So Speaks the Heart (2 page)

Quintin was delighted. A knight's life was war, and he had been idle for more than a year. He took most of his own vassals and their men, and half of the soldiers who manned the keep. He left behind only Sir Charles and Sir Einhard, who were old and prone to frequent illness, and Sir Stephen, one of the household knights.

And so Quintin rode away one bright morning, and that was the last Brigitte ever saw of her half brother. She could not say exactly when it was that Quintin's squire, Hugh, brought the news of Quintin's death. She knew only that it had been several months since she came out of shock and was told that weeks had passed that she was unaware of. She could remember Hugh's words clearly enough. “Lord
Quitin fell when the French nobles attacked one of the pirate bases at the mouth of the Rhone.” Her pain never left her.

Brigitte was too stunned by all the deaths in her family to see the changes taking place in her home, or to wonder why Quintin's vassals did not return, or why Hugh had gone back to the south coast. Mavis tried to tell her that she had to notice the changes, particularly the change in Druoda. But it was not until Brigitte found Wolff penned up with the other dogs that she began to understand.

Brigitte confronted Druoda. It was then she realized for the first time that Druoda was not the woman Brigitte had assumed she knew.

“Do not bother me with trifles, girl! I have important matters on my mind,” Druoda said imperiously.

Brigitte's temper rose. “By what right—?”

“By every right!” Druoda cut her off. “As your brother's only kin, as
your
only kin, I have every right to assume authority here. You are still a maiden and must have a guardian. Naturally, Walafrid and I shall be appointed.”

“No!” Brigitte retorted. “Count Arnulf will be my guardian. He will see to my interests.”

Druoda was six inches taller than Brigitte, and she moved closer to tower over her. “My girl, you will hardly have a say in the matter. Maidens do not choose their guardians. Now, if you were without kin, then Count Arnulf, as your brother's seignior, would be your guardian. But you are not alone, Brigitte,” Druoda smiled and added smugly. “You have me and Walafrid. Count Arnulf will make us your guardians.”

“I will speak to him,” Brigitte replied confidently.

“How? You cannot leave Louroux without an escort, and I can see that I will have to deny you one. And Count Arnulf will not come here, for he does not know yet that Quintin is dead.”

Brigitte gasped. “Why was he not told?”

“I thought it best to wait,” Druoda said carelessly. “Until you are betrothed. No need to bother such a busy man with finding you a suitable husband, when I am perfectly able to do so without his help.”

“You choose? Never!” Brigitte's voice rose indignantly. “I will choose my own husband. My father promised me my choice, and Quintin agreed. Count Arnulf knows this.”

“Do not be absurd. A girl your age is too young to make such an important decision. The idea!”

“I will not marry at all then!” Brigitte said impulsively. “I will enter a nunnery!”

Druoda smiled and began pacing, thinking as she spoke. “Will you indeed? A lady who has not labored at anything more difficult than a spinning wheel? Well then, if you wish to be a novice, you can begin your training immediately.” Druoda smiled again. “You did not know a novice labors day and night like a common servant?”

Brigitte raised her chin defiantly, but she did not reply.

“You can begin your training here and now. Yes, it might do much to improve your attitude.”

Brigitte stubbornly agreed. She would show Druoda that she would make a fine novice. Nor did she back down a few days later when she returned to her chamber to find her possessions gone and Druoda waiting to tell her that novices were not
allowed fine lodgings and that she would henceforth live in one of the servants' huts across the courtyard.

Still, Brigitte never considered leaving. Not even when she asked Sir Stephen to take a message to Count Arnulf and he refused did she think of going to the Count alone. But when Mavis was turned out with only the clothes on her back, Brigitte had to be locked up to be stopped from going with her. After three days, Brigitte was released.

The time lost did not stop Brigitte. She went directly to the stable, unmindful of the consequences of leaving the manor alone. The dangers were pointed out explicitly by Leandor, the Louroux bailiff, when he found her readying her mount.

“Leave and risk rape and murder,” Leandor had said, angry at Brigitte's foolishness. “Lady, I cannot let you go alone.”

“I
will
go, Leandor,” Brigitte had said determinedly. “If I cannot find Mavis near, then I will ride to Count Arnulf's castle and enlist his aid. It is way past time he knew of the foul deeds of my brother's aunt. I should have gone sooner.”

