“Only if he can perform a miracle and heal me this minute,” the man whispered.
Rowland grinned. “What can I do to help you? You saved my life and have suffered for it.”
“I suffer from my own carelessness. Only twice in my life have I raised my sword for earnest combat, and each time I have ended near death. I do not listen to warnings. I always think that men will fight fairly. I have learned the lesson at great expense.”
“I understand you recently recovered from a head wound. The Saracens?”
“Yes. I and three others were after a fleeing band. They turned to fight when we caught up, and my horse crumbled, throwing me. The next thing I knew, I was in a fishing village, with a headache I would wish on no man, and told I had been unconscious for a week. I came to Arles as soon as I was well. I have had no luck in finding my vassals. I had thought to find one or two at that alehouse, but I saw none of them.”
“But fortunate for me you were there.”
“I could do no less than fight when I saw that knight creeping up behind you,” the wounded man declared.
“Well, you have saved the life of Rowland of Montville. What can I do in return?”
“Pray for my quick recovery.”
Rowland laughed, for the man kept his humor despite his condition.
“I will indeed pray for you. And your name? I must have it if I am to entreat the saints.”
“Quintin de Louroux.”
“A Frank?”
“Yes, of Berry.”
“Your family is there?”
“My parents are both dead. I have only my sister left and—” He paused. “And there is one thing you could do for me.”
“You have only to name it.”
“My vassals, the three I brought with me. If you could find them for me, I will be grateful. I would send one home to tell my sister that I am alive but that I shall not be home for some weeks yet.”
“Your sister believes you dead?”
Quintin nodded weakly. “I think she must. I had thought it would be only a matter of a few days to round up my men and leave for Berry. Now the physician tells me that I must keep to this bed for three weeks. I cannot bear to think of my sister grieving over me.”
Such concern for a woman was beyond Rowland. “She must be very dear to you.”
“We are very close.”
“Then rest easy, my friend. I will find your knights and send them to you. But you ask too little of me. I would consider it an honor if you would let me bring the news to your sister. Putting your mind at ease would be small payment on the debt I owe you.”
“I cannot ask that of you,” Quintin protested.
“You offend me if you do not ask it. I must travel north at any rate, for my father has called me home to Montville. I delayed only to see how you were faring. And have you not heard of the destriers of Montville? My mount would put your knight’s horse to shame, and the good news would reach your sister all the sooner.”
Quintin’s eyes brightened. “You will find my home easily. You need only ask once you near Berry, and you will be directed to Louroux.”
“I will find it,” Rowland assured him. “You must rest and regain your strength.”
“I can rest now,” Quintin sighed. “You have my thanks, Sir Rowland.”
Rowland stood up to leave. “It’s little enough for you, and nothing at all compared to saving my life.”
Quintin protested, “Your debt is paid. Do not tell my sister I have been wounded once again, for I would cause her no more anguish. Tell her only that I cannot leave the Duke’s service as yet, but will return to her soon.”
It was only after Rowland had left Arles that he realized he did not know the name of Quintin de Louroux’s sister. But no matter—he would find her.
Chapter Four
Druoda of Gascony lounged on a long green couch in her new chambers, eating dried grapes and drinking their nectar in sweet wine. It was late afternoon, and, although the winter had been mild thus far, Druoda was used to the warmer climate of southern France, and she insisted on a brazier of hot coals to warm her room.
At Druoda’s feet knelt Hildegard, preparing her mistress’s nails for painting, another of many practices Druoda had learned from the carefree women of the south. It was not so very long ago that both women had been strangers to luxury. Only recently they had catered to travelers, working day and night laundering other people’s travel-stained garments and cooking. This deplorable labor had been necessary, for Druoda’s father had left her nothing. Her husband, Walafrid, possessed a large house, but had no money to maintain it. So they had turned the house into a hostelry, hiring Hildegard to help.
