The Warrior and the Wildflower

by Gregg, Everley

  Eva had heard of these great celebrations. Philip III had earned the moniker “the Good” for a reason. He hosted the most extravagant feasts of the day. Most were open to the public, although neither Marisse nor her stepfather had ever dared attend.

  A shroud of shame, one which did not belong to her, had lain like early morning fog over Eva’s life as long as she could remember. She despised it. She also resented it.

  Eva did not know what Philip had planned for her. An arranged marriage? A spark of excitement stirred. Mayhap her dream of finding love with a titled knight wasn’t so impossible after all . . .

  There it was again, rearing its sinful head. Pride. One of Eva’s biggest flaws, beside and in spite of her physical deformity, was hubris.

  More likely, based on her mother’s reputation with the duke, Philip had less honorable plans for his bastard daughter. Would he put her to work as a kitchen maid? A handmaiden to one of the court’s nobler ladies? Mayhap he planned to give her away to one of his courtesans as a mistress. Eva’s stomach soured and she turned on her side, pulling the rough woolen blanket up over her head. She had over two, long months to wait before her questions would be answered.

  At least, in the meantime, she would gain an exquisite gown of the finest silk, a gown befitting one far above her common status. Would she get to choose the fabric, she wondered? Or had her sire designated the specifics in his missive?

  A week later, Marisse took hold of Eva’s arm and led her to the workroom at the back of the shop. A large wooden table stood in the center, the place where the cloth was laid out to be measured and cut. There, on the smooth oak surface, lay a bolt of silk.

  Pale green, woven in a delicate pattern of acanthus leaf swirls, the brocade was the most beautiful Eva had ever seen. Atop it lay coiled yards of ribbon so brilliant, they appeared to be spun of pure gold.

  Marisse lifted the ribbon, letting her fingers entwine with the loose ends of Eva’s long tresses. “It will go well with your hair,” she said, her eyes shining. “And the silk matches the color of your eyes. Perfectly.”

  Those eyes now filled with tears. Eva spoke through the painful knot in her throat. “I will be away for my name day, Maman.”

  Marisse’s eyes shone too as she rubbed her daughter’s arm. “Do not despair, Eva. My hope ’twill be the most wonderful name day you’ve had in your life.”

  Again, Marisse embraced Eva as a lump lodged in her throat as large and rigid as a stone.

  *

  “I have no desire to exhibit the talents of our fine falcons to a crowd of strangers, drunk on the Duke’s wine.”

  Mathieu de Flandre, head ostler and falconer at the Coudenburg castle, spoke with conviction, knowing all the while his own opinions meant little. He served as squire to Simon La Laing, Admiral of Flanders. Mathieu honored his lord, a good man whose roots grew close to his own.

  They were both men of Flanders, a region under Burgundian rule for the past two decades. Some of the Flemish had made the best of it, like Simon. He had been knighted under Philip’s elite Order of the Golden Fleece. Mathieu had accepted his fate, honoring the House of Valois. Although his father had died before he was born, fighting to protect Liège from the Burgundians, history was already written. Mathieu was now under Burgundy’s rule, and felt blessed he’d been accepted as a squire to the admiral.

  ’Twas as far as he intended to go. His dreams of knighthood, once his life’s goal, was so no longer.

  “Oh, come now, Mathieu. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t relish the opportunity to show off your talents—and those of your fine hunting stock—to all of the eligible young women at the May Day Feast. You near thirty winters, do you not? And still have not taken a wife.”

  Simon waited for Mathieu to tighten the girth on his palfrey’s saddle before taking the reins and continuing his lecture. “Philip has sent invitations far and wide for this year’s festival. I’m sure there will be many ripe flowers—all coming here, on display for your perusal. Ready for picking.” He winked as he settled into the saddle. “I shall be gone for several days, Mathieu. I trust you will keep all well in order here at the castle?”

  “Of course, my lord. As always.”

  Mathieu watched Simon ride off, considering his words. He had no intention of securing a wife—at least, not for quite some time. He was young, a man just now approaching his prime. Yet he had nothing to offer a bride. His goals for the future remained hazy, uncertain.

