Esternay smiled grimly. The girl was strong-willed and unpredictable like her father. It did not bode well. With a heavy sigh, he withdrew a parchment from his vest and held it forth, displaying the king’s great seal.
“As your sovereign king and lord protector, His Highness Charles III decrees that you are to set henceforth for Valsemé, the land of your father, and thereupon pledge your troth in marriage to the new lord baron of that holding, Gruel Atli, that your blood may mix with his in the future heir of Valsemé, and that in your presence you may intercede in behalf of your people.”
“Nay!” The word burst from her lips and she whirled to clutch the nun’s sleeve. “What madness is this? Reverend Mother, tell him,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Tell him I am to take the veil! I am pledged to God!”
“Is this true?” Esternay glared at the nun. A chit of a girl must not be allowed to thwart these tenuous negotiations, however distasteful.
Mother Annice smoothed Brienne’s hair. “She revealed these intentions to me only moments ago.”
“You did not tell her of this?” He waved the parchment menacingly.
“Nay, ‘twas God’s own inspiration.”
Esternay began to pace like a great caged panther, then pivoted abruptly. “No matter. Charles was not advised of his ward’s wishes, nor has he given consent to such. This is the course he has deigned and so it shall stand.”
A scream tore from Brienne’s throat as she hurtled herself at the black knight and pummeled his chest with her fists. “What manner of man are you, to deliver your kin to the bed of the heathens that slayed my father and brother and stole my lands? You have no honor!”
Esternay’s hand struck without warning and Brienne reeled, the light shattering before her eyes. She fell against the wall, tasting blood at the corner of her mouth.
Esternay retreated a few steps. He had not wanted to harm the girl, but she pricked him sorely. He would tolerate no slur upon that which he held above all else, his honor.
“Prepare yourself, my lady, for in two days hence we depart for Valsemé.”
Brienne crumpled at the feet of Reverend Mother and sobbed uncontrollably. There must be a way. By all that was holy, she would find an escape. She sought solace then in the labyrinth of her mind, scarcely aware when the kind hands of Mother Annice guided her from the room.
Chapter 2
The abbey bells tolled in the crisp early morn, signaling Prime and the call to devotions.
Brienne rose stiffly from her pallet and quickly began her ablutions. She flinched as her fingertips grazed her tender mouth, and the memory of the night before flooded back.
Brienne flung open a small wooden trunk and slid her hands deftly among the folds of clothing until they closed about a prized disk of polished steel.
She examined the ugly discoloration spread along her jaw. No doubt it would turn a sickly purplish-yellow in several days’ time, and she wondered briefly how the Normans would receive a battered bride. Perhaps she should goad Lord Robert into beating her till her entire face was swollen and misshapen. Then, with luck, Gruel Atli would reject her.
Brienne sighed at her foolishness and stood to pull on a chemise of soft ivory linen. Nothing deterred men such as he, or Lord Robert, or even the king. Power was what they were born to, suckled upon, and bred to wield ruthlessly in attaining their precious ambitions. What match a mere maid? Somehow she must elude their mad schemes.
Donning a shorter, rose-colored tunic, she folded back the wide sleeves to reveal the creamy undergarment. A simple belt of metal links girdled the gown, its clasp embossed with a falcon, her father’s personal emblem. Her emblem now.
Coiling her hair loosely at the nape of her neck and catching up her woolen mantle, Brienne stepped forth from the small cell into the fresh morning air and set off to join the community for first devotions. Her footsteps froze as she realized that a soldier kept pace with her a short distance away.
She studied him through narrowed eyes. This was no escort granted as courtesy due a lady. Did Lord Robert fear she would slip from his grasp? Had he the gall to set a guard to her heels, here, within the abbey walls? In truth, she had found little time to formulate an escape, and it nettled her all the more that he could so easily hold her prisoner. Squaring her shoulders, Brienne walked briskly toward the church, heaping curses upon her brother-by-marriage through gritted teeth.
