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.“There,” he said, setting it beside her.“My misdeed is corrected.”At the sight of the man, garbed in mail and carrying his sword and bright blue shield, Bronwen made an awkward effort to tidy her hair.How she must look to him—as a peasant in the humblest garb with charcoal-smudged cheeks and not even a braid or a ribbon.She smoothed down her skirt, the same green gown she had worn when she’d left him.Its hem had been peppered with holes by embers popping from the fire, and her sleeves had been tattered by brambles.“Truly, you should not be here, sir,” she told him.“You endanger us both.I insist that you leave at once.”“As I recall, you made yourself welcome in my private chambers without permission or regard as to my wishes.”Bronwen lowered her eyes.He was right, of course.She had hidden in his guards’ sleeping quarters and listened to a conversation not meant for her ears.“How did you find me?” she asked.“I am well hid.”“Madam, you might as well be standing on a London street corner.My spies brought news of your whereabouts and your plot against Aeschby.Frankly, I am surprised to see you in one piece.”Mortified, Bronwen cast a worried glance about her.If Jacques knew all this, Aeschby must be aware, too.“Why have you come, then?” she asked.“Surely you were followed.”“It’s possible, but I think not.I came away without a guard.I have brought you a letter.” He stepped toward her.“It’s from your sister.”“A letter from Gildan? But how did you get it? When did it arrive? Is she all right?”Jacques held out the document.“A messenger brought it this morning.I suppose she sent it to me on the assumption that you were living safely at Warbreck, as you should be.What the letter says, I do not know.It is sealed.”“Then open it, I beg you! Please, read it to me.”Jacques broke the seal.“To Bronwen, Edgard’s Daughter of Rossall Hall, Widow of Olaf Lothbrok of Warbreck,” he read.“From Gildan, Ward of Firmin of Troyes, France.Beloved sister, I pray all is well.The annulment of my marriage to Aeschby has been completed in good order.Chacier and I plan to wed in May soon after I return from France.We shall dwell near his family.Even now, Chacier takes control over much of his father’s trade, so our lives will be filled with ease and contentment.My greatest desire now, dear Bronwen, is that you might attend my wedding.I long for the comfort of your presence.I miss you sorely, my dearest Bronwen.Come quickly!”“They will wed in May,” Bronwen said, her thoughts filled with images of her beautiful sister.“Thank God.”“I would ask if you intend to go to her in London, but I know the answer.Gildan is destined to hear sad news of her sister’s demise before her wedding day.”“You and Enit are harbingers of doom.” Bronwen picked up the pail.“I am not as confident of my death as you.”She started for the hovel, but Jacques bent and took the water from her hand.“Walk with me,” he said.“On our last encounter, you asked to speak to me.I refused to hear you.Let me atone for my ill behavior.”Unwilling to deny herself this moment with him, she nodded.He set the pail on the sand again, took her hand and settled it over his arm.As they walked along the bank, he spoke.“Our dispute has continued far too long, Bronwen.We have misunderstood one another and judged unfairly.I should like to begin our acquaintance anew.”“Begin again?” she asked.“But you have just predicted my end.”“I fear it greatly.Will you not give up this quest? Go to your sister.Assume your rightful role in society.Please tell me this is not our final meeting.Our lives are woven together, Bronwen.Surely you see that.”“I have never understood how or why God allowed us to meet.Are we enemies? Your kisses belie that.” She decided to speak her heart.“Sir, I have believed you wanted to make me your paramour…that I should become your lover.Perhaps I am sunk so low now that I seem to have no other choice, but I cannot do that.”“Is that what you think of me? Upon my honor, I mean no such thing.I am a Christian and a gentleman.My faith in the person and the teachings of Jesus Christ utterly prohibits such behavior.Bronwen, I am neither your foe nor your conqueror.Your blood makes you a noblewoman, and I would never treat you otherwise.”Bronwen gazed down at the ferns by the path.“How can you think of me as a noblewoman? Look at me.I live no better than a peasant—and worse than most.I have no land, no home, no father, nothing to make me noble.”“One only has to look at you to see your intelligence, strength and character.Henry sensed your nobility at once.Indeed, your heritage is far above my own.”“That subject is what I wished to discuss with you at Warbreck,” she said.“Jacques, you misunderstood my words on the road.I care nothing about your heritage.It matters not to me that your blood is mixed.Indeed, your mother’s church at Antioch is more purely rooted and uncorrupted than mine can ever be.If God reigns above lords—and He does—then your blood is nobler than that of any Norman.”“If my lineage doesn’t matter, why do you continue to despise me for being Norman?”“Normans took England from us.You yourself took—”“I took the lands of a Viking, Bronwen.See the truth—England was no Briton stronghold when we came here.It was a mixture of weak tribal kingdoms held by Vikings, Saxons and a few Britons.Normans have united this country.We’ve built roads, cities, markets, castles.Please, open your eyes and use your keen wit, my lady.For once, admit what you know in your heart is right.You loved your father—but he was wrong.”Bronwen paused on the riverbank and covered her eyes with her hands.She could not accept that.She had struggled and fought and lived her very life in order to fulfill her father’s dream.But Jacques was right…and she had known it all along.“Please don’t look so downcast,” he said gently.“I only want to make you see me as I am.I’m not your enemy.I have no desire to take what is yours—to rob you of anything.Like Henry, I’m honored to know a woman of your noble Briton blood.Your race is no less glorious than his simply because he’s your conqueror.Can we not forget our differences and speak as man to woman?”They had reached a place where the water bubbled down into a small pool.Bronwen walked to its edge and drew her mantle close about her shoulders.“Your words are true,” she told him.“I’m glad to have the confusion and anger between us erased.”He lifted her hand to his lips.As he kissed her fingertips, his eyes met hers and held them.“Bronwen, I have thought of you day and night since you left Warbreck,” he whispered, tilting her chin with a finger.The Norman’s dark eyes gazed into her own until she could see nothing but him.How she had longed for his touch and how lonely she had been since their parting.She looked now at his hair, and her hands ached to touch the locks that curled about his neck.His lips—how close they were.She could almost taste his kiss.In the space of a breath, she might forget her purpose in these woods.She might cast aside her father’s dream and place her heart in this man’s hands.Trembling, she stepped away from him.“I cannot stay here any longer,” she told him
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