Chapter Forty-two
Brigitte moved slowly and lazily through the orchard. Every so often she would try to catch the autumn leaves as they fluttered to the ground. And then her hands would go to her waist to feel the flatness there. She had carried her burden a long time, but that time was over. The birthing had not been difficult, or so Eudora had said. Brigitte had thought differently at the time, quite differently.
But she didn’t remember too much of the pain, and she was happy being a mother. But when she was alone, as she was just then, misery overtook her. She hated thinking of Rowland, yet she couldn’t stop thinking of him. She hated the ache he caused, and the longing, but she thought of him all the time.
Brigitte thought she was imagining things when she saw a rider approaching the gates of Louroux. She moved through the trees to the edge of the orchard, sure the vision would disappear. Something about the horse reminded her of Rowland’s Hun. She chided herself for her imaginings.
Picking up her skirts, Brigitte moved toward the manor. Her pace quickened with each step, and when she moved through the gates she was running. She stopped dead in the courtyard, close enough to see the horse clearly as a groom led him to the stable. The rider was not there. Her heart beat frantically. She raced to the hall, stumbling through the doors, and once again stopped dead.
“Rowland!” she gasped.
But no one could have heard her over Quintin’s shouting. Rowland and Quintin stood a few feet apart, Quintin in a fury and Rowland ready to draw his sword.
“Stop it!” Brigitte screamed as she ran between them. “Stop it, I say!” She pushed at Rowland and he fell back, staring at her. Then she turned to her brother. “What is the meaning of this?”
“He is not welcome here.”
“You would throw him out,” she asked hotly, “without knowing why he came?”
“I know why he came!”
“Why?”
“For you.”
Rowland had answered. She allowed herself to turn and look at him then, her eyes taking in all of him. She continued to stare, unable to help herself, and he devoured her with those dark blue eyes.
“Leave us, Quintin,” Brigitte said softly without looking at her brother.
Quintin grabbed her arm and swung Brigitte around to face him. “I will not leave you alone with him.”
“I would like to talk to him, Quintin.”
“No.”
“I have the right. Now leave us. Please.”
Quintin was furious, but he stalked past them. “I will be near if you need me, Brigitte.”
“Be damned,” Rowland said as soon as they were alone. “Your brother is a belligerent, obstinate—”
“Careful, Rowland.” Brigitte cut him off. Her eyes were ice blue.
“He started shouting the moment I walked in. If you had not come when you did, I would have.…”
Rowland reddened guiltily, and the hostility in Brigitte’s eyes silenced him.
“I know exactly what you would have done, Rowland,” she said quietly. “I know you only too well. You would have fought my brother.”
“Not that,” he quickly assured her. “I only meant to stop his shouting.”
“Just tell me why you are here,” she said curtly.
Rowland sighed deeply. He was off to a terrible start. But Brigitte was standing before him and, God, how beautiful she was, even more beautiful than he remembered.
“How I have missed you, cherie,” Rowland said impulsively, surprising her.
He had not meant to begin that way. The words leaped from him of their own accord. She was caught off guard.
“We have been separated many months, Brigitte,” he continued softly. “It seemed like many years, for the time was unbearably long without you.”
Brigitte’s eyes narrowed. “Do you expect me to believe you have missed me so much?”
“I mean all that and more,” he replied warmly. “I want you to return to Montville with me. Luthor is dead, and Montville is mine now.”
Her eyes widened. “Luthor dead? You did not—”
“No, not I. Thurston came in the spring, and there was a battle. I avenged Luthor myself. I found that I…cared for the old man more than I realized.”
“I am sorry about Luthor,” she said sincerely. “Were many killed?”
“No, there were more wounded than killed. But Thurston and Roger both fell to my blade. They will not bother us again.”
“Roger is dead?”
“He stabbed me, and I struck out at him in reflex. I did not even see him before I fell.”
“You fell? You were wounded then?” Her eyes scanned him fearfully.
“In the back,” Rowland said slowly.
Her eyes widened. “So, he went for your back again just as he did in Arles?”
“You know about that?”
She glared at him. “A little matter that you never mentioned—my brother saved your life! And you repaid him nicely, did you not?” she added bitterly.
“Brigitte—”
“I know you were unaware that I was his sister, but you did think he was my lord. You believed he meant to marry me. And still you took me away! You betrayed his trust.”
“I did so unknowing, Brigitte, when it was assumed I raped you here. The matter was done and could not be changed. Do you think I was proud of it? I was furious with myself, furious too that I betrayed him in taking you away. But what was I to do? Druoda threatened to kill you if I left you here. In my place, what would you have done?”
“What you could have done, Rowland, was give me up without a fight when Quintin came for me!”
“It was not as simple as that, cherie,” he said gently. “I could not give you to him, not thinking he meant to marry you. I wanted you to be my wife.”
Brigitte turned away, the words echoing in her mind. “I wanted you to be my wife.”
