Read Online So Speaks the Heart by Johanna Lindsey - Free Book Online
Authors: Johanna Lindsey
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will have her taken to Lord Wilhelmâs to await the wedding there. Then I will go to Count Arnulf with the news of Quintinâs death. We will have Brigitte married before he returns. And if I can arrange everything as I please, he will never return at all,â she said grimly.
Chapter Seven
B rigitte lay motionless on her pallet, letting her tears fall freely. But crying only made her muscles jerk and the slightest movement was agony.
She still could not believe what they had done to her. She had only just finished washing her muddy clothes when Hildegard and the two guards burst into her room. She was stripped of her worn gown and gagged, and did not even have time to feel humiliated at being exposed to the two men before she was thrown face down on her mat and held fast by the guards. And then came the pain, as Hildegard let loose with her leather strap. It was as if fire licked across her back each time that strap came down, and she could do nothing but cry out against the gag in her mouth. She lost consciousness before she felt the last blow, and when she awoke she found herself alone, still naked.
She began to cry again, but only for a moment. She could not give up! She would just have to get her clothes with the sapphires sewn on them, and some food. Even now she was weak with hunger, not having eaten all day. She would have to force herself up off the pallet and try again to get away. This time she could take Wolff with her.
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Rowland tossed fitfully in his sleep, troubled by a dream that had recurred for as long as he could remember. Dreams could be delightful or disquieting, some were even terrifying, but Rowland did not understand this one at all. It did not come to him often, at least not as frequently as it had in his youth, but it came when his mind was troubled.
The dream always began with a feeling of contentment. And then there would be faces, the face of a young man out of the dark, and then of a young woman, faces that Rowland had never seen except in the dream. The faces would be together, looking down on him from far above. But Rowland was never frightened of them. There was such warmth and happiness in those faces, happiness such as he had never known in his life. But then something would shatter the feeling of happiness, though he never knew what. The faces would disappear, and flashing scenes would take their place, along with a sense of desolation. Rowland would awaken with a terrible feeling of loss and not know why.
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
Chapter Seven
B rigitte lay motionless on her pallet, letting her tears fall freely. But crying only made her muscles jerk and the slightest movement was agony.
She still could not believe what they had done to her. She had only just finished washing her muddy clothes when Hildegard and the two guards burst into her room. She was stripped of her worn gown and gagged, and did not even have time to feel humiliated at being exposed to the two men before she was thrown face down on her mat and held fast by the guards. And then came the pain, as Hildegard let loose with her leather strap. It was as if fire licked across her back each time that strap came down, and she could do nothing but cry out against the gag in her mouth. She lost consciousness before she felt the last blow, and when she awoke she found herself alone, still naked.
She began to cry again, but only for a moment. She could not give up! She would just have to get her clothes with the sapphires sewn on them, and some food. Even now she was weak with hunger, not having eaten all day. She would have to force herself up off the pallet and try again to get away. This time she could take Wolff with her.
Â
Rowland tossed fitfully in his sleep, troubled by a dream that had recurred for as long as he could remember. Dreams could be delightful or disquieting, some were even terrifying, but Rowland did not understand this one at all. It did not come to him often, at least not as frequently as it had in his youth, but it came when his mind was troubled.
The dream always began with a feeling of contentment. And then there would be faces, the face of a young man out of the dark, and then of a young woman, faces that Rowland had never seen except in the dream. The faces would be together, looking down on him from far above. But Rowland was never frightened of them. There was such warmth and happiness in those faces, happiness such as he had never known in his life. But then something would shatter the feeling of happiness, though he never knew what. The faces would disappear, and flashing scenes would take their place, along with a sense of desolation. Rowland would awaken with a terrible feeling of loss and not know why.
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
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