  Mathieu was a man torn. His pride and ambition had once driven him down the road to knighthood, following his late father’s lead. ’Twas a road on which he had already advanced a great distance. His conscience, however, caused him to question this goal.

  For one, knighthood would place him within the very same army of warriors who had killed his father.

  He had also witnessed knights in action as they oft passed through his city of birth, their mission supposedly to maintain loyalty of its citizens. Some of the warriors, however, seemed to thrive on savagery, with little regard for the virtues of chivalry.

  Absently, his hand went to his cheek, running his fingers down the length of the scar that marred his face. No matter that the healer had done a fine job of stitching. The puckered, pink line running from his temple to the corner of his mouth remained as a constant, visible reminder, fortifying his decision.

  Although he had decided not to pursue his sword and spurs, Mathieu still believed in the code of chivalry. Knighted or not, he vowed to adhere to these virtues.

  A wife? No, not even remotely in his plans. But a tryst with a pretty young thing with a low tolerance for the Duke’s freely flowing libations? Yes. Oh, yes. That might definitely be worth taking out one of Simon’s gyrfalcons, even a peregrine, at the May Day Festival to show off to the ladies.

  What Mathieu hadn’t figured on, however, was the duke’s directive for him to act as chaperone.

  When Simon returned after nearly a fortnight, dusk was settling over the manor. The Admiral had reportedly been meeting with some of the duke’s merchants in Bruges.

  Mathieu barely finished helping the admiral down off his mount and taking the dust-coated reins from him when Simon began without so much as a greeting.

  “Philip is sending you on a most important mission, Mathieu. You must take with you a most gentle palfry and travel to Ghent. In the days before the May Day Festival . . . there is a young woman there you must retrieve. She is to be brought here to Coudenburg.”

  As he unsaddled his lord’s sweaty horse, anger and resentment rose in Mathieu’s chest. He was no escort, no lowly courier to be sent on missions such as these. He was a squire, the ostler and falconer here at Coudenburg. And he had many preparations to oversee at the castle for the festival—”

  “I know what you’re thinking, Mathieu.”

  He’d never been good at hiding his emotions, no matter how hard he tried. Although he kept his tongue, he snapped the girth leather free and yanked the saddle from the horse’s back with a little more force than necessary.

  Simon knew Mathieu fairly well. The admiral had become somewhat of a father to him these past years. Sometimes it seemed as though the man could actually read his mind.

  “Mathieu. Do not despair. This mission is no common task, but one the duke honors you to complete. The lady you must retrieve is a very special one, indeed.”

  A lady. Harumph. Probably just another one of the duke’s mistresses. The ostler grabbed a handful of straw and began the rubbing down the sweaty horse’s coat. Steam rose from its body in the cool of the early spring evening.

  Mathieu knew of Philip’s escapades, as did all of his dukedom. Not that the duke bothered to hide his transgressions. Rumors abounded about Philip, and although Mathieu realized not all could possibly be true, he highly suspected those regarding his “weakness of the flesh” bore truth. The Duke had, in fact, brought a number of ladies to stay with him at Coudenburg. Not all of them had been one of the wives he’d taken over the years.

 
; While Mathieu completed the horse’s rubdown—a rougher one than usual, but the palfrey didn’t seem to mind—Simon was conducting his walkthrough of the stables, as he always did after an absence. This, too, curdled Mathieu’s ire. It was as though Simon didn’t trust him to keep things at the castle exactly the way his lord desired.

  Still, Mathieu knew he was lucky. He had only come into the position of squire by good fortune and the benevolence of the duke and his admiral. He had not been born into a family of noble blood—at least, not noble in the eyes of the Burgundian court. He had not, as was customary, begun his training as a young boy.

  Still, to be doubted? After all this time? To his knowledge, he’d never let the admiral down.

  But inspection was apparently not the purpose of the admiral’s walk through the stables this evening. La Laing emerged with a thoughtful expression, pulling on his short dark beard, his mouth pursed.

  “Germaine, I think, would be the most suitable mount for your charge.”

