The Warrior and the Wildflower

by Gregg, Everley

  He’d been shocked to discover her affliction, ’twas true. Astride a horse, one could not tell. Not that it mattered to him, one way or the other. Once on her back with her skirts hiked up to her hips, a lady’s ability to navigate on foot was of little consequence.

  No lady, afflicted or not, could change the course he’d set for himself as a young boy anyway. Gaspard was not looking for a wife. He was a warrior, and had sworn his oath on that to Duke Philip not five moon cycles past. Peace reigned for now, but relations were unstable with France. Although French by birth, the young knight was no fool, and so had sided with the Burgundian duke. Fighting would come soon enough, and Gaspard looked forward to it.

  Still, he was a man, one with needs nature bestowed upon him. Eva had seemed the perfect candidate for a romantic liaison—albeit a very temporary one—during this May Day festival. When he came here with Philip, he had hoped to satisfy his needs, then ride off days later with nary a glance back. ’Twas still what he intended to do.

  Now that he knew more about Lady Eva, and the esteem with which Isabella held her, he hesitated to consider a tryst with her. He might be wiser to seek his release elsewhere. There were plenty of young maidens here for the festival. Coudenburg’s vast staff alone offered many possibilities.

  The knights in the camp—unlike nearly every other body in and around the castle—were lounging, enjoying a morning free from responsibilities. Two of the men moved chess pieces about a board set atop a barrel in their midst. Others stood in a group, exchanging stories and laughing. Still others were sparring with blunted swords, cheered on by a small group of onlookers.

  Gaspard spotted Knape, leaning on a tapped barrel standing on a cart in one corner. He headed in that direction, hoping the captain could provide an empty mug for him.

  His morning ride beside the lovely Eva of Utrecht had risen a thirst in him—truly, a hunger as well. He hoped before departing Coudenburg in a few days’ time, his thirst would be slaked.

  “How did you enjoy the hunt, Gaspard? I’m sorry you did not get to accompany us into the forest for the real challenge. But I thought you might enjoy meeting the newest flower come to Coudenburg,” Knape winked at the young knight, “for this celebration of fertility.” The Captain waggled his dark eyebrows.

  Gaspard took the cup Knape offered him and filled it with ale. “I did enjoy the morning, indeed. The lady is quite . . . unique.”

  Knape’s laughter echoed off the stone walls around them. “She is indeed. Eva may be a daughter of the duke, but for more than one reason, I should think you might consider her fair game, my good knight.” The Captain took a long draw from his own mug, wiping the foam off his mustache with the back of his hand. “’Tis true, Lady Isabella appears to favor the girl. But with her status, and her disfigurement, the good Lord knows Philip shall not worry himself much for her future. ’Twere not for our difference in age, I would target the young woman myself,” he added in a low growl.

  “Since when has that stopped you from plowing a maiden?” One of the knights engaged in the chess game glanced up at Knape with a sneering grin. “I’ve seen you target maidens many moons younger than this Eva—”

  “Silence!” Knape barked, stabbing the man with a venomous glare. “Not under the eye of His Grace. We are all,” the captain swept an arm across his group of men, “the guests of the duke and duchess this May Day. As your captain, my standards for behavior must be elevated. My own desires must be kept in check.”

  “What of the rest of us, Captain?” asked the other chess player, disappointment twisting his features. “I’d hoped to volley with a plump servant girl or two during our stay.”

  Knape drained his mug and crossed his arms. “As I said, the duke is in residence, and I am your captain. I have standards to uphold.” He met Gaspard’s eye. “As for the rest of you, we all know Philip understands what fuel is needed to keep his Royal Guard virile and strong.”

  The captain’s maniacal laughter rang out, soon to be joined by every other knight in the encampment.

  When the laughter faded, Gaspard took a sip from his mug and studied Knape as he strode away. He had heard things about the Captain of the Royal Guard—not all of them good. Gaspard counted his blessings as having been chosen to join the smaller guard that traveled with Philip, while Knape’s crew stayed close to the duchess.

