Pippa of Lauramore

by Shari L. Tapscott

  No one pays me any mind.

  A few months ago the fruit trees in the courtyard were in full bloom, and now they are covered in small, green fruit. The mountain cherries blush pink. Soon we’ll have summer pies.

  I pass several cottages and their small vegetable gardens. Chickens cluck from their little yards, and several sheep bleat in greeting as I pass. The stones are almost hot under my slippers. I would have liked to wear my riding boots, but the skirt is short enough they would have been visible. It will feel good to leave the courtyard and walk in the meadow grass.

  Another set of guards stand at the palace gates, but even as they keep watch they laugh and call to people they know. I tilt my head to the side so my face is shadowed by the brim of my hat and pass through without question.

  The mountains are vibrant green after the rain yesterday. Unlike the scraggy, jagged peaks up north, these mountains are soft stepped terraces blanketed with meadow grass and moss. The arena has been set up on the terrace below the palace. There are a few sheep grazing near the festival grounds, but most of the herds have moved farther up the mountains.

  Sheep are the only livestock that do well on our rocky, flat cliffs, and we have a special breed that thrives here. With little black faces and the softest white fleece, Lauramore Whites are the dearest sheep.

  The visiting princes and lords have tents set up on the other side of the arena, and with the slight breeze, their colorful flags wave in a lazy manner. I pause on my way to the arena.

  Do I dare go find Galinor? Surely someone will recognize me.

  “Can I help you find something? Are you lost?” A familiar female voice says from behind me.

  I close my eyes and scrunch my nose. I suppose I do look a little lost, standing by myself staring into the distance. I turn slowly and give Leonora a guilty smile.

  “Pippa!” she whispers, her voice low but harsh. “What are you doing?”

  “Anna has a headache. She’s sleeping now. I thought I would sneak out for a moment and see how everything is going.”

  “Where did you find that?” Two dainty fingers pull on the fabric of my skirt like it is infected.

  I grin. “In a cupboard in the laundry.”

  “No one saw you?” Her voice is incredulous.

  “That’s the beauty of it! Everyone’s here!”

  I shouldn’t be, but I’m pretty proud of myself.

  “Listen,” I say. “I’ll just find a seat and watch the rest of the competition. I have embroidery to work on,” I add, holding up my needlework.

  She looks at me, more than a little skeptical. “You’re not going to try to find Galinor?”

  I huff. “I want to, but I don’t think I dare with all these people. Who knows who I’ll run into over there.”

  “Alexander was there last time I checked, and I do believe that’s where Percival disappeared to.” Leonora looks thoughtful. “I’ll see if I can find Galinor. Where will you sit?”

  I point out a spot in the shade of the awnings.

  “Keep your hair tucked up.” She tucks a few loose strands into my scarf. “If your hair escapes, you’ll be found out for sure.”

  She turns to leave, but I grab her wrist. “Leonora—thank you.”

  She smiles. “If you get caught, don’t mention my involvement, all right?”

  I nod and she disappears into the crowds.

  ***

  Archer notices me right away. Our eyes lock, his eyebrows shoot up, and then he scowls. I stare at him, daring him to run to my father again. Instead he wrenches an arrow out of a target and hands it to the boy who couldn’t get it dislodged. He stands back and tells the men to take aim.

  I wait, barely breathing.

  He doesn’t look at me again.

  “Sit down, would you? You’re blocking the view,” says an impatient woman behind me.

  I’m startled by her tone, but I bite my tongue before I respond. I don’t want to sit in front of her so I sit a little farther down. I’m not in the shade, but it’s nice to be in the sun, anyway.

  Archer is handing out the winner’s purse, and a few of the men in the arena are congratulating the man who won. I take out my embroidery and stab the needle in the fabric.

  It’s not like I want him to come over. I can’t say what I need to say in front of all these people. I might as well scream, “I’m the princess!”

  That doesn’t seem wise.