Rowland mistook her mood for anger. “I would never fight him again, Brigitte, now that I know he is your brother. I tried to make peace with Quintin, but he would not listen. I offered marriage, and he refused. I cannot fight him for you, and he will not give you to me. Brigitte, I want you for my lady. I have never wanted anything as much as I want you.”
Brigitte felt tears gathering. How many times had she prayed to hear those words? But that was long ago, and she had stopped praying that he would come. Her pride was injured. There was only bitterness now, because he had forsaken her. All the months of her pregnancy, all the months she had needed him, he was not there.
“It is too late, Rowland,” she whispered at last.
Rowland’s heart stopped. “You have married?”
“No.”
“Then it is not too late,” he said hopefully.
He reached for her, but she stiffened. Keeping her face averted, she said, “Do not touch me, Rowland. You have no right to touch me. You have no right to come here now and offer marriage. Where were you months ago when…when…” A lump in her throat threatened to choke her. She wanted to cry and fought desperately not to. “I will not marry you, Rowland. You should have come sooner when…when I still felt something for you. I…no longer feel anything.”
Rowland grabbed her shoulders angrily and forced her to meet his eyes. “I did come sooner, months ago, but your brother turned me away! I have been wandering ever since. I could not go home. Home means nothing to me without you.”
She shook her head firmly. “I do not believe you. Quintin would have told me if you had been here before.”
“Damn you, Brigitte!” Rowland shouted. “I love you!”
“If you loved me,” she shouted back, “you would have come sooner!”
In desperation, he pulled her to him roughly and bruised her lips with a raging kiss. He had opened his heart to her, and she meant to destroy him. She was tearing him apart.
Brigitte pushed at Rowland frantically, until he was forced to release her. Her eyes damning him, she said, “You should not have done that. I do not love you,
Rowland.”
Rowland gathered his pride, turned, and walked away from her without a backward glance.
“God, I do not care!” she cried aloud to the empty hall.
“You do not care about what?”
She turned to see Quintin standing in the doorway. She clenched her fists to stop herself from crying.
“I do not care that Rowland has gone,” Brigitte repeated stiffly.
“I am glad to hear it,” Quintin replied, though there was doubt in his voice.
He didn’t know what to say to her, so overcome with remorse was he. He had overheard everything, and he wished he had not. He knew his sister very well. She didn’t mean any of what she had said to Rowland. Why had her own brother not understood how much she cared for that man? Why had he let his own anger blind him to Brigitte?
It was not too late to set the matter straight. But how could he tell her the terrible thing he had done? Would the revelation turn her against him? Quintin braced himself.
“Your Rowland has more nerve than any man I know,” Quintin began. “Or more love.”
“What are you saying?”
“He came here once before, Brigitte. I did not tell you because I thought it would upset you, especially in your condition. He tried to make peace with me, but I refused him. I warned him never to come again, but, as you can see, he did not heed my warning. And now I can only ask you to forgive me for not telling you this. He is a barbaric brute, but if you want him, I will bring him back.”
“Oh, God, Quintin!” Brigitte’s tears spilled over “Is it too late?”
He smiled weakly. “I will stop him.”
“No!” she cried. “It is I who must stop him.”
Brigitte ran from the hall. Quintin followed her to the doors and watched her race across the courtyard to the gates and out of sight. He forced himself to stay where he was. He would not interfere again.
Rowland was riding down the dirt road, but was still close enough that he could hear her frantic cry. But he did not stop. He did not even look back.
She ran after him, crying his name again and again. It was because of her damnable pride that Rowland was leaving. Her pride! To hell with pride. She began to sob, afraid it really was too late, afraid she had hurt him too deeply.
“Rowland, please!”
Sobbing wildly, she tripped on her skirts and fell, skinning her palms. She stumbled to her feet, but the distance between them had widened, and she doubted he could hear her anymore.
“Rowland—come back!”
It was her last pitiful cry, and Rowland ignored it. Brigitte collapsed to her knees then in the middle of the road, her head bowed in defeat, her body shaking with anguished sobs.
She did not see Rowland look back and see her crumpled there in the road. He stopped, hesitated several moments, and then galloped back to Brigitte. She heard the horse approaching and rose to her feet. But Rowland’s black rage stopped her from speaking.
“What madness is this?” he demanded furiously. “Have you more words to cut into my heart?”
Brigitte could not blame him. She had been heartless.
“Rowland.” She hesitantly reached forward and placed her hand on his leg. Her eyes pleaded with him to believe her. “Rowland, I love you.”
His eyes burned into hers more intensely than ever before. “So,” he said icily. “What am I to do now? Ask you to be mine once more so you can refuse me again? One thrust of the knife was not enough for you?”
“Rowland, I was hurt because you took so long in coming. I had prayed so hard for you to come, but I had given up hope. I was miserable, and I was bitter because I thought you did not care for me any longer. I tried desperately to forget you, but I could not.”
Rowland’s expression did not soften. “If you loved me, Brigitte, you would not have refused me.”
