, salt basins, bread bins. Tankards and silver ewers were stacked on shelves, and a buffet held pots of tin, lead, and iron and plates of wood and lead. Spices were arranged on shelves, and barrels of grain stood in the back of the room. A large table near the entrance was filled with cheese and freshly baked bread just then, beside a huge cauldron of apple cider.

Brigitte brought a large portion of cheese and bread to Rowland without being asked, but quickly left him once she set the food down. She sat by the fire, where a gruel of barley and oats was being ladled for the servants, and accepted a bowl from Goda, along with a chunk of rye bread. It was servants' food, but she did not mind. She was in too great a turmoil to care much about food.

As soon as Rowland left the hall, she asked Goda where she would find strong soap and cleaning materials, and she hurried to his chamber. She spent
the rest of the day there, cleaning and straightening his things. He had few clothes, but valuable possessions filled his chests: rare glassware, jewels and gold, tapestries of eastern design, and so much fine cloth that she began to wonder if he planned to become a merchant.

His room turned out to be comfortable and attractive once Brigitte finished with it. The skins covering the windows kept out the cold, but still allowed light to enter. The rug on the floor was a novelty of fur pelts which warmed the feet and was far nicer than rushes. The large bed had feather pillows, linen sheets, and a thick eiderdown covering.

Brigitte saved the straightening of that bed for last, reluctant to even go near it. She could not help wondering how long it would be before she slept there. It was what Rowland wanted. He had made that plain enough.

Brigitte grew nervous as the light faded and the time to return to the hall drew near. It had been so much easier contending with Rowland when they were traveling. She had accepted his harshness and took refuge in her anger. But this was a different Rowland, one actually mindful of hurting her. It had thrown her, for she hardly knew how to behave any longer.

Brigitte returned to the great hall with a heavy heart, knowing full well what she would have to do. Even nature was against her, but that could not be helped. She would rather risk freezing to death by fleeing than stay here to await Rowland's pleasure.

Even with the hall crowded, Brigitte saw quickly that Rowland was not there yet. She helped herself to a trencher of food and sat down on an empty bench
against the wall, hoping to be finished before he arrived. She could serve him quickly and retire to her room. If what he said was true, and she tempted him by just being near, then she had only this night to worry about, for she would be gone on the morrow.

She saw Wolff by the lord's table. Luthor himself was tossing scraps of meat to him. But when her pet saw her, he bounded over to sit by her, and she greeted him with a smile. Another hound approached, drawn by the smell of her food, but Wolff snapped him away and settled at her feet.

She leaned down and petted him. “I see you are being taken care of by the Lord himself. But do not get too fond of this place, for we will not be staying.”

He licked her hand and she frowned. “You will not change my mind this time, Wolff.”

Too late Brigitte realized she was speaking aloud, and she glanced up quickly. But she was alone except for Wolff. She looked farther to see if Rowland had entered while she was distracted, but he still had not come in for dinner.

At the lord's table there was a handsome young knight she had not seen before. Her eyes rested on him for a moment, but he sensed her gaze and looked over at her, smiling. He rose and came toward her.

“My lady.” He bowed before her. “I am Sir Gui of Falaise. I was not told we had guests.”

Brigitte knew who he was. Luthor's vassal, he had been sent to find Rowland and bring him home.

“Has no one told you who I am, Sir Gui?” she asked gently.

“I only just returned from patrol, lady,” he explained. Then he grinned. “But this hall has never been graced by such beauty. It was remiss of Lord
Luthor not to mention you.” His green eyes twinkled down at her.

“You are kind,” Brigitte said shyly.

“Tell me,” he smiled, “what is the name of one so lovely?”

Brigitte hesitated. He had called her lady. He thought her a lady. So why should she not tell him the truth?

“I am Lady Brigitte de Louroux,” she said quietly.

“Who is your lord? I may know him.”

“Count Arnulf of Berry is my lord now,” she said easily, as if no one would dare doubt it.

“You are here with him?”

“No.”

“Pray, do not tell me you have a husband who brings you here,” Gui said in obvious disappointment.

“I have no husband,” Brigitte replied, then decided to tell the whole truth. “Sir Rowland brought me here against my will.”

Gui's handsome face registered surprise and confusion. “Rowland? I do not understand.”

“It is difficult to explain, Sir Gui,” Brigitte said, uncomfortable.

He sat down beside her. “You must tell me. If Rowland has abducted you—

“Rowland is not wholly at fault,” she admitted reluctantly. “You see, my father was the Baron de Louroux, and my brother after him.” She told Gui her story, and he gazed, in rapt attention, until she had finished.

“But Rowland is no fool,” Gui protested. “Surely he could see you are a lady, no matter what Druoda told him.”

Brigitte sighed. “There were many things that made him believe Druoda instead of me.”

“Rowland must be made to see the wrong he has done,” Gui said earnestly.

“I have tried, Sir Gui, truly, but to no avail. Rowland likes me as his servant, and I believe he prefers to ignore the truth because the truth does not suit him.” Gui smiled at that, for it was a fine description of his friend's temperament.

The large hardwood door at the front of the hall swung open then, and Rowland entered. Brigitte rose quickly, beginning to doubt now the wisdom of what she had just done. But what really
had
she done but tell the truth? And Sir Gui believed her. He might become her champion.

