“Please, Rowland!” she beseeched him. “Is it Sir Gui?”
“Of course it is Sir Gui!” he stormed. “But then you knew what trouble you caused.”
“I swear I never wanted to cause trouble, Rowland,” she said earnestly. “I only told him the truth. And I did not seek out Sir Gui. He came to me, assuming I was a guest here, and called me lady, Rowland, without knowing anything about me.”
“And of course you took advantage of his mistake.” Rowland’s eyes glittered. “And you had to tell him I brought you here against your will. You made me a villain, Brigitte!”
“You are a villain!”
“Christ!” he exploded. “There is no talking to you.”
Rowland reached for the door, but Brigitte grabbed his arm with both hands.
“Rowland! If you had only told me of this sooner. I could have put your mind at ease.”
“Do you know some secret about all this?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.
“I know only that there will be no fight,” she declared, her chin raised proudly.
Rowland grinned at her arrogance. He could not help himself. “And why not, may I ask?”
“Because I will not allow it.”
“You.” He stared at her incredulously.
“What is so astonishing?” she demanded.
“You will not allow it?”
“I am serious, Rowland. I will not be the cause of bloodshed!”
Rowland smiled a weary smile. “How unfortunate that you did not consider the matter sooner,” he said softly.
“It is not too late.”
“Oh, yes, it is, little jewel.” He touched her cheek lightly. “You wanted a champion, and you have one in Sir Gui. He believes in you, and so he is honor-bound to fight in your behalf.”
Brigitte became alarmed. “But I do not want him to! I will tell him so!”
“Brigitte, I truly wish it were that simple. But Gui is affronted by what he thinks I have done to a fair lady. He is a knight with a gentle heart, as gallant a man as I have ever known. He will not be satisfied with anything less than fighting for your honor.”
“But he will listen to me.”
“Ah, Brigitte, you are as naive as you are beautiful.” Rowland sighed.
“But your father said I could stop the battle,” she cried. “Tell me what I must do.”
“Can you not guess?” Rowland murmured quietly. It took a moment, but then her eyes widened and she turned away. “Not that!”
“It’s the only way, Brigitte. If you do not admit you lied, Gui will fight for your sake, and I may kill my best friend.”
“But I did not lie!”
“Can you not swallow your pride for once?”
“Would you?”
“I already have. I am asking you to do this when I was determined to leave you out of it. I grew up with Gui, and it has been my habit to protect him from those who took advantage of him because he is short. I grew to love him as the brother I never had, and I do not want to fight him.”
Brigitte squared her shoulders and faced Rowland again. She was desolate, but she could see no other way.
“Very well,” she said miserably. “I will do as you ask.”
“Just telling him you lied will not do,” Rowland warned gently. “You must convince him.”
“I will. Now take me to him,” she sighed disconsolately.
“I will bring him here.”
Brigitte sank down on her bed to wait. She felt numb, drained. She had no choice but to lie. She could not allow Rowland to hurt his friend, perhaps even to kill him.
Quickly she removed her mantle and two of her tunics, for she had not been in her room since Rowland had brought her back. Soon the door opened, and Rowland stepped inside, followed by a confused Sir Gui. Brigitte turned, her hands clasped nervously.
Gui came forward and bowed to her, his green eyes solemn. “Rowland said you wished to see me.”
“Urgently,” she agreed softly, then looked at Rowland. “Will you leave us? I would speak with Sir Gui alone.”
“No,” Rowland replied, closing the door, and leaning back against it. “I will stay.”
Brigitte glared at Rowland, but she could not risk an argument now. Servants did not question their lords, and for once her attitude had to be properly servile.
She smiled timidly at Sir Gui. “Will you sit?” she asked, indicating her cot. “I am afraid I cannot offer you a chair.”
Gui sat down and glanced around the room. “You sleep in this hovel?” he asked, then shot Rowland a hard look before she could answer.
“This room is quite comfortable,” Brigitte said quickly. “I…I am not accustomed to better than this.”
“Surely—
“Sir Gui, listen to me.” Brigitte stopped him before he could say more. She sat down beside him, but could not meet his stare. “I fear I have done you a grave injustice by playing out my childish fancies with you.”
“What fancies?”
“The other day in the hall, when we spoke…everything I said to you was a lie. I often play at being a lady, especially with men who know nothing about me. I am truly sorry you thought me serious. My game has never caused any harm before.”
Gui frowned. “I can see that Rowland has put you up to this, Lady Brigitte.”
“I am simply Brigitte, and you are wrong, Sir Gui,” she told him firmly. “Pray, forgive me for being so bold, but I cannot let this misunderstanding continue. I have always been a servant. I was shocked to learn that you have challenged my lord because of my silly pretending. I begged him to bring you here so I could tell you the truth before it is too late. You must not fight over me. I was not telling the truth.”
Gui’s eyes reflected his doubt. “I am flattered you have gone to so much trouble out of concern for me. You are truly kind, milady.”
“You do not believe me?” she gasped.
“Not at all,” he said evenly.
“Then you are a fool!”
“There, you see!” He grinned triumphantly. “A mere servant would not dare to speak to me that way.”
