The Warrior and the Wildflower

by Gregg, Everley

  Mathieu jumped to his feet. “Teach me. I spar with the apprentices all the time, but ’tis not the same as battle with real weapons. And fighting on horseback is far different than face to face, on the ground.”

  Without saying a word, the Frenchman moved so fast Mathieu had no chance to defend himself. Bringing one arm up to knock Mathieu’s right arm away, Gaspard used his other hand to chop the ostler in the side of the neck, stunning him. Before Mathieu knew what had happened, Gaspard had hooked his foot around the ostler’s leg and pulled it out from under him. He was flat on his back, stunned, the breath knocked out of him.

  “By God’s bones, you’re fast,” Mathieu choked out as he struggled to his feet. “Teach me some of these moves, Gaspard.”

  For the better part of the next hour, the French knight patiently taught Mathieu what he knew about what he called “grappling,” which was what the Italians called battle without weaponry.

  “There’s little use to your fists in situations like this,” Gaspard explained. “You end up risking damage to your hands, which then renders you powerless. An upward palm to the chin and nose, now. . . a strike like that could actually kill a man. The goal is to get him on the ground, where you can use your own arms and legs to bind him, like chains.” He scanned Mathieu from head to toe. “You’re not beefy, like Keegan, but you’ve certainly got the height advantage. I’ll bet you’re fast as well.”

  Mathieu had never heard of this kind of combat, but was an eager student. He realized his disadvantage if ever he did find himself in a position where he had to defend himself—or now, his lady—lacking the advantage of either armor or weapons. Who would have guessed the man he scorned so on his arrival, and on the day of the joust, would become such a valuable friend to him?

  The two were sweaty and covered in dirt when Keegan came stomping into the encampment. His bushy eyebrows rose. “What’s this, now? Has there been a disagreement I’m not aware of?”

  Gaspard laughed and slapped Mathieu on the back. “Not hardly. Mathieu wanted to learn some of what I learned from Antoine. You remember, the Italian knight we met back in Nice?”

  “I do,” Keegan said. “Crafty bastard, ’twas he. Took me to the ground before I had a chance to unsheathe my dagger.” He turned to Mathieu and lowered his voice. “It’s all arranged. Brother Michael will be expecting ye at the church soon after the sun sets.”

  The evening meal was delayed, Eva was sure of it. Why tonight, of all nights? She had spent the afternoon in the dortour, all alone, watching the activity in the bailey through the slit window. Isabella advised it was best for her to keep out of sight, especially from Stefano, for the remainder of the day. She also did not want to be caught gathering her things in the bag she’d brought with her from Ghent. No one could know of this plan. After it was done, she could come back for her belongings without worry for explanations.

  If Philip didn’t bar her from entering the keep. Tension wound tight in her chest, and her heart beat just a little faster than it should all through the long hours. As the sun began its descent behind the mountains beyond the curtain wall, Eva’s entire body felt drawn as tight as a bow.

  In reality, though, how angry could the duke be with her? He’d ignored her existence up until just a few months ago, hadn’t he? What right did he have to waltz into her life and make monumental decisions about her future at this late date?

  Because he was her father, she reminded herself. Because he was the duke. Because she was only a girl, a woman with a silenced voice and no right to an opinion of her own. Eva had watched her mother, her entire life, bow to her stepfather’s will. Many times she could see the flash of anger in Marisse’s eyes when Andries overrode her opinions or simply ignored them. But Eva had accepted this was the way life for a woman. A wife.

  Would it be that way between her and Mathieu? ’Twas a question she’d not asked herself until this very moment. Just the thought of it made her heart flutter even faster.

  No. ’Twould be different between them, because they were in love. ’Twas no love between Marisse and Andries, of that she was certain. Her mother had been granted a husband by the duke, as reparation for leaving the woman alone in the world, one having borne his child. Marisse had no choice but to accept her fate.

  Eva tried, just for a moment, to imagine what it might be like to be married to Stefano. ’Twould be the same as with her mother, she was certain. Even worse. The Italian merchant had a much higher social status than a mere tailor. His haughty attitude spoke volumes about his personality. Surely, he would treat her as a possession, and a damaged one at that.

