While Beauty Slept (20 page)

“My lady, it is truly an honor,” he said in his most obsequious manner. “For a humble man such as myself to be in the presence of such glory is an experience I shall treasure all my life, you may be sure. . . .”

Well versed in the signs of long-windedness, Queen Lenore was quick to cut him off. “Elise, would you speak well of Master Yelling’s craftsmanship?”

“Yes, madam. I still wear the shoes he made for me when I first came to the castle.”

“Hmm.” Queen Lenore allowed Hannolt to quiver with anticipation for a moment, then delighted him by saying, “Perhaps I will have a commission for you myself one day.”

Hannolt’s grin was so wide it looked as if his cheeks might crack under the strain. It was all I could do not to giggle, and Marcus glanced at me with a conspiratorial smirk, acknowledging my amusement. Outside, a rumble of thunder announced the arrival of the storm that had been threatening all afternoon.

“Time we were off,” Hannolt said with another bow. “I do apologize for keeping you.”

Queen Lenore glanced at his cane. The sudden, wrenching sound of lightning made us all jerk in surprise.

“I can’t have you walking back to town in this weather,” she said. “Please accept the use of one of our carriages.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Hannolt said.

“I insist.” She turned to me. “Did you say Master Yelling lives in the same building as your aunt?”

I nodded.

“You have my leave to visit her, if you wish. Tell the driver to wait and bring you back.”

My aunt was the kind of woman easily put out by unexpected guests at suppertime. But I could bear her muttered grumbling if it meant more time with Marcus.

“Good,” Queen Lenore said, taking my silence for assent. “Stay as late as you wish.”

After bidding the queen farewell, I led Hannolt and Marcus down the hallway toward the stairs. Now that I had been granted my wish, I could not think of a thing to say, and Marcus appeared to be suffering from a similar lack of inspiration. Luckily, Hannolt had words enough for all of us.

“What an honor!” he gushed. “To be in the presence of the queen herself! What a fine lady she is. I had heard tales of her beauty, yet she was even more gracious than I imagined. You’re a lucky one, Elise. Taking after your mistress in looks as well, wouldn’t you say, Marcus?”

Seemingly mortified by the question, Marcus merely mumbled a barely intelligible “Hmm” and looked downward. It was true, I had learned to arrange my hair in the queen’s manner, taming my wild curls into elegant twists that framed the edges of my cap. I mimicked her walk as well, trying to keep my footsteps silent so it would appear my skirt was gliding across the floor. I had been struck by Marcus’s taller, more manly stature, and he must have noted the changes in my appearance since our last meeting. But perhaps, to a townsman, my manner of speech and dress were off-putting. Worse, given my humble background, he might think me one who enjoys putting on airs above my station.

I led Hannolt and Marcus through the courtyard to the stables in back. Horses and carriages were apportioned according to rank, as with any other castle honor. When not traveling with their masters, servants were given simple wooden carts for journeys into town, and this is what I expected to be offered when I brought the queen’s orders to Mr. Gungen, the stablemaster.

“It’s a quiet night,” he told me. “Take the green one if you like.” He pointed to a covered carriage with cushioned seats, the sort reserved for noblewomen.

I looked at him doubtfully, and he shrugged.

“You may as well. We can’t have the queen’s maid soaked and covered in mud on a night like this. Horick!”

My smile faded. So this would be the price paid to travel in comfort. Horick was the sour groomsman often charged with shuttling servants and goods, duties he clearly thought beneath him. His bitterness at being denied royal passengers only assured that he would never be given that honor, for he was known to shout oaths and wave his whip at passersby who did not clear his path quickly enough. He had driven me occasionally on errands for the queen, and I found him poor company.

Mr. Gungen went to rouse Horick, who emerged brandishing a chicken leg, his face crumpled in its usual expression of misery.

“Just as I was starting my supper,” he complained.

“Get on!” Mr. Gungen barked. “These orders are direct from the queen.”

