So Speaks the Heart (23 page)

R
owland stretched, then groaned. It seemed as if the stiffness of his wound would never leave him. He looked sideways at his brother to find him grinning at him.

“I wager you have no scars, or you would not find my pain so amusing, brother,” Rowland growled.

“You win that wager,” Evarard chuckled. “I have not made war a way of life. I have little sympathy for those who do when their wounds act up and they groan in their cups.”

“Groan in their cups indeed,” Rowland grunted, not amused in the least. “You will not find me groaning in my cups over a little pain!”

“Oh, no, only over her.”

Rowland scowled. “We will not talk of her. I told you more than I should have last evening.”

“When you were groaning in your cups,” Evarard laughed.

Rowland jumped to his feet, then winced at the stab of pain. His wound was only two months old and still decidedly tender. “I can do without your amusement,” he said brusquely.

Evarard was not disturbed by Rowland's temper.
“Where is your humor, man? Did it take flight along with your lady?”

“Evarard, I swear if you were anyone but my brother, I would tear you apart!” Rowland growled, his fists clenched. “Do not mention her to me again.”

“It is because I am your brother that I can speak my mind,” Evarard said seriously. “You would think twice before laying a fist to this face, for that would be the same as hitting your own self.”

“Do not be so sure, brother.”

“You see?” Evarard grew solemn. “You are much too serious, when I am only jesting. You have an anger in you, Rowland. You let it live in you instead of ridding yourself of it.”

“You presume too much.”

“Do I?” Evarard ventured. “She left you. She chose to go with her brother rather than stay with you. You took that lightly?”

“Enough, Evarard!”

“You will never see the lady again. This means nothing to you, eh?”

“Enough!” Rowland exploded.

“You do not call that anger?” Evarard continued at risk, for Rowland's face was a mask of rage. “Look at yourself, brother. You are ready to thrash me for pointing out what eats at you. Why do you not just end your life? You obviously cannot live without this woman, yet you make no efforts to win her back.”

“Damn you, Evarard. Tell me how I am to win her back when she despises me now? Tell me how to get near her, when her brother would kill me on sight?”

“Ah, Rowland, these are only obstacles you make
more important than they are. You do not even try. You fear failure. To fail would really be the end. Yet you do not know if you would fail, nor will you know until you make an attempt.”

When Rowland remained silent, Evarard pressed his advantage. “What if the lady is as desolate as you are? What if her brother's temper has cooled? I will not hold my tongue. Whatever you did wrong is between you and the lady. You must make amends to her. She may understand better than you think. But how will you ever know until you see her? Go. Go to Berry, Rowland. Talk to her brother. Then see her and tell her what is in your heart. You have nothing to lose, and if you do not go at all then all is lost.”

Rowland thought back on his talk with Evarard as he rode closer and closer to Louroux. It had taken his brother's good sense to show him what a pigheaded fool he was.

It was the beginning of summer. For too long he had accepted his misery and done nothing. For too long he had been separated from Brigitte, churning with the anger of it. He should have come for her sooner. He should never have let her go to begin with.

 

“Lord Rowland of Montville, milord,” Leandor announced uneasily.

Quintin shot to his feet as Rowland followed the bailiff into the hall, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword.

“If you challenge me, Baron, I will not accept,” Rowland said immediately, putting Quintin at a disadvantage. Quintin was speechless, amazed by Row
land's appearance. Not once, not even in his wildest dreams, would he have thought the Norman so reckless as to come to Louroux. Why, if he wished, Quintin could have him clapped in irons and never released. He was lord here.

“Either you are a man who has no wish to live out the rest of his life, or you are the biggest fool in Christendom,” Quintin said when he had found his voice. “I had not taken you for a fool, Norman, but then I was wrong about you from the start as well. I put my trust in you, but you taught me a valuable lesson.”

“I did not come here to fight with you, milord,” Rowland replied. “I came to make peace.”

“Peace?” Quintin shouted, enraged by Rowland's calm. Without hesitation, he struck a blow to the bigger man's face. But Rowland appeared not to have noticed. He held his temper.

“Damn you!” Quintin exploded. “How dare you come here?”

“Because I love her,” Rowland replied simply, with a firmness that could not be denied. The words sounded right. He said them with ease, and he said them again. “I love Brigitte. I want her for my wife.”

Quintin nearly choked. “You wanted her in lust as well and did not hesitate to violate her! You took her violently!”

“Did she tell you that?”

“You took her, and that speaks for itself!”