Brigitte jumped to her feet, looking to Rowland, but he watched without offering help. She took a deep breath, at a loss for a way to convince the young knight, for she knew the battle would end in his death. And then, as she saw the way Rowland’s eyes roved over her, she had an inspiration.
She swung around to Gui, her hands on hips and her expression disdainful. “I did not say I was a mere servant! Look at me,” she demanded haughtily. “Do you think any man could ignore me for long, lord or not?”
“I… I beg your pardon?” Gui stammered.
“If I am bold at times, it is because my last master treated me as an equal. I was the Baron’s mistress, Sir Gui.” She smiled brazenly. “He was old and lonely, and he spoiled me wonderfully.”
“But you said the Baron de Louroux was your father!” Gui exclaimed.
Brigitte wavered. She was hurting terribly, but what choice did she have?
“He was very much like a father to me—except in bed, of course. Ask Sir Rowland if you do not believe me. He will tell you I was not a virgin when I came to him.”
The implication was that she was Rowland’s mistress, but Rowland said nothing, so she added, “You see—he does not deny it. Will you withdraw your ridiculous challenge now?”
Gui was stung. “I did not feel it was ridiculous.
Good heavens, had she not said enough? “Then let me add this. The man who is my lord now is all I could want in a master. He is a strong, robust lover, and I am well pleased with him.”
Gui got quickly to his feet. “Then why did you run away from him?”
Brigitte was caught off guard. She hesitated, then said, “Please, Sir Gui, do not make me say it in front of him.”
“I insist.”
She squeezed her hands and gazed at the floor, pretending acute embarrassment, then leaned forward and whispered so Rowland could not hear her. “I did not know of Amelia wh
en he brought me here. When I learned she had been his mistress and wanted him still, I feared he would cast me aside. I could not bear it. So I left.”
“Why do you not want him to know this?” Gui asked skeptically.
“Can you not see I love him? I have already admitted more than I wanted him to know. Where is the challenge if he knows how I feel? He will grow bored with me and find another.”
Gui stared hard at her. The suspense was making her nerves jangle. She was exhausted and on the point of screaming that it was all lies. She had done herself a terrible injustice with this farce. Would it be enough to save Sir Gui from his own death?
Gui moved away from her at last, and she turned around in relief. He was not going to make her elaborate. But what did he think of her now? It was all she could do not to burst into tears. Constant humiliation had become a part of her life.
“Meeting you on the field of honor would be pointless now, Rowland. Since you brought me here to listen to this, I assume you will accept my apology?”
Brigitte did not turn to see Rowland nodding agreement. She was too mortified to look at either man. She wanted only for them to leave, and she held her breath, waiting for the door to open and then close.
The moment she heard the door close, she threw herself on her bed and cried out her misery. Such horrible lies! To malign her father like that was unforgivable, even if it had been to save a young man’s life. And all those preposterous things she had said about Rowland! Where had those lies come from? Why had they come so quickly to her mind?
“Was it so painful, Brigitte?”
She started, turning to see Rowland standing beside her bed. “Why are you still here?” she asked. “Go away!”
She buried her face in the pillow again and cried harder. Rowland could not stand it. A woman’s tears had never bothered him before, but now… He turned to leave, then abruptly changed his mind and sat down on the edge of the bed, and gathered her into his arms.
Brigitte struggled against him. She did not want his comfort. She wanted only to be alone with her misery.
Rowland held her gently, but would not let her go. Brigitte finally gave up resisting him and even rested her cheek against his chest, wetting his tunic with her tears. He rocked her gently, his hands caressing her back, her hair. But she would not stop crying, and the sounds tore at his heart.
“Ah, Brigitte, hush now,” he beseeched her softly, kissing her cheeks. “I cannot bear to hear you cry so.”
Brigitte did not know how it happened, but Rowland’s lips moved to hers, and she could not find the will to stop him. His mouth was warm, and tasted of her own salty tears. When he began to remove her clothing, she knew it was too late to stop him, and instead of fighting him, her mind fought her own will to resist. Tonight she was his, and they both knew it.
Brigitte entered into a state of wild abandon. Rowland knelt beside the narrow cot, doing magical things to her with his hands and lips, bringing forth passionate responses she never knew herself capable of making. He caressed every part of her, and his touch was gentle, maddeningly so. She had passed the need for tenderness. She wanted to feel his weight on her, to have his lips devour hers, to be bruised by his ardor. More than anything she wanted his hard member to thrust deep inside her, to touch the depths of her.
But when he did finally join his body to hers, he still moved carefully, slowly, and she could not stand it. She raised her hips to force all of him into her. What followed was no less than wondrous. A tight knot formed in her, becoming tighter and tighter until it broke, and the throbbing that followed was exquisite, spreading through her whole body and going on forever.
Rowland quickly followed her to his own fulfillment. A little while later he moved just far enough to her side to take his weight from her slender body. She did not want him to leave her, and he was deeply pleased by that. They fell asleep entwined, smiles lighting their faces.
Chapter Twenty-four
“It’s a good fit, don’t you think?”
