Eva wondered if all of the knights had lumps of coal in their chests instead of hearts.
As she watched Mathieu lead out the horses, Eva was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming urge to join them. She knew Isabella would be going. Would she be denied? Chances were good she would, but she had to try.
Quickly donning the riding outfit Isabella had given her, she slipped out of the girls’ quarters and made her way through the halls of the keep as quickly as her faltering steps allowed. By the time she reached the front entrance, the doors were flung wide. On the stone steps stood Philip and Lady Isabella, the duchess’ hand tucked into the duke’s side.
She’d arrived just in time.
“Lady Duchess,” she called as she made her way to the doorway, “may I join you on the hunt?”
Isabella turned, scanning Eva from head to toe. Then she smiled. “You are up early, Eva of Utrecht. And ready to ride, I see. Your confidence is inspiring. Are you sure you are up to the rigors of a rousing excursion?”
Eva clutched the door frame and swayed slightly, catching her breath. She wasn’t used to walking quickly, and her hurried trip had her winded. Forcing a smile, she bobbed her head. “Aye, Your Grace. I would love to go.”
When Isabella informed Mathieu an additional mount would be needed, he shot a glance at Eva and then back to the duchess. His lips flattened. “I will saddle Jannis,” he grumbled.
Her heart deflated. Had her haughtiness last night so hardened him toward her already? She prayed ’twas not so.
Shortly, they were mounted and passing through the gatehouse. Knape and another huge knight led the party, with Philip and Isabella next in line. The duchess carried a hooded falcon on her leather-bound arm, as did Mathieu, riding behind Philip. Eva rode beside the ostler, watching in fascination as the birds calmly balanced on their human perches. At least a half-dozen knights brought up the rear.
A fine day was dawning, the sun casting rainbows through a mist rising over the grassy meadow. The breeze cooled Eva’s cheeks. She felt much more secure in the saddle than she had when Mathieu first took her out. She glanced over at him several times, but he ignored her. He had not spoken a word to her since her arrival in the bailey this morning.
Her heart felt raw in her chest. Despite her pride, she’d grown fond of Mathieu, and wished their friendship not to end. His kiss had stirred something within her she could not deny, no matter how hard she tried. Mayhap it should never have happened.
They had ridden maybe half an hour when Knape drew up his charger and turned to the duke. “We will accompany you and some of the other men into the forest, Your Grace. The ostler said there are many deer in this copse.”
Philip nodded his consent, then turned to his wife. “Milady, Gaspard and Mathieu will take you to the lower meadow to hunt the fowl.” He saluted her with two fingers to his brow before spurring his horse ahead to the woods with the other men. With some hand gestures and a whistle from Mathieu, the pack of hounds divided into two groups. One remained with them, and the others galloped ahead of the knights toward the forest.
Isabella held her horse back until Eva rode up beside her. “Philip and the other knights hunt big game with the bow and arrow,” she explained. “Mathieu and I will allow our falcons, Cornelijs and Magda, to take down our quarry for us.” She smiled at Eva.
“The birds capture the prey?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“The falcons capture them, then the dogs will lead us to where they’ve fallen,” Isabella replied. The duchess rode off ahead beside Mathieu. The other knight, one to whom Eva had not been introduced, reined in beside her.
He was a young man with a smooth, unlined face and unruly peat-brown hair swirling almost to his shoulders. Clad in a woolen tunic and leather braies, he cut a fine figure aboard a muscular grey destrier. When she caught his eye, he nodded and said, “Mornin’, milady. I do not believe we’ve met.”
The knight—she knew him to be so because of his shiny spurs and the broadsword bobbing at his side—held her gaze with piercing, sky-blue eyes. A quiver of appreciation rippled through her as she studied his handsome features.
“We have not. I am Eva of Utrecht,” she said, adding quickly, “a daughter of Philip the Good.”
There was no need to include the word bastard, was there?
The knight’s lips curved into a warm smile. “I am Gaspard of Lille. I have recently joined the duke’s personal guard.”
“You do not hunt?” she asked, noticing he carried neither bow nor falcon.
