The Warrior and the Wildflower

by Gregg, Everley

  She fiddled with the leather reins as she spoke, her eyes cast skyward. “I have dreams, albeit lofty ones. Only now do I have the courage to voice them. Until the duke’s missive arrived, I believed there was no chance for me to ever rise above my roots.”

  Mathieu tipped his head, a stab of emotion piercing his heart. Her humility made him feel a little guilty. Here he had the opportunity for knighthood clearly offered to him and he denied the honor. Eva, until the duke had decided to acknowledge her, had far more meager options open to her than he.

  “And what might those dreams be?” he asked softly.

  Eva sighed. “I wish to earn the title of lady, and a fine one. I wish to attract the eye of a grand husband. A knight. I wish to live in a fine home.” She turned to him, her eyes shining. “I wish to marry for love.” Seeming embarrassed by her honesty, she blushed and dipped her chin.

  Lofty indeed, Mathieu thought. The girl definitely has royal roots. Her dreams described that which Mathieu may never be able to offer to a woman.

  At least, not at this point in his life. Is that what he wanted, though? Or did he want to live the rest of his life in a stable?

  She recovered quickly. “I sound like a foolish romantic, I know. All of these dreams are just that, my lord. I am but a tailor’s daughter, a bastard one at that. One with an ugly, twisted foot.”

  Mathieu’s heart squeezed. Under her fledgling confidence the timorous child still hid. He reached over and placed a hand on her arm. “The duchess wanted you here for a reason, milady. Perchance there is a better future for you on the horizon than you may know.” He sat taller in his saddle and shot her a challenging grin. “Are you ready to progress to a faster gait?”

  Chapter Seven

  Eva had the time of her life. It only took several strides aboard Jannis’ smooth canter for her nervous tension to subside, and she began to enjoy the ride. They crossed a broad, rolling meadow all the way to the edge of the woods before slowing the horses to a walk. With the wind in her hair and the scent of wildflowers all around her, Eva had never felt so free. She turned to Mathieu, her face cramping from a smile she could not suppress.

  “What a glorious name day you’ve made for me, my lord. How am I ever to thank you?” She was breathless, and her heart filled to bursting with joy.

  Mathieu’s only answer was a nod, his lips quirking before he drew up his palfrey near the forest’s border. “Would you like to walk in the woods, milady? ’Tis a fine day, and there is a walking path here I think you might enjoy.”

  A walk. What sounded like a simple task for any normal maiden was not so for Eva. She hesitated, casting her eyes downward.

  “Walking is not my strong suit,” she murmured shyly.

  “Worry not. I shall be right beside you every step of the way.”

  He dismounted and tied off his horse before helping Eva down. Although her legs were stiff and her bottom again tender, ’twas a glorious feeling . . . a feeling of being alive. And when Mathieu’s strong hands gripped her waist to settle her on her feet, a new sort of feeling simmered in her belly.

  Mathieu waited until she’d gained her balance in the grass, his arm still wrapped around her. She turned to look up at him, reveling in the warmth of his body against hers. He smelled clean, spicy like fresh cut hay and well-oiled leather. Mathieu might have been an ostler, but he certainly didn’t smell like the beasts he spent his days with.

  “Are you steady now, milady?” She felt his words rumble in his chest more than heard them.

  She blinked fast and swallowed, not wishing him to pull away. Yet she did not want him to see her as a burden, one requiring constant coddling. She stood taller and squared her shoulders. “I am fine, my lord.”

  Mathieu released her but immediately offered his arm. “The path is cleared of brush by the duchy’s serfs, milady. But still, there may be roots and such. The footing is uneven.” He tucked her hand into his side and cleared his throat. “’Tis time I came to be sure the serfs are performing their duties anyway.”

  “I shall remain here, my lord.”

  Both Eva and Mathieu spun around to see the chaperone, Blanche, still seated aboard her pony. Eva had almost forgotten she’d followed them.

  “I care not for a walk this morn. My bones ache,” she croaked.

  “As you wish, Blanche. As long as the lady does not mind,” Mathieu replied with a shrug.

