The Warrior and the Wildflower

by Gregg, Everley

  Entirely improper, but also entirely necessary.

  A jolt of heat radiated up her arm as his large, strong hand enveloped hers. What a strange sensation. She found the simple joining of hands with this handsome stranger deeply exhilarating. Feeling lightheaded and a little woozy, she lifted the hem of her kirtle and climbed slowly after him.

  The ale must be stronger. The long day of travel and pure exhaustion have weakened me. I’ll attribute these odd feelings to that.

  Eva waited outside the doorway as Mathieu ducked into her chamber, where Blanche was already buried under a blanket on the far side of the wide pallet. He drew the door connecting the adjoining rooms closed, sliding the latch bolt fast on the women’s side. Then he rejoined her in the hall.

  “Sleep well, milady. I will retrieve you early, as I wish to make Coudenburg before nightfall.”

  They stood so close, she could smell him—wet leather, horse, and something musky and male. Yet not at all unpleasant. Her cheeks suddenly felt hot, and her heart hammered faster. Eva studied Mathieu’s handsome face in the dim, flickering light. A day’s growth of beard shadowed his jaw, adding to his rugged good looks. She wondered again about the scar . . .

  “Rest well, Eva of Utrecht. If you need anything at all during the night, I am but a threshold away. I sleep light, and will hear if you call out or pound on the door.”

  To her surprise, Eva did sleep—like death, on the pallet beside the handmaiden, who had already stripped down to her chemise and lay on her side, snoring softly.

  It seemed only moments later. Loud, persistent knocking roused Eva. There was no light leaking in around the window coverings. She yawned and stumbled to the open the door.

  “We leave shortly, milady. Please ready yourself.” It was then Mathieu’s gaze raked her up and down, and his lips quirked. “You slept fully clothed.”

  Eva felt the heat rise into her cheeks. “I was cold,” she stammered.

  Taking the satchel of bread and cheese the innkeeper left for them, Mathieu led Eva across the stable yard. Dawn was just now lifting her own sleepy head over the rooftops in brilliant streaks of orange and blue. Eva stopped short to see the peasant boy standing outside the livery holding the reins—of only two mounts.

  Mathieu’s horse and Blanche’s pony.

  “I’m afraid Germaine must remain here in Alst. She is not up to making the rest of the journey.” Mathieu’s tone was abrupt and husky.

  Eva shot a glance over toward the small pen where the boy said he would keep the mares. All she could see in the dim light was a heaping mound of straw. Shocked, she sputtered, “Then . . . what will I ride?”

  “You will ride with me, on Chaucer. I’m afraid you’ll have to ride astride. Blanche’s mount cannot bear two riders. I am sorry for the inconvenience.”

  Before she had a chance to consider how completely improper and unexpected her situation, Eva found herself atop Mathieu’s tall palfrey—straddling his broad back, no less. Instead of having a padded velvet saddle to cling to, Eva found her only way of steadying herself was to wind her fingers into the horse’s mane while she leaned back against the chest of her escort.

  Totally inappropriate. Yet totally necessary.

  They traveled at a much faster pace than the day before. The rolling motion of the horse’s faster gait was new to her, and it took some time to adjust her balance. It wasn’t long, however, before the rocking of what Mathieu called a “canter,” along with the warmth of the horse’s back beneath hear, soothed her nerves, and she relaxed. Yawning, she snuggled in closer against Mathieu’s chest. Although the wool of his cloak was rough on her cheek, Eva soon succumbed to a semi-slumber.

  Why she should feel so safe and secure with this stranger, Eva could not say. Probably because she didn’t really have any choice in the matter.

  Yet as Chaucer’s hooves clomped noisily across the wooden planks of the drawbridge leading up the Coudenburg Castle, Eva couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness. Would this be the last time she would see Mathieu? Or did he live here at the castle?

  A page came running as Mathieu dropped to the ground. He reached up and lifted her down, catching her elbow as she swayed. She looked up and shot him a grateful glance. Her legs were stiff, both feet tingly and numb, and she was certain her backside would be too tender to sit upon for many days.