“And if you are attacked?”

“No one would dare. The penalty for harming a lady is too great. I must find Mavis.”

Leandor lowered his head. “I did not wish to tell you this, but your maid was found last evening. She is dead.”

Brigitte backed away. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, Leandor.”

“A woman is not safe alone, not even a gentle woman such as Mavis. And you, milady, with your beauty, would risk more than murder.”

The death of her friend had nearly broken Brigitte
all over again. And Leandor's dire predictions had ended her determination to leave the manor alone. She would wait. Count Arnulf would come eventually.

In the meantime, Druoda had to think she was still intent on a nunnery. Perhaps that would forestall Druoda's matchmaking endeavors, at least for a while.

A
rles, an old city in the heart of Provence, had been built on the Rhone River many centuries before. Once a major Roman community, it was called little Rome, and Roman antiquities were still present, including a palace built by Constantine and an amphitheater and an arena still intact.

Arles was a new city to Rowland of Montville. But a strange new place would be no difficulty for the young knight. Since leaving his home in Normandy six years before, Rowland had encountered many challenges and had learned how lacking his education really was.

Rowland had been taught letters, which many nobles were not, and he was a skilled warrior. But many an untutored French noble called Rowland a churlish rustic, for he was not refined. Rowland was like his father, who was and would always be a coarse country lord.

Rowland was well aware that he lacked polish. In the years since leaving Luthor of Montville, he had cursed his father more than once for failing him in this area. Ladies were affronted by him. Knights of lesser standing laughed, which had caused more than a few brawls over the years.

Rowland tried. He had his squire teach him proper court behavior, but his newly acquired manners were stiff, and he felt foolish. How did one rid himself of eighteen years of coarse breeding? It was not easily done.

In Arles, Rowland was surprised to meet up with another knight tutored by Luthor. Roger of Mezidon had a black soul if anyone did, and Rowland had hoped never to see the man again. Rowland had not recovered from this surprise when he was accosted by Gui of Falaise, who had come to Arles in order to find Rowland.

“Your father's orders were explicit as usual,” Gui said after he and Rowland embraced and exchanged news. They had not seen each other for six years, but had once been the closest of friends. “If I could not find you, I was not to return to his manor!”

“In that case, you have not failed your lord,” Rowland replied dryly.

He was not pleased that Gui had sworn allegiance to his father, but he realized that Gui did not know Luthor as well as Rowland did.

“Well, finding you was only half of my mission, Gui admitted. “The other half is to bring you back with me.”

Rowland was shocked and hard pressed not to show it. “Why?” he demanded sharply. “Has my father grown soft in old age? Does he forget he banished me from my home?”

“Are you still bitter, Rowland?” Gui's green eyes showed deep concern.

“You know I only wanted to fight for the King of France, who was our Duke's seignior. But Luthor refused. He made me a strong warrior, but he would
never let me test my skills. My God, in my whole life I had not left Montville once, and there I was, eighteen years old and newly knighted, and my father wanted to tie me to home as if I were a swaddled babe. It was too much for me to bear.”

“But your fight with Luthor was no worse than any other,” Gui replied. “He beat you, as he always beat you, hand to hand.”

Rowland's dark blue eyes grew darker. “Yes, you saw that, but you did not hear the words spoken afterward. I was as much to blame, I admit it, for he provoked me with his smug assurance that he would never lose a match to me, not even when he approached his grave. If he had not bragged about that before his wife and daughters, then I would not have said I would leave without his permission and probably never return. But I said so in anger, and he said, ‘Do so and be damned! I will never call you back.'”

“I never knew it had come to that. But that was six years ago, Rowland, and words spoken in anger should not be remembered forever.”

“Yet he said it, and my father does not back down. Even when the man is wrong and knows full well he is wrong, he will not back down.”

His friend frowned. “I am sorry, Rowland. I didn't know the extent of your quarrel. You left, and I knew you had fought with Luthor, but he would not talk of it after you went away. I understand now why he was never sure whether you would come home or not. But I know the old warrior has missed you. I'm sure he would have sent for you sooner if he had known of a way to do so without losing face. You know Luthor. He's all pride.”