“It was my hurt pride speaking. I felt that if you loved me, you would have come for me sooner.”
“I did.”
“I know that now. Quintin just admitted it to me. He did not tell me before because he did not know that I love you. I couldn’t tell him because he would not forgive you.”
“Are you saying you have forgiven me for what happened with Quintin?”
“I love you, Rowland. I would forgive you anything…anything. Please, don’t let your pride come between us, as I did, or I will die!”
Rowland leaped down from the Hun and pulled her into his embrace.
“Little jewel,” Rowland said huskily. “No man could love a woman as I love you. You will be mine forever. Nothing in this world can prevent it, now that I know I have your love.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “You are sure? You have no doubts?”
“I am sure, very, very sure.” She smiled up into his strong, handsome face.
Rowland laughed delightedly. “Now we can go home.”
Chapter Forty-three
Quintin was not surprised to see Brigitte and Rowland walking closely together as they entered the hall, Rowland’s arm wrapped possessively around Brigitte’s waist. But the look of ecstatic joy about his sister struck Quintin speechless.
They stopped in the center of the hall, Rowland looking warily at Quintin. Quintin jumped to his feet. “For God’s sake, Rowland. I am not a complete ogre,” he grinned good-naturedly. “And I am not so stubborn that I cannot admit I was wrong. I want Brigitte to be happy, and I can see she will be happy only with you.”
“We have your blessing, then?”
“My blessing and my best wishes for a long and happy life together,” Quintin said quietly.
“You see why I love Quintin so.” Brigitte smiled, going to her brother and hugging him. “Thank you, Quintin.”
“Do not thank me, little one. I am only sorry that you have been so long apart from the man you love. I hope you can forgive me for the heartache I have caused you.”
“Of course I forgive you. I have him now, and nothing will separate us again.”
Quintin smiled down at her fondly. “And did you tell him about…?”
Brigitte turned to Rowland and grabbed his hand. “Come. I have something very precious for you.”
She dragged him along after her, up the stairs and down the corridor to a closed door. A shaggy beast lay on the floor beside the door and had to scramble out of her way.
“I hope you haven’t dragged me up here just to show me Wolff,” Rowland said with mock severity.
She grinned, her blue eyes locking with his. “Not him.”
“Then surely it can wait for this,” he murmured huskily as he kissed her soundly, molding her small frame to his.
But Brigitte wiggled out of his embrace. “Rowland, please…” She smiled at him, shaking her head, then opened the door very carefully. Brigitte led Rowland inside, cautioning him to be quiet, and pulled him to the center of the room, where there was a bed with raised sides draped in white lacing. Whatever he had expected to see, it certainly wasn’t what was inside that bed.
He frowned at Brigitte. “Babies? You brought me up here to look at babies?”
“Are they not beautiful?”
“I suppose so,” he grunted.
She leaned over the bed and let a tiny hand grasp her finger. “They look alike, do they not?”
“I suppose.”
“Exactly alike?”
He looked from one small face to the other, noting the tufts of blond hair, the dark little eyes, the identical features. Then he laughed, understanding.
“Ha, twins! You wanted to show me twin babies because of Evarard and me.”
Brigitte was disappointed. He had not understood.
“These twins are very special.” She picked up one of the babies and held it toward Rowland. “This is Judith. Here, hold her.”
“No!” He stepped back, much alarmed.
“She will not hurt you, Rowland.” Brigitte grinned.
He scowled. “The babe is too small. It is I who might hurt her.”
“Nonsense.”
&nb
sp; But she did not press him. He had obviously never held a baby before, but he would learn.
She placed Judith back in the bed and picked up the other infant. “And this is Arland.”
“A boy?” He was incredulous.
She was amused. “A boy.”
“But you said they were twins.”
“They are.”
He looked more closely at the two babies and asked hesitantly, “How did you know which was which?”
She laid Arland down and tickled his belly playfully. “I know, Rowland. You will know, too.” She gazed at him expectantly, but he had still not guessed, so she said pointedly, “I think they both look like you.”
In that moment, as her hints and her acute involvement with these twins finally made sense to him, Rowland lost a good deal of his color. “Yours-and mine?”
“Our children, my love.”
He drew her to him, staring at the babies over her shoulder. “To think you went through that without me. I never even thought.” And then he moved her away from him suddenly. “And you would have let me leave here without knowing?”
“I would have,” she admitted, her chin tilting in that familiar way.
Rowland shook his head. “You are a stubborn witch,” he sighed.
“I am that,” Brigitte admitted, her mouth curving.
He pulled her back into his arms. His voice was tender. “But you are my stubborn witch. Mine!” He held her very close to him. “And they are mine, a boy and a girl, two jewels from my little jewel. What a wonder you are! And how I love you, lady. Oh, God, how I love you! I will never let you go.”
Then he sealed that vow with a kiss, and Brigitte had no chance to tell him how much she loved him. But she would tell him later, and for the rest of their lives.
Enter the World of Johanna Lindsey
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