So Speaks the Heart

by Johanna Lindsey

  Rare jellyfish and spiced sea urchins were served first and quickly devoured. The main course, broiled ostrich with sweet sauce, turtle dove, mutton, and boiled ham, went just as quickly. Cakes and stuffed dates fried in honey were served last, and were accompanied by wine spiced with myrrh. A banquet customarily took hours, but this one did not last more than one hour.

  After the banquet Brigitte feared that she would become sick when she was forced to watch the entertainment Wilhelm had planned, the baiting of a tame dog against a wolf. Brigitte loved animals and was frequently upset by such displays.

  She ran from the hall to the courtyard and took deep breaths, grateful to be away from the others. But her relief was short-lived, for Wilhelm’s daughter followed her and said abruptly, “I am mistress of this house and shall always be. You will be the fourth child bride my father has brought home, and if you think you can take over here, you will end as the others did—dead.”

  Too shaken to reply, Brigitte stumbled away from her. They soon left Wilhelm’s house, and Brigitte stammered her good-byes through a blur of tears.

  Tears still blurred her vision as they rode off toward home. Brigitte’s guards were close by. How could she ride to Count Arnulf if they would not let her out of their sight? she wondered.

  But what really did she have to lose if she made a desperate attempt to reach Arnulf? Suddenly she wiped at her eyes angrily and dug her heels into her horse. For several moments, she and her mare flew from the others. But her guards had been expecting this, and they caught up with her quickly, before she passed the last cobbled hut in Wilhelm’s village.

  They brought her back to where Druoda waited, and Brigitte was met by a blow that took her unawares and knocked her off her horse. She fell into the mud, the breath knocked from her. It brought her rage to the point of explosion, but she did not vent her anger on Druoda. She kept it under control, and as far as Druoda could see, Brigitte was beaten. She wiped at the mud on her face and allowed herself to be handed roughly back up onto her mare.

  Brigitte simmered silently. She waited patiently for her companions to relax their guard, careful always to ride slumped in her saddle and give every impression of submissiveness. But Brigitte was feeling far from submissive.

  So engrossed in thought was she that she was not aware it had grown dark until the chill of night stung her cheeks. She quickly raised the hood of her mantle and pulled it closer over her head. While doing so, she studied her companions furtively and saw that only Druoda was riding close to her. The guards had gone a short way ahead of the women in order to protect them from night raiders.

  This was her chance. With night upon them, she could hide in the dark. She would never be as close to Count Arnulf as she was now. Gathering her reins in a tight fist and moving closer to Druoda, she used them to whip Druoda’s mare, sending the horse charging into the guards, while Brigitte spun about and galloped off in the opposite direction.

  This time she was able to put a good distance between herself and the guards before they gave pursuit. A half mile down the road she slowed and turned off into the woods, the shadows there black as pitch and perfect for concealment. She quickly slid off her mare and began walking her horse slowly through the dark maze. A few moments later she heard the guards race past her on the old track road.

  She knew the forest, for she had traveled it often with her parents when they visited Count Arnulf. On the other side of the woods there was a wider road, the old road between Orleans and Bourges, and that route would take her to Arnulf. She had only to get through the forest. However, that was no small feat.

  As her fear of Druoda’s guards lessened, the frightening sounds of the forest began to assault her, and Brigitte remembered Leandor’s dire warnings about thieves and murderers, groups of brigands who lived in forests. She quickened her pace till she was nearly running, and suddenly she burst through the woods into a clearing. Panic seized her. She looked around frantically, expecting to see a fire with men surrounding it. She gasped with relief, for it was not a clearing she stood in but the road—she had made it to the road!

  She drew back into the shadows and hastily shed her gown and tunic, all but an old woolen tunic next to her skin. She then wrapped her other gowns around her waist. Thin as they were, they were not too bulky. She put her mantle back on but did not clasp it, so that if she came upon anyone she could remove it quickly and be left in peasant’s garb.

  She mounted again and rode south, exhilarated, feeling free. There would be no wedding to Wilhelm. And there would be no more Druoda, for Arnulf would not take kindly to her once Brigitte told him what she had been doing at Louroux. Brigitte felt almost giddy as her sturdy mare quickly put mile after mile behind them. Nothing could stop her now.

  But suddenly something did. Her horse stopped and reared up, and for the second time that day Brigitte found herself on the ground, trying to breathe. She scrambled to her feet as fast as she could, fearing her horse would bolt. But the mare stood still, and as Brigitte moved closer, she saw why.

  “And what have we here?”

  The knight sat ramrod straight on his destrier, a horse larger than any Brigitte had ever seen. The knight was himself quite large, probably six feet tall, even taller. He wore full armor and was a most impressive sight. He removed his helmet and revealed a thick shock of blond hair which fell just below his neck, a style too short for a Frenchman. Brigitte could not see his features clearly.