“You have yet to tell me the reason my banishment has been lifted.”

“Your father wants you near to claim his fief if he dies,” Gui said abruptly.

The color drained slowly from Rowland's face. “Luthor is dying?”

“No! I did not mean to imply that. But there is trouble brewing. Your stepsister Brenda has married.”

“So the hag found a mate at last.” Rowland chuckled. “The fellow must be a dullard and hideous to look at.”

“No, Rowland, she married Thurston of Mezidon.

“Roger's brother!” Rowland cried.

“The same.”

“Why? Thurston was a handsome fellow, and the ladies liked him very much. Why would he want Brenda? Not only is she a shrew like her mother, but she's homely as well.”

“I believe her dower drew him,” Gui offered hesitantly.

“But her marriage portion was not large.”

“I have heard she led him to believe otherwise, so enamored of him was she. It is also said he nearly beat her to death on their wedding night, after he found her dower was less than half what he had expected.”

“It was no more than she deserved, I suppose,” Rowland said offhandedly.

It was no secret that there was no love between Rowland and his two older stepsisters. He had suffered cruelly at their hands from earliest childhood, with no one to protect him. He truly had no feelings for them now, not even pity.

“And my sister Ilse,” Rowland continued. “Do she and her husband still live with Luthor?”

“Oh, yes. Geoffrey would never leave his cups long enough to build a manor on his small fief,” Gui said contemptuously. “But there is one important change. Geoffrey has suddenly developed a close friendship with Thurston.”

“And?”

“It bodes ill for Luthor. He has one son-in-law who is furious over Brenda's marriage portion and who wants more of Montville. His other son-in-law lives under his roof and is friendly with Thurston. Luthor feels he must guard his back now, as his two sons-in-law are probably allied against him.”

“What has Luthor to fear? He has men enough.”

“Do not underestimate Thurston. He has enough ambition and greed for two men. He plunders in Brittany and Maine, and he has amassed quite a large army, large enough that Luthor strengthened Montville because of him. Open warfare is certain if Luthor is not simply murdered first.”

“You think Thurston would resort to that?”

“Yes, Rowland, I do. There has been one accident already that cannot be explained. And if Luthor should die without you there to claim Montville, Thurston and Geoffrey would claim it for themselves, and you would need an army as large as the Duke's to win it back again.”

“And if I do not want it?”

“You cannot say so, Rowland! To give up the horses you love, the land that Luthor means you to have.”

Rowland ran a hand through his thick, wavy hair. There was no reason to pretend. “You are right, I want it. It's the
only
thing I want of Luthor's.”

“So you will return home?” Gui asked hopefully. “Even though you said you would not?”

“I am like my father in many ways, Gui, but when I make a foolish statement, I will not stand by it to my grave. A few years, perhaps, but not always.” Rowland chuckled. “Though he too has relented, or so it seems.”

“You have changed, old friend. I can remember many fights with Roger of Mezidon because you would not retract a remark. Have you met up with that blackguard in your wanderings?”

“He is here, with the Count of Limousin.”

Gui was surprised. “We have heard of Roger's prowess. He has amassed land all across the country. I wonder how he has time to serve so many lords.”

“He is as greedy as his older brother, Thurston.”

“And have you spoken with Roger?” Gui asked eagerly.

Rowland shrugged. “Yes, I saw him. He did not antagonize me as much as he used to, but he is no longer assured of besting me.”

“You have grown more since last I saw you. You're taller and more muscular as well. I would wager you are even taller than Luthor now, and I have yet to see a man look down on him.”

Rowland grinned. “I have surpassed Roger, at any rate, much to his chagrin.”

“But have you changed otherwise?” Gui ventured, his green eyes twinkling mischieviously. “Have the Franks made you soft?”

Gui ducked, anticipating the mock blow. “No? I suppose we shall have two Luthors at home now?”

Rowland grunted. “At least
I
only strike when provoked, which is more than I can say for my father.”

It was true. Luthor of Montville was a hard, gruff man, a man to whom other lords sent their sons for training, for their boys returned strong, capable warriors.