Thanks to the death of Druoda’s nephew, Quintin, their days of hard work were over. It had been a calculated risk, assuming guardianship of Brigitte de Louroux and keeping the news of the Baron’s death from his liege lord. Druoda gloated over having rid herself of the only person who might tell Count Arnulf of the Baron’s death. Hugh had returned to the south coast on Druoda’s orders to verify Quintin’s death. Druoda did not really need the verification, but she needed time, and waiting for Hugh and Quintin’s vassals to return with Quintin’s possessions was giving her the time she needed to marry Brigitte without Count Arnulf’s interference.
If there was a betrothal before the Count knew of Quintin’s death, then there would be no need to appoint the girl a guardian, for she would have a husband. It only remained to keep the lady from crying to the Count, and that could be arranged by simply keeping them apart. Once the wedding took place, the Count would not step in and try to run things. No, he would leave the estate to Brigitte’s lawful husband, who would be controlled by Druoda.
The husband, ah, that had been the most difficult part! Finding a man who wanted Lady Brigitte enough to agree to Druoda’s demands had been Druoda’s greatest challenge. She had a long list of possibilities, a list obtained from the servants, for Brigitte had been asked for many times over the years. Druoda believed she had finally found the right man in Wilhelm, lord of Arsnay. He had come to ask for the lady two times in recent years, but Thomas and Quintin had refused his request, for they would never have considered giving their precious Brigitte to a man older than her father, and a man with Wilhelm’s unsavory reputation.
Lord Wilhelm was perfect for Druoda’s plans. A man who seldom left Arsnay, who would not come often to Louroux to inspect his wife’s estate, a man who wanted a beautiful young virgin so much he was willing to give Walafrid free reign at Louroux was just the thing. The old fool thought only a virgin bride could give him the son he so desperately wanted. It was not Brigitte herself he wanted, though he was delighted with her beauty. It was her innocence he demanded. And what other young woman would have such an old husband? Lord Wilhelm was also Count Arnulf’s vassal, so the Count would not question Druoda’s choice.
Druoda lay back and sighed with satisfaction. Wilhelm was the answer to Druoda’s plans, and she was extremely pleased with herself, for only last night she had concluded the arrangements with him. Wilhelm was so smitten that he would no doubt pamper Brigitte. And after a year or so, Brigitte would have a most unfortunate accident, for it would not do for her to outlive Wilhelm and be in a position to threaten all Druoda had worked for. Druoda had gotten rid of Mavis with perfect ease, and she would get rid of Brigitte. Brigitte would die, Wilhelm would be Lord of Louroux and Walafrid still seneschal, and Druoda would always rule Louroux.
“When will you tell her, Druoda?”
Hildegard’s question brought a smile to Druoda’s round, pasty face. “This evening, after Brigitte is weary from working the whole day long.”
“Why are you so sure she will agree? Even I would not care to marry Wilhelm d’Arsnay.”
“Nonsense,” Druoda scoffed. “He may be a little ill-favored in appearance and have peculiar notions about virgins and sons, but he is a man of wealth. And do not forget the lady has no choice.” Hildegard looked at her mistress doubtfully,
and Druoda laughed. “Let her protest. She can do nothing about this marriage.”
“And if she runs away?”
“I have employed two ruffians who will guard her until the ceremony. I brought them back with me last night.”
“You have thought of everything,” her servant said admiringly.
Druoda nodded grimly. “I have had to.”
Druoda had been cursed with the square shape of her father, and a moon face also like his, whereas her sister, Leonie, had been blessed with their mother’s looks. Druoda always envied Leonie her beauty, and when she made such a fine marriage with the Baron of Louroux, Druoda’s envy turned immediately to hate for her sister and her sister’s husband. Now that Leonie and her husband were dead, that hate found a focus in Brigitte.
Now Druoda would have what Leonie had once had. She did not have such a fine husband, however, for Walafrid was a poor example of a man. But that suited Druoda. She had a strong will and could not have borne any man’s domination. At the age of forty-three, she would finally have what had been denied her all her life. With Brigitte safely married and out of her way, Louroux would be hers to rule, and she would be a grand lady, a lady of wealth and influence.