  I take a deep breath and let it back out. It doesn’t matter. I work a few more stitches in the fabric and then smack it all down on my lap.

  How dare he look at me like I shouldn’t be here! His loose mouth is why I’m in this mess.

  “You don’t seem like the kind of girl who brings needlework to an archery tournament,” a deep voice says from behind me.

  Galinor.

  “You came,” I say, setting my embroidery aside and turning my knees toward him.

  He must have been sparring with the knights, because he has chain mail over his tunic. His dark hair glistens in the sun like he just washed up. He smiles at me, showing the dimples in his cheeks. His eyes are even bluer today in the bright light.

  “Of course I came,” he says. “How did you find a way to slip out?”

  “I don’t let much separate me from what I want.”

  His smile widens. “And what do you want?”

  My cheeks get hot, but I just shake my head.

  He leans forward. “I didn’t think I’d see you for days.”

  “I might not see you again until after the scavenger hunt.” My enthusiasm wilts at the thought. I’m going to miss everything.

  He nods, watching the new round of men prepare for their turn. I watch too, but my eyes find Archer leaning against a post, speaking with one of my father’s knights. He glances over, and our eyes meet again. He gives me a small smile, but I look away, refusing to acknowledge him.

  “Come with me,” Galinor says, standing.

  “Where are we going?”

  He offers me his hand. I take it and step down from the stands.

  “I don’t know if we should,” I say when I see he’s leading me to the tents. “What if someone recognizes me?”

  “We’ll go around the back.”

  We duck around several tents, avoid a few knights, and then finally enter a red and yellow tent with his family flag over it. Once we’re safe inside, I pull off the straw hat and toss it in the corner. I unwind the scarf and shake my hair free.

  “That feels so much better,” I say. “You have no idea.”

  Now that we’re alone, Galinor looks a little uncomfortable again.

  “Are you ready for the scavenger hunt?” I sit on a bench.

  His tent is surprisingly well furnished considering the competitors are staying in the palace at night. Rugs, tables, chairs, chests, candlesticks—why does he need all this? Are all the tents like this?

  Sitting in a chair across from me, he clasps his hands in his lap, moves them to the arms of the chair, and then clasps them in his lap again. I resist the urge to smile, not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable.

  “As ready as I can be. We won’t know what’s on the list until the morning of the hunt.”

  I wish I knew what was on that list. Who came up with it, anyway? Was it Percival? I think it was. I’ll get it from Leonora. “It will be fine.”

  “I can fight,” he says. “I’m good at that. I’m not sure how I’ll do tracking down a collection of obscure items.”

  So he’s not anxious about me in his tent; he’s nervous about the scavenger hunt.

  “Difficult items—yes,” I say. “Items that will put you in peril—certainly, but we don’t know they’ll be anything obscure. I can’t even think of an obscure Lauramorian item to put in a scavenger hunt.”

  He rises from the chair and kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. “The stakes are higher now, Pippa. I won’t lose this.”

  I’m about to answer, but the tent swings open and three men in mail s
tride in. A mousy-looking young woman follows behind them.

  We freeze. They freeze.

  Their mouths hang open.

  Finally, the most handsome of the three—a blond man with laughing eyes—turns to his comrades. “My tent didn’t come with a princess. Did your tent come with a princess?”

  The tension lessens, and they laugh. We join in after we catch our breath from the scare, but our laughter is forced.

  “Galinor, you held out on us,” the youngest of the three says. His hair is sun-bleached and his skin is very tan. “You were the one caught with the princess last night.”

  He makes it sound so tawdry.

  I stand and try to appear as regal as possible. This is difficult in a garden maid’s shift. “I am Princess Pippa. And you are?”

  The first to speak, the handsome one, quirks an eyebrow, and I recognize him as the scoundrel who winked at me last night from the crowd. “I’m Prince Irving of Primewood. This is Lady Marigold—my sister of sorts.”

  She is tall and wispy with a very unfortunate bland color of brown hair and huge hazel eyes. Her eyes are quite pretty, actually.