The greatest benefit of the enclosed carriage was that it blocked the sound of Horick’s grumbling as we rode. Hannolt had insisted I enter the carriage first. He followed and climbed into the seat facing me, spreading his arms wide and patting the plush seats with a delighted grin. Marcus took the place next to me. Though I was intensely aware of his presence, I kept my eyes straight ahead, and I could tell from the corner of my eye that he was doing the same. As we approached my aunt’s house, my heartbeat counted down the seconds before we must make our farewells. When would I see Marcus again? I remembered Petra talking about the tournament and the handsome page she meant to charm. The carriage rounded the final corner, turning onto my aunt’s street. There was no time left.

“There will be a celebration, the final night of the tournament,” I blurted out, facing Marcus.

“Oh,” he said, taken aback by my sudden outburst. But not displeased. No, for he leaned closer to hear what I might say next, giving me the courage to continue.

“You are welcome to come if you wish.”

“You are sure?” he asked quickly, anxiously. “It is not intended only for those who live at the castle?”

“No, no, guests are welcome,” I assured him. “Some of the other maids have invited their sweethearts from town.”

No sooner had I said the words than I began to blush furiously, mortified that Marcus might think I included him in that category. Or perhaps he was already spoken for? What a fool I would look!

“A fine offer,” Hannolt spoke up, ever ready to insert himself into a conversation. “Marcus would be delighted, wouldn’t you, my boy? Ah, here we are!”

When the carriage stopped, Marcus was quick to push open the door and clamber down, standing below to offer me his hand and holding up his cloak to shield me from the rain. I tried to descend as gracefully as possible, allowing my skirts to swirl around as Queen Lenore would have done. If I held Marcus’s hand a minute longer than necessary, he showed no eagerness to release his steady grip.

“I’m to wait?” Horick scowled from his driver’s perch.

“Would you have the queen’s maid walk to the castle alone after dark?” Hannolt said indignantly. He urged me toward the doorstep of my aunt’s house, where an overhang sheltered us from the storm. When my aunt Agna opened the door, she stared at our damp, windblown figures in surprise.

“Greetings from the castle,” Hannolt announced, eager to boast of his brush with royalty. “The queen herself ordered us escorted back to town in one of her own carriages and urged your niece to pay you a visit. Is that not kindness itself?”

“Begging permission to wait in your stables, ma’am?” Horick shouted from the carriage. The surliness of his tone tarnished the civility of the words.

“To the left, round the back,” my aunt ordered. Suddenly she stopped and peered out from the doorway to regard the driver more closely.

“It’s Horick, is it?” she asked.

They looked at each other, and recognition fluttered across his face. His harsh voice softened into little more than a whisper. “I remember you. Mayren’s sister.”

I perked up at the sound of my mother’s name, but Aunt Agna put a quick end to the exchange. Stepping back into her doorway and turning her face away, she said briskly, “Speak to my groomsman. He’ll see you’re fed.”

Horick shook the horses’ reins and drove off.

“Miss Elise,” Hannolt said with an elaborate bow, “it was a pleasure to serve as your escort, and I hope to see you at the castle during my next visit.”

“Thank you for your kind invitation,” said Marcus stiffly. Under the watchful eyes of his father and Agna, he was obviously flustered, and I felt a rush of sympathy. What might we have said to each other if we’d been granted a few moments unobserved? All I could do was smile pleasantly and tell him I would meet him at the castle gates at eight o’clock on the following Sunday night. The delight on his face was enough to fuel a fortnight’s worth of daydreams.

“Come along, Elise,” Agna ordered. “Join us for supper. You’ll want to see Prielle, I’m sure, before she’s sent off to bed. She has become a regular chatterbox since you saw her last.”

I took hold of her arm before she could call out to the others to join us. “The driver, Horick,” I said. “He knew my mother?”

Agna pursed her lips, considering what to say. I stared at her, my eyes pleading. She sighed and drew me into the front room.

“I take no pleasure in revisiting the past or speaking ill of the dead,” she said. “What’s done is done, and we all suffer the consequences of our actions as God wills. However, if you’re set on hearing what happened to your mother, I’ll not spare you. Take what I tell you as a cautionary tale.”

I nodded. Agna did not know I had been told of my birth out of wedlock, and I had no wish to revisit my mother’s shame by speaking of it. But I had never stopped wondering how her life had taken such a tragic turn.

