The Captive Maiden, Page 2

  Why was he even dwelling on this?

  He shoved the thoughts away and instead dwelt on the last tournament, where he’d defeated Friedric Ruexner, the man who seemed determined to be his nemesis. Ruexner had tried to trick the judges in Saillenay by substituting a metal-tipped lance for a wooden one when tilting with Valten. But in spite of his lack of chivalry, or perhaps because of it, Ruexner seemed to take special offense every time Valten bested him.

  Valten had defeated Ruexner in many tourneys over the years, although the man had defeated him a few times as well, usually under suspicious circumstances. And now Valten was always watching his back, for Friedric Ruexner had muttered a vow of vengeance at their last meeting. But that only meant Valten would relish defeating him all the more in the next tournament, which was to be held here in Hagenheim, hosted by his own father, Duke Wilhelm.

  Valten wandered past a vender selling colorful veils and scarves from the Orient, which reminded him of all his travels. Truth be told, he was beginning to weary of the tournaments. He had hardly admitted the fact to himself, and certainly hadn’t told anyone else. His dream, his goal all his life, had been to distinguish himself in each competition, to be the best at all modes of war, to be known far and wide as the champion of … everything. And now people far and wide knew his name, troubadours sang about him, wealthy and titled men’s daughters in every town wanted him to wear their colors, and their fathers offered him money and jewels to make their daughters his wife.

  He liked the acclaim. All the fame and attention had assuaged his hurt pride after his betrothed chose to marry his brother, but he was tired of that life. What was he accomplishing? What good did it do anyone for him to win another tournament? What good did it do him?

  He continued through the marketplace. Most people stayed out of his way and didn’t make eye contact. He was used to that; men of his size were often hired soldiers or guards, and sometimes bullies. Valten had been away so long that his people — the people he would lead upon his father’s death—didn’t recognize him. He wore his hair shorter, he had new scars on his face from his many battles, and today he was wearing nondescript clothing—a knee-length cotehardie of brown leather that laced up the sides and made him look like a farmer just come to town to buy and sell. A few people did stare, as though trying to remember him, but Valten kept walking.

  As he wandered, a girl of perhaps seventeen or eighteen years caught his eye. Truthfully, it was her hair that fixed his attention — Jong and blonde, and somehow it reminded him of his sister Margaretha’s hair, even though his sister’s was reddish brown. It must have been the thick wildness of it, and that, instead of being covered or braided, it was tied at the end, at her waist, with a piece of rough twine. It also reminded him of someone else, someone he’d seen recently … Yes. The girl he’d seen riding at great speed across the meadow just outside the town wall.

  The girl’s coarse gray overgown was covered with patches and odd seams where someone had mended it.

  She was arguing with a man over something he was selling.

  “You told me it cost three marks and now you say five.” Her speech sounded strangely cultured, not like an ignorant country girl.

  Also at odds with her dress was the horse whose bridle she was holding. He was magnificent, a horse worthy of carrying a king. Had the girl stolen him?

  “I never told you three,” the man yelled back. “You’re daft.”

  “I’m not daft, but you are a liar.”

  “You dare call me a liar?” The man leaned toward her menacingly.

  The horse reared, striking the man’s flimsy, makeshift counter with his front hoof. The man threw his arms up in front of his face as the rough beam of wood crashed down. The side of his awning gave way, and a rope hung with leather goods fell to the ground, the collapsed fabric on top of it.

  “Give me my money back,” the girl said, unruffled by the chaos her horse had caused, “and I’ll give you back your saddlebag.”

  “Get your crazy horse out of here!” The man slung his arm wide, cursing under his breath as he stared at the mess at his feet. “Be gone, and take the saddlebag with you.” He shook his head, muttering and stooping to pick up his goods, then struggling to push the wooden beam back into place in order to set his booth to rights again.

  The girl, whose face Valten still couldn’t see, walked away, a leather saddlebag in her hand and her now-calm horse beside her.

  Valten followed, almost certain she and her horse were the same horse and rider he’d seen two mornings ago. He continued to admire both her hair and her horse. In fact, the animal looked almost exactly like Valten’s own horse, Sieger, the faithful destrier he’d ridden in every tournament. This horse could be his twin.

  The girl bought a sweet roll from a plump old woman, then pulled a piece of carrot from her pocket and gave it to the horse, who deftly plucked it from her palm. She gave him a second carrot, then ate her bun as she made her way between the rows of vendors.

  Valten admired the way she walked: confident, flowing, graceful, but with a hint of boyishness, as if her horse was more important to her than her hair or clothing. Yes, she was the type to ride astride, instead of sidesaddle, especially if no one was looking. He recalled how she’d given that remarkable beast a free rein when they’d galloped across the open meadow. Her hair had looked like liquid gold in the sun, streaming behind her. But he still hadn’t gotten a good look at her face.

  Her horse was limping slightly. Had she noticed? The girl was leaving the Marktplatz now and heading toward a side street. He wanted to see where she was going, but more than that, he was curious to see her face.

  Just before she entered the side street, Friedric Ruexner appeared around a half-timbered building from the opposite direction, laughing and walking toward them with his squire and two other bearded, unkempt men.