  Mathieu, his thoughts simmering inside his own head, blinked and looked up from his work. “Germaine? She is our oldest mare, my lord. Surely, she is in no shape for such a long journey—”

  “The young lady you will be retrieving, Mathieu, has no experience in the saddle. Besides, she is young and delicate, from what our dear duchess conveys.”

  Mathieu blew out a breath and faced his lord. “Ghent is a long day’s ride on a strong horse. With Germaine in tow—”

  “Your trip will be taken over two days, not one.” He removed the roundlet from his head and scrubbed the road’s dust from his cropped, black hair. “There is a fine inn just over halfway between Ghent and Brussels. Stopping there will make the trip easier on the young lady.”

  Mathieu finished his grooming, struggling to hold his tongue. Now he would be acting as chaperone for not one day, but two—and entertaining, as well as ensuring the safety of the damsel overnight. Again, as if reading his mind, Simon laid a heavy hand on Mathieu’s shoulder.

  “As I said, my boy, the duke would not consider just anyone to take on this mission. The young lady is, I’m guessing, somewhat dear to him—or mayhap to Lady Isabella.” Mathieu met his lord’s dark eyes, which were twinkling with humor. “She is Philip’s daughter. One of his first bastards, by a tailor he kept in Utrecht for a time. When he was much, much younger.”

  Mathieu blinked and stepped back. “His daughter? A bastard daughter? Isn’t the duchess planning to attend the May Day festival?”

  Simon patted his shoulder and looked down, stifling a smirk. “Yes, yes she is. Isabella knows all about Philip’s escapades. Their union, as you know, was a tactical arrangement. One based more on alliances than affairs of the heart.” Simon turned and strode away toward the keep, his long red robes rippling about his ankles.

  Mathieu stood beside the horse, reins in hand, in a state of shock. He was fond of Philip’s current wife, and Isabella seemed to favor him as well. He had taken the duchess out multiple times on the hunt, teaching her how to tether and hood her young peregrine falcon properly.

  He also knew Isabella had taken it upon herself to locate, and gather, the duke’s bastard daughters for such festivals. ’Twas not his place to question, yet he could not, for the life of him, understand her reasons. Still, Mathieu did not want to be the one to ride into the manor trailing one of Philip’s youthful “mistakes.”

  Simon hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. He faced the ostler, hands on his hips.

  “Not only does Isabella know about the girl, but she’s taken an interest in helping shape the young lady’s future. Eva of Utrecht will be staying here at Coudenburg for a time after the festival is over. Mayhap beyond.” He paused, casting his gaze to the ground. “I must also tell you, Mathieu. The girl has a . . . a disablement. A defect from birth. Minor, but she has difficulty walking, especially over uneven ground.”

  Mathieu closed his eyes and dropped his forehead against the palfrey’s neck. Not only was he being saddled with an innocent to chaperone on an overnight journey, but a creple as well. After leading the admiral’s horse into the barn and tethering him in his stall, Mathieu turned and, scanning the building to ensure he was alone, drew back a balled fist. With all his might, he punched the wooden divider.

  The palfrey, head already buried in the hay, paid him no mind. This wasn’t the first time the horses had witnessed one of Mathieu’s tantrums. But he knew, in order to maintain his position, the ostler must learn to hide, if not tame, his volatile nature.

  ’Twas a shame Mathieu shunned the thought of knighthood. Verily, he thought a knight’s life may well suit him. He certainly possessed the fire required to bolster a man’s courage in riding into battle. Now, however, he could only defuse his explosive outbursts of temper with pain.

  Chapter Two

  April 1436

  Ghent

  Another missive arrived from the Burgundian Court in early April.

  The weather had turned fair, and Eva was outside, working the soil in the tiny plot of land behind the shop where her family grew vegetables.

  “Come now, Tomas. Don’t play in the dirt or Maman will have my head.”

  Her younger brother, just past five winters, sat in the freshly turned soil letting it run through his fingers. He was a pudgy cheeked lad with a shock of straight, dark hair just like his father’s. He turned brilliant blue eyes on her.

  “I am helping, Sister.” His smile melted a corner of Eva’s heart.

  Her sister, Griet, stomped over and yanked the child to his feet, sweeping the dirt from his tiny braies. “You’re not helping, Tomas,” she scolded. “You are making a great mess of yourself.”