  His knighthood was new. He knew he had much to learn about his station. In order to rise in the ranks, Captain Knape should be his mentor—whether he approved of the man’s personal morals or not.

  *

  After returning to the girls’ quarters to change out of her riding clothes, Eva wandered through the keep, her heart numb. She felt invisible—a good thing. For everyone else, this morning’s incident was long forgotten amidst the clamoring preparations for the feast and dancing yet to come this day. It was easy to lose herself amid the scurrying maids and servants, unseen or unnoticed.

  But what kept stabbing Eva’s heart, even piercing the numb shield she’d fastened around it, was guilt. She had been cold to the ostler, drilling him yet again last eve about his intentions for knighthood. How dare she? Mathieu was a man she considered among her few friends here at the castle. The duchess’ words echoed in her head.

  Haughty? . . . That is how you sound, Eva. You speak and act as though you are better than everyone else. What makes you this way? Is your maman conceited as well?

  The thought of Marisse brought a lump to form in her throat. Of all the people in Eva’s small world, Marisse was the humblest, most gracious woman she knew. She wished in that moment she had been born—or could learn to be—more like her.

  Eva wandered out of the keep toward the stables. She owed Mathieu an apology, that much she knew. Whether or not he would even allow her to speak it, she knew not. Still, she had to try.

  But Mathieu was not in the stable, nor in the kennel where the tired hunting dogs lay sprawled in the shade. Progressing slowly, using the gates and building walls to steady her steps, Eva made her way toward the aviary.

  She heard his rumbling voice even before she saw him. Mathieu was in the small sunning yard in front of the building where falcons and hawks sat tethered to raised perches. He was crouched beside one of the smaller creatures, murmuring softly to the bird.

  “ . . . a fine hunt. Fine indeed. Lady Isabella was very proud of you. I am as well.”

  “Mathieu?”

  The ostler’s head jerked around, startling the falcon, who flapped its wings in agitation before again settling. Mathieu stood, his expression inscrutable.

  “Were you injured this morn, Eva? I saw you take a fall.” His tone flat, he displayed no emotion at all.

  Heat rushed to Eva’s cheeks. “Nay. Not on the outside, anyway. ’Twas my pride injured more than my backside by the plunder.” She shook her head, staring at the ground. “I have been such a fool.”

  She heard not his footsteps approaching on the soft grass, but knew he’d drawn near when the scent of oil and leather engulfed her senses. Then her hand, resting on the top of a fence post, was covered by his. Warmth shot up her arm, spreading through her chest like wildfire.

  “Not a fool, milady. A bit of a sassy wench, mayhap. But never a fool.”

  His words, though harsh, were delivered with a softness that surprised Eva. She met his gaze.

  “I owe you an apology, Mathieu of Liège. You have been nothing but kind and gracious to me since the day we met. In return, I’ve been nothing but rude and ungrateful.”

  His gold-specked brown eyes shone, even as his mouth quirked at one end. “Strike me down with a feather, milady. ’Twere words I wagered never to hear from your lips.”

  Eva squinted in the bright sunlight, studying his face. He had tied his oaken hair back in a thong this warm day, revealing a sharply cut jawline visible even beneath his days’ growth of beard. His tanned skin creased at the corners of his eyes and across his brow, marking him some winters older than the young knight she’d ridden out with th
is morn. His scar, while plainly visible, only added character to his handsome face. And those lips . . . lips she knew were as soft as they were demanding. She wondered again at how he’d acquired the wound.

  Gaspard’s face was smooth and unlined. The knight—even though he’d been dubbed so—had eyes and a manner bespoken of youth and inexperience. A knight’s world, Eva knew, was one where experience could well make the difference between life and death.

  Mathieu’s face was one of a man, not a boy. Eva suddenly realized ’twas his maturity that made him so much more appealing. At least, in one way.

  “Shall I show you the aviary? We have many fine hunting birds here.” His smile warmed her.

  “Aye, I would love that.”

  Mathieu leapt over the low fence and offered his arm. With her hand snugged into his side, a warm feeling of safety and security washed over her.