  Valten stopped and waited beside a bakery doorway. His nemesis approached the girl. Friedric Ruexner sneered, which drew his lips back and showed his yellow teeth.

  The girl planted her feet on the cobblestones in a defiant stance as she stared Ruexner in the eye. Her horse snorted and shook his head restlessly.

  Valten was close enough to catch most of their words. “… Too much horse for a girl like you. Where are you going with that fine beast?” Ruexner asked her.

  “I have business, and it isn’t with you,” the girl retorted. “Move out of my way.”

  “A feisty one.” Ruexner looked around at his companions, and all three laughed, continuing to block her way to the side street. He looked her up and down, then muttered something to his companions.

  Valten stepped out and strode toward them. “We do not allow anyone to accost maidens in Hagenheim, Ruexner.”

  The smile left Friedric’s dark, brutish face. “Valten Gerstenberg.”

  “The girl isn’t interested in whatever you’re offering.”

  From the corner of his eye, he could see her looking from himself to Ruexner and back again.

  Ruexner focused on the girl. “I will fight you for this one.”

  “No. You will leave her alone, or you’ll pay the consequences.”

  Indecision played over Ruexner’s wide brow; he was obviously trying to decide his next move. Finally, he chuckled. “Too bad you came along when you did. The good knight and his good deeds.” He turned his head slightly toward his companions. “Valten keeps a close eye on his townspeople—when he happens to be here.”

  Valten crossed his arms while he waited for their scoffing laughter to die down. “For once you are right.”

  Friedric Ruexner leaned toward Valten, his upper lip curled in menace. “I will be here for the tournament, and there I shall defeat you, once and for all.”

  Valten gave him stare for stare. “We shall see who defeats whom.”

  Ruexner turned to the girl and ran his hand down her cheek. Her hand flew up and slapped him, the sound echoing off the buildings on either side of the street. He raised his fist. Her hor
se reared.

  Valten stepped forward and caught Ruexner’s forearm and wrenched it behind his back. The horse’s hooves pawed the air mere inches from Ruexner’s face, causing his eyes to go wide and his friends to jump back. Valten let go of his arm, and Ruexner and his lackeys edged away. When they were twenty feet down the street, Ruexner called, “This will be your last tournament, Valten. For every blow you’ve ever given me, you’ll get double. I swear it.”

  Valten made sure Ruexner and his friends kept walking, and waited to move until they were out of earshot.

  When he turned around, the girl was staring at him.

  No wonder Ruexner had noticed her. Her eyes were a clear blue, without a hint of gray or green. Her features were bold and generous — long, thick eyelashes, a straight, proud nose, a full brow, a gently squared chin, and high, prominent cheekbones. Her skin fairly glowed, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

  She seemed to be studying his face too. “Thank you.” She abruptly turned away and continued on her way as if nothing had happened.

  He stood stunned. Should he call after her? He only knew he couldn’t let her walk away, so he followed her.

  As she turned down the narrow street to the blacksmith’s, she looked over her shoulder. “Do you want something, my lord?” She added the last phrase with a bit of slyness in her voice, it seemed. She must realize who he was.

  Never good at making conversation with maidens, he ransacked his brain for something appropriate to say. Another way Gabe had been better than him — talking with women. His brother always knew what to say, and it was always something charming or clever. Valten’s experience was much different. He’d had little time for women due to his travels and training, and most of the ones he’d met he’d only spoken to briefly. Their fathers had paraded them before him at balls given for the tournament knights, but he’d never known them long enough to feel comfortable. He had not been ready to marry, and therefore he had no interest in showing them how lacking he was in the art of conversation.

  He hoped he didn’t sound like Ruexner as he said, “A fine destrier you have. He looks very much like my horse, Sieger.”

  She turned and gave him her full attention. He marveled at her self-reliant expression, a unique trait in a woman, especially one who was less than twenty years old and obviously poor. Or maybe she was only eccentric, wearing ragged clothes to disguise herself, as he was doing.

  “Thank you. He is a great horse.” Then she turned and continued walking.

  He still wasn’t ready to let her go.

  Chapter

  2

  He should look like your horse, Gisela almost said. The two are brothers. But it was best she didn’t tell him. He wouldn’t remember her, wouldn’t recall that it was her father who had sold him the horse ten years ago — and had been dead almost that many years.

  Valten — Lord Hamlin — followed her. But Gisela pretended not to notice, hoping to disguise how seeing him thrilled her and made her heart pound.

  It was evident she was a stranger to him, though she would have recognized him even if that disgusting foreign knight hadn’t called him “Valten Gerstenberg.” His hair was shorter than she remembered and was more of a dark blond. He bore numerous small scars on his face, and his nose was crooked, no doubt from being broken in one of his many jousting tournaments. But his ruggedness, his height and breadth and confident swagger—even his scars — only added to his appeal. And the way he had come to her aid, the kindness and respect that shone from his eyes when he looked at her, made him the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  And he’d not been the least afraid of that bully he called Ruexner.

