by Jody Hedlund
“As always, Father Abbot, I shall covet your spiritual guidance. And I shall covet yours too, your Grace.” She turned to the duke.
The duke nodded with understanding.
“As much as I respect the guidance of you both,” she continued, her voice growing stronger, “I’m coming of age, and this is a decision I must make for myself.”
I silently applauded her brave stand. This time when her glance slid to me as though to gauge my reaction to her words, I gave her a slight nod. Perhaps she would learn to be a strong leader in time after all.
Silent screams tore at my throat. I thrashed, trying to wrench my attention from the awful sight before me. But as hard as I willed it, I couldn’t look away from the starving rat in the bottomless cage latched to the prisoner’s stomach.
“No!” I cried. My eyes flew open to the darkness of my chamber and the bed canopy overhead. With a deep gasp I bolted up, my body trembling with the lingering horrors of the nightmare. It was the same one that had plagued me these past four years.
The bed curtains were open, letting in the cool night air.
I untangled from the sheet, crawled to the edge of my fourposter bed, and slipped my legs over the edge. The scratchiness of the rushes pricked my bare feet. Hugging my arms across my chest to calm the quaking in my limbs, I glanced around the darkened chamber lit only by the moonlight spilling through the open window.
“Pup,” I whispered. “Come here, boy.”
I waited for the usual soft patter of his paws. But the only sound was Trudy’s heavy breathing coming from her sleeping pallet near the window.
I slid off the bed. “Pup?”
A loud snore from Trudy filled the stillness of the night.
I glanced from the shadows of my bed to the twisted sheets and the haunted dreams that awaited me if I climbed back in there. I needed Pup. His warm presence next to me in the bed always calmed me.
I crossed the room on my tiptoes. When I reached the door, I grabbed my cloak from the peg, slung it over my nightdress, and then lifted the latch.
The door opened soundlessly. Even so, I paused and held my breath, waiting for Trudy’s sharp command to return to bed.
But after a moment of the same rumbling snores, I slipped through the crack and into the hallway. The light of the oil lamp in the sconce outside my door illuminated the hunched shoulders of the soldier on guard — Bartholomew.
“My lady,” he said, rising quickly from his stool and standing at attention.
I put a finger to my lips, bidding him to be silent. “I’m looking for Pup,” I whispered. “Have you seen him?”
The wizened face cracked into a grin that revealed gums where many of his front-most teeth had once been. “He was pawing to get out, my lady,” he whispered back, albeit too loudly. “I thought he needed to . . . you know . . .”
I nodded.
“But apparently he’s made a new friend.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He’s down in the Great Hall, my lady.” Bartholomew shuffled forward, still grinning. “I tried to call him back. But he wouldn’t come.”
“Take me to him, Bartholomew. Please.”
Through the dimly lit passageway, I followed the old guard’s labored footsteps. We went down a winding back stairway so that we entered a narrow door next to the buttery, where the ale and other beverages were stored.
The Great Hall was dark except for the low light of the fire and a shallow candle on the table closest to the hearth. Many of the duke’s men slept on pallets and rushes on the floor throughout the main gathering place. Of course I’d given the duke the largest guest room, and I’d assumed Sirs Collin, Bennet, and Derrick took turns sleeping outside the door of his chamber and guarding it as was the custom. I’d also assumed they’d long past retired for the night.
But to my surprise, the duke sat at the table pulled before the hearth. On a bench across from him was one of his knights. A chessboard was spread before them, and the duke was staring intently at the pieces.
The knight across from him stretched his arms above his head, fiddled with a spot of dried wax on the table, and finally slouched on one elbow, giving the chessboard a cursory glance. Seemingly without thought he moved one of his pieces and then backed away, leaving the duke to study the board again. This time, the knight let his hand dip down to scratch behind the ears of the dog lying at his feet.
“Pup?” I whispered.