  He led her around the yard to a line of low coops where the birds were kept. Many were empty, and the pages were busily cleaning these and lining the boxes with fresh straw.

  “How many birds are kept here?” she asked.

  Mathieu chuckled. “Simon . . . Admiral La Laing likes his raptors as much as his horses. We’d own dozens more if we had room to keep them. Right now, six reside here year-round at Coudenburg. When Lady Isabella brings Cornelijs, they number seven.”

  She blinked up at him. “Do you reside at the castle year-round?”

  He shook his head. “When the duchess leaves in the fall for Germolles, I accompany her. Lady Isabella likes for me to spend the winter months teaching the apprentices there the finer points of training the war horses, as well as the hunting birds.”

  Eva tipped her head. “What happens after their apprenticeship ends?”

  “They foster at the Chateau de Germolles for a few winters before vying for their spurs and swords.” He turned toward her, taking her shoulders in his hands. “For most, the position of ostler is but a steppingstone to knighthood.”

  “But not for you . . .”

  He turned away, staring off down the narrow alleyway separating the roosting boxes. “Nay. I have found my calling here, training and caring for the creatures so vital to the success of those knights.” He grinned at her. “In truth, I am the knight behind the scenes. I’ll bet you did not know a horse must be trained to face battle. At first, they are quite skittish and shy from a lance or a longbow. They are smart creatures, but very timid by nature.”

  “And you train them?”

  “I do. Not with real weapons, but with lances and spears made of wood, and a device called a quintain. If you wish, I shall show you one day, after the festival.”

  “I should like that, very much,” she said, warmth spilling into a warm smile she could not suppress. “I should also love to learn about the birds . . . the falcons. How you train them to hunt.”

  Mathieu stood taller, lifting his chin as he gazed down at her. “Would you like to hold one of them right now?”

  Eva’s eyes widened, but she bobbed her head.

  Ducking into a small room at the end of the row of cages, Mathieu returned holding a leather gauntlet and a small pouch.

  “Come. I am trying to teach Magda to be more flexible in her behavior. She is our newest bird from the Netherlands.”

  He led her to the yard where the falcons were all enjoying the warm sunshine. Eva believed it might have been one they had taken on the hunt that morn. The creature stood on a low pedestal, a leather thong tethering its leg. Mathieu turned to Eva.

  “Stretch out your arm,” he said, holding up the gauntlet.

  The leather glove was so large, it slid all the way to Eva’s shoulder. She laughed.

  “Whatever is the purpose of this contraption?” she asked.

  Mathieu hitched an eyebrow and held up a finger. “Be forewarned, milady. The talons on these birds can rip your skin to the bone without any effort at all. Without their meaning to do you any harm.”

  From his belt, he pulled a smaller leather glove and pulled it on. Then he untied the bird’s tether and gently bumped her chest with his fingers. She willingly stepped onto his gloved hand.

  “Here, now.” He held his arm out toward Eva. “Reach up and bump her on the chest, very gently. Just as I did.”

  Cautiously, Eva obeyed. The bird hesitated only a moment before stepping onto her wrist. A thrill swelled her chest to near bursting.

  “What a magnificent creature!” she whispered.

  Mathieu fumbled a chunk of raw meat out of the pouch he’d tied to his waist and tucked it between the bulky fingers of Eva’s glove. “Hold this tightly. Let her pick at it and shred it in her beak.”

  In amazement, Eva watched as this undeniably wild creature sat tamely on her arm, feeding from her fist. She turned awed eyes to Mathieu, who smiled down at her.

  “You are a brave lady, indeed, Eva of Utrecht.”

  After the bird was returned to her perch and the gloves to their storage room, Mathieu stood before her, studying her. They stood tucked into a shady spot between the aviary and the kennels, and for the moment, the air stilled with magical silence.

  He moved closer, so close his scent enveloped her. She lifted her face to his, an almost instinctive reaction. Her heart began its crazy gallop inside her chest, and her skin flushed hot and wet.

  “Thank you, Mathieu. I should like to learn more about handling the birds,” she whispered.

