So Speaks the Heart (5 page)

“Will you come into the hall. Sir Knight? The Lady Druoda will be pleased that you have returned her…property.”

H
ildegard quickly explained to Druoda while the knight sat by himself at a table in the great hall. He was pleased with the wine and food set out for him.

Hildegard giggled, her eye cautiously on their guest. “I gave him wine with a little powder to loosen his tongue.”

“You drugged him?”

“We need to know what he has heard of Louroux, do we not? He is still upright, but he will not be for long. Come.”

“I will see to the Norman. I have something more important for you to do,” Druoda said, glancing venomously in the direction of Brigitte's quarters. “The girl almost succeeded in escaping today, even with those fools I hired to prevent it. If not for the knight, she would have succeeded, and all we have achieved would be lost even now. Ten lashes will make her think before she tries again.”

“You want her beaten?”

“Severely. Be sure to bind her mouth. I do not want the whole manor to know about it, but I want her to suffer as much pain as possible so that she will be in no condition to escape again. Do not draw
blood. Wilhelm would not want his bride marred.” Druoda smiled at her old friend. “I am sure he will take pleasure in marring her himself, if what I have heard about him is true.”

Druoda approached the knight. His eyes were closed, and his head was tilting downward, as if he were fighting to stay awake.

“I owe you my thanks,” Druoda pronounced imperiously as she came forward.

His eyes opened, but it took several moments for them to focus. He was a formidable looking young man, with a rough handsomeness that was striking. A strong, aggressive chin, beardless, but with a day's stubble darkening it, sharp, aquiline nose, eyes of a sapphire hue. Yes, he was indeed handsome.

“You are the lady of Louroux?”

“I am.”

Rowland shook his head to clear his vision, but the image before him did not change. The large, bulky woman seemed nearly twice his age, and she was not the picture of Quintin de Louroux's sister that he had carried in his mind. Why had he expected a comely lady, or at least a young one?

“I bring you glad tidings, mistress,” Rowland blurted. “Your brother lives.”

“You are mistaken, Sir Knight,” Druoda replied curtly. “I have no brother.”

Rowland stood up, his vision blurred again, and he fell back on the bench, cursing the woman silently for keeping him waiting and for serving such strong wine. “I know you think your brother is dead, but I am here to tell you this is not so. Quintin de Louroux is very much alive.”

“Quintin…lives!” Druoda sank down onto the
bench beside the Norman knight. “How—how is it possible?”

“Your brother's squire left him for dead, but the fool was so anxious to be away from the fighting that he did not make sure of his master's death. Your brother was found by some fishermen and taken to their village. It took a long time, but he recovered.”

Druoda quickly gathered her wits. There was no need to panic. This man obviously thought she was Quintin's sister.

“Where is…my dear brother now?”

“In Arles, where I have just come from. I was going north, and so he bid me stop and bring you the news since he has been delayed. He was most eager that you not grieve for him any longer than necessary.”

“He has been delayed? When can I anticipate his return?”

“A month, perhaps less.”

Druoda rose. “You have been most kind in coming here to bring me these joyful tidings. I am indeed grateful.”

“Lady, I am in your brother's debt, so this was only a small favor.”

“His debt?”

“Your brother saved my life.”

Druoda did not care to waste time prodding him for his story. “You will of course be my guest this night. I will send you a young wench for company.”

Rowland tried to stand once again, and this time he succeeded. “Thank you, lady.”

Druoda smiled, bade him good night politely, and left him to wait for Hildegard, who would show him to his quarters.

She met Hildegard in the courtyard. “Has the girl been taken care of?”

“Did you not hear the howls of her dog because of it? I am glad that beast is penned.”

“Be damned, Hildegard! Then someone knows what you were doing!” Druoda snapped.

“Only the dog with his keen hearing,” Hildegard assured her. “No one else was there to hear how greatly she suffered.” Then Hildegard asked, “What news did the Norman bring?”

“The worst. Hurry and show him to a room, then join me. We have much to do.”

Hildegard did as she was told. She found Druoda in her room, nervously pacing the floor.

“What has happened?”

“Quintin is alive.”

“Oh, no!” Hildegard cried. “He will kill us!”

“Silence, woman!” Druoda rasped. “I have killed before this. If I must I shall do so again to keep what I have gained. I will not have everything taken from me. My nephew will come here in a few weeks, or so the Norman says.”

“If he comes here, Brigitte will tell him everything,” Hildegard cried.

“She will not be here to tell him,” Druoda said firmly. “I will have her taken to Lord Wilhelm's to await the wedding there. Then I will go to Count Arnulf with the news of Quintin's death. We will have Brigitte married before he returns. And if I can arrange everything as I please, he will never return at all,” she said grimly.