  She shuddered at the thought.

  From her perch at the window, she finally saw the knights and craftsmen trickling away from their stations toward the keep. The meal must finally be ready. Not that Eva had an appetite. She was certain she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite.

  But she must. She must do nothing out of the ordinary to draw attention to herself. The plan was set, and it must go through.

  She would eat a light supper, then excuse herself early, complaining of a headache. Surely, with her injury still so fresh, no one would question her behavior. The worst that could happen would be someone would send the healer up to check on her. But Isabella would be the only one to do this, and unless prompted by the duke, the duchess would not send the healer to the dortour tonight.

  She’d slip out and meet Mathieu, as they had planned, in the stable before any of the other girls had a chance to return to the dortour. Then, they’d be on their way. To their future, together as man and wife.

  Eating light was no challenge for Eva, as lamb was the main course this evening. Of all the meats served, lamb was Eva’s least favorite. The animal they butchered must have been a mature, male sheep, because the aroma was very strong, hanging in the smoky air throughout the hall. Even the gravy reeked, and at one point, Eva feared she may well have to leave the table.

  She sat beside Beverielle at her sisters’ table. Chatter was hushed and tentative tonight, at least for all the girls except Alys. With the May Day festival over, the future of the others hung in the air between them, uncertain. Would they be sent back to their mothers, to their old lives? Or would Isabella invite them to stay on with her, and travel to Germolles when she moved there in the fall? No word of their futures had been discussed.

  For Alys, the future was known. Eva watched as she and Rutger sat close beside each other, him feeding her from a trencher they shared. A glow surrounded them, like something magical and rare. Just three days from now, Alys would be Rutger’s wife. Philip had given his permission before Eva’s injury. With Eva recovered, their wedding could be celebrated along with her own to Stefano.

  At least, that was the duke and Stefano’s plan.

  She was infinitely relieved the duke had not appeared in the hall for the meal tonight. Nor Stefano, for that matter. She’d been so afraid Philip would make his “big announcement” of her betrothal. Besides the part of her that was relieved, though, there was another writhing with worry—where had the two men gone this night? Isabella, sitting alone on the dais with only Admiral La Laing for company, had seemed surprised the duke had not appeared to sup with her as well.

  Captain Knape was also missing. Where had they gone, unannounced and unplanned?

  This was a good thing, Eva reminded herself. Without the three powerful men in the castle, at least nowhere anyone could see, her plan was much more likely to go smoothly.

  Just as Eva had laid her linen on the table and was preparing to leave, Beverielle leaned toward her to whisper in her ear.

  “Has the duchess said anything about us going home?”

  Eva shook her head. “I’ve heard nothing. I know Alys will be staying, of course. But the duchess has not yet announced plans for any of us others.”

  “There,” Beverielle laid her hand over Eva’s and tipped her head toward the table where some of the knights sat, still spearing chunks of meat onto their knives and laughing over th
eir meal. “That knight there. Do you know his name?”

  Eva squinted, trying to make out the man’s features in the smoky room. The air had grown chilly as the sun set, so the servants had lit fires in both hearths. But the wood must have been wet, because it seemed to Eva more smoke was billowing out into the room than rising up the chimney.

  The knight Beverielle was indicating was sitting right beside Mathieu. She’d been trying to avoid meeting the ostler’s gaze all evening for fear of someone noticing the sparks passing between them. Her skin tingled now, just watching him converse with a serious expression with the huge knight beside him.

  “I do not know the knight’s name, Beverielle,” Eva said. “Why?”

  “He looks Scottish. I’ve heard him speak, and his brogue gives him away.” A smile played around the edges of her pouty lips.

  Eva studied the girl beside her, then glanced again at the knight. They both bore the same ivory complexion and bright hair, more copper than gold. “Are you Scottish?” she asked.

  As though she’d thrown cold water on the girl, Beverielle withdrew her hands and folded them in her lap. Staring at the table before her, she mumbled, “My mother is.”