Brigitte stepped back to admire Rowland in the blue wool tunic she had just finished for him. It clung well to his wide shoulders, emphasizing his fine figure. The deep blue wool brought out the blue of his eyes. She was proud of the way he looked in it and anxious for him to say something, but he was so engrossed in examining the seams and edgings that he seemed not to hear her.
“Well?”
“It’s comfortable enough.”
“Is that all you can say?” Brigitte exclaimed. “And what of my stitches? They will not break or unravel, you know.”
“I have seen better,” he replied casually as he studied the hem.
“Oh!” She threw a cord of thread at him, and would have thrown the shears if they had been at hand. “See if I take as much care with the next one I make for you!”
Rowland grinned. “You will have to learn when I am jesting, Brigitte. I am more than pleased with your work. You put all my other clothes to shame. Your stitches are perfect.”
Brigitte beamed. She had spent the past six days making Rowland’s tunic and a short matching blue woolen mantle, sewing in his room where it was comfortable. A truce had been in effect since the night they had made love. They did not talk about it, but every day since had been different.
More than ever now she noticed his attractiveness, the way his light blond hair curled on his neck, the way his blue eyes crinkled when he laughed, making him look years younger. And he laughed more frequently of late, much more.
Rowland still teased Brigitte, but she no longer took offense. He had already tried to check his roughness, and continued to make every effort at gentleness. She had noticed before that he was willing to change for her, but she had not cared before. Now his efforts pleased her. And more and more she found herself watching Rowland, just looking at him without any particular reason.
The one thing that made their truce so strong was that Rowland made no advances besides a chaste kiss when he escorted her to her room each evening and left her alone there. Brigitte was content to let things continue that way. She was not sure how she would react if Rowland wanted her again. On the one hand was the pleasure of it, on the other was the sinfulness of it. She did not want to decide between the two, and she was grateful that Rowland did not force her. In leaving her alone, he was giving her time.
In fact, time was working against Brigitte, though she didn’t realize it. Just yesterday, she had grown nervously excited as the sun lowered and the hour approached when Rowland would take her to the evening meal. And today she had presented the new tunic to him with much anxiety. She did not stop to think why his approval was suddenly so important to her. Nor did she ask herself why she had hurriedly fussed with her hair and straightened her clothing before he entered the room.
“You deserve a day of leisure, Brigitte,” Rowland said as he fastened on the short mantle and threw it back over his shoulders. “Would you care for a ride tomorrow? There are a few tame mares in my father’s stable, and you can choose a suitable mount from them.”
His offer surprised her. “Are you sure your father will not mind?”
“He will not mind at all.”
“But is it safe?”
His eyes mirrored confusion for only a moment. “Ah, so you have heard the talk, eh? Thurston has had his men drilling for several weeks, but no one likes to take his army to war in winter. Thurston will wait until the weather warms, or at least until he is assured of some advantage. Right now he has none. In winter, we are always well stocked with food, so a siege will do him no good. And Luthor will not send his men out to fight in the snow. Thurston knows that.”
Brigitte’s brow creased. “Is there no way to settle this without war?”
“No. Lord Thurston is a greedy man. Greed is what made him marry my stepsister Brenda, for whom he cares nothing at all. He was expecting more land than he got, and now he will not stop until he has it all. He will die. That is the only way to end the quarrel.”
Brigitte’s frown de
epened. “I have never been in the midst of a war before. My father saw his share, but the only battles fought at Louroux were all fought before I was born. He and my brother both fought in other wars, of course, away from Louroux.”
“You never mention your brother,” Rowland said, turning to her.
“Because he is dead,” she replied softly. “I do not like to talk about him.”
Rowland didn’t know what to say, so he changed the subject. “You may be in the midst of our war. Brigitte, but you will be safe enough here.”
“And what if Montville falls?”
“That is not likely, cherie.”
“But not impossible either,” she pointed out. She drew a deep breath and sighed. “Maybe it’s just as well I will not be here.” The sharp look he gave her made her stammer, “I mean, I… oh, you know what I meant.”
“No, Brigitte, I do not. If you will not be here, where will you be?”
“You sent a messenger to Count Arnulf. Need I explain?” He did not reply, and it was her turn to look sharply at him. “You did send a messenger to Count Arnulf?”
Rowland hesitated, but the fear that came suddenly to her eyes made him nod reluctantly. “Yes, I did.”
“Well then, you see what I mean.”
“Do you really think Count Arnulf can take you away from me?”
“He—he will make you see the truth at last,” she said hesitantly.
Rowland moved close to her and ran a finger across that proud chin. There was sorrow in his eyes.
“Must we go through this again, little jewel? I would much rather enjoy the pleasure of your company without an argument ruining your sweet disposition.”
She had to smile. He had seen so little of her sweet disposition that his statement was truly ridiculous. But he was right. There was no point in fighting any longer. It would all be over soon enough. The thought caused her smile to disappear, though she could not say why.
When they entered the hall a few minutes later, Brigitte quickly scanned the room, as had become her habit. She was wary of Hedda and Ilse, those two tall, unpleasant women who never ceased sniping at her. She would not usually sit with them, for they were ladies and she was a servant. But Amelia was only a maid, so Brigitte frequently had to sit near her and bear her fierce looks.