“I was never violent with Brigitte.” Rowland replied. “I was not gentle at first, I admit that, for I was a hardened man. But it did not take long for
your sister to change me, because I wanted desperately to please her.”

“That matters not.”

Rowland lost his patience. “Be damned! Put yourself in my place. Brigitte was given to me by Druoda. I thought Druoda was your sister. Brigitte was bound to me as a servant. Traveling alone with her to Montville was a torment, as it would be to any man faced with such beauty. I thought, as did she, that I had already deflowered her here at Louroux. If I had known she was still a virgin, then perhaps I would have let her be— I cannot say. But that was not the case. Have you never taken a woman to your bed without asking her consent?”

“We are speaking of my
sister
, not some servant who can expect no less, who is conditioned from birth to serve her lord. Brigitte is a gentlebred lady, and no lady should have suffered what you put her through!”

“She forgave me,” Rowland insisted quietly.

“Did she indeed? I know nothing of this, for she never speaks of you at all.”

“My fight with you is what turned her against me,” Rowland returned.

“Just as well, for she will never see you again.”

“Be reasonable. I offer marriage. I am Lord of Montville now, and I have a large estate in Cernay as well. As my wife, she would never want for anything, especially devotion. I would make up all the days of her life for the wrong I did her. The past cannot be changed. I can, however, swear to you that I will never again cause her pain.”

“There is no way you can make amends for what you did to Brigitte,” Quintin said coldly.

“What does Brigitte say?”

“That has no bearing.”

Rowland was losing patience again. “Will you at least allow me to see her?”

“I have told you she will never see you again! Now be gone from here, Norman, while I am willing to let you go freely. You forget where you are.”

“I do not forget, Baron,” Rowland replied quietly, his gaze unwavering. “Brigitte means more to me than my life.”

Quintin watched silently as Rowland turned and left the hall. But he had no time to ponder those last heartfelt words before Brigitte came into the room. Damn! The last thing Brigitte needed was to see that man and be upset. She was utterly miserable and snappish recently.

“Leandor says we have a visitor,” Brigitte said as she came forward.

“Leandor was mistaken,” Quintin replied more curtly than he meant to.

“Mistaken?”

“It was only a messenger,” he replied. One had come that morning whom his sister knew nothing about. “Arnulf is making a celebration next month. The occasion is a niece's marriage. I am to attend.”

“Then you may not be here when—”

“No.” He cut her off. “I may not.”

He left the hall quickly, embarrassed by talk of the impending birth. He was embarrassed by her condition, embarrassed knowing what had been done to her, embarrassed that the man who got her that way was still alive. He found it more and more
difficult to face Brigitte. She knew how miserably he had failed to avenge her. She had tried to make light of it, but Quintin knew what she must feel. He could not blame her for having lost faith in him.

B
rigitte moved slowly and lazily through the orchard. Every so often she would try to catch the autumn leaves as they fluttered to the ground. And then her hands would go to her waist to feel the flatness there. She had carried her burden a long time, but that time was over. The birthing had not been difficult, or so Eudora had said. Brigitte had thought differently at the time, quite differently.

But she didn't remember too much of the pain, and she was happy being a mother. But when she was alone, as she was just then, misery overtook her. She hated thinking of Rowland, yet she couldn't stop thinking of him. She hated the ache he caused, and the longing, but she thought of him all the time.

Brigitte thought she was imagining things when she saw a rider approaching the gates of Louroux. She moved through the trees to the edge of the orchard, sure the vision would disappear. Something about the horse reminded her of Rowland's Hun. She chided herself for her imaginings.

Picking up her skirts, Brigitte moved toward the manor. Her pace quickened with each step, and when she moved through the gates she was running. She stopped dead in the courtyard, close enough to see
the horse clearly as a groom led him to the stable. The rider was not there. Her heart beat frantically. She raced to the hall, stumbling through the doors, and once again stopped dead.

“Rowland!” she gasped.

But no one could have heard her over Quintin's shouting. Rowland and Quintin stood a few feet apart, Quintin in a fury and Rowland ready to draw his sword.

“Stop it!” Brigitte screamed as she ran between them. “Stop it, I say!” She pushed at Rowland and he fell back, staring at her. Then she turned to her brother. “What is the meaning of this?”

“He is not welcome here.”

“You would throw him out,” she asked hotly, “without knowing why he came?”

“I know why he came!”

“Why?”

“For you.”

Rowland had answered. She allowed herself to turn and look at him then, her eyes taking in all of him. She continued to stare, unable to help herself, and he devoured her with those dark blue eyes.