The Seigneur d’Esternay awaited her, leaning casually against the side of the steep, aged steps. Brienne met him with an icy silence. How she longed to wipe the smugness from his face.
Throughout the service the dark knight held close to her, keeping her separate from the other women. When they broke their fast in the guest refectory a short while later, she became thoroughly vexed, for Lord Robert was never more than an arm’s length away.
She tasted her wine in small, agitated sips, flashing daggered looks at him over the goblet’s rim.
“How impressive that so noble a lord rises early to join our humble community in prayer,” she taunted. “Perhaps ‘tis repentance you seek for some foul deed.”
Esternay observed her dispassionately.
“Of course, ‘tis more surprising still that I am granted this day of grace to pack my meager possessions before being sacrificed to the Nordic gods.”
Esternay lifted a dark brow and wiped his hands on the folds of cloth that hung from the table.
“In truth, we wait upon two monks, missionaries to the Northmen. They will serve as my interpreters and remain in the duchy to tend its ‘flock.’ One is reportedly a Dane.” He smiled, taking in Brienne’s surprise. “‘Tis said that he atones for the sins of his wayward brothers by zealously evangelizing them.” Esternay drained his cup and rose. “Attend to yourself, my lady. We leave once the churchmen arrive and are suitably refreshed.”
The crust Brienne nibbled caught in her throat. The man was insufferable! Doubtless, had the monks accompanied him and his party to Levroux, he would not have granted her time to use even the garderobe before departing.
Brienne was shadowed with fervor throughout the day. If she ventured near the abbey’s gates or stables, she instantly found unbidden company at her elbow. When she thought to pray in the chapel and plead her case before God, she discovered herself surrounded by questionably devout soldiers.
Sanctuary might well be her only hope, but if Lord Robert and his men feared she would gain it, Brienne only despaired of having the chance to try. A sense of hopelessness began to poison her resolve. Naught would assuage the dull ache that now spread from temple to crown, born of the day’s tensions.
At length she sought refuge in the privacy of her room, but here, too, she found no peace. A coffer of elegant clothing awaited her, a wedding gift and peace offering from the king. It contained a rich array of gaily colored gowns, transparent veils, fur-trimmed mantles, and jeweled girdles.
The beautiful clothes served only to inflame Brienne’s ire and mounting frustration. How typically male! She would not be bought with finery to kindle the passions of a Norseman. In a furor she flung the garments about the tiny cell until they covered the floor and hung askew from the solitary chair that graced the room.
Angrily, she stripped off her tunic and chemise, then donned her meanest garb, a worn and faded gown of a dull greenish-brown.
Flinging open the cell door, she stalked past the two startled soldiers hovering nearby and headed for the stables. There she found a length of rope and tied it about her hips, creating a coarse girdle of sorts.
Good, she thought. ‘Tis fitting raiment for one condemned.
Pivoting on her heel, she marched stiffly toward the scullery, determined to engross herself in the most noxious task available till she awoke from this nightmare.
»«
A shrouded figure moved across the stable rushes and paused in the shadows of the door. His icy blue gaze followed her with keen interest.
“The maid was to be willing, yet she bears the mark of a hea
vy hand.”
An older man emerged from the stall where he had just quartered an undersized palfrey, and frowned from beneath a thatch of bushy brows after Brienne.
“Patience, my son. We will soon know the truth of it.”
»«
Brienne’s ever-present escorts followed hurriedly behind her clipped steps. Much to her relief, they remained outside the small stone building as she whisked inside.
Brienne halted abruptly on the threshold. A dozen women worked furiously sanding pots and implements, all seemingly driven by the same madness.
Red-rimmed eyes lifted to greet her. As she spied Aleth, Lutigard, Sisters Ursuline, Clothilde, and Margaret, she realized that these women ached for her.
Suddenly, the crushing reality of the king’s directive overwhelmed her, and she slumped against the wall, burying her face in her hands. What had she done to merit this misbegotten lot? She bitterly regretted not having taken the veil when her father had pressed her to do so. She would be safely tucked away from the world and forgotten now. As a nun, she would be considered dead to it.