  “I’m his family’s ward,” she corrects him, her voice soft.

  The man who hasn’t spoken yet moves forward. “I’m Prince Bran of Triblue and this is my younger brother Dristan.”

  “We’re honored to be in the tournament, Your Highness,” Dristan adds, his smile wide.

  Irving elbows him, and Dristan yelps.

  “It’s nice to meet—” I stop mid-sentence and lunge for my straw hat. I pile my hair on my head as fast as I can.

  They all look at me as if I’ve lost my mind, but they don’t recognize the voice outside the tent. I turn away just as my brother sticks his head in.

  “Galinor,” Alexander says. “You must give me a chance to redeem myself. Come spar with us. Cardin thinks he can best you two-handed.”

  “I’m better two-handed than I am with a short sword,” Galinor answers, his tone full of good humor and male boasting.

  “Prove it.”

  I turn around when my brother leaves, grateful he didn’t notice me. Alexander is a wild card. Sometimes he’ll keep a secret, and other times he’ll run off to Sir Kimble or Father and rat me out.

  “I need to go,” I say to Galinor. “I think I’ve risked all I can for today.”

  He glances at our audience. They watch us with avid interest.

  “I’ll walk you back to the arena,” Galinor says.

  Irving steps forward and grins. “You can’t do that. Alexander will wonder where you went and track you down. I’ll walk her back.”

  Galinor bristles. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll go with them,” Marigold offers, her eyes flickering between us and the floor.

  I nod and then shrug. There will be no goodbyes today.

  We share one last glance as I exit the tent. Galinor dips his head as we leave.

  Bran and Driston stay, so it’s just the three of us making our way to the arena. As we walk, I learn something about Irving. He doesn’t shut up.

  I like that about him.

  “Who’s that, and where is he from?” I nod to a tent and crest I don’t recognize.

  Irving glances over. “Lord Kellerby from Murin. He’s twenty-nine years old and, tragically, a widower.”

  Marigold makes a sad little tut.

  I nod to another. “And him?”

  “That is Prince Peter of Coppel’s cousin, Sir Mort. He’s not in the tournament.”

  Irving knows something about everyone. We’re not skirting the tents like I did before, but walking right through them, weaving so he can slyly relay information to me as we go. Marigold follows, but she doesn’t say much. Not that Irving gives either of us a chance.

  “What about him, Irving?” I hold back, motioning to Lionel. We’re not in his direct view, and I don’t think he’ll notice me in a maid’s dress. I’m quite below him right now.

  “Ah,” Irving says. “Prince Lionel of Vernow. Twenty-three years old and very powerful, both in kingdom and physical strength. He’s not terribly sociable—or likable—for that matter. Word has it, he’s expected to win.”

  “Not if I can help it,” I say under my breath.

  Irving raises an eyebrow. “Can I ask you something, fair Princess?”

  Marigold makes a choking noise but looks away.

  Irving ignores her and continues, smirking. “Why Galinor? There was a spark between us last night, was there not?”

  I laugh. “You really are a scoundrel.”

  He clasps his chest. “You wound me, sweet maiden. I only speak so openly because I’m hopelessly besotted with you.”

  “Irving, really,” Lady Marigold chastises.

  “Then win the tournament,” I joke.

  He sighs. “I’m afraid I have no choice.”

  I spot Leonora scanning the arena seating, looking vexed. I have an idea who she’s looking for. I tap her shoulder, and she jumps.

  “Where have you been?” She demands then sees I’m not alone and finishes lamely, “You’re supposed to be in the gardens.”

  Irving stands beside me and drapes his arm across my shoulder. “We know who she is. We walked in on a very private moment between her and the valiant Prince Galinor.”

  Leonora’s eyes go wide, and she looks like she might pass out from the thought. I shrug away from Irving, giving him a good, hard poke in the ribs.

  “They were only speaking, Your Highness,” Lady Marigold interjects, glaring at her sort-of brother.