  “As you wish. I shall love to teach you.” Mathieu’s fingers lifted to sweep her long hair back off her shoulder. “You are very lovely, milady. You are not yet spoken for in your hometown of Ghent?”

  “Nay. I had hoped, when I came here to the castle—”

  He silenced her with his mouth over hers. Again, as last evening, everything around her disappeared. There was nothing but sensation enveloping her, quickening her heart, warming her belly, and tingling on her skin. Mathieu’s fingers combed into her hair to splay across the back of her head, holding her closer still. Eva’s body melted into him as her defenses disappeared.

  Never had she felt this way. She knew ’twas lust she was feeling, a physical desire that oft had nothing to do with the heart. But here, she felt, there was more.

  He was a gentle man, but so strong and wise. He had taken the time to humor her curiosity about the falcons, and trusted her with one of the duke’s prized birds. Mathieu was much more, she was realizing, than simply a “stable boy,” as Captain Knape insisted on calling him.

  And their embrace now, with her wrapped securely in his arms, his hot mouth exploring her own, and his scent intoxicating her, was pure enchantment.

  When he finally drew back, Mathieu cupped her face in his warm, rough hands. “I was wrong. ’Twas not only the magic of May Day eve. ’Tis you, Eva of Utrecht, who holds the power to weave a spell over me.”

  A pang of guilt swept over her. Here she had been thinking herself above him. Now she wondered if, truly, she was deserving of earning the heart of a man such as this at all.

  She slid her gaze away, suddenly shy and unsteady. “I am but the bastard daughter of a man who would well ignore my existence, if not for the duchess.”

  He gripped her chin lightly, forcing her to face him. “Then I shall fall at the duchess’ feet to thank her for finding you, and for bringing you here.”

  “I am imperfect, my lord. Born disfigured. I am a creple.” Her throat felt thick.

  “And I am but a lowly ostler, scarred and bearing no title, no lands. ’Tis does not change my ability to make a good life for one I grow to love.”

  Stunned by the intensity of his words, his gaze, Eva stumbled back. He steadied her with a hand on her arm.

  A page wandered into view, carrying an armful of straw. Mathieu straightened and stepped away.

  “How did your dance lessons go? Shall I put in my request now for a bassadance after the feast? Or will I have to wait in line behind one of the knights—or more than one?” One of his dark eyebrows rose.

  Eva huffed out
a bitter laugh. “Nay, no waiting in line for this lady. The dancing lessons did not go well . . . not well at all.” She lifted her gaze to his, where his handsome image suddenly swam in her tears. “I cannot dance, Mathieu. I can barely walk without assistance—”

  “Nonsense!” he barked, startling her. “You can dance, and you will. I will make it my personal mission to ensure it happens.” He lifted her chin with two fingers, then wiped away her tear with his thumb. “Promise me. A bassadance, after the feast.” His words were a soft rumble.

  A voice in Eva’s head screamed No! Just another opportunity to make a fool of herself. Another situation when a stumble or fall would make her infirmity the center of attention. She couldn’t bear it to happen yet again . . .

  She knew not what caused her to gaze up into Mathieu’s pleading eyes and whisper, “Aye.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The girls’ quarters were bustling with activity when Eva returned. Her younger sisters were huddled in one corner, digging through a chest filled with cloth. Bright lengths of fabric were tugged out, examined, and either claimed or tossed to the tiled floor. Their squeals and laughter tugged at her heartstrings.

  Children. She did so love them. Her siblings had become her beacon, lighting up the dreariness of her life. A pang of homesickness stabbed her heart. She did so miss her young brother and sister back in Ghent. Yet the thought of having her own someday frightened her to death.

  How could she ever hope to find a man who would not only overlook her disfigurement, but be willing to risk fathering flawed children? Or who would be satisfied with a life without heirs?

  On Alys’ and Eva’s pallets, elegant kirtles were neatly laid out. Beside them lay the colorful circlets made of flowers Alys had made, with their long ribbon streamers. There were also new slippers.