B
rigitte lay motionless on her pallet, letting her tears fall freely. But crying only made her muscles jerk and the slightest movement was agony.

She still could not believe what they had done to her. She had only just finished washing her muddy clothes when Hildegard and the two guards burst into her room. She was stripped of her worn gown and gagged, and did not even have time to feel humiliated at being exposed to the two men before she was thrown face down on her mat and held fast by the guards. And then came the pain, as Hildegard let loose with her leather strap. It was as if fire licked across her back each time that strap came down, and she could do nothing but cry out against the gag in her mouth. She lost consciousness before she felt the last blow, and when she awoke she found herself alone, still naked.

She began to cry again, but only for a moment. She could not give up! She would just have to get her clothes with the sapphires sewn on them, and some food. Even now she was weak with hunger, not having eaten all day. She would have to force herself up off the pallet and try again to get away. This time she could take Wolff with her.

 

Rowland tossed fitfully in his sleep, troubled by a dream that had recurred for as long as he could remember. Dreams could be delightful or disquieting, some were even terrifying, but Rowland did not understand this one at all. It did not come to him often, at least not as frequently as it had in his youth, but it came when his mind was troubled.

The dream always began with a feeling of contentment. And then there would be faces, the face of a young man out of the dark, and then of a young woman, faces that Rowland had never seen except in the dream. The faces would be together, looking down on him from far above. But Rowland was never frightened of them. There was such warmth and happiness in those faces, happiness such as he had never known in his life. But then something would shatter the feeling of happiness, though he never knew what. The faces would disappear, and flashing scenes would take their place, along with a sense of desolation. Rowland would awaken with a terrible feeling of loss and not know why.

It was the same now. His tossing landed him on the floor, and he awoke abruptly, the dream still vivid.

Rowland pulled himself back up on the bed and shook his head. However long he had slept, it had not been long enough to clear the effects of the wine from his body.

He hated wine anyway. Why in the name of the blessed saints had he not asked for ale? Still drugged, he stumbled off the pallet and into the hallway. Rowland moved slowly through the dark corridor. A meager red glow filtered up the stairs from the hall below,
creating shadows along the walls. It was several moments before he got his bearings, and he looked in both directions, up and down, to see if anyone was there. He desperately needed some ale to clear his head.

Brigitte held her breath and pressed her back to the wall. She was only a few feet from him. Would he recognize her in the dark? She wanted to run, but her legs would not move. Her back still hurt, and if she ran now, she would have to go without Wolff, without her clothes, and without a horse. All she had managed so far was to gather food, which she had wrapped in a small bag. She stood stock-still, hardly daring to breathe.

Rowland saw her, and, though he failed to recognize her in the dark, he did see the long flaxen hair. He moved toward her. Ale fled from his mind. If he could not clear his head with ale, he could at least pass the night with the lovely young woman Druoda had obviously sent to him. It was, after all, only polite to entertain one's guest with a companion, and while this girl seemed a bit reluctant to join him, he would soon warm her.

Without speaking, Rowland pulled her into his room and closed the door. He did not let go of her for fear that he would lose her in the dark. But he loosened his hold when he heard her crying.

“I will not hurt you,” he said gently. “I do not give pain without reason, so you must not fear me.”

Rowland, still drugged, did not realize that he was slurring his words and that his French was interspersed with the old Norse tongue his father had taught him long ago.

“Is it my size that frightens you?” he asked, gazing
down at her small form. “I am not much different from any other man.” As he stood gazing down at her, he suddenly recognized her.

“Be damned, woman, you try my patience sorely! Have you not given enough trouble for one day? I will cajole you no more, but take what your mistress has sent me and be done with you!”

Brigitte had been terrified from the moment he began to speak, for Druoda's chamber was across from them, and she was sure she would hear. But she could not understand what he was saying. He was obviously drunk, slurring his words, but he was also using foreign words. His tone was harsh, and that was enough to make her see that she was again thwarted. There would be no escape for her tonight.

Her silence led Rowland to think she had acquiesced, and he began fumbling with his clothes. But the wine had slowed not only his wits. Desire was not there. So he toyed with the woman, shoving her down onto the pallet and opening her cloak, not in the least surprised to find her naked beneath. His fingers touched the smoothness of her legs and thighs, and the warmth between her legs. He continued his exploration roughly, moving toward her breasts. They were ample breasts, full and ripe for squeezing. There would be bruises there come morning, marks from the strength Rowland was using without realizing it.

But he was not hurting Brigitte. Nothing could hurt her. She had fainted the moment her back touched the pallet with such brutal force. She had been naked beneath the cloak because she could not bear to have anything touch her back. She had hardly
been able to stand the cloak. To touch her throbbing back to the rough pallet had been beyond endurance.