Pup raised his head, cocked his ears in my direction, but then turned back to the knight, whose fingers moved to the dog’s flank with long, scratching strokes.
“I told you he made a new friend, my lady,” came Bartholomew’s laughter-filled whisper by my side.
The darkness of the room shadowed the knight’s face, but when he bent closer to the candlelight to take another turn, I caught a glimpse of his straight, sandy-brown hair and the scar next to his eye. “I should have known it was Sir Derrick,” I whispered, remembering Pup’s attraction to him earlier in the day.
Sir Derrick took no time at all in moving another piece — this one his queen. Even from a distance I could see that he didn’t have many left on the board and that he’d placed his queen into a dangerous situation. I could only assume he lacked any strategy or was entirely too reckless and impatient for the game.
“You want me to go over and fetch the dog, my lady?”
Bartholomew’s too-loud whisper reached across the distance and brought Sir Derrick off the bench, dagger in hand. He peered into the darkness that surrounded him. “Who goes there?”
Bartholomew shuffled forward several steps. “Just me, sir. Come to get the dog for Lady Rosemarie.”
Pup rose and wagged his tail. Yet he still didn’t leave Sir Derrick’s side.
Bartholomew waved at the dog. “Come on now, Pup. The lady needs you.”
Pup didn’t budge.
“She needs him?” Sir Derrick asked, stuffing his dagger back into the sheath belted at his waist.
“Yes,” I said, stepping out of the dark shadows. “As a matter of fact, I do need him.”
At my appearance, the duke rose and Sir Derrick bowed. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said as he straightened. “The dog came to me and has stayed. I would have sent him back to you had I known.”
“’Tis all right.” I bent and stretched out my arms to the dog. “Come now, Pup.”
Pup lifted his face toward Sir Derrick, his big eyes seeking the knight’s permission.
I let my arms fall to my sides, surprise washing over me. “Sir, it looks like you have won the undying devotion of my dog.”
He grinned, gently rubbed Pup’s nose, and started across the room toward me with Pup trailing at his heels. He stopped several feet away and nodded at my dog to continue. Pup bounded the last of the distance, eagerly rejoining me and licking my outstretched hand.
“How quickly your loyalty shifts, Pup,” I admonished, sinking my fingers into his thick hair.
“’Tis not any reflection on you, to be sure,” Sir Derrick said. “The dog is merely affectionate.”
“No. He’s rarely affectionate with anyone but me or the village children. You must have a secret way with dogs.”
“Perhaps I do.” His voice was mysterious, and I thought back to the knight who had visited me in the chapel and what he’d said about the sheriff’s dogs.
“You must share the secret with me.” I nodded toward the abandoned chess game. “Then perhaps I shall share my secrets regarding chess with you, for it appears you have need of them.”
“Have need?” Sir Derrick’s brow shot up, and his lips quirked. “I was doing quite nicely, if I may be so bold as to boast.”
I laughed softly. “Then I should like to see you play when you’re doing poorly.”
His grin inched higher. “I would enjoy engaging you in a chess match, my lady. I think you’d be in for a surprise.”
Behind us, the duke cleared his throat, reminding us of the late hour and the inappropriat
eness of being together under the circumstances — especially in light of the abbot’s concerns earlier. I took a quick step back, relieved at the darkness that could hide the heat infusing my cheeks.
Sir Derrick took a step after me. “Wait, my lady,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder to where the duke still stood, seemingly studying the chessboard. I was sure he watched our every move.
Sir Derrick lowered his voice. “I wanted to beg your forgiveness for my forwardness earlier today.”
My mind flashed back to the encounter outside the kitchen, to his soft caress on my cheek and the warmth of his mouth near mine.
“Will you forgive me for my boldness?”
“Of course.” I didn’t harbor any ill-will for our encounter. Quite the opposite. But I couldn’t very well admit I’d liked being near him.
“I don’t know what came over me, and I promise I shall do better in the future.”