  Eva shook her head.

  The sudden damp coolness under the trees was heavenly after their ride. Eva breathed in the tangy pine air and looked about her. A lovely bush covered with white blooms caught her eye.

  “What kind of flower are these?” she asked.

  “’Tis hawthorn. These woods are filled with them.” He grinned down at her.

  “It’s like a park,” she murmured.

  “Someday, ’twill be,” Mathieu said, a touch of pride in his words. “This land is already used for hunting. The Burgundians have also fashioned a fine park and gardens at Germolles. That’s where the court winters. The rose gardens there are breathtaking. I’d love to take you to see them sometime.”

  Eva’s heart began its fluttering, as it had many times since her first day with Mathieu. “That would be lovely, my lord. Roses are splendid, indeed. But the wildflowers in the meadows, growing wild and free. . . those will always be my favorite.” She paused and peered up at him through her lashes. “They live and grow and prosper all on their own, with no help from any human hand.”

  As I wish to live my life, she thought wistfully, suddenly lurching into him as her crooked foot slipped off an exposed root on the path.

  “Are you well, milady?” he asked.

  Dare I be so bold? Why not? After all, he’s just the ostler. “Yes, but please, sir, call me by my given name, Eva.”

  Mathieu’s chin tipped up in surprise. “Very well,” he answered slowly, “but then you must use my given name as well.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the hush of the woods. The wind did not reach them here, the only sounds the crunching of pine needles under their feet and an occasional squawk of a bird overhead. Hearing this, Eva asked, “You are also the falconer for the duke’s court, are you not . . . Mathieu?”

  The name felt new on her tongue, sweet and strangely forbidden.

  He patted her hand and nodded. “I am. ’Tis one of my passions, you might say. Simon . . . Admiral La Laing has the young birds brought here from the Netherlands, where they are abundant. My job is to gentle and train them to be useful on the hunt. I tend to the hunting hounds as well.”

  Eva tipped her head. “I saw the duchess with a bird when you went out with the knights. The duchess takes part in the hunt as well?” She couldn’t keep the wonder out of her voice.

  “She does. That was Cornelijs, the duchess’ fine peregrine. Lady Isabella was the only daughter among brothers in her home court. She learned to ride and hunt with them. She quite enjoys it.” He paused, slanting his gaze down toward her. “Do you have siblings?”

  “I do,” she said. “They are step-siblings, of course, but I love them as if they are my own. Tomas and Griet. They are five and six winters old.” A twinge of homesickness struck her. “I do miss them. Terribly.”

  “You enjoy children, then? The duchess gathers many here—girls—for the festivals. They should keep you plenty occupied during your stay.”

  “The duchess is kind and gracious, indeed.” Eva sighed. “I shall endeavor to be like Lady Isabella. I should like to learn to handle the falcons, and mayhap join in the hunt.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “Someday.”

  Mathieu’s laugh startled her. She’d not heard him laugh since the day they met, and the sound warmed her heart. Then she sobered. “Do you think ’tis silly for me to desire these things, Mathieu? That I wish to become a fine and noble lady?”

  He stopped walking so abruptly she nearly pitched onto her face. He quickly stepped forward and grasped both of her shoulders, drawing them closer than she’d ev
er been to a man before. Eva’s heart was beating so hard she could barely hear his next words. He was a good head taller than she, and she had to tip her head back to see his face.

  “Nay, not a silly goal at all, Eva. You have the trappings of a noblewoman. I recognized it from first we met.”

  Time stood still as Eva gazed into Mathieu’s eyes. They were brown, an oaken color like his wild mane of long hair, but up this close she noticed there were also specks of gold. His skin, bronzed by long hours in the sun, was still smooth, other than the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. The breeze blew back one side of his hair, revealing his scar.

  Boldly, she reached up and traced the pink line with her finger. “How did this happen?”

  He shrank away and turned his head. “An accident. Long ago. I was a boy.”

  She wondered then how many winters Mathieu had seen. Absently, she also wondered whether or not he was spoken for.