  Eva sighed as she studied the children. She adored them and, with both her parents busy most of the time running the tailor shop, had taken on the role of their primary caretaker. Not that she minded. She knew, no matter how she dreamed of a family of her own, ’twould probably never come to pass.

  Even if she married, bearing babes would be a risky matter. She glanced down at her twisted ankle. ’Twas a trait she might pass on. Eva could not imagine the horror of birthing a babe with a deformity such as hers. Mayhap one worse.

  No matter. The one thing Eva had decided for certain—she would not marry for convenience. She would only marry for love. The chances for the man of her dreams discovering her here, in a tiny tailor shop with a needle in her hand, were slim.

  Still, there was the festival. She had nearly forgotten about her upcoming trip to the May Day celebration at Coudenburg. It seemed as though a fantasy, an impossible dream hovering elusively in her consciousness. But there was proof. Her beautiful green gown had been completed and stored in a trunk now for over a month.

  More than a moon had passed, though, and there had been no news. In fear of disappointment, she’d pushed the event to the back of her mind. Besides, every time Eva imagined traveling so far away from home, all alone, to a place she’d never seen and with folk she’d never met, her insides twisted.

  Marisse stood at the back door of the shop and beckoned to Eva. She could see the parchment in her mother’s trembling hands. Another missive. What news could this one hold? Here it was—the news the duke had changed his mind. She was surprised Philip had even bothered to send another note at all.

  “An escort, with extra palfrey and chaperone, will arrive for you a fortnight hence, Eva, to escort you to Coudenburg.” Marisse’s voice wavered, and Eva suddenly noticed how much older her maman had grown.

  “A palfrey,” Eva repeated. “Not a carriage?”

  Marisse held her daughter’s gaze. “’Tis not what it says in this missive, daughter.”

  Another wave of dread washed over her. The distance, Eva knew, between Ghent and Brussels was over a day’s ride away. Eva didn’t know how to ride. She’d never been on a horse in her life.

  “Andries will take you to Weers’ stable. He will teach you how to ride.” Marisse paused, raising one eyebrow. “At least, in the short time remaini
ng, he will show you how to sit a ladies’ saddle, so you shall have a chance of staying atop the beast.”

  Two days later, Eva’s stepfather led her by the elbow through the Market Square, toward a side street leading to the stables. Having no mount of his own and often requiring travel, Andries knew the ostler there well. Stumbling along to keep up with her stepfather over the uneven cobbled street, Eva’s heart lodged painfully in her throat.

  Her stepfather had little patience for her. Andries accepted Eva, kept her housed and fed, but had no time for her otherwise. He seemed repulsed by her disfigurement. Eva feared that the moment she came of age, Andries would actively pursue a marriage for her, whether one of her choosing or not.

  She was surprised he had consented to take her to the stable. This trip to Coudenburg, she reasoned, was one more step in ridding him of her.

  Once, in the summer past, Stefano, the merchant’s apprentice, had offered to take her for a ride on his master’s tall, black palfrey. Just the thought of it made Eva shudder every time she remembered. Besides, Stefano did not have a ladies’ saddle, so Eva would have had to ride the beast astride.

  That, she knew, was entirely inappropriate, and therefore out of the question. And Stefano, for all of his dark good looks and smooth talk, raised the hairs on the back of Eva’s neck. Why this was so, she did not know.

  At the stable yard they were met by Weers, the ostler, a broad, squat man with thick arms and a swarthy complexion. He wore a simple woolen cotehardie over hose, his leather boots wrapped tightly around sturdy ankles. A piece of straw stuck out from one side of his mouth.

  He greeted Andries with a curt nod. “Come hither. Your young charge shall receive her first lesson in the stable yard.”

  Eva stood clinging to her stepfather’s arm, partly to keep her balance, and partly due to raw fear. The stable yard was a dirt patch tucked between the buildings, lined by a rail fence at the far end. The space was only slightly bigger than the garden behind the tailor shop. The ball of worry in her belly loosened a bit. She need not worry about the horse running off with her, not if contained within this small area.