  Eva was just about to question her further when the huge, oak doors to the hall burst open. Everyone jumped, and silence hushed the room like a sodden blanket.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mathieu was deep in conversation with Keegan when a cool blast of air swept the smoky air into swirls around them. Everyone turned and stared as the three men came tumbling through the door, carrying paper-wrapped parcels and laughing boisterously. The duke, Captain Knape, and Stefano.

  They were drunk, Mathieu realized. ’Twas plain enough to see. One could almost smell the whiskey on their breath from across the room. They were sharing what must have been a crude joke between them, judging by the lewd glances and snickers they shared. Before they’d even made it over the threshold and slammed the doors shut behind them, Knape slapped Stefano on the back so hard he stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of the long wooden table nearest the door.

  Squinting up at the crowd as though he’d just woken from a nap, Knape perched both fists on his hips and bellowed, “Quit gawking, fools!”

  Immediately, low conversation resumed, and the castle folk continued their meal, casting furtive glances toward the newcomers. Isabella, however, was not one to ignore such bad manners. Rising to her feet and drawing herself to her full height, accentuated by the tall double-horned headdress she wore, she mirrored Knape’s stance and narrowed her eyes.

  “My lords. You are expecting to sup, even at this late hour?” Her voice resonated through the hall, shrill and sharp.

  “Why, yes. And why not? ’Tis my castle and court, is it not, fine lady?” The duke swayed where he stood, spreading his arms in a gesture Mathieu wasn’t sure was meant for emphasis, or to help him keep his balance. He turned to his companions and slurred, “Join me on the dais, my good men. We have an announcement to make!”

  Oh, no. Were they too late? Was the deed already decided? Mathieu’s dinner curdled in his belly as he slid a glance toward Keegan.

  “Ye need to get out of here, now,” Keegan muttered. “Take my horse. He’s sound now, ’tis he not? Take your woman, mount up, and ride, my boy.”

  Stefano was the only one of the three who appeared tentative, and perhaps slightly more sober than the other men. He clutched to his chest a bundle about the size of a baked loaf, wrapped in plain paper and tied off with cord. Keeping his head down, he followed the duke and the captain along the wall of the hall toward the dais. He paused when he passed behind the place where the girls sat, studying the group as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. The minute his eyes met with Eva’s, though, a slow, stupid grin spread his features.

  “My beloved Lady Eva. Soon, you will be mine,” he sputtered. He held out the package he carried. “I come bearing gifts. For you.” Grinning like a fool, he then stumbled onward toward the front of the room.

  Isabella’s eyes grew wide and she caught Mathieu’s eye, surreptitiously waving him out of the room with her linen cloth. Eva, seeing this, quickly rose to her feet and slid out from between her sisters.

  “And where do you think you are going, my fine young lady of Utrecht?” the duke boomed as he plopped into his seat beside the duchess. “You cannot go now. You are the reason for our celebration this fine evening!”

  Panic filled Eva’s expression as she flashed a glance toward Mathieu. He nodded, shifting his gaze toward the door. His prodding was all she needed.

  Placing a hand to her stomach, Eva swayed, grabbing onto Beverielle’s shoulder to steady herself. “I’m so sorry, my lord, but the lamb . . . I’m afraid it’s not agreed with me. I think I may be—”

  Mathieu, even in his panicked state, couldn’t help but admire the lady’s acting skills. Grabbing a linen off the table, Eva pressed it to her mouth and made the most convincing gagging noises he’d ever heard. Several people winced and stopped eating. Stefano, who was apparently not used to imbibing as much as he had that evening, promptly turned and vomited over the back of the dais.

  “Go, man. Now!” Keegan growled.

  In the confusion that followed, Alys hurried to Eva’s side and, wrapping her arm around her shoulders, led her from the hall undeterred. Once they’d slipped out and Eva was sure they were out of earshot, she turned to Alys with wide eyes.

  “I am not ill, Alys. I am in love.”

  The red-haired girl blinked at her in shock, then took a step back. “Are you sure? You’re sweating, your color’s a bit green, and I know you dislike lamb—”

  “I’m green at the thought of having to marry that arrogant Italian merchant. We’re escaping tonight, Alys. Mathieu and me. We’re going to the village to be wed,” she rasped, hurrying her companion down the hall toward the side exit to the bailey.