  “Who are you?” Leonora asks, her voice sharp.

  I blink. That’s as rude as I’ve ever heard her speak.

  He bows low. “Prince Irving of Primewood.”

  She scowls at him but turns to Lady Marigold.

  “I’m Marigold of Primewood,” the girl says, her voice small and mousy again.

  “Lady Marigold,” Irving adds.

  “Ah,” Leonora says, her face softening. “Of course. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  A trumpet sounds from the palace walls, and we all turn toward the road. Coming through the trees is a trio of riders, their leader on a magnificent black stallion. The two behind him hold an orange and black flag with a slain dragon on its crest.

  “Well, well,” Irving says. “He made it after all.”

  “Who is it?” I watch intently. “I don’t know him.”

  The man rides past us, nodding. His hair is black, and his eyes are almost the same color. I hear whispers behind us, and it seems everyone has something to say about the newcomer.

  Leonora answers me before Irving gets the chance. “Lord Rigel of Errinton.”

  “Errinton? I didn’t think we were on good terms with them.”

  Irving snorts. “Who is?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Your father invited him.”

  Of course he did.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Archer

  The knock at my bedroom door wakes me up with a start. I blink, trying to figure out what time it is. The sun is shining through the crack in the balcony curtain, so it must be morning.

  “Pippa,” Leonora calls from the other side of the wooden door.

  I flop back down and groan. “Go away.”

  I stayed up half the night reliving the events from yesterday. What was Galinor going to say before we were interrupted, and why has Father allowed a lord from Errinton to enter the tournament?

  “I will not go away, Pippa. Let me in,” Leonora says, irritated.

  The guard would have opened the door for her if she’d just asked.

  “Let her in,” I call.

  I had hoped she would have breakfast with her, but her hands are sadly empty.

  “You look awfully nice for how early it is.” I eye her silk brocade dress. Her hair is braided back, and pearls are woven through it. She sweeps in the room like the future queen she is and yanks open the curtains. The room is flooded in bright, evil sunlight. I cringe and thro
w the covers over my head.

  “You were supposed to be at your music lesson over a half hour ago.” She pulls the covers away from my eyes. “Haven’t you heard the morning bells?”

  “I don’t like the bells.” I sit up so I can glare at her more efficiently.

  “Get up.”

  I whip the covers back and drop my legs over the side of the bed.

  “Are you to be my keeper today?” I growl, and then I remember Anna’s headache. Her headaches never last more than half a day or so. “Is Anna all right?”

  “She’s fine. She had something to do this morning, so she sent me.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You’re late.”

  The statement hangs between us, and she cringes. Leonora hates to be late to anything.

  “I know, I know. Percival couldn’t find a book he needed, and I spent half the morning helping him look for it.” She sticks her head out the door. “Girls, come in now.”

  Ginna and another young girl join us.

  “Find something for her to wear,” she instructs the girl and then turns to Ginna. “You’ll do her hair once she’s dressed.”

  They both bob their heads. Before I know it, they’ve stripped me of my nightclothes, and a pale yellow summer gown passes over my head. Careful fingers cinch the front. The girls slide matching fabric bands up my arms, followed by cuffs at my wrists. Gossamer fabric falls from band to cuff. It’s probably beautiful, but it’s a nuisance.

  I’ll be hanging up on things all day.

  Leonora nods, pleased. “Millie, please tell Master Draeger that Pippa won’t make her lesson today.”

  Millie leaves while Ginna ushers me to a chair and runs a brush through my hair.

  “How about you send a message to Sir Kimble, and we call it a day?” I wince as the brush hits a snag. “The two of us will sneak to the stables, saddle our horses, and be out the back gate before they realize we’re gone.”

  I’m only joking, but I’m surprised when she pauses for a minute, as if she’s thinking about it. “Are you all right?”

  Leonora sighs and lowers herself to the nearest chair. “The tournament has Percival on edge. Your mother is nearly hysterical with details, and you’re—well, you’re not really acting differently.”