“I do,” Gaspard replied, tipping his head, “but today, Captain Knape asked if I would serve as your escort on the hunt.”
So. The captain was looking out for her welfare, even from afar. Eva’s wary opinion of Knape softened slightly.
Up ahead, Isabella and Mathieu had drawn up their mounts and were fiddling with the leather hoods on their falcons. Soon the birds’ heads were free, their black eyes scanning their surroundings with sharp jerks of their heads. The hounds, noses in the air, suddenly began baying and took off toward a dip in the meadow. Almost silently, the falcons spread their wings and lifted off, leather tethers trailing beneath them.
“They’ve scented something,” Gaspard said, pointing. “Grouse, or pheasant, perhaps.”
In the next moments, the dogs nearly disappeared. All that was visible were the white whips of their tails above the waving tall grass. Moments later, with a thunderous whoosh of wings and feathers, a bevy of fowl burst from their cover to scatter, panicked, into the air. One of the two falcons who’d been circling high overhead went into a dive.
Eva watched in awe as the falcon, the smaller of the two, slammed into one of the fleeing birds in midair. Together, the creatures fluttered to the ground, hidden from view. The second kill followed almost immediately, the larger falcon taking its prey down mere yards from the first.
“Come,” Gaspard waved Eva on, “Let us draw closer.”
They rode up behind Mathieu and Isabella, who had followed the tracking hounds. The dogs had frozen, statue-like, with their noses and tails rigid as arrows. Mathieu halted and dismounted, moving toward the area where the dogs were pointing.
The grasses were so high, Eva could not see the falcons on the ground, where they apparently were pinning their prey. Mathieu crouched low, clutching something in the fist of his leather glove. In a moment, he stood and headed back toward Isabella, a bird on his arm. He gently transferred the falcon from his glove to hers.
Eva saw then what was clutched in his glove. ’Twas a bloody bit of meat, which the falcon was aggressively tearing at with its curved beak.
Gaspard explained. “The hunting birds bring down the prey, then give them up to their handler, the falconer—that would be Mathieu. He in return feeds them fresh meat as a reward.”
Sitting astride Jannis, her jaw slack with amazement, Eva watched as Mathieu repeated the process with his own falcon. He returned to his horse with the raptor perched on one arm, and two dead birds swinging from the other.
“They are . . . grouse?” she asked.
“Yes. Two fine, fat birds for this evening’s table. A promising start to the hunt,” Gaspard replied.
The hunt went on, and it seemed the quarry in this part of the meadow was plentiful. The dogs never traveled very far before another burst of feathers exploded into the air. Eva watched the process again and again, impressed with the skill with which Mathieu handled the falcons.
The birds and the dogs obeyed him without hesitation, watching him as though he were a god. He approached his duty with smooth confidence and an air of pride, which Eva found exciting. She’d almost forgotten the knight beside her when he broke into her thoughts.
“Is this your first time at Coudenburg?” he asked.
“Aye. I hail from Ghent.” She paused, not wanting to reveal too much about her birthplace and childhood up until now. Up until the missive arrived from the duke—or, as she now knew, from the duchess.
“I was born in Pa
ris,” the knight continued. “They tell me I’m related in some way to the King of France. Not that it matters much.” He snorted and glanced at Eva, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “I’m a bastard son of one of the court’s courtesans, you see. I suppose I was lucky to have gained my apprenticeship to knighthood.”
Eva’s eyebrows shot up. “My lord . . . you as well?” Her laughter burst from her, taking with it all the tension she felt inside. “I’m the same. I am, in truth, Philip’s daughter, but not in the eyes of the Church.”
Gaspard’s grin lit up his face. “We have something in common, Eva of Utrecht. I’m so happy Captain Knape asked me to escort you this morning.” He reached over and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.
Eva’s cheeks warmed. A knight, and a good-looking one at that. A Frenchman, but that was of no consequence. The clothier who pursued her in Ghent, Stefano, was from Italy, and her family had encouraged the union openly.
Yet there was no tingle in her belly when she looked into the brilliant blue eyes of her escort. No bolt of lightning slithered up her arm, as did when Mathieu touched her. Gaspard was handsome, pleasant, and titled, but Eva felt no real desire to get to know him further.
