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Authors: Catherine Palmer
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Briton above all else.”
“And a stubborn one.”
“If you had taken a vow that pledges you to the future awaiting me, you would understand that stubbornness must be your fortress.”
“Don’t let it blind you to the stirrings of your heart, Bronwen.”
“What place can the heart have in the life of a lord’s wife, sir? As a knight, you should know that my work is to tend to my husband’s castle and his holdings. I must bear him sons to succeed him—and daughters to wed the sons of his allies.”
“Such cold determination to duty.” He ran his fingertips down her arm. “But this is not the way of noblewomen in France, my lady. In France—”
“In France? My lord, look about you. This is hardly France. We stand on the shore of Amounderness—the most rugged and desolate land in England. Here we fight to survive.
We have no time for Norman luxuries of the heart.”
“I disagree. It is in the cruelest of lands that one needs the warmest solace.”
Bronwen clutched his mantle about her shoulders. “It matters not to me what you think, Jacques the Norman. Go on about your French ways, then. Go back to Normandy where you belong, and leave us in peace. Our lives are difficult enough without your interference.”
Catherine Palmer
63
As she stepped past the man, he caught her shoulder and swung her around. “I shall not forget you, Bronwen. When we meet again, I believe our lives will be changed.”
“You speak with certainty,” she said. “I am certain only that I go to my husband’s castle. Tell your Henry Plantagenet we shall never give over to him.”
With that, she turned away and hurried down the beach to the hut. The tall knight was left standing in the starlight and looking far out to sea.
The remainder of the night passed slowly for Bronwen.
Her breast was filled with a tumult of new emotions, and her mind whirled with thoughts. In a moment of time, her life had changed inexorably. Though she knew almost nothing of the man with whom she had argued so fiercely, and who had kissed her so passionately, she sensed that he had thrown open a door before her. And she knew she had stepped through it. For the rest of her life, this Jacques Le Brun would live within her.
She had never felt so fully alive as when she was with him.
Never had she known a man to hold a woman in high esteem.
He had encouraged her to speak her opinion. He had freely praised her. Certainly Bronwen knew men desired women.
But to speak of their beauty? To openly express feelings of admiration? Never.
Britons married by arrangement, often never having seen their spouse before the ceremony. The pair contemplated contentment with children and a sense of partnership in the venture of life. As for desire—women never felt such strong emotion for their husbands. And men were far too involved with daily business to show tenderness toward their wives.
Confused and restless, Bronwen knew only that her loyalty 64
The Briton
must remain with her father. Though she ached for the touch of this Jacques Le Brun, it could not be. She must face forward and carry on.
The sun had not yet risen when Enit began to stir. The old woman yawned and stretched, scratching her grizzled head.
In a moment, she nudged Bronwen.
“I’m awake,” Bronwen said softly. She had watched the door all night, but Jacques had not returned to the hut.
“Girl, you look as though you have not slept at all,” Enit clucked as she surveyed her charge with dismay.
“I daresay she has not,” Haakon remarked gruffly, stepping out of the hut.
Bronwen started at his words, fearful that he knew she had been out in the night with Le Brun. If he did, he must suspect all manner of evil about her, and he might use his knowledge to disgrace her. But as she considered this, Bronwen realized that Haakon’s word would be weighed against hers. She held a powerful position as his father’s wife, and she would not let him forget it.
Martin was bent over the fire,
“And a stubborn one.”
“If you had taken a vow that pledges you to the future awaiting me, you would understand that stubbornness must be your fortress.”
“Don’t let it blind you to the stirrings of your heart, Bronwen.”
“What place can the heart have in the life of a lord’s wife, sir? As a knight, you should know that my work is to tend to my husband’s castle and his holdings. I must bear him sons to succeed him—and daughters to wed the sons of his allies.”
“Such cold determination to duty.” He ran his fingertips down her arm. “But this is not the way of noblewomen in France, my lady. In France—”
“In France? My lord, look about you. This is hardly France. We stand on the shore of Amounderness—the most rugged and desolate land in England. Here we fight to survive.
We have no time for Norman luxuries of the heart.”
“I disagree. It is in the cruelest of lands that one needs the warmest solace.”
Bronwen clutched his mantle about her shoulders. “It matters not to me what you think, Jacques the Norman. Go on about your French ways, then. Go back to Normandy where you belong, and leave us in peace. Our lives are difficult enough without your interference.”
Catherine Palmer
63
As she stepped past the man, he caught her shoulder and swung her around. “I shall not forget you, Bronwen. When we meet again, I believe our lives will be changed.”
“You speak with certainty,” she said. “I am certain only that I go to my husband’s castle. Tell your Henry Plantagenet we shall never give over to him.”
With that, she turned away and hurried down the beach to the hut. The tall knight was left standing in the starlight and looking far out to sea.
The remainder of the night passed slowly for Bronwen.
Her breast was filled with a tumult of new emotions, and her mind whirled with thoughts. In a moment of time, her life had changed inexorably. Though she knew almost nothing of the man with whom she had argued so fiercely, and who had kissed her so passionately, she sensed that he had thrown open a door before her. And she knew she had stepped through it. For the rest of her life, this Jacques Le Brun would live within her.
She had never felt so fully alive as when she was with him.
Never had she known a man to hold a woman in high esteem.
He had encouraged her to speak her opinion. He had freely praised her. Certainly Bronwen knew men desired women.
But to speak of their beauty? To openly express feelings of admiration? Never.
Britons married by arrangement, often never having seen their spouse before the ceremony. The pair contemplated contentment with children and a sense of partnership in the venture of life. As for desire—women never felt such strong emotion for their husbands. And men were far too involved with daily business to show tenderness toward their wives.
Confused and restless, Bronwen knew only that her loyalty 64
The Briton
must remain with her father. Though she ached for the touch of this Jacques Le Brun, it could not be. She must face forward and carry on.
The sun had not yet risen when Enit began to stir. The old woman yawned and stretched, scratching her grizzled head.
In a moment, she nudged Bronwen.
“I’m awake,” Bronwen said softly. She had watched the door all night, but Jacques had not returned to the hut.
“Girl, you look as though you have not slept at all,” Enit clucked as she surveyed her charge with dismay.
“I daresay she has not,” Haakon remarked gruffly, stepping out of the hut.
Bronwen started at his words, fearful that he knew she had been out in the night with Le Brun. If he did, he must suspect all manner of evil about her, and he might use his knowledge to disgrace her. But as she considered this, Bronwen realized that Haakon’s word would be weighed against hers. She held a powerful position as his father’s wife, and she would not let him forget it.
Martin was bent over the fire,
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