The Captive Maiden (9 page)

Ruexner visibly stiffened, but he let go of the scarf. Gisela snatched it up before it fell to the ground.

Ruexner spun around and made a wild swing at Valten’s head
with his fist. Valten sidestepped