He did, however, fit her fantasized ideal for a husband.
This must be what Lady Isabella was talking about . . . the difference between marrying for title, and marrying for love. Could she love Gaspard? Mayhap. But the spark was not instantaneous.
Surely not the same spark she felt with Mathieu.
It was her true father, Philip, however, who would make the decision for her marriage anyway. A flurry of warring emotions filled her chest. She returned the handsome knight’s smile.
“I am glad you have accompanied me as well.”
Several hours passed, and the sun was high overhead when Isabella called to the ostler.
“We have enough now, Mathieu. A good start for the May Day feast.”
Eva counted the birds. Between the feathered bundles hanging from Mathieu’s and Isabella’s horses, there was total of twelve grouse. Not nearly enough to feed the entire castle as well as villagers, she thought. That’s when she heard the distant baying of the other group of hounds from somewhere within the forested edge of the meadow.
She heard the shouts of men too and, wincing, wondered whether the pretty young doe she’d seen just days ago had met her end. Her group made their way slowly in that direction, to where the men had tied off their horses before entering the woods on foot. By the time they arrived, the hooting of boisterous male voices filled the air.
Two knights emerged from the trees with a stout branch stretched between their broad shoulders. From it, bound by its feet, swung a sizeable deer—but not the doe Eva had seen. This was a buck, budding branches of his velvet-covered horns brushing the ground as they carried him.
Knape emerged shortly behind them, but passed by his monstrous ghost-like stallion. He snagged instead the leads of the sturdy pack horses the group had brought along. He and the enormous knight who’d ridden beside him re-entered the woods.
Isabella turned to Mathieu with a broad smile. “We will feast on venison—and mayhap boar—this day as well.”
*
For Mathieu, the hunt signified the epitome of his duties. Training the falcons to do their jobs well, handling the dogs, and keeping the horses fit and obedient was his life’s goal. He loved taking Lady Duchess out on a hunt. The thrill of watching his hounds and raptors performing their life purpose usually filled him with incredible satisfaction and pride.
Today, however, he had been distracted. He had not wanted to take Eva along this morning, though he knew better than to question the word of Isabella. And when he discovered that the young, new knight from Philip’s personal guard had been assigned as her escort, his blood bubbled in his veins.
He had met him, this Gaspard of Lille, at Germolles the winter prior. Then merely a squire, the handsome young man had lofty aspirations and the right connections as well. He was some relation of King Louis of France—a bastard son of a noble’s courtesan, he’d learned.
So already, Gaspard and Eva had something in common. Plus, he’d earned his spurs and sword. Philip knighted him at the Christmastime festival past.
Mathieu tried to ignore the lighthearted conversation he heard between Eva and Gaspard throughout the morning’s ride. They were close in age as well—the knight had just seen his twenty-first winter. When Eva’s laughter rang out time and again, he couldn’t deny the prickles to his pride.
He had no right, nor cause, to feel jealousy. But he did anyway.
Mathieu had held the girl, kissed her lush mouth, just hours ago. But because he wasn’t a knight, just an ostler, he’d never win the lady’s heart. In truth, he wasn’t sure if the pinching in his chest was truly jealousy, or simply regret for not being the kind of man Eva’s mind seemed set upon.
Not that it should affect him. Neither could it change his mind about his life’s path. Mathieu knew in his heart he had chosen the right vocation. No mere lady’s opinion would change his decision.
Then why did her rejection injure him so?
The hunting party made their way back to the castle slowly, two stags and a young boar strapped to the pack horses. As they entered the bailey, a great cheer went up. The castle folk came running to examine the hunt’s prizes.
The May Day feast would be fine indeed.
Mathieu watched through narrowed eyes as Eva rode in, side by side with Gaspard. The two were in lively conversation, and Eva’s voice tinkled in a lighthearted way Mathieu had not heard from her before. His stomach twisted as he dismounted and sent pages scurrying for the duke’s and duchess’ horses.
He did not, however, move toward Eva to assist her dismount. Gaspard was her escort this day. Let him do the honors.