“Leave us, Quintin,” Brigitte said softly without looking at her brother.

Quintin grabbed her arm and swung Brigitte around to face him. “I will not leave you alone with him.”

“I would like to talk to him, Quintin.”

“No.”

“I have the right. Now leave us. Please.”

Quintin was furious, but he stalked past them. “I will be near if you need me, Brigitte.”

“Be damned,” Rowland said as soon as they were alone. “Your brother is a belligerent, obstinate—”

“Careful, Rowland.” Brigitte cut him off. Her eyes were ice blue.

“He started shouting the moment I walked in. If you had not come when you did, I would have.…”

Rowland reddened guiltily, and the hostility in Brigitte's eyes silenced him.

“I know exactly what you would have done, Rowland,” she said quietly. “I know you only too well. You would have fought my brother.”

“Not that,” he quickly assured her. “I only meant to stop his shouting.”

“Just tell me why you are here,” she said curtly.

Rowland sighed deeply. He was off to a terrible start. But Brigitte was standing before him and, God, how beautiful she was, even more beautiful than he remembered.

“How I have missed you,
cherie
,” Rowland said impulsively, surprising her.

He had not meant to begin that way. The words leaped from him of their own accord. She was caught off guard.

“We have been separated many months, Brigitte,” he continued softly. “It seemed like many years, for the time was unbearably long without you.”

Brigitte's eyes narrowed. “Do you expect me to believe you have missed me so much?”

“I mean all that and more,” he replied warmly. “I want you to return to Montville with me. Luthor is dead, and Montville is mine now.”

Her eyes widened. “Luthor dead? You did not—”

“No, not I. Thurston came in the spring, and there
was a battle. I avenged Luthor myself. I found that I…cared for the old man more than I realized.”

“I am sorry about Luthor,” she said sincerely. “Were many killed?”

“No, there were more wounded than killed. But Thurston and Roger both fell to my blade. They will not bother us again.”

“Roger is dead?”

“He stabbed me, and I struck out at him in reflex. I did not even see him before I fell.”

“
You
fell? You were wounded then?” Her eyes scanned him fearfully.

“In the back,” Rowland said slowly.

Her eyes widened. “So, he went for your back again just as he did in Arles?”

“You know about that?”

She glared at him. “A little matter that you never mentioned—my brother saved your life! And you repaid him nicely, did you not?” she added bitterly.

“Brigitte—”

“I know you were unaware that I was his sister, but you did think he was my lord. You believed he meant to marry me. And still you took me away! You betrayed his trust.”

“I did so unknowing, Brigitte, when it was assumed I raped you here. The matter was done and could not be changed. Do you think I was proud of it? I was furious with myself, furious too that I betrayed him in taking you away. But what was I to do? Druoda threatened to kill you if I left you here. In my place, what would you have done?”

“What you could have done, Rowland, was give me up without a fight when Quintin came for me!”

“It was not as simple as that,
cherie
,” he said gently.
“I could not give you to him, not thinking
he
meant to marry you. I wanted you to be my wife.”

Brigitte turned away, the words echoing in her mind. “
I wanted you to be my wife
.”

Rowland mistook her mood for anger. “I would never fight him again, Brigitte, now that I know he is your brother. I tried to make peace with Quintin, but he would not listen. I offered marriage, and he refused. I cannot fight him for you, and he will not give you to me. Brigitte, I want you for my lady. I have never wanted anything as much as I want you.”

Brigitte felt tears gathering. How many times had she prayed to hear those words? But that was long ago, and she had stopped praying that he would come. Her pride was injured. There was only bitterness now, because he had forsaken her. All the months of her pregnancy, all the months she had needed him, he was not there.

“It is too late, Rowland,” she whispered at last.

Rowland's heart stopped. “You have married?”

“No.”

“Then it is not too late,” he said hopefully.

He reached for her, but she stiffened. Keeping her face averted, she said, “Do not touch me, Rowland. You have no right to touch me. You have no right to come here now and offer marriage. Where were you months ago when…when…” A lump in her throat threatened to choke her. She wanted to cry and fought desperately not to. “I will not marry you, Rowland. You should have come sooner when…when I still felt something for you. I…no longer feel anything.”

Rowland grabbed her shoulders angrily and forced her to meet his eyes. “I did come sooner, months ago,
but your brother turned me away! I have been wandering ever since. I could not go home. Home means nothing to me without you.”

She shook her head firmly. “I do not believe you. Quintin would have told me if you had been here before.”

“Damn you, Brigitte!” Rowland shouted. “I love you!”

“If you loved me,” she shouted back, “you would have come sooner!”

In desperation, he pulled her to him roughly and bruised her lips with a raging kiss. He had opened his heart to her, and she meant to destroy him. She was tearing him apart.

Brigitte pushed at Rowland frantically, until he was forced to release her. Her eyes damning him, she said, “You should not have done that. I do not love you, Rowland.”

Rowland gathered his pride, turned, and walked away from her without a backward glance.

“God, I do not care!” she cried aloud to the empty hall.

“You do not care about what?”

She turned to see Quintin standing in the doorway. She clenched her fists to stop herself from crying.

“I do not care that Rowland has gone,” Brigitte repeated stiffly.

“I am glad to hear it,” Quintin replied, though there was doubt in his voice.

He didn't know what to say to her, so overcome with remorse was he. He had overheard everything, and he wished he had not. He knew his sister very well. She didn't mean any of what she had said to Rowland. Why had her own brother not understood
how much she cared for that man? Why had he let his own anger blind him to Brigitte?

It was not too late to set the matter straight. But how could he tell her the terrible thing he had done? Would the revelation turn her against him? Quintin braced himself.

“Your Rowland has more nerve than any man I know,” Quintin began. “Or more love.”

“What are you saying?”

“He came here once before, Brigitte. I did not tell you because I thought it would upset you, especially in your condition. He tried to make peace with me, but I refused him. I warned him never to come again, but, as you can see, he did not heed my warning. And now I can only ask you to forgive me for not telling you this. He is a barbaric brute, but if you want him, I will bring him back.”

“Oh, God, Quintin!” Brigitte's tears spilled over “Is it too late?”

He smiled weakly. “I will stop him.”

“No!” she cried. “It is I who must stop him.”

Brigitte ran from the hall. Quintin followed her to the doors and watched her race across the courtyard to the gates and out of sight. He forced himself to stay where he was. He would not interfere again.

Rowland was riding down the dirt road, but was still close enough that he could hear her frantic cry. But he did not stop. He did not even look back.

She ran after him, crying his name again and again. It was because of her damnable pride that Rowland was leaving. Her pride! To hell with pride. She began to sob, afraid it really was too late, afraid she had hurt him too deeply.

“Rowland, please!”

Sobbing wildly, she tripped on her skirts and fell, skinning her palms. She stumbled to her feet, but the distance between them had widened, and she doubted he could hear her anymore.

“Rowland—come back!”

It was her last pitiful cry, and Rowland ignored it. Brigitte collapsed to her knees then in the middle of the road, her head bowed in defeat, her body shaking with anguished sobs.

She did not see Rowland look back and see her crumpled there in the road. He stopped, hesitated several moments, and then galloped back to Brigitte. She heard the horse approaching and rose to her feet. But Rowland's black rage stopped her from speaking.

“What madness is this?” he demanded furiously. “Have you more words to cut into my heart?”

Brigitte could not blame him. She had been heartless.

“Rowland.” She hesitantly reached forward and placed her hand on his leg. Her eyes pleaded with him to believe her. “Rowland, I love you.”

His eyes burned into hers more intensely than ever before. “So,” he said icily. “What am I to do now? Ask you to be mine once more so you can refuse me again? One thrust of the knife was not enough for you?”

“Rowland, I was hurt because you took so long in coming. I had prayed so hard for you to come, but I had given up hope. I was miserable, and I was bitter because I thought you did not care for me any longer. I tried desperately to forget you, but I could not.”

Rowland's expression did not soften. “If you loved me, Brigitte, you would not have refused me.”

“It was my hurt pride speaking. I felt that if you loved me, you would have come for me sooner.”

“I did.”

“I know that now. Quintin just admitted it to me. He did not tell me before because he did not know that I love you. I couldn't tell him because he would not forgive you.”

“Are you saying you have forgiven me for what happened with Quintin?”

“I love you, Rowland. I would forgive you anything…anything. Please, don't let your pride come between us, as I did, or I will die!”

Rowland leaped down from the Hun and pulled her into his embrace.

“Little jewel,” Rowland said huskily. “No man could love a woman as I love you. You will be mine forever. Nothing in this world can prevent it, now that I know I have your love.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “You are sure? You have no doubts?”

“I am sure, very, very sure.” She smiled up into his strong, handsome face.

Rowland laughed delightedly. “Now we can go home.”