So Speaks the Heart

by Johanna Lindsey

  “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.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Several hours later, after donning two extra tunics for warmth and taking all the blankets in the room, she and Wolff went directly to the stable. She would not try to obtain food, for fear someone might see her prowling through the hall. Wolff would provide food for both of them, she had no doubt of that. And she still had a flint Rowland had given her in the forest, a precious flint.

  Fortunately, the four extra horses were still in the stable, so she did not have to take Rowland’s huge destrier. She was relieved. The Hun was too big for her. Worse, Rowland would never stop looking for her if she had the Hun, for a war horse was far more valuable than any servant.

  The other horses were not quite so large, and one, a chestnut-brown gelding, did not shy away when she went to saddle him. With her possessions tied to his saddle and the reins in hand, Brigitte walked cautiously out into the night-blackened courtyard.

  Her real worries began there. She knew that most manors had at least one other means of access besides the main gate with its guards, but finding it was a different matter, for a door in the wall would more than likely be concealed. Louroux had a secret tunnel, in case of siege, and it was known by only a few people.

  “Come on, Wolff,” she whispered. “We must find a way out of this fortress. Help me find a door, Wolff—a door. But quietly.”

  She began her search to the left of the servants’ quarters and worked her way around, past the side of the manor, to the rear. There she found the animal pens and a huge shelter unlike anything she had ever seen before. She wondered if that was where the rest of the horses were kept, but she didn’t investigate. She moved slowly along the wall, pulling her horse behind, while Wolff bounded ahead of them.

  Brigitte started to worry when they had gone a half circle around with no luck. S
he began to consider her chances of getting past the gate guards, praying that she wouldn’t have to try. She had to hurry. If she did not return to the manor within a few hours, Rowland would be informed and come after her. Her only hope was to not be discovered missing until morning. She needed every hour left of the night in order to be far, far away before Rowland came looking for her.

  Wolff barked, and Brigitte sucked in her breath, fearing that the other hounds would begin barking and wake the whole manor. She ran to him quickly before he made more noise, then sighed in relief when she saw the door. It was bolted, but the crossbar lifted after a few shoves, then nearly fell when she lowered it to the ground. The door opened easily.

  But then Brigitte’s hopes fell again. Below her was at least two feet of stone, for, although the door was level with the ground inside the wall, outside it was not. And that was not even the worst of it. At the base of the wall on the outside was a tiny ledge of earth, perhaps a foot wide, followed by a steep incline of at least ten or twelve feet covered with snow. A fine exit this! How in heaven’s name would she get the horse down that slope without the poor animal breaking its neck? But she had to try. Damn! She had to!

  Keeping hold of the reins, she stepped down onto the narrow ledge, then called Wolff to join her. He looked at her, then down at the ledge, then back at her again, but made no move to follow.

  “If I can do it, you can too,” she said sternly. “It’s the horse who will have a difficult time of it.”

  Cautiously, Wolff moved forward and, after hesitating only a second more, jumped. He landed half way down the slope, slid a few feet, then found his footing and ran the rest of the way down.

  Seeing Wolff flounder, Brigitte was thoroughly discouraged. What chance would the horse have? The jump might break a leg. But she hardened herself. She needed a horse. She would never make it to the Ile-de-France without one.

  “Come on, my fine steed,” she urged sweetly, tugging on his reins. She managed to pull him to the edge of the portal, but he snorted and backed away. “Come on now. You will slide most of the way. Let us see the courage your Normans expect of a fine war horse like you.”

  But the animal would not budge, and she wasn’t nearly strong enough to make him. She sank down on the ledge in despair. What could she do now? If she left on foot, Rowland would find her quickly.

  Wolff bounded back up the slope then and came to stand beside her, nudging her eagerly. He was excited now, ready to be away.

  She sighed. “It’s no good, my king. The horse will not move. Maybe he is wiser than I and knows he cannot make the jump.” She stood up, but her shoulders slumped dejectedly. “We will have to try and fool the guards. I do not foresee much luck there, but come on, back inside the wall. I must try,” she sighed.

  Wolff leaped up through the portal with ease. A second later he began snapping at the horse’s hind legs, and Brigitte moved out of the way and let go the reins only just in time before the steed jumped forward. She watched in amazement as the huge animal slid down the slope on his rump, Wolff tearing down after him. The horse stood up at the bottom of the incline and simply waited.

  Brigitte could not believe what she had seen. She quickly slipped her fingers beneath the door to draw it shut, then slid down the slope. At the bottom, she threw her arms around Wolff and squeezed him with all her might.

  “You are wonderful,” she whispered. “Absolutely magnificent! Ah, my king, you have saved the day. Now, let us get away from this place!”

  Hastily she examined the horse. He seemed fit enough. She took a moment to soothe and praise him before she pulled herself onto his back and urged him forward. Soon the chestnut achieved a full gallop, taking advantage of the open pastureland surrounding Montville. She flew with the wind, exhilarated, and once far enough away from the fortress, she laughed gaily in relief.

  She had done it! Rowland would never catch her. It would not matter if he followed her all the way to the Ile-de-France, for, once there, she would have the King’s protection. King Lothair would remember her—or, if not her, then her father. And if Rowland dared make a claim on her to Lothair, he would be called to account for everything. No, nothing would stop her now.