  Now it was Alys’ turn to stare wide-eyed. “The ostler? You’re going to marry the ostler?” she sputtered. “I thought . . .” Realization sparked a light in Alys’ eyes. She knew exactly what Eva was talking about.

  After all, blacksmith or not, Alys had fallen hard for Rutger. No matter what his station in life.

  Her slow smile warmed Eva from the top of her scarred head to her twisted foot. She nodded. “I am. We are in love. Like you and Rutger. But we’re doing it now, tonight. Before anybody—the duke, the merchant, anyone—can stop us.”

  Alys returned her smile, then wrapped her in a quick hug. “God go with you, Eva of Utrecht. I am happy for you both.”

  Eva turned to leave when they heard hurried steps coming down the passageway. The two girls froze and held their breath. Would they be caught out? Would Eva be dragged back to the Great Hall to face her worst nightmare, betrothal to Stefano? But the steps were soft and light . . . it sounded like a small person. A handmaid, perhaps.

  When the young woman appeared, Eva recognized the girl as one of Isabella’s personal ladies. She ran up to them, breathless, glancing back nervously over her shoulder. Scooting them all closer to the wall near the door, the girl—Moira, Eva remembered—pulled them into a close huddle.

  “Her lady grace sent me to fetch this for you, Eva. You are to take it with you, and wear it for your wedding ceremony.”

  The girl held out a length of the finest lace, sparkling white and lovely in its intricate pattern. Eva had never seen such a fine piece of cloth in all her life, even working as she had in the tailor shop. Lace of this value, probably imported from the faraway East, was a rarity indeed.

  She hesitated, almost afraid to touch the cloth that it might burst into flames. “I cannot, Moira. This is too valuable—”

  “Lady Duchess said that’s what you’d say. Make her take it, she insisted. She is not to be a virgin bride without a veil.”

  Tears blurred her vision as she reached out to take the length of lace. “I do not know what to say,” she choked out.

  Moira laid a hand on her arm. “�
��Tis nothing to be said. Blessings be on you and your beloved, Eva of Utrecht. May God speed you to your destiny.”

  The maid then kissed Eva on both cheeks and scurried away.

  As Eva slipped out of the giant wooden door leading to the bailey, she heard the clatter of hoofbeats. Even in the fading light of evening, she saw the cloud of dust behind the horse as it careened around the side of the stable and headed straight for her. Mathieu was aboard a giant, faded red horse Eva had not noticed before.

  Where did he get a horse? And how on earth did he expect her to climb aboard the monstrous beast?

  She had little time to ponder. The horse barely broke stride as Mathieu galloped up so close Eva feared she’d be crushed under its thundering hooves. As the charger swooshed by, the ostler—obviously also an expert horseman—reached down and snagged her around the waist. With a bounce and a swoop, she was aboard, straddling the saddle in front of Mathieu, his strong arm snugging her to his chest.

  “Open the gates!” Mathieu called to the stunned guards who watched from the portcullis.

  The two men looked at each other, then scowled. “By whose authority do you take this maiden from the castle?” one of them barked.

  “By God’s decree,” Mathieu snapped. “Now open the gates or Lady Duchess shall have your heads.”

  Confused but sensing his urgency, the guards shrugged as they hurried to raise the bar and swing the gates open. They had barely opened wide enough to admit Keegan’s broad horse before Mathieu and Eva swept through. Through to freedom.

  Mathieu gave the big horse his head and gripped Eva even tighter as the charger’s gait gobbled up ground in the direction of the village. ’Twasn’t far, and even from this distance Mathieu could see candles burning in several of the cottages’ windows. The tower of the small parish church stood out in sharp relief against a sky still tinted with the afterglow of the sunset. Mathieu turned his mount in that direction.

  “Are you sure this is what you want to do?” he rasped against Eva’s ear. She felt small and warm against him, trembling with either the chill of the evening air or excitement, he knew not which. Her one hand gripped his with white-knuckled intensity, while the other she’d entwined into the shaggy red and white streaked mane of the roan horse.