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.
Chapter Eight
Early 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 remembe
r. 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!
Chapter Nine
Brigitte approached the stable timidly. That she was leaving Louroux in the light of day rather than sneaking away at night seemed too strange. Her miracle was not perfect, of course. She could go, but she had to go with the man who had taken her, a man she despised, and who knew her intimately when she knew him not at all. She felt a humiliation she had never felt before, but oddly, a deep gratitude as well.
As she entered the stable, she saw him standing next to his big gray steed. The stallion looked none too friendly in the light of day, but neither did his master. Rowland’s dark blue eyes blazed angrily as she came forward.
“I have kept you waiting?” she asked timidly.
Rowland checked his temper. “Just get on the horse,” he said, sighing with frustration.
Brigitte drew away from him. “On your horse? But I will ride my own.”
“By God, you will get on this horse or I will leave you behind!”
Leave her behind? She could not chance that.
“Pray, let me ride behind you then?” she ventured, thinking of her sore back.
“And what will yo
u do with your bundle?” he asked impatiently.
“Put it between us.”
“Ha! You do not trust being close to me?”
“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “You said what happened in the night was a mistake, and I believe you.”
“You can wager on it. I like my women willing—and certainly more appealing than you are,” he said bluntly, eyeing her dirty mantle and snarled long hair.
Brigitte was stung, and her light blue eyes filled rapidly. But she kept still. He had no right to insult her. She had to leave before Druoda changed her mind.
Rowland turned away from her and mounted the big horse, then extended a hand to help Brigitte up. She took it, but caught the angry look in his eyes and let go again.
“If you dislike me so, then why are you taking me?” she asked simply.
“I have no choice.”
So that was it, Brigitte thought miserably. Hildegard had lied—he did not want to take her at all. But Druoda was adept at forcing people to her will, even a man like this. She felt more of a burden than ever, but she really had no option but to go.
She took his hand again, and he lifted her effortlessly to the back of the horse. His own provisions were in packs there, slung on each side of the large gray stallion. It made for a very uncomfortable seat, especially with her possessions pressed between them.
She settled herself as comfortably as she could and pulled her skirts down as far as they would go, which was not nearly far enough because she was sitting astride. She straightened herself slowly because of her sore back, ready now. She waited for Rowland to ride out, but he seemed also to be waiting.