  “You leave with three mounts, but return with two?” A tall man dressed in a bright red cloak and matching roundlet stepped out from the livery door.

  Mathieu shot him a scowl. “I told you Germaine was too feeble for the journey, La Laing. I had no choice but to leave her in Alst.” He hesitated, his gaze sliding to Eva and then back to the tall man. He cleared his throat. “The mare was unable to complete the trip, my lord.”

  The man called La Laing narrowed his eyes at Mathieu, but for just the briefest of moments. He then turned his attention to Eva, extending his hand as he approached her.

  “My lady. I am Simon La Laing, Admiral of Flanders. The duke told me to expect you. Lady Isabella awaits you in the Great Hall as we speak.”

  Eva stifled a small gasp and covered her mouth with her hand. Lady Isabella of Portugal, Duchess of Burgundy—awaiting to greet her? A young lady barely above peasant status, and one bearing the brand of bastard daughter of duchess’ husband? Eva’s heart commenced an irregular gallop within her chest, and a sheen of sweat instantly covered her body.

  “Come,” Simon said, offering Eva his arm. “Allow me to present you to the duchess.”

  Chapter Five

  Mathieu watched Simon lead Eva toward the doors of the Great Hall. He handed the mount to his page, then swiped his hands down his face. He was weary and hoped his own presence would not be called for at the evening meal. He yearned for a bar of soap and a basin of hot water, a dry towel and a soft bed.

  As he turned to head toward his quarters, though, he cast a glance toward the encampment of the Royal Guard. A row of tents lined the far wall of the bailey where a small fire burned. He heard the talk and laughter of the knights, sitting or standing in groups around the fire. A mixture of emotions warred within him.

  Jealousy? Mayhap. Mathieu was essentially a loner in his position, caring for the horses and the hunting birds, with little opportunity for camaraderie with men his own age. The knights were members of a brotherhood. Mathieu had no brothers.

  In truth, he had no family left at all. His father died before he was born, and his mother died giving life to a sister who never took her first breath. He was, in truth, completely alone in the world.

  As he observed the jocular banter between the knights, a simmering loathing rose up within him. Not all knights, he knew well, were noble and virtuous like his own sire had been.

  From this distance, in the dark, Mathieu was unable to make out the men’s faces. He guessed their captain was not among them. Engel Knape, he knew, was traditionally granted a room within the keep. He also spent considerable time in the nearby village, in one of the several alehouses.

  As Mathieu turned toward his quarters, he noticed a small movement near the doors of the Great Hall. The whoosh of a cloak revealed a flash of firelight off the golden handle of a sword. Quietly, Mathieu crept in that direction.

  When he got close enough to recognize the man, ire twisted in Mathieu’s gut. It was the captain himself, spying unseen from the shadows as Eva passed by on La Laing’s arm. Mathieu could see the gleam in the man’s eye, and his smirk as he thoughtfully pulled on his straggly black beard.

  You’d better not set your sights on that one, Knape. She’s too young, too innocent to fend off the likes of you. And if you try anything with her, and the duke doesn’t take your head, I will do it for him.

  *

  Eva held tightly onto Admiral La Laing’s arm as they mounted the steps to the Great Hall. Even though the man was intimidating, tall and broad in his bright red cloak and head covering, his voice was surprisingly soft and soothing. Although he made no reference to her irregular ga
it, he must have known of it, since he walked very slowly and gave her plenty of time to keep pace beside him. Yet he did not say nor do anything to make her feel self-conscious.

  Still, Eva trembled inside. She was dusty and disheveled from traveling on horseback for two days. Her hair, which she’d secured in a braid when Mathieu complained of the long strands whipping him in the face, had come loose and looked very much like a badly frayed length of rope. And although it felt good to again be navigating on her own two feet, she feared that sitting on a hard bench or stool at the banquet table would prove very painful.

  Her backside felt like the palfrey had spent the day trodding upon it, not carrying her atop its back.

  As they entered the hall, the aroma of roasted meat made Eva’s stomach voice its neglect. She also heard many voices—young voices, mostly female. Her shyness overcame her. She paused inside the doorway and turned toward La Laing.