“Rowland is here,” Brigitte said to her new friend. “I must get his food.”

Gui rose indignantly. “No, Lady Brigitte. You must not serve like a common serf.”

“Oh, but I must,” she replied, “or he will beat me.”

Gui's face reddened in outrage as she turned and hurried away. She filled a large trencher full of black pudding, sausage, and small game, and quickly looked back just in time to see Rowland greet Gui cheerfully and Gui's cold response.

Brigitte took Rowland's food and ale to the lord's table, sneaking quick looks back at the two men who had begun to have heated words. Others were looking their way too, and she became increasingly nervous. If only she could hear what they were saying! But she did not dare go near them.

“What mischief have you brewed, wench?”

Brigitte caught her breath and turned to Luthor.

“I know not what you mean, milord.” She answered him firmly but was unable to meet his gaze.

“I saw you speaking to my vassal, and now he is arguing with my son. Those two are friends, girl. They have never argued before.”

“I have done nothing that I regret,” Brigitte replied adamantly as she set the food down.

Luthor rose from the large oak table and drew her aside. “Whatever you have done had better not bring about a challenge. I would not care to lose a good man, not when I have a battle brewing.”

“Is that all your son is to you, a good man to fight for you?”

“I speak of Sir Gui, wench, for there is no doubt who the victor would be. If I thought my son was in danger because of you, I would have you flayed alive, lady or not.”

Brigitte's eyes widened. He knew! Damn him, he knew she was a lady, yet he was going to let Rowland keep her, fully aware that he had no right to.

“You are despicable!” Brigitte hissed furiously. “You know what I am, yet you go along with the injustice your son does me!”

Luthor chuckled. “It matters little to me. Rowland claims you as his servant, and so you are. I will not dispute him over it.”

“But he is wrong!” Brigitte cried.

“Understand me, damosel. A man needs a son to follow after him and take his place when he is gone. But besides that, I need my son beside me to fight for my fief. I take pride in what I have made of him. I almost lost him over some foolishness years ago, and only this coming battle with my son-in-law has
brought him back. But he is back, and I will not risk losing him again.”

“Brigitte!”

She shrank at the thunderous sound and turned to see Rowland coming toward her, his face a black mask of rage. She felt her knees weaken.

“Ah, damosel,” Luthor said almost sadly. “I fear now you will regret whatever it is you claim you didn't do.”

Her eyes flashed at him. “And you would let him beat me too, wouldn't you?”

“You are not my responsibility, girl,” said the older man, turning away.

“Do not hide near my father, wench,” Rowland growled. “He will not help you.”

Brigitte spoke calmly, desperate to hide her fear. “I did not expect him to. He has already told me he approves anything you do.”

“So you
have
asked him for help?”

“No, Rowland,” Luthor interjected. “She did not come to me. I spoke to her first.”

“Do not defend her, sire,” Rowland warned coldly.

Luthor hesitated for only a second, then bowed and left them standing alone on the dais. Rowland grabbed Brigitte's arm and made as if to strike her. She panicked, but instead of moving away, she threw herself at him. Her fingers hooked into his tunic, and she pressed closely enough to feel the heat of his hard, unyielding body.

“If you must beat me, Rowland, use a whip,” she whispered. “I could not survive a blow from your fist, not when you are so angry. You will kill me.”

“Be damned!” he growled, moving to pry her fingers loose.

But she held tight. “No! You are angry and do not know your own strength. You would kill me with your fists. Is that what you want?”

“Let go, Brigitte,” Rowland commanded, though his anger had begun to dissipate.

She heard the change in his tone. And then she felt the change in his body, and saw the gleam in his eye. She pushed away from him, one fear being replaced by another.

“I… I did not mean to throw myself at you,” she said lamely.

Rowland sighed. “Get to your room. You have caused enough trouble here today.”

“It was not my intention to cause trouble,” she offered in a reasonable tone.

But his eyes darkened, and his body grew stiff again. “Get out of my sight, woman, before I change my mind!”

She called Wolff, then left through the door leading to the stable, for the front portal was too heavy for her to open. Once out of the hall, she shivered. How very close she had come to a sound beating! But why was Rowland so angry? What had been said between him and Sir Gui?

She passed through the stable and noticed Rowland's horse there with four others she did not recall seeing before. No doubt those horses belonged to Sir Gui and the others who had been on patrol. But Luthor commanded many men. She wondered where the rest of the horses were kept. But she did not pursue the question. As long as there was at least one horse here she could take with her later, that was all she cared about.

Brigitte pulled her hood up and drew her mantle
closer together before she crossed the bailey to her small hut. It had not snowed that day, but the air was icy. In this weather she would find running away difficult. But she was stubbornly determined, more so now than ever before.

Her room was cold and dark, and there would be no brazier of hot coals for her that night. Without coals or a candle to see by—for those precious items were not wasted on servants— Brigitte had no choice but to go to bed. At least she would be warmer in bed. She did not remove her garments, for she did not want to waste time dressing when the hour to leave arrived.

She heard Wolff moving around in the dark and snapped at him. “Settle down and sleep while you can, for we will not rest once we leave here. And that will be soon, my pet, as soon as all grows quiet.”