  Not that it would mean anything to her. He was the ostler, not a knight or nobleman. If she were to realize her dream of living the life of a fine lady, surely she must seek a man of higher rank.

  Shouldn’t she?

  He then took her by surprise. Pulling her closer, he stroked the back of his roughened hand over her cheek, and a shudder ran through her. All logical thought evaporated, as instinctively, she leaned in and lifted her face. His lips, full and sharply defined, drew her gaze. Eva had never been kissed, but felt sure it was about to happen now. She welcomed it.

  The snap of a twig behind her shattered the moment. Mathieu’s head shot up, but before alarm could tense her further, he placed a finger to his lips and turned her around.

  There, a very short distance away, stood a young doe, ghostly spots still evident on its glossy coat. Its eyes like large black pools, the animal stared at them, frozen. An instant later, the deer spun away and sprang nimbly over a fallen log. All Eva could see was its white tail bobbing as it disappeared from sight.

  “There are many deer here. Good news, for the lady duchess does have a taste for venison.”

  Eva winced. “So, the duchess hunts these for the table?”

  Mathieu shook his head. “We—the duke and the other men—use the bow for larger game. The duchess’ favorite sport is hunting fowl. Her falcon is quite adept at bringing them down. When you saw us go out last, her grace brought home an impressive brace of birds on her own saddle.”

  Eva swallowed. The glamor of hunting, she quickly realized, was much more enticing than the reality of killing and carrying home dead beasts for the table. She sniffed. “Perchance you could just teach me how to handle the birds? Mayhap I could help you in their training . . .”

  Again, Mathieu’s laugh resounded in the silence around them. He turned her to him once again and studied her with mirth in his eyes. “You are a puzzle, Eva of Utrecht. A delightful one, to be sure. And very beautiful as well.”

  *

  Mathieu had not been alone with a young maiden in a very long time. None of the other girls Isabella brought to court had ever been interested in learning to ride, let alone handle the hunting birds. A few had expressed ardor for the tiny owl he kept in the stables, but in the way a child might be drawn to a plaything.

  This girl was no child. Her wisdom and manner depicted a fine mind and courage reminiscent of the duchess herself. Yet Eva of Utrecht bore no blood ties to the Portuguese duchess, only to the Duke of Burgundy.

  His attraction for her was only natural, he supposed. Mathieu was a young man in his prime. He also spent very much of his time alone. At this moment, however, gazing into the brilliant green eyes of a very beautiful young maiden, he felt stirrings he did not particularly welcome. Stirrings he knew were not entirely proper.

  Isabella trusted him to act as Eva’s chaperone and teacher. He must not betray that trust. He had just firmed this resolve in his mind when she whispered her next words.

  “I like you very much, Mathieu of Liège. You have been very kind to me, and patient, even with my affliction, one that surely has made your duties more difficult.”

  A corner of his heart melted. Lifting her hand, he kept his eyes trained on hers, vigilant for any signs of hesitation. He found none.

  Her eyes grew wide as he brushed his lips once over the back of her hand. The skin was petal-smooth and warm, the scent of lavender overpowering the leather from the bridle reins. He felt her shudder, but she never broke the eye contact, a beacon bearing into his very soul. He pressed his lips to her hand again, and she closed her eyes and sighed.

  Entirely inappropriate, yet entirely delightful.

  Aye, there was something uniquely special about Eva of Utrecht. Mathieu had never reacted to a young woman quite this way. Purely physical attraction, of course. He was no prude and no youngster. But there was something more to the way Eva affected him, reaching into his heart with her eyes and her sincerity. Innocent, yes, but also strong-willed with an edge as sharp as a dagger’s blade.

  An edge that was rapidly threatening to cut through all the defenses he had wrapped around his emotions. Even knowing the chaperone was only yards away on the edge of the woods, Mathieu had the wild urge to kiss her, deeply and thoroughly, right here and right now. He had a feeling she would not deny him.

  Someday I will make her mine.

  The thought whispered its message into his brain, from whence he knew not. Flinching in shock, he took a step back. Propriety leaped to the front of his consciousness, overriding his instinctual urge. Destiny? He cleared his throat.