  “I am in terrible disarray, my lord. Is it possible for me to freshen myself before meeting the duchess?”

  Simon’s eyes softened. “Of course. It was planned.” He called for one of the young maidens who was laughing and playing just inside. “Alys! Come hither.”

  Immediately, a girl looking to be a year or two older than herself stepped before them. Her mass of curly hair, a striking shade the color of copper, created a fuzzy halo around her delicate features. Pale, rosy skin wore a sprinkling of matching freckles. She curtsied promptly, nodding to La Laing before turning sky-blue eyes on Eva.

  “I am Alys of Burgundy. You must be Eva of Utrecht,” she said, a huge grin lighting up her face. “The lady duchess awaits you.”

  “Can you please show Eva to the young ladies’ quarters and assist her?” La Laing asked.

  Eva followed the tall, slender girl through an endless maze of rooms and hallways. The keep was gigantic, and her stomach clenched to think how easy it would be for her to become lost in its depths. Several times, the girl named Alys surged far ahead of her, even though she was trying with all her might to keep up. After the third time Alys had to stop and wait for her, she tipped her head and studied Eva.

  “I’m sorry, milady. I forgot about your impairment. I will walk more slowly the rest of the way.”

  Eva’s cheeks felt like they were on fire. Although she did not sense any judgment in Alys’ words, she still suffered shame. She’d dealt with this condition all of her life. By now, surely, she should have become immune to others’ pity.

  But, Eva realized, there was no pity in Alys’ voice. Only regret she had not traveled more slowly. Perhaps, Eva thought, she and Alys could become a sort of friends.

  Eva had developed few over her short lifetime. Sequestered at home to help in the tailor shop, she’d never had the opportunity for schooling, nor to participate in any social activities for children her own age. She was fortunate, she supposed, her mother had taken the time to teach her to read and write in Dutch, her native language, as well as to speak a little French.

  Alys led her finally down a long, stone-tiled hallway and turned into a large open room. Lines of narrow beds stood in two lines down the center. The only light came from a huge hearth at the far end. Alys skipped down the row of beds and turned in between two, fumbling to light a candle on the small table separating them.

  “This is my pallet,” she said pointing, “and this one will be yours. The duchess asked if I would help get you settled, as I have been with her now three winters.” She flashed Eva a proud grin.

  Eva looked around her, bewildered. “Wha—what is this place?”

  “This is where the sisters sleep, Eva. It’s the dortour. You may not know it yet, but you are among family here.” Alys curtsied before her again, her eyes sparkling. “Eva of Utrecht, I am Alys of Burgundy. We do not share a name, but we do share something more important. We share the noble blood of Philip, Duke of Burgundy.”

  Over the next hour, Eva was dropped into a whirlwind. Servants appeared carrying buckets of hot water, armfuls of dried lavender, and sheets of clean, white linen. Alys tugged at her sleeve.

  “You must disrobe, Eva, and bathe before your introduction to the duchess. Hurry, now. The time is late for the evening meal.”

  Numbly, with little thought to modesty, Eva complied. Two servants helped her disrobe and step into a wooden tub, where the warm, scented water felt heavenly on her sore body. Gentle hands ran bars of soap over her, while others sudsed her long tresses. Only her mother had ever bathed Eva before, but in her shocked exhaustion, she simply relaxed and enjoyed the unusual pampering. Like an obedient child, she allowed herself to be washed and dried.

  Alys disappeared for a time, but returned carrying a gown such as one Eva had never seen. Layers of the fine, ivory linen draped over Alys’ one arm. In her other hand, she carried a pair of very soft looking leather slippers.

  Eva sat near to the fire while a servant combed and blotted her wet tresses dry. Moments later, a white chemise slipped over her head, followed by the lovely linen kirtle. When Alys herself bent to slide the slippers over her feet, Eva noticed the two pattens did not look the same.

  With surprise, she noticed one slipper bore a length of padding along the outside of the foot.

  Completing her task, Alys stood and took Eva by the shoulders.

  “You are in a royal court now, milady. Tonight, you must straighten your carriage and walk proudly into the Great Hall. Over the next weeks, we shall all—me, your other sisters, and the duchess herself—school you in the ways of a noblewoman.”

