A perfect spring morning. Blue winged butterflies flit around the flower beds at Roselyn’s home among the dew which is still fresh on the flowers. Roselyn greets Jean in the courtyard. She turns to look back toward the main door and Jean sees over her shoulder Bronwen, who stands there in a dark, plain dress with lace front, watching him, waiting. His heart skips a beat as Bronwen slowly walks down the steps gracefully, heading toward them. Roselyn leaves Jean, passing Bronwen with a smile and a nod as she heads indoors to give them some privacy only to be met by Cassandra shaking her head.
Jean would recognise her anywhere. Here is the same woman he dreams of a thousand times, the thought of her had become something of an addiction. Still lovely, still slim, still graceful, hardly any features have changed. He knows, even now, he would go on to commit other foolish acts such as duels for her.
Bronwen and Jean are sat on the bench beneath the trees in deep conversation. Bronwen twirls her hair with her fingers, her voice laden with emotion. ‘It’s been to my sorrow all these years, because of the ambition of my family. They forced me to choose Howard. I’ve regretted it ever since. Betrayal has stained my life. My one solace has always been Nigel, but in recent years he has become more conceited, just like his father. Now he is very ill.’
‘Wounded by my nephew! It was in self-defence. Nigel drew his sword and attacked,’ Jean pauses, a frown clouds his face. ‘Strange how events between us are like an echo from the past. Your son and Raoul duel over Roselyn, just as I and Howard fought over you. You and Roselyn both destined for arranged marriages.’
Bronwen takes a deep breath. ‘I must tell you. Your duel with Howard...just before you fought...he had you secretly drugged.’
Jean’s grey eyes widen. ‘He did?’ his face takes on a scowl. ‘Yes, I remember. The morning of the duel. I was feeling unwell, weak, quite faint,’ His voice softens as he makes a joke. ‘I thought my desire for you had made me ill!’
Bronwen’s brows rise and she laughs at Jean’s compliment. He notices her eyes are encircled by tiny wrinkles that only go to enhance her mature beauty. ’He let it slip just after we were married. But by then it was too late to do anything about it, and we were back in England.
‘I need to speak to Howard. He is close to the King. If I can persuade him it was all a mistake. Then he can save Raoul.’
Bronwen considers. ‘Perhaps I could broach the matter with him, on Raoul’s behalf.’
Jean touches her hand, lingering there a moment. ‘All these years gone by. What could have been?’ He says to her.
‘We were at the wrong time in the wrong place. She leans forward slightly, covering his hand with hers. He can feel the warmth radiating from her. ’What have you been doing all these years?’
He laughs. ‘There’s many a story to tell. Dealing out death mostly. Our parting built a bitterness in me. I became cruel. I did not live like a man, just a walking emptiness.’ He looks deeply into her eyes, ‘Believe me, I know I have done many wrongs, but those barbaric days are over.’
‘May the grace of God restore to you the gift of peace.’
Jean nods in gratitude.
‘How family ambition gets in the way of love,’ she continues. Her back straightens as she takes a deep breath, searching his face. ‘I did love you, deeply. There were many things that pleased me about you. Most important, I knew my heart would be safe. If you could see my heart now you would see it is still broken, you remain there, even now.’ She makes a helpless gesture.
‘What happiness could have been ours.’ He shakes his head. ‘We never had the life together we craved. But nothing has changed for me. I would still try to mend your heart.’
‘Our feelings have not changed.’ She says sadly. ‘But we are where we are.’
He sees tears behind her eyelashes. He knows that she is right. Even though he wants somehow to return to the past, to cure the pains of longing he so often feels. ‘Yes, that is true.’ He forces a smile, agreeing with her, while he thinks back to a special touch, a laugh, a smile, resigned that they will never be repeated. ‘I will prepare a salve with arnica for your son. It is especially useful for wounds, along with some juniper to keep the wound clean.’ He promises her.