Aleth limped forward with a stricken look, tenderly stretching out her arms. Brienne clung to her dearest friend and the floodgates opened anew. No words could express the depths of her grief.
As Aleth’s own tears spilled unchecked, she stroked Brienne’s hair. “Shhh. Do not cry, chére amie. I will help you. Upon my word, somehow I will find a way to help you.”
“What goes here!” A deep voice thundered across the room as Esternay’s dark frame filled the doorway.
Brienne spun around, fearing that he had overheard Aleth, but then she realized his gaze was fixed upon her shabby gown.
“Why do you dress yourself as a beggar and waste your time at these chores?” he demanded.
Brienne lifted her chin and met his gaze evenly. “I do penance, my lord, for surely my sins are great to have warranted such a fate as the one set before me.”
Esternay growled and quickly surveyed the room. “You are to cease these petty tasks and ready yourself for our departure on the morrow. ‘Tis the will of the king.”
“The king? And what is your will, my lord?”
“I am sworn to Charles. My will must need comply with that of my overlord . . . for honor’s sake,” he challenged.
“Then what is your gain? Land? Gold? Thirty pieces of silver?”
Esternay winced at the reference to the traitorous apostle. “Nay, my lady, I take no bribe. Charles is set on this course and deems me the proper escort as your closest kinsman. You may think upon your forthcoming union as your family’s restoration to Valsemé.”
“Certes, to Esternay’s advantage! Is that it?” she snapped, stepping closer. “You tie the swine’s loyalty to your shield through the bonds of my marriage. Then will he keep his Norse brethren from your door, and join you upon the battlefield? Is that it? You would use the heathens’ bloodlust to strengthen the ranks and power of Esternay?”
His eyes glittered and she knew she had struck the mark. Yet there was something more guarded within the depths of those impenetrable eyes. Something dark, deadly. She sucked in her breath sharply and fell back a pace.
“What else? What plans have you laid that not even Charles foresees?” she hissed, ice splintering through her.
“You are distraught, my dear, no doubt from the shock of your impending nuptials,” he replied evenly, outwardly unfazed. “Do not allow your fears to twist your reasoning.”
“Do they? And does Lisette quite agree with your mission here, my lord?”
“She will not be told till the child is born. ‘Twould be unwise to distress her overmuch at this time.”
Brienne decried his words with a laugh. “Oh, a most noble lord indeed! And I thought my enemies all lay without, yet I find a viper hiding in my sister’s bed!”
Esternay drew back his hand to strike her, then slowly lowered it. She would not get the better of him again. Damn, but the wench didn’t know when to hold her tongue. She deserved a thorough thrashing, but he would not oblige her in front of so many, particularly not those of the cloth.
Grabbing her by the arm, he dragged her from the building and back across the courtyard toward her cell. Throwing open the door, he quickly surveyed the room’s disarray, then drove his fingers into her flesh and yanked her to him, holding her a breath away.
“I suggest you accept your fate and prepare yourself, for we face a most arduous journey.”
“Never,” she breathed between clenched teeth.
Esternay shoved her roughly through the door and she stumbled to the floor, the stone biting her hip.
“Heed me well, vixen. Willingly or not, we leave on the morrow. You may ride of your own accord or trussed in hemp, but ride you will.”
Esternay retreated across the courtyard, stiff backed, as his men assumed their posts. Brienne was left to sob upon the gowns and furs that littered her chamber floor.
»«
Tints of lavender and rose threaded the awakening skies as an assortment of birds trebled noisily from their lofty perches, unconcerned with the affairs of humankind.
Brienne paused mutely upon the portal of her cell, still dressed in the drab brown dress of the day before. The sleepless night had been spent in prayer with an unexpected visitor, Mother Annice. Now she waited numbly, exhaustion threatening to overtake her, the mean garb her last silent protest.
She stared vacantly about the familiar surroundings that had served as her home for eight years and could not fathom that she was to be so callously torn away and given over to her enemy. There was naught to hope for. Her royal protector had betrayed her as had her sister’s own husband. She was but a pawn in a game of power between men.