Did I want him to do better?
I nodded and ducked my head to hide my own confusing desires. And then, before he could sense the conflicted emotions within me, I retreated into the darkness of the hallway that was untouched by the light of the candle and hearth.
“Goodnight, Sir Derrick.”
“Goodnight, my lady. Sweet dreams.”
With Pup in my bed and thoughts of Sir Derrick on my mind, perhaps I really could forget my nightmares and have sweet dreams.
At that thought, mortification crashed through me. Now who was being the bold one? How dare I think about Sir Derrick in my dreams?
I moved swiftly up the spiral stairway, leaving my faithful old guard far behind. I suddenly needed to put as much distance as possible between the handsome knight and myself.
Chapter
8
The next morning, I awoke to a flurry of activities. My dear friend, the Noblest Knight, the Duke of Rivenshire, had begun making arrangements for the courtship process. He announced that over the coming weeks he would host a hunting party, a dance, and a jousting tournament.
In addition, he wanted to give each of the young knights the opportunity to plan an outing of their own, something special that would give them the chance to spend time alone with me — with a chaperone, of course.
Sir Collin was the first to orchestrate his special event: a romantic dinner for two in my rose garden. Dressed in a doublet threaded with what appeared to be real silver, he held out my chair with a flourish. “For you, my lady.”
Strands of his blond hair dipped over his forehead, and his grin rose on one side in an adorable quirk. As he helped push in my chair, I took in the elaborate decorations on the long table. The biggest bouquet of roses I’d ever seen graced the center amidst crystal goblets and gold platters loaded with delicacies of all kinds. The garden itself had been transformed with candelabras glowing among hundreds of roses garnishing hanging trellises, their petals fluttering gently in the summer breeze.
“I’m speechless,” I said, drinking in the beauty.
He took his seat next to mine, and his grin widened. “I hope that means you like it.”
“I love it.”
“Before we start our meal,” he said, his smile disappearing and his expression growing serious, “I have something for you.” Sir Collin reached into his pocket and retrieved a small pouch. He drew open the strings and took out a gold bracelet. It was a plain band, devoid of jewels and instead engraved with a spiraling rose pattern.
He held it out to me. “I had this especially made for you by the local goldsmith.”
It was stunning. But I couldn’t accept such a gift, could I?
“Since I gave you something too lavish before with the diamond pin,” he said, his smile returning with a teasing glimmer, “I thought this time I should keep it simpler.”
He reached for my hand, and as his fingers grazed mine, my breath caught. Gently, he slid the bracelet on until it reached my wrist.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, hardly seeing the bracelet. Instead I watched his fingers twist the gold band, relishing the faint brush of his fingertips.
At a soft cough from a corner bench, Sir Collin let go of me and sat back in his chair. Tucked in a nearby corner of the garden sat the abbot, his head bent over a thick prayer book. Even though he was reading, I had no doubt he was well aware of every word we spoke and every move we made.
“Thank you.” I felt like a little girl caught in the kitchen sneaking a sweetmeat.
“It’s not nearly enough for you,” he replied, “but I’m trying to show restraint, as hard as it may be.”
A servant appeared at the table to pour spiced ale into our goblets and to hold out the heaping platters that contained more food than the two of us could ever eat. Taking my first bite of a sweet roll crusted in honey, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the poor children this meal would feed. I could appreciate that his extra food purchases and hired help for the feast had provided work and money for many in my town. But as the meal progressed through various courses, the thought of the extravagance kept growing until finally, as the servants cleared away the excessive remains, I had to speak my mind.
“What will you do with all that remains from the feast, sir?”
Sir Collin sat back in his chair with a lazy, contented grin. “What would you have me do with the delicacies, my lady? Invite my friends to partake?”
He’d already given orders for the servants to begin erecting a stage in front of us, and I watched for a moment without answering, uncertain how to explain the deep concerns of my heart. Until now I’d had no trouble keeping up my end of the conversation with Sir Collin. He was easy to talk with and made me laugh more in one meal than I had in many months.