  “My apologies, milady. I do not wish to offend. The duchess has entrusted me with your safety.”

  “No offense taken, my lord. Your respect for chivalry is quite apparent.” Her lush lips quirked at the edges, her next words enticingly soft and sweet. “I feel completely safe with you, Mathieu.”

  The warmth that rushed his chest surprised him, and he had to draw in a deep breath to regain composure. Time to go, before the moment drew him farther down a path he was forbidden to trod.

  “We should get back. ’Tis almost time for the midday meal. You will be missed.”

  As they passed through the gatehouse and into the bailey, Mathieu caught sight of the other young girls heading back from the kitchen garden. They carried baskets filled with herbs and early blooms from the spring beds. Laughing and chattering amongst themselves, they hardly took notice of his and Eva’s return.

  Children. The other young ladies Isabella gathered around her were, truly, yet children. It was, he supposed, why she brought them here—to fill the aching holes left by the two children she’d buried. Only the young Charles had survived, and the child had not yet seen three winters. Isabella also had taken it as her duty to educate and refine as many of the duke’s bastard children—particularly the daughters—as possible. Many came to the court with little in the way of refinement.

  Eva of Utrecht was different. He wondered what it was that made her so. After all, she had just now passed sixteen winters, and was raised by common tailors.

  Mathieu’s page, Rogier, came running to help Eva dismount. He waited as the boy lifted the lady down, wishing it was his own fingers wrapped around her tiny waist. As his boots hit the ground, he turned to see Eva smiling up at him.

  “My greatest thanks, Mathieu, for a very enjoyable ride.” She stroked the horse’s steaming neck. “And to you as well, Jannis. You are a fine palfrey. A wonderful name day excursion. I hope to do this again, very soon.”

  Mathieu itched to reach for her hand, to place another kiss on her soft skin, to breathe in her scent once more. But not here, not in front of all in the bailey. Holding her gaze, he spoke low, trying to inject as much of his feelings as he could into his words. “I, as well, Eva.”

  “Well, well! The ostler is now a riding instructor, I see. How quaint.”

  The booming voice from across the yard caused them both to jump. Mathieu’s skin prickled as he recognized it. He spun to face Captain Knape, striding toward them.

  “Go
od morning, milady. You’re looking most lovely this morning. Did you have a pleasant jaunt with our stable boy?”

  Mathieu struggled to ignore the insult and clenched his fists at his sides. He would not lower himself to confront the captain. Not here. Not in front of Eva. He was surprised when the maiden took a wobbly step toward Knape, balling her own fists and glaring up at him.

  “Mathieu is the ostler, not a mere stable boy, my lord. And he was very kind to take time away from his considerable duties to accompany me.” She poked her nose in the air and sniffed. “Mayhap you were not aware, Captain, but Mathieu is also the duke’s falconer.”

  Knape swaggered to a stop an arm’s length away from Eva and folded his arms across his chest. “Oh, I’m well aware, milady. ’Tis obvious neither the duke nor the admiral asked for my opinion when making his selection.” His dark eyes shot to Mathieu’s, spiking yet another wave of ire in the ostler’s chest.

  Knape then returned his attention to Eva and his expression softened. “I do hope your morning was enjoyable. May I escort you to the Great Hall? I believe the young ladies are gathering for the noon meal.” He offered his arm.

  Eva, obviously torn but recognizing her difficult position, flashed Mathieu a pleading look. He could do naught but close his eyes and nod his consent.

  Mathieu watched, helpless, as Eva crossed the bailey and disappeared into the hall. He was shaking with temper, and his stomach churned with the sour dregs of resentment. He yearned to punch something. Preferably Knape’s sneering face, but he knew this was impossible. He could not retreat to the stable to assault the boarded stalls, as was his wont. ’Twas midday, and the place was alive with activity—pages scurrying about, cleaning, forking hay, and grooming the horses. Mathieu groaned in frustration.

  Sighing, he headed toward the aviary. Working with the birds always calmed him. These creatures, although wild and brutally aggressive, knew how to temper their impulses.

  From them, Mathieu knew, he had much to learn.