But Rowland did not know she was unconscious. Nor did he realize that his movements were slowing, or that he was nearly asleep. As soon as he positioned himself for thrusting, Rowland passed out.

E
arly the next day, Hildegard pounded on the Norman's door, wanting the knight away as soon as possible. A second later a terrified scream came from within, and Hildegard quickly threw open the door.

“God in Heaven!” she gasped, seeing Brigitte on the pallet beneath the Norman, their bodies naked and entwined. “Druoda will kill someone for this!”

She hurried from the room, leaving Brigitte and Rowland looking at each other, startled and embarrassed.

Brigitte pushed him away, moaning as she shoved her back into the mattress. The pain was not as bad as it had been, but her back was still sore. She had still not escaped Druoda, and it was this man who had stopped her twice.

All that had happened to her yesterday was terrible enough, and now it seemed she had also been raped. Was there ever a woman as cursed as she was? Raped, but thank God she had fainted and could not recall the act. For that single mercy, Brigitte was grateful.

Rowland got up without a word and dressed quickly. He could not help glancing down at the naked body that had been pressed so warmly against
his. He grunted. Her body had been pleasing to lie next to and to look upon, which was more than he could say for the rest of her. She was filthy and bedraggled. He could not even guess her age, though her body was firm and she had a sweetly shaped face. He recalled that her voice was young and musical, but he remembered little else about her. Embarrassed, he turned away from her appraising look.

Brigitte cleared her throat. “Do you know what you have done to me?”

“I know,” Rowland answered in a croaking voice. “What difference?” he added a bit more confidently as he strapped on his sword. “I cannot say it has been a pleasure. Frankly, I do not remember taking you.”

She was not sure she had heard correctly. “Not remember?”

“I was drunk,” he said flatly, there being nothing he could do but admit the truth.

She began to cry softly, and Rowland glanced around as though for help. He looked toward the door longingly, but just then she began laughing, and Rowland turned back to her. “Are you mad, wench?” He sounded bewildered.

“Perhaps I owe you thanks. After all, what is disgrace compared to what you have saved me from? Lord Wilhelm will not want me now that I have been raped by a drunken knight.”

Rowland had no time to reply, for Druoda burst into the room just then, Hildegard on her heels. Druoda was in a towering rage, which she turned on Brigitte.

“So! It is true! You have ruined my plans for you by giving yourself to this man!” Druoda screeched. “You will live to regret this, Brigitte!”

“I did not
give
myself to him, Druoda,” Brigitte said firmly. “He dragged me in here and raped me.”

“What?” Druoda exploded, her face turning a deep shade of red.

Brigitte got to her feet slowly, holding her mantle before her in modesty. She turned to Rowland. “Tell her how I came to be here.”

Rowland looked hard at Brigitte and then at Druoda. He began to see that he had made a mistake, had assumed too much at the very least. Not one to let others take the blame due him, he admitted, “It is as the wench claims. I found her near my room, and I assumed that she was meant for me. Hosts usually do send me a…”

“But what were you doing here?” Druoda cried, and Brigitte, thinking quickly, offered a partial truth.

“I came for food, since I ate little yesterday.”

“Food?” Druoda was having a difficult time believing all of this.

Brigitte pointed to the floor. “There it is, in that bag where I dropped it.” She prayed Druoda would not look inside, for the amount of food there was much more than Brigitte would need for one meal.

But Druoda was not concerned with incidentals.

“Why did you not scream, Brigitte? You wanted him to take you so you could ruin my plans for you!”

“No, that's not so!” Brigitte cried, equally frightened and indignant.

“Why did you not cry for help then?”

Brigitte lowered her head and whispered slowly, “Because I fainted.”

Rowland burst into laughter. “There is no harm done, mistress, if the wench cannot remember. Why, it is as though it never happened.”

“No harm!” Druoda screamed. “She was a virgin and promised to another.”

“A virgin!” Rowland gasped. This had not, apparently, occurred to him.

What in blazes had he gotten himself into?

His shocked reaction gave Druoda pause. “How could you not know that?”

“I was too…too drunk to take notice, that is how!” Rowland said brusquely, furious with himself all over again.

“That does not alter what you have done,” Druoda moaned bitterly.

Druoda began pacing the floor, ignoring the others. She ought to have killed the girl long ago, but it was too late now, for her disappearance would be questioned by the disappointed bridegroom. And what to do about him? He would not marry Brigitte now, for he wanted only a virgin.

But she had to get rid of Brigitte, and quickly, before Quintin returned.

“Druoda.” Hildegard stood next to her and whispered, “Give her to the knight and your problem is solved.”

“How?”

“He obviously thought she was a serf, and he still must think so. Send her away with him.”