Brienne turned back into her chamber. The rich clothes had been returned to their coffer and her own simpler garments added to it. All was in readiness, save her own person, but ready, willing, or accepting she would never be. Though subjected physically to the ordeal, her hatred for the Northmen was the armor of her heart.
Gathering her mantle about her shoulders, she returned to the doorway and spied Esternay moving across the courtyard, his long strides rapidly eating up the distance between them. She straightened her shoulders and braced herself to be rebuffed for her mean attire.
He halted before her and, after measuring her appearance for a brief moment, grunted and offered his arm. Brienne lifted her cool gaze and, with a faint smile, brushed past it.
In silence they proceeded to the abbey church where a mass was to be celebrated and a final blessing bestowed before the retinue departed.
Aleth waited by the stone staircase looking pale and drawn. She limped forward and grasped her friend’s hands. In a familiar gesture, Brienne braced Aleth’s arm and they mounted the stairs in slow, measured steps.
The bleakness inside the church matched Brienne’s dismal mood. Faint shafts of light filtered through small windows arched high above as candles sputtered in their sockets after the night’s long vigil. She hugged herself against the perpetual cold that plagued the stony house of the Lord.
Brienne felt, more than saw, the eyes that embraced her. Lifting her gaze, she found crystal-blue eyes and a pale halo of hair glinting from deep within a monk’s hood.
She dropped her lashes and nervously bit her lower lip. The Dane! A Norseman, and so near. She fought to control her watery knees. But he was a holy man now, a Christian, if such a thing were possible. Stealing a small glance, she found him bent to prayer, a silhouette of coarse brown robes.
A second monk entered the sanctuary and ascended the altar steps. Sturdy in stature, with an undisciplined swath of iron gray hair beneath his tonsured crown, Brienne knew him at once to be Brother Bernard. Reverend Mother spoke of him earlier in rather shocked tones. The other she named as Brother Lyting, and confided only that he kept the Rule of Silence to atone for the crimes of his pagan kinsmen.
As the service progressed and the celebrant droned on in sonorous Latin, Brienne wo
ndered if she supported Aleth or if, in truth, ‘twas the other way round.
After the words of consecration were pronounced, Brother Bernard descended the altar stairs, his chalice clasped chest high, and passed through the gates that separated the sanctuary from the faithful. He assumed his station and began dispensing the Host to the communicants.
Aleth hobbled forward, clutching tightly to Brienne’s arm. Brienne first took the Host, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as she received the wafer upon her tongue. She then braced Aleth as her friend repeated the ritual, and the two moved aside, allowing Lord Robert forward.
From the corner of her eye, Brienne glimpsed Esternay lowering his lids and tilting back his large head. Suddenly, Aleth shoved Brienne hard toward the gates of the sanctuary with a desperate look that told all. Brienne quickened her pace as a shout exploded from behind, followed by a squeal, then the sound of bodies thudding on the floor.
She glanced back to see that Aleth had thrown herself in Esternay’s path and the knight now lay sprawled over the slight form, cursing vividly.
Brienne darted forward, the thunder of footsteps on stone closing in on her. A hand shot out and grasped her mantle, but the garment broke free of its clasp and in the next instant she slipped through the gate and gained the altar. She sank upon the marble steps, heaving for breath.
Esternay rose in pursuit, intent on dragging her from the altar.
Brother Bernard fumbled in the folds of his robes and a moment later blocked the knight’s way, brandishing a small sword in one hand while still gripping the chalice in the other.
“By all that is holy, you shall not violate sanctuary!” the monk bellowed in his deep, gravelly voice.
Esternay’s face contorted with rage and three of his men sought to restrain him.
“Give heed!” the monk warned. “Such sacrilege is committed on pain of excommunication!”
Esternay struggled for composure. A few seconds later, he barked out orders posting several of his men within the church to guard the girl and seize her should she leave the altar area, then stalked from the building.
The Valiant Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART series) Page 3