Late that evening Brigitte was summoned to Druoda’s spacious chamber, the room that had once belonged to her parents. The large wood-frame bed was now draped in gaudy red silk, and ornate lounges had been added to the room. The long wardrobes were filled with the many rich tunics and mantles that Druoda had ordered made. Wooden tables had been replaced with bronze, and candelabra of pure gold adorned many of them.
Brigitte hated the room as it was, filled with Druoda’s extravagances. Druoda reclined on her couch with a queenly air, her coarse, heavy body clothed in no fewer than three linen tunics of varying colors and lengths. Small emeralds had been sewn onto the cuffs of the wide sleeves of the outer gown. These gems were rarer than diamonds and cost a fortune. Druoda’s girdle was also studded with emeralds, as was the gold ornament she wore in her elaborately curled dark brown hair. No doubt Hildegard had used a vexing iron.
Brigitte had worked the entire day at weeding the manor garden. The chore had always before been given to three or four serfs as part of the labors owed their lord, yet she had done it all alone. And she had also bottled the winter’s herbs. She was exhausted and cramped with hunger pangs, for she had been told not to stop working until she was finished, and she had only just finished. Yet there was Druoda with a feast laid out on the table before her. There was more food than even Druoda could possibly eat, succulent pig, several creamed vegetables, breads, fruits, and sweet cakes.
“I would like to retire, Druoda.” Brigitte spoke after a few minutes had passed in silence. “So if you will tell me why I am here—”
“Yes, I imagine you are tired and hungry,” Druoda said casually, as she stuffed another sweet cake into her mouth. “Tell me, girl, do you feel you are being overworked? But no, you must not think so, for you never complain.”
“Druoda, if you would tell me why you have summoned me,” Brigitte said tiredly.
“I think your stubbornness has gone far enough, do you not agree?” Druoda did not wait for an answer. “Of course you do. Forget this foolishness about a nunnery. I have wonderful news, Brigitte.” Druoda smiled.
“What news?”
Druoda’s lips turned down at the corners. “Your attitude toward me has not been all I might have desired. Nevertheless, out of the goodness of my heart I have arranged a splendid marriage for you.”
Brigitte was speechless. She had told Druoda several times that she would not marry yet.
“Well, girl? Have you nothing to say?”
“I had no idea you could be so generous, Druoda,” said Brigitte, managing a tone that could not quite be taken for sarcasm.
“I knew you would be grateful, and justifiably so, for your betrothed is a man of importance, and you will be happy to know that he also is vassal to your liege, Count Arnulf, so that good man will surely not refuse him. Yes, my dear child, you are truly fortunate.”
Brigitte still held her temper in check, though her light blue eyes sparkled dangerously.
“And what of my mourning period? How dare you try to marry me off when I am still in mourning for my brother?”
“Your betrothed is eager for this union and will not be put off. On the morrow we will go to his manor to celebrate your betrothal. I trust you can be suitably attired and ready to leave by midday?”
Brigitte hesitated. To leave the manor, perhaps even to travel toward Arnulf’s castle!
“I can be ready,” Brigitte said calmly, adding, “but you have not told me his name.”
Druoda smiled with great delight. “Your betrothed is Lord Wilhelm d’Arsnay.”
Brigitte gasped. Druoda watched gleefully as the color drained from her face.
“You are overcome by your good fortune,” Druoda said smoothly.
“Lord Wilhelm!”
“A fine man.”
“He is a fat, lecherous, loathsome, disgusting pig!” Brigitte cried, caution gone. “I would rather die than marry him!”
Druoda laughed. “Such a temper! First you choose a nunnery, and now it’s death over dishonor!”
“I mean what I say, Druoda!”
“Then I suppose you will have to kill yourself,” Druoda sighed. “Poor Wilhelm will be so disappointed.”
“I do not have to marry him just because you have arranged it. I will leave here if you insist on it. I do not care what befalls me on the road, for it cannot be worse than marrying the most repulsive man in all of Berry.”