  Eva blinked at the girl in silence. Surely this was all a fantastic dream, and she would awake on her own straw mattress in the early morning chill of her bedroom in Ghent.

  Alys grinned into Eva’s wide eyes. “Come. The duchess awaits.”

  *

  Mathieu covered his face and groaned after the servant delivered Isabella’s command. He would be expected to join the duchess and her young charges in the Great Hall for a late evening meal after all. Tempting thoughts of flopping down on his pallet and burying his face in its fur covering evaporated.

  His small charge, Kleine Uil, was not pleased either.

  Mathieu had rescued the small owl on the way back from one of the hunting expeditions several winters past. Somehow the bird, barely bigger than his hand, had broken a wing. Lady Isabella’s falcon had spotted the small creature, hopping about in the tall grasses at the edge of the woods, emitting a loud kweeo, kwiff, kwiff call of distress. Fortunately, the duchess had a soft heart for helpless creatures. She kept her falcon tethered, and allowed Mathieu to retrieve the injured owl.

  Kleine Uil had been with Mathieu ever since. Its wing never healed properly enough to allow the bird to fly higher than the rafters of the low stable roof. The tiny creature seemed happy to sleep in Matheiu’s quarters by day, and prowl the stables at night, earning his keep by ridding it of small rodents.

  Kleine did not like it, however, when Mathieu was away for any length of time.

  “I shall return this night, Kleine. You go about your duties and I will see you when the moon is high.”

  The owl hopped out of Mathieu’s quarters into the stable, ruffling his feathers in annoyance.

  After washing quickly in the warm water his page had brought him, Mathieu donned a clean liéne and braies and strapped on his ankle boots. As he turned to leave his quarters, he remembered the sight of Knape at the keep’s entrance. Retrieving his belt, he slid his dagger into the sheath on his hip. He did not trust the knight, and knew far too much about the man’s history to hold even a mustard seed’s worth of respect for him.

  Mathieu was just a boy when Knape, then merely a Burgundian knight, passed through his home city of Liège. Mathieu’s father had been a knight as well—a good and faithful one. Although his sire died before Mathieu’s birth, his mother told him much about him, and how he’d valued the principles of chivalry. Knape’s behavior far from exemplified these virtuous codes.

  The problem, of course, was that Knape was aw
are of how much Mathieu knew. He came to the realization early on that turning his back on the Captain of the Royal Guard might well someday cost him his life.

  When he entered the Great Hall, the sound of laughter echoed off the stone walls. He was surprised the duchess had allowed the young ladies in her care to remain in the hall at such a late hour. Isabella usually kept her charges to a strict, early curfew.

  Tonight, he soon recognized, was a special occasion. He had not been aware of how highly anticipated Eva’s arrival had been. What was so special about the girl? Not only was she just another of Philip’s illegitimate mistakes, but she was also born with an impairment.

  Though the hour was late, the hall bustled with activity. A fire burned in the gigantic hearth, and torches lined the walls, filling the usually dim interior with warm, flickering light. Servants scurried in and out carrying platters of meat and fowl, bread and vegetables. One even carried a festive jellied dish. The light catching off its jiggling surface raised a delighted squeal from the younger girls.

  Quite the celebration, Mathieu thought. And the duke himself had not yet arrived from his negotiations in Lille. He was not expected for another several days.

  This was not unusual. Unlike many women of the day, the duchess held a higher ranking than most. He harbored a great deal of respect for the Portuguese princess.

  The duchess sat at the high table, the dais, flanked by Simon La Laing and, of course, the Captain of the Royal Guard. A finger of wrath snaked its way up Mathieu’s spine, but he quickly shook it off. He must keep a clear head and a civil tongue with Knape, especially in front of Isabella.

  The long table stretched out at right angles to the dais with benches on either side. A few of the young ladies had already seated themselves, sitting demurely with their hands in their laps. Others still clustered in a small group near the fire, chattering and laughing.

  Mathieu made his way to the dais, where his usual seat next to La Laing awaited. He lowered to one knee before the duchess.