“She will deny it once they are alone again,” Druoda whispered in return.

“She has probably done that already, but he did not believe her. He thinks her a thief and a liar, so you need only confirm his beliefs. Call her a liar. Make all the excuses you must so that he will take her away and not bring her back.”

“Hildegard, you are a wonder!” Druoda hissed gleefully.

“First, get him out of this room quickly before he sees that there is no virgin blood on the pallet.”

“What!”

“It seems Brigitte has dallied before this.”

Druoda stood stiffly, raging inside. Brigitte had fooled them all. Druoda supposed it was fortunate that this had happened, for Wilhelm d'Arsnay would have annulled the marriage as soon as he discovered the truth about his bride. Hildegard's suggestion was perfect. Brigitte would become a serf, and the Norman would take her away.

“Get to my chamber, Brigitte, and wait for me there,” Druoda snapped.

Brigitte's head came up sharply. “What of him?”

“Do as you are told!”

Without hesitating further, Brigitte picked up her bag of food from the floor and walked stiffly out of the room.

Druoda followed her to the door, waiting there until the knight's curiosity overcame his silence. She hadn't long to wait.

“What will you do to her?”

Druoda ignored his question and in her most imperious manner, looked about the room in disgust. “It stinks of lust here,” she said distastefully, and abruptly left the room.

Rowland took off after her, stopping her as soon as she reached the hall below. “I asked what you will do. She has other faults, I know, but she is innocent of all blame here. Do not hurt her.”

“I know who is to blame,” Druoda said slowly, her eyes condemning him.

“An honest mistake, lady. You did promise me a woman for the night, unless I remember that incorrectly.”

Druoda sighed impatiently. “You should have waited for the girl I intended, not taken this one, whose only value was her innocence.”

“A serf's value is not measured by virtue.”

“This one's was. She is a teller of tales—a liar, to speak plainly.”

“What will you do with her?”

“I will do nothing with her at all. She is yours now, bound with my blessing.”

Rowland shook his head slowly. “No, lady, I do not want her.”

“You wanted her well enough last night,” she reminded him sharply. “I had a lord far from here who was willing to take her simply because she was innocent. Now that is no longer possible, but I will not have her here. If you do not take her, I will have her stoned for the whore you have made of her. I am within my rights as her mistress to do so.”

“Surely you cannot do such a thing.”

“You do not understand, Sir Rowland.” Druoda thought quickly. “That girl was my brother's weakness. He was enamored of her and treated her as he would a lady. That is why she is so troublesome. She thinks herself above her station. She was born a serf, but my brother's attentions made her vain.”

“If your brother loves her, then she should be here when he returns.”

“And have him learn that the man he sent here in good faith has raped her? He was saving her for himself,” Druoda said slyly. “Quintin is a fool when it comes to that girl. I did not want to admit this,
for it shames me, but my brother contemplates marriage to her. I must get her away from here. I can't have that girl here when he returns and risk his marrying a serf. You take her—and make sure she never returns here—or I shall kill her.”

Rowland knew himself entirely helpless, trapped with a servant he did not need, who would be a hindrance to him on his journey home. Yet he had no choice. He could not let her die.

“I go to ready my horse, lady,” he gritted angrily. “Have the girl sent to the stable and I will take her.”

“Do not sound so put out, Sir Knight. I am sure you will have better luck than I in breaking her of her haughty airs, and once she is tamed she will serve your needs well.”

Seeing that Rowland was not in the least mollified, Druoda added, “I am truly sorry then that your visit has ended this way. And let me advise you about something. You will avoid much trouble with the girl if you do not tell her that her lord lives.”

“Why?”

“She thinks Quintin is dead. If she knew that he is alive, she would do anything to find him. If you consider him your friend, I do not think you would want that any more than I do.”

Rowland groaned. It would be a fine thing for Quintin to learn that Rowland bedded the girl he had planned to marry, serf or not.

“You have my word. She will never return.”

As soon as Rowland had left the hall, Druoda summoned Hildegard. Their amusement knew no bounds.

“Go and help Brigitte gather some possessions. She is to meet her new lord in the stable. He will
wait for her, but not overly long, so make sure she hurries.” Druoda's face gleamed.

“But what if she will not go with him?” Hildegard asked.

“Tell her that I relinquish my guardianship. She will be so pleased that she will not question her good luck until it is too late. Explain that the Norman is remorseful over what he has done, and insists he be allowed to see her safely to Count Arnulf, who is reported to be visiting the Duke of Maine.”

“But Arnulf is not away.”

“Of course not, but if she thinks he is, she will not question the direction the Norman takes until they pass Maine. And once she is that far north, even if she manages to escape the Norman, she can hardly return alone to Berry.” Druoda smiled. At last, everything had fallen into place!