  The rest of the night seemed to fly by, and before she knew it the sky lightened with dawn. The sun did not come out to help melt the snow, but remained hidden behind thick clouds, as the moon had been. But the pale sunlight was enough to help her see the stark countryside and give wide berth to a fortress she nearly came upon. She skirted it cautiously, knowing she could not trust any Normans.

  It would have been easier going south, the way they had come, for she was familiar with that route. But Paris and the King’s court were east, and she would get there much sooner if she traveled directly east, even though she did not know the way.

  The sun was high before Brigitte stopped in dense woods to let the animals rest. Wolff had kept up with little difficulty, sometimes racing ahead, sometimes lagging behind or running off to amuse himself. But she knew he was tired, and she had to be careful of the horse.

  They did not rest long. She tried to light a small fire for a few minutes of warmth but was not able to because all the twigs and sticks she found were damp. She tied sticks together to take with her, hoping they would dry in the wind as she rode.

  Brigitte had not considered this obstacle. Nor did she realize until she saw Wolff lapping up snow that she had completely forgotten about bringing water along. She became thankful for the snow and scooped up a handful herself to quench her thirst.

  They rode on. Brigitte was already hungry, but that would have to wait until nightfall. She would not take time for Wolff to hunt. Fortunately, the horse had found some grass beneath the snow to munch on. She and Wolff could wait a while longer.

  They left the woods and crossed open pastureland. Brigitte was able to skirt around a marsh that would have slowed her down, but she was not so lucky when she came to a thick forest that spread across the land in both directions, leaving her no recourse but to enter it. When night came, she had still not reached the other side of the forest and was forced to make camp there. If she had been in the open she might have ridden for several more hours, but the forest was too dark for riding.

  She had better luck with a fire, thanks to the sticks she had carried with her, but they were still damp enough to cause an abundance of smoke. After she had a fire, she felt safe enough to send Wolff off for food. While he was gone, she removed the saddle from the horse and covered him with a blanket, then sat down before the fire.

  Her thoughts drifted to Rowland, and she pictured him vividly in her mind. He was such a fine figure of a man, so stalwart, so handsome. Things might have been quite different if only he had believed her when they first left Louroux and had taken her to Count Arnulf, which would have been the honorable thing to do. She might have had a different opinion of him then, might even have liked him a little, despite his roughness.

  But that was not the way of it. Hate was new to Brigitte, and she did not like the feeling. She had never felt so strongly, not even about Druoda. She hated what Druoda had done to her, but not the woman herself. Why did Rowland arouse such strong feeling in her?

  Brigitte heard the sound of something approaching and held her breath until Wolff appeared through the underbrush. He had a fine catch, and she quickly prepared their meal, then settled down by the fire. She fell asleep almost instantly, Wolff curled at her feet. But it was not long afterward that his low growl woke her. His ears pointed, and the fur on his back was raised. Then suddenly he charged off into the dark of the forest and out of her sight.

  Brigitte called him back, but he did not obey. She sat up, wide awake. The low flames of the fire indicated that she had slept about an hour. Her arms circled her raised knees, and she stared off in the direction Wolff had gone, wondering what sort of wild beast had drawn him away.

  Were there wild bears in this black forest? As far as she knew, Wolff had never fought such a formidable foe. How
would he fare against a bear, or the more frightening boar?

  She worried even more when she could no longer hear Wolff in the distance. There was no sign of him. She called him, and again, louder. She got up and began to pace, then stopped suddenly and chided herself for letting her imagination run wild. He would come back.

  Once again she settled by the fire. And, as if to show her how ridiculous her fears had been, Wolff bounded back into camp. She sighed in relief. But her relief was short-lived and her fears revived as she saw that he was not alone. A hound followed, and then a horse.

  Brigitte recognized the horse before she saw the rider. Rowland sat stiffly on the Hun, devoid of armor, wearing a thick cloak of fur over his tunic and trousers.

  Brigitte was too surprised to speak, too shocked to move, even when Rowland dismounted with a heavy rope clenched tightly in his hand. She watched numbly as he called Wolff to him and that trusting fool obeyed. The dog did not even move away when the rope was tied around his neck. Rowland moved to a far tree and tied the short rope to it. It was happening, but Brigitte could not quite believe it.

  The hound that had come with Rowland found the leftover meat Brigitte had wrapped in its own skin and began tearing away the skin to get at the meat. Brigitte stared at the dog for several seconds, and suddenly everything fell into place all at once. That was how Rowland had found her! The hound had tracked them!

  Her eyes flew back to Rowland, and she saw that he had Wolff secured to the tree. And the reason he was tying her dog before he had said one word to her became clear. Rowland had something so terrible planned that he could not let Wolff be loose. Before that thought even fully registered, Brigitte ran to her horse as if her life depended on it.

  But she had waited too long. Her mantle was caught well before she reached the horse, and the clasp at her throat nearly choked her as she was jerked to a halt and then swung back toward the fire. She fell to the ground, scraping her palms. Wolff began to growl. Brigitte fought the tears already filling her eyes.