Since her twisted foot was on the off side of the horse, she had little trouble swinging her leg over Jannis’ back. It was only when Gaspard grasped her waist and lowered her to the ground that her secret was revealed.
Playing the role of a knightly gentleman, the Frenchman released her quickly and stepped back the moment Eva’s feet touched the ground. No lingering fingers for this noble knight. He turned away from her and began loosening the girth on his own saddle.
Without the support Mathieu normally provided, Eva pitched sideways. Mathieu’s heart seized at the sight. Grabbing frantically for the saddle to keep herself upright, her flailing spooked even the sleepy Jannis. The horse grunted and lurched away from her. Her fingers slipped free from their grip on the leather strap. Almost in slow motion, Eva crumpled to the ground.
Despite himself, Mathieu was beside her in three long strides. Gaspard had, by then, spun around and realized what happened.
But not why.
“Milady, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” He glared into Mathieu’s face. “What kind of ill-mannered beast do you put under such a gentle maid?”
Mathieu ignored him, lowering himself to a crouch beside Eva. She lay on her side, her face lowered so he could not see her eyes. She did not appear injured, but he felt the shame radiate off her in waves. Some of the other knights, realizing there was a lady on the ground, clustered around them.
Silently, Mathieu held out his hand. When she lifted her gaze to his, tears streaked trails in the dust on her cheeks. But she did not accept his offer of assistance. On her other side, Gaspard had dropped to his knees in the dirt, grasping her arm in his gloved hand.
Eva’s gaze flashed from Mathieu to Gaspard and back again. Without a word, she pushed herself to a sitting position. Slowly, she inched up the hem of her kirtle to reveal her booted feet. Her right ankle, twisted at an unnatural angle inward, appeared to an unknowing eye to be broken.
Gaspard gasped. “Don’t move, milady. You’ve injured yourself. We will get a litter to carry you inside.” He glanced up at the knights gathered around them. “Send for a healer!” he called.
Eva winced, her face crumpling in misery. She raised her hand
. “No, Sir Knight. I am not injured. I simply lost my balance—”
“But your ankle, milady—”
Mathieu stood and took a step back. It was not his place to explain the lady’s affliction, though he sorely wished there was some way he could minimize her embarrassment in this moment.
Even if there was, he knew Eva well enough, even in the short time since they’d met. He wagered she’d simply lash out in anger, as she had at him more than once. ’Twas her way of coping.
He stood by and wondered—would she lash out at this handsome knight in the same way?
Chapter Thirteen
“She is not injured.”
The authoritative voice of Lady Isabella rose above the murmurs of those gaping at the scene. Eva looked up to see the duchess, the duke at her side, emerge through the parting crowd.
“The lady suffers an affliction,” she said, more quietly. “An imperfection from birth.” Isabella came forward and lifted her own skirts, crouching to offer the girl her hand. As Eva clambered to her feet, the duchess lifted her chin high and continued.
“’Tis but a minor flaw, not unlike those we all possess. Some flaws, like Eva’s, are in plain sight.” The duchess paused, her gaze scanning those around her, alighting only briefly on her husband. “Others’ shortcomings may not visible to the eye. Eva’s physical affliction changes not what lies in her heart—purity, honesty, and honor.”
Eva winced at the duchess’ words. Was she pure of heart and honorable? The way she’d been cavorting around with her nose in the air since her arrival at the castle now appalled even her. Obviously, Lady Isabella had more faith in Eva than she did in herself. Her gaze shifted from the duchess’ face to that of Gaspard.
The knight stood, hands clasped, staring at the ground. He was avoiding her gaze. If she could see his face, what would she see there? Scorn? Disregard? Or rejection, pure and simple?
She searched the crowd for Mathieu, but the ostler was nowhere to be seen.
*
Gaspard made his way toward the encampment of the Royal Guard at the far end of the bailey. He had not dared say a word, or even cast a glance, at the young Eva after the duchess herself stood up for the young woman’s honor. To be sure, he’d been quite taken with the girl on their ride out of the castle. At least, in a physical sense.
The Warrior and the Wildflower Page 11