Rowland was Luthor's only son, his bastard. Luthor shrugged that off, but Rowland despised his state. Rowland's mother had been from a nearby village. A woman of no standing and without family, she had died in childbirth, so Rowland was told, and the birthing woman took the infant Rowland into her care. Luthor was not even aware that he had a son until a year and a half later, when the old woman who had kept Rowland was near death and sent for Luthor.

Luthor had no other son, so he brought Rowland home to his wife, sneering at Hedda once more because she had given him only daughters. Hedda hated the baby Rowland and had nothing to do with him until he was old enough to feel her malice. From the time he was three, she and her daughters beat Rowland for any reason.

Luthor did not attempt to stop the cruel treatment of Rowland. Raised harshly himself, he felt he owed his strength to his hard youth.

From Luthor, Rowland learned to suppress tenderness and control all feelings except anger. He was trained to run, leap, swim, and ride, to dart the javelin or battle-ax with unerring aim, and to wield sword and fists with brutality and skill. Luthor taught the boy well, giving blows for mistakes, and praise very grudgingly.

Rowland's childhood was marked by beatings from inside the home and out, for the nobles' sons given to Luthor for training were a spiteful lot, especially
Roger of Mezidon, who was two years older than Rowland and had come to Montville when Rowland was five. Daily beatings continued until Rowland gained enough strength to protect himself. And as Luthor did not stop Hedda and his two daughters from beating Rowland when he was young and defenseless, so he did not stop Rowland from striking back when he grew large enough to do so.

His life was easier after the first time he hit back. After that, he did not retaliate anymore against the women of the house. He preferred to ignore them. He had no need to fear their abuse anymore and had only to fend off the older boys and Luthor.

“Can we take our leave in the morning?” Gui asked as they arrived at Rowland's tent on the outskirts of Arles. The city had been taken over by celebrations now that the battle was won, and there was no reason to stay. “The sooner we leave the better. It has taken me nearly a half year to find you.”

“And what led you to me here?” Rowland asked.

“The battle here, of course.” Gui grinned widely. “If I have learned nothing else I have at least learned that wherever there is a battle, that is where you are to be found. You must have as many fiefs as Roger, after all your battles.”

Rowland chuckled, and his eyes sparkled like sapphires. “I fight for gold, not land. Land needs caring, and I like the freedom to roam where I will.”

“Then you must have a fortune in gold.”

Rowland shook his head. “Alas, most was spent on women and drink, but I do have some wealth.”

“And plunder from the Saracens?”

“That too. Those pirates had silks and glass works, gold plates and lamps, to say nothing of jewels.”

“And the battle?”

“There were many battles,” Rowland replied. “The Saracens had bases all along the coast. But the biggest was at Nice. They did not make a good showing, however, for they fought without armor. They fell like peasants against skilled knights. Some escaped in their ships, but we plundered their bases and then set fire to them.”

“I suppose I came just in time then.”

“Yes. My service to the Burgundian duke is over. We can leave in the morning. But tonight, tonight I will show you a fine time,
mon ami
. I know of a decent alehouse by the north gate, where they serve an excellent spiced pottage and the ale is sweet.” Rowland suddenly laughed. “You cannot imagine how much I have missed my father's ale. The French can drown in their cursed wine, I will take ale with the peasants any day.”

Rowland strapped on his scabbard, sheathed his long broadsword, and gathered a long woolen mantle around his broad shoulders. His mail and armor were left behind. He had grown into a fine figure of a man, Gui thought appreciatively. Rock hard, firm and strong, Rowland was truly a man of war. Luthor would be proud to have this son by his side in battle, whether he admitted it or not.

Gui sighed. Rowland had grown up without the love of a single soul. It was no wonder he was surly at times, bad-tempered and bitter, he had every right to be. Yet Rowland did have good qualities as well. He could show as much loyalty to one man as he could hate to another. And he was not without humor. In truth, he was a good man.

“I must warn you, Gui,” Rowland said now as they
entered the city. “Roger of Mezidon has also discovered the merits of the alehouse where we are going, for a certain maid has caught his interest there.”

“And yours, too, no doubt,” Gui remarked in amusement. “You and he always were attracted to the same women. Did you compete over this one?”

Rowland grimaced, the memory recent. “Yes, we fought. But the sly varlet took me unawares, after I had raised one too many cups.”

“So you lost?”