“I am afraid that is out of the question. You do not think I would let you come to harm on the road, do you? I have given my word on this marriage, and it will take place.”
Brigitte drew herself up, trying desperately to control herself. “You cannot force me to wed that loathsome man, Druoda. You forget one important factor. Whether he is your choice or not, Count Arnulf is still my lord, and he must approve the match. He would never give me to Wilhelm d’Arsnay, vassal or not.”
“You think not?”
“I know he will not!”
“You underestimate me, girl.” Druoda growled, all pretense gone now. She leaned forward, toward her prey. “The Count will give his consent, because he will think this match is what you desire. It is not uncommon for a young woman to choose an old man for her husband, for she is sure to outlive him and will someday have the freedom of widowhood. And you, my girl, with your willfullness, would desire that freedom. Count Arnulf will believe that you desire this match.”
“I will tell him otherwise, even if I must do so on my wedding day!”
Druoda slapped her hard then, viciously and with pleasure. “There will be no more outbursts, Brigitte. You will be wed when Count Arnulf is unable to attend your wedding. If you defy me, I will be forced to take harsh measures. A good beating might instill proper respect. Now get out of here. Get out!”
Chapter Five
Brigitte was awakened after only a few hours sleep. Before she was even fully awake she was informed by a smug Hildegard that she would be moved back into her old chamber later that day. How typical of Druoda to allow her to return now, only to prepare to meet her betrothed.
Brigitte spent most of an hour in a large tub, soothing some of the stiffness from her body. But nothing could be done for the roughness of her hands, the broken and chipped nails, evidence of months of toil.
After her bath, she went to her clothes wardrobe. Only two respectable garments were left to her. A smaller chest was inside the larger one, but the costly jewelry it had once contained had disappeared. A spiked comb and a steel looking glass were all that remained of what had once been a fabulous array of jewels. Looking beneath a pile of cotton garments, Brigitte withdrew two tunics of fine blue linen, embroidered with silver threads. The longer tunic was sleeveless, to be worn beneath the shorter outer tunic, which had long, wide sleeves. The outer gown was, she was astonish
ed to see, inlaid with rare sapphires all over the bodice. The gown had been a gift from her father just before he died. The long mantle that was made for these gowns was fringed with silver cord and matched her undergarment, and was clasped with a large sapphire. Why had the jewels not been removed?
Brigitte could only imagine that this ensemble had been overlooked when she moved to the servants’ huts. Why else was she still in possession of such costly gems? Like emeralds, sapphires were rarer than diamonds or pearls. The sapphires might even buy her freedom.
At a little after dawn, a horse was brought around to the front of the manor house for Brigitte. She was dressed in her blue gowns, the fringed mantle clasped at her throat, looking much like her former self. She looked beautiful and even defiant, her golden hair braided into two long plaits falling over her shoulders to her waist.
Druoda was mounted and waiting. Also present were two burly men whom Brigitte had never seen before. She was offered no introductions or explanations before Druoda led the way through the gate in the stone wall surrounding the manor. The two men rode on either side of Brigitte.
It was not until hours later, when they came within a mile of Lord Wilhelm’s domain and Druoda slowed enough that Brigitte could ask about the two men, that her suspicions were confirmed.
“They are here to guard you,” Druoda informed her curtly. They will see to it that you do not disappear before your marriage ceremony.”
Brigitte was frantic. How could she escape if she was continually guarded?
The rest of the day was no less dismal. They spent the afternoon with Lord Wilhelm and his obese daughter. Wilhelm was a grossly fat man, much older than Brigitte’s father, with thin tufts of grey hair circling his head. He was ugly, with a red and bulbous nose and beady black eyes that never left Brigitte until the banquet was served.
They dined in the great hall, a barren room except for the trellis tables and the armor which adorned the bleak stone walls. Brigitte could not touch any of the food, and her stomach churned as she watched the others stuff themselves. Druoda was in fine company, among fellow gluttons.