“I knew Horick many years ago,” my aunt continued. “He is much changed, and for the worse. When I first met him, he was a stableboy, not yet twenty. He cut a fine enough figure, though he was far from handsome and smelled of horses, as groomsmen do. But he had all his teeth and a full head of hair, an easy laugh. Mayren could have done worse.”

“Horick was Mother’s beau?” Impossible. My graceful, beautiful mother drawn to that bitter man? But, as Agna said, it was many years ago, when Horick was quick to laugh. I could not imagine it.

“They had an understanding, though I do not know the exact words exchanged,” my aunt said. “I suppose Mayren thought herself betrothed, though Horick soon proved otherwise.” She stood, lost in thought, as I tried to follow her meaning.

“Why did they not marry?” I asked.

“He played her for a fool,” Agna said, though her tone made it clear she blamed her sister more than Horick. “Led her to believe they were betrothed, then refused to marry her.”

My mother. Horick.

“Mayren made many mistakes,” Agna continued. “You’d do well to learn from her example. A young woman in service at the castle must be mindful of her reputation at all times. One roll in the hay can be enough to ruin you.”

The truth of my birth hovered between us, an invisible thread intertwined in her words. Despite her sharp tone, I knew that Agna thought herself kind for not saying aloud that I was a bastard. I did not want to tell her I already knew.

“Mayren paid a heavy price for her foolishness. Mind you, it doesn’t look as if he’s done well for himself either. I’d be surprised if he had half his teeth left.”

For so many years, I’d wondered about the man who had fathered me, weaving tales of star-crossed lovers and forbidden passion. Now I had reached the end of my quest, but there was no satisfaction in it. My very soul wilted with disappointment.

“You’ve done well at the castle,” Agna said, “far better than I expected. Don’t let pretty words and good looks distract you from all you have accomplished.”

It was as if she’d divined my lustful thoughts of Marcus. Frightened by my aunt’s prescience, I nodded and assured her my behavior was above reproach.

Throughout the meal I imagined confronting Horick on the drive back to the castle. What would he say when I threw out my mother’s name? Beg forgiveness? Offer up a feeble defense of his betrayal? As he pulled open the carriage door for me to enter, I searched his scowling face for a familiar feature but could see no reflection of my own appearance in his craggy cheeks and jowly chin. Inwardly cursing my own cowardice, I remained silent as I entered the carriage and rode back to the castle through the darkened streets. Had Horick uttered the slightest pleasantry as I alighted in the courtyard, I might have gathered my nerve to speak. But his curt disrespect made me fear what he would say if confronted. To hear my mother insulted would be more than I could bear. Worse, any acknowledgment of my parentage might give Horick some claim over me, and I would not be beholden to such a man.

That night, though I felt capable of soaking my pillow with tears, I set my mind resolutely to thoughts of Marcus. My mother’s sorry fate, and Horick’s part in it, was a piece of my past that must be walled off and forgotten. I was on the cusp of a new beginning, with Marcus beckoning me forward. At last I would know what it was to have a suitor, a person who longed for my touch as much as I longed for his.

Yet a troubling thought repeatedly pierced my girlish imaginings. Was this how my mother had felt, the night she gave herself to Horick?

Eight

LOVE’S FIRST BLUSH

S
o who’s your young man?” Petra demanded with a teasing smile.

It was the third and final day of the tournament, and we sat in the stands overlooking the jousting. Carpenters had worked day and night in an open field just outside the castle walls, erecting a series of raised wooden benches surrounding a central track. The king and queen sat under a canopy of purple velvet; along with certain favored attendants, I had been granted a place on a bench directly above them, and I had invited Petra to join me. With preparations for the tournament keeping us both busy over the past week, we had exchanged only brief, hurried greetings, and I was looking forward to her always amusing company.

“My young man?” I asked. A knight wearing the colors of a neighboring kingdom was riding in to face Lord Steffon, a cousin of the king and a favorite of Queen Lenore. It was the most anticipated match of the afternoon, and for a moment Petra’s voice was drowned out by cheers.

“The good-looking lad I saw you with in the Great Hall. Dark hair, soulful eyes? Or do you have many such admirers?”

“Marcus.” The way I said his name clearly revealed my feelings, for she clapped her hands with delight.

“Marcus! How well the name goes with yours. Marcus and Elise. Rather like poetry, don’t you think?”