So Speaks the Heart by Johanna Lindsey Page A

moved along the road in a happy frame of mind.
    Their journey downriver began early on the afternoon after they reached Orleans, and Rowland’s disposition improved even more. Brigitte realized that some of his anger had been due to her having delayed him from reaching his home. That evening, after they had both eaten their fill, she questioned him.
    â€œWhy are you in such a hurry?”
    She was curled up on deck, lying on her side with her head on her arms. Rowland sat by her feet, staring absently at the river.
    Rowland explained briefly, telling her that his father had sent a vassal to find him, and that there would soon be war at Montville.
    â€œUnfortunately, it took many months for Gui to find me, since I was in the south of France. The battle may already be finished.”
    Brigitte’s interest was aroused. “So you have only just come from the south?”
    â€œYes, from fighting the Saracens.”
    Her eyes brightened. “I hope you killed many!” she said impulsively, knowing it was a Saracen who had killed her brother.
    â€œI did indeed,” he grunted. “But why should that interest you? The pirates only threatened the south. You were far from there.”
    â€œI did not fear for myself,” she explained, her large blue eyes sparkling with hatred for the man who had slain Quintin. “I only hope the Saracens are all dead, every last one of them.”
    Rowland chuckled. “So my Venus is bloodthirsty. I would not have guessed.”
    Brigitte lowered her gaze to the fire and sighed. What good would it do to explain how she felt? He didn’t care about her feelings.
    â€œI am not bloodthirsty,” she said quietly. “The Saracens needed to be destroyed, that is all.”
    â€œAnd so they were.
    Brigitte turned from him, putting her back to the fire, but she sensed his eyes were still on her, and she grew uneasy. What did he mean by calling her his Venus? Did it mean he found her more to his liking now? She prayed not.
    Feeling certain that Rowland still watched her, Brigitte became more and more nervous, until she remembered that they were not alone on the barge. Wolff lay near her. Her faithful dog would not let the Norman attack her. With that comforting thought, Brigitte slept.
    A storm threatened the next day, but did not break. The Loire was already swollen and would surely flood with a heavy rain, so they watched anxiously as dark clouds hid the sun. A strong wind helped to make the river uncomfortably cold. The wind also hindered their progress, and this darkened Rowland’s moodso that he was silent most of the day and cross when he did speak.
    He was angry with himself for being affected by the cold, for this was mild weather compared to what he had known most of his life. The last six months in the south of France had thinned his blood, and he felt this was a weakness in himself.
    That night turned out to be their coldest thus far. Brigitte huddled next to Wolff for warmth, and she did not even mind when Rowland came to lie beside her, for he blocked the wind from her back. What a time to be returning home, in the heart of winter! Warmer clothes would have to be made when he reached home. He hoped the wench could sew an even line, for that task would fall to her.
    He turned on his side, toward her, and discerned by her even breathing that she was fast asleep. He picked up one of her long blonde braids and fanned the silky end of it against his cheek. Her lovely features came to him even though he could not see her face, for he had stared at her long enough the night before to have her image forever in his mind.
    Rowland had recently felt the first inkling of pride in this girl. She was not only uncommonly beautiful, but she had a quick mind as well and had already grasped an understanding of Norse.
    She appeared to have accepted him as her lord and was willing to serve him. This pleased him, for it meant that he would not have to depend on his