Nevertheless, I found it difficult to speak more seriously with him, especially about matters that were important to me.
“Would you have me feed your hunting dogs, my lady?” Sir Collin asked. “You need only say, and it shall be done.”
“Oh no, not the dogs,” I said, horrified at the thought of wasting all the food on animals alone. “I was hoping that we — or I — could distribute the excess among the poor.”
Sir Collin’s eyes widened at my suggestion. Thankfully, I saw no disapproval there, but neither did I see excitement at the prospect. Instead he shrugged. “If it means that I’ll get the chance to spend more time with you, my lady, then I shall be more than happy to oblige you in handing out the food.”
His answer was satisfying enough, and I rewarded him with a smile that lit up his summery-green eyes.
Later, as the jesters, jugglers, and even a dancing bear made their appearances on the stage, I tried to forget my hesitancies and just enjoy the evening. After the past few years of simplicity and solitude, I was bound to feel uncomfortable from time to time with normal life and relationships.
At least that’s what I told myself as the evening came to a close and Sir Collin walked me back to the keep amidst the chirping of crickets and the winking of stars overhead.
He stopped before the stone steps leading to the massive front doors. “I had a magnificent time with you tonight.”
“You did?” The thought was slightly intimidating. I wasn’t all that exciting to be around. In fact, I was rather shy, didn’t always know what to say, and still felt completely inadequate relating to men.
Sir Collin started to reach for my hands, but at the sight of the abbot ten paces behind me, he clasped his own behind his back. “I hope you had a good time too.”
“It was lovely,” I said. “I can’t remember having so grand an evening before either.” I was surprised by how much I meant it.
With my declaration, his grin made a quick but dazzling visit. Then before the abbot or I could object, he reached for my hand, brought it to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss there.
My heart swelled within my chest. And for the first time since I’d heard the news about the exception to the Ancient Vow, I realized that perhaps it was more possible than I’d believed to fall in love with one o
f the duke’s men.
The next day, Sir Collin rode with me throughout town as I gave away two cartloads of leftover food among those who were most needy. I was grateful for his company, but erelong I could see Sir Collin was growing bored. And as his yawns and yearning glances toward the castle increased, I knew it was time to wrap up my ministrations for the day.
When we returned, I was surprised at my reluctance to part ways with him. After spending the previous evening and now a second day in his presence, I’d finally begun to feel more comfortable around him. I’d found myself basking in the many conversations as well as the companionship.
Although I would have preferred another day in Sir Collin’s easy-going presence, on the duke’s encouragement I decided I had to be fair to all three of the men. I had to give them each a chance to win my heart.
Thus Sir Bennet’s special day arrived. I dressed in my finest, donned a smile, and did my best to enjoy his planned activities, especially when he’d gone to so much trouble to arrange an art fair outside the castle grounds. Local artisans, as well as those from neighboring lands, had arrived to display their crafts, including pottery, beaded jewelry, and woven tapestries.
After the first awkward moments, Sir Bennet’s utmost politeness and chivalry made me forget about everything but the displays that spread out in the open tents around me. We walked from canopy to canopy appreciating the fine workmanship, watching demonstrations, and discussing the merits of art and creativity.
“You have an eye for quality,” I said as we left the tent of a glassblower.
Sir Bennet’s raven hair shimmered almost blue-black in the sunshine. His dark blue eyes regarded me thoughtfully. “My parents have spent their lives collecting rare treasures and relics. I suppose it’s only natural that I should have an appreciation for art as well.”
The duke followed us a safe distance away. Since we were the only ones attending the fair, we’d been able to talk freely, and I’d found myself appreciating the more serious conversations that I could have with Sir Bennet. He was clearly intelligent and the topics steered toward issues of history and science, which fascinated me.