  She, on the other hand, had been terrified when the man blocked her way, though she knew better than to show fear. Spitting fire and giving a man the evil eye usually intimidated him enough that he kept his distance. But this man had two large friends to embolden him.

  When Valten appeared by her side, she was so relieved — and thrilled just seeing him—that her knees went weak. But she was also unnerved by her reaction. The response made her feel vulnerable, and she hated feeling vulnerable. So she kept walking, never turning back, when all she really wanted to do was look at him and ask him what his life had been like the past nine years — what he had been doing while she’d been dreaming about him in her desolate room, staring out her cold window and wondering where he was.

  She could hear and sense him behind her as she approached the blacksmith’s. Did he want to talk to her? What could he possibly want to say? Even if he remembered her as that little girl from so long ago, he certainly hadn’t thought about her the way she’d thought about him. Besides that, she was a nobody now, disowned by her stepmother and stepsisters and without family of any kind.

  The blacksmith, a burly man covered in soot, turned from his forge as she walked up.

  Gisela forced any sign of emotion from her face and focused on her task. “My horse has thrown a shoe. How long to get him fitted with another?”

  “One hour. This one’s ahead of you.” He pointed to a palfrey standing patiently on the tether.

  After haggling a price with him, she lifted her arm to take the money from her moneybag, which she kept close to her side. She placed the sum in the blacksmith’s sooty palm. Gisela removed Kaeleb’s old, ragged saddlebag and stuffed it into the new one hanging over her shoulder, then whispered soft words in the horse’s ear while she attached a tether to his bridle.

  She turned to leave and found herself face-to-face with Valten, who was still standing behind her. He was so close she could see the flecks of brown in his green eyes.

  “I will escort you … until your horse is ready.”

  Gisela stared at him a moment before saying, “I thank you.”

  She was unsure what to do next. Did he want her to take his arm? She walked toward him, trying not to look nervous, and together they started down the street.

  Gisela suppressed the smile that tugged at her lips. She was walking beside Valten, future Duke of Hagenheim. She was considered slightly tall for a female, but even so had to look up to see Valten’s face.

  He looked down and met her eye. “Where would you like to go?”

  “I have no more business, except to wait for my horse.”

  They meandered along a main street in the general direction of the Marktplatz, encountering people leaving the market with their purchases.

  Where could they go? She and Valten needed a destination, something to do. Abruptly, Gisela said, “I would like to see your horse.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was surprised, but he looked at her askance from his gray-green eyes. “You like horses?”

  “More than people sometimes.” She sensed, by the way he was looking at her, that he felt the same way.

  Their arms brushed as they passed through a tight crowd.

  “We can go to the stable. Sieger expects me to visit him at least once a day.”

  “I’d like to see him.”

  Did Valten often meet women in the street and then offer to take them anywhere they wanted to go? She was determined to be on her guard. Could it be that he simply wanted to watch over her until she could return to the blacksmith’s shop for her horse? There was something in his eyes, such a look of chivalry. Though the rest of him had transformed and matured since that day when he was fourteen, his eyes had not changed. Even then, he’d had trustworthy eyes.

  “How long have you been away from Hagenheim?” She already knew, but she wanted to hear him speak.

  “Two years.”

  “Your family must have missed you.”

  “So they told me.” Valten rubbed his chin, wincing. “I got scolded quite a bit. All three of my sisters are good at scolding.”

  She tried to imagine what it must be like to have sisters who cared so much. His younger brother Gabehart, the one who had married Valten’s betrothed, had also been away for two years, living in Hohendorf. Did Valten miss him? She thought it best not to a
sk.

  They continued on their way, forced to pass through the Marktplatz to reach the castle stable.

  “Are you wearing those clothes to disguise yourself? No one seems to recognize you.”

  “And yet you knew who I was.”

  “I heard that coarse fellow say your name.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “But I am inconspicuous in these clothes, don’t you think?”

  Gisela allowed herself a brief laugh. “You could hardly be inconspicuous no matter what you wore.” Her heart nearly stopped as she realized he could construe her words two different ways. Either she meant he looked so good that it didn’t matter what he wore—which was certainly true — or her real meaning, which was that he was so tall and broad and intimidating that he could hardly be missed.

  They entered the most crowded part of the town square and were no longer able to converse. She couldn’t help but feel pleased at how he kept glancing behind to make sure she was there. When a particularly dirty, burly man stood in their way, Valten waited for him to pass before leading her forward. A few minutes later, she got distracted by some leather feed bags at one booth and bumped into Valten’s back. She felt herself blush, but he pretended not to notice.

  They emerged from the packed marketplace, and Hagenheim Castle stood before them as they approached the gatehouse. Valten nodded at the guard, who waved them through while glancing curiously at Gisela.

  Once they were inside the castle wall and walking across the quiet yard toward the stable, she asked, “How many horses do you have?”

  “Our family owns about thirty, but my father’s knights’ horses board here too.”

  Excitement welled inside her as she anticipated seeing so many horses. At one time her father had owned twice that many, but her stepmother had sold them off one by one over the years — often for less than they were worth, since she was ignorant of their value — to satisfy her desire for extravagant clothing and carriages for herself and her daughters. Now her father’s stable housed fewer than ten.