  “Well, wench?”

  His deep voice broke through her surprise. “Is that all you can say, Sir Knight, after you have unseated a lady?”

  “A lady, is it?”

  Too late, Brigitte remembered her worn peasant’s tunic. She decided to say nothing further. Remounting her horse as quickly as she could, she tried to pull the leather reins from his grip. But she could not, for he wouldn’t let them out of his iron grasp.

  “How dare you?” Brigitte demanded. “Is it not enough you cause my horse to throw me? Now you detain me as well?” He laughed, and she said haughtily, “What is so amusing?”

  “You would have me think you a lady, with your haughty airs, but you are not,” the knight said derisively. Then he continued, “A lady, alone, without an escort?”

  Brigitte’s mind whirled, but before she could select a reply, he said, “Come along.”

  “Wait!” Brigitte cried as he turned her horse around and began to pull it along after his. “Stop!” He appeared not to have heard and she glared at his back in fury. “Where are you taking me?”

  “I will take you where I am bound, and others can then return you to your master. I am sure he will be glad to have his horse back, if not his serf.”

  “You think me a serf?”

  “Your mount is too fine for a village wench,” he continued. “And even a lord pleased with your favors would not bestow on a serf such a costly garment as the mantle you are wearing.”

  “The mantle is mine, as is the horse!”

  “Your cunning is wasted on me, damosel,” he said smoothly. “I care not what you say.”

  “Let me go.”

  “No. You have stolen, and I cannot abet a thief.” he said harshly, then added, “Were you a man, I would as soon run you through as waste my time returning you. Do not test me further with lies.”

  Well, all was not lost, Brigitte thought. Wherever he took her, they would surely know her, and then this ignoble knight would find out what mistake he had made. Somehow, she would at least get a message to Count Arnulf.

  An hour passed and then another before he left the road and took them in the direction of Louroux. Brigitte began to be truly frightened.

  To be taken right back to Druoda—she could not stand it anymore. She would never get another chance to escape if she failed this time.

  Brigitte slid quietly off the horse and dashed frantically into a nearby copse of trees. She tripped and fell, scraping her palms and the side of her face on the rough ground. Her cheek burned, and tears sprang to her eyes.
She got up and ran, but he was behind her and reached her before she could enter the forest again.

  Standing next to her, the knight was an awesome sight, every bit as large as she had first thought. How she hated this man!

  Brigitte spat, “Who are you? I want to know your name, for some day I will make you pay for what you have done to me!”

  “And what have I done to you?”

  “You bring me to Louroux!”

  “Ah! So that is it. It is from Louroux that you are fleeing.” He laughed.

  Brigitte stiffened. “And are you pleased that I will suffer because of you?”

  “I do not care,” He shrugged. “My business here is with the lady of Louroux.”

  “What is your business with Druoda?” she asked, assuming that Druoda was the lady to whom he referred.

  “Nothing to concern you, wench,” he answered disdainfully.

  “You have yet to tell me your name,” she reminded him. “Or do you fear to give it to me?”

  “Fear you, woman?” He was incredulous. “If I am ever addled enough to let a wench do me harm, then it’s no more than I deserve. Rowland of Montville, at your service,” he mocked.

  When he pushed her back toward her horse, panic seized her. She turned and braced her small hands against his chest. “Please, Sir Rowland of Montville, do not take me to Louroux. Druoda will have me locked up.”

  “Locked up? You deserve a beating for thievery. The lady is merciful if she only locks you up.”

  “I tell you I stole nothing!”

  “Lies!” he thundered. “Enough! My patience is gone!”

  He took her reins, and they continued the short distance to Louroux. It was Hildegard who met them in the torchlit courtyard, and her eyes lit up at the sight of Brigitte and the tall knight.

  “Will you not learn, girl? My lady has been more than fair with you, but this time I fear you will pay for your foolishness. You had best wait for her in your chamber.”

  “Which chamber, Hildegard?” Brigitte asked caustically. “My old one, or my recent hovel? Do not answer. I will go to the hovel, for I will no doubt end there before the night is through.”

  Rowland shook his head as he watched Brigitte walk proudly across the court to a short row of servants’ huts and enter one. “By the saints,” he sighed in disbelief. “I have never met such an insolent serf.”

  “What?” Hildegard looked from the hut to him in confusion.

  Rowland laughed derisively. “She tried to tell me she was a lady. But I was not so easily fooled. The wench should be punished not only for thievery, but for audacity as well. If she belonged to me, I swear she would not be so haughty.”

  Hildegard held her tongue. It was clear that the knight thought Lady Brigitte no more than a runaway serf!

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

  Chapter Six

  Hildegard 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.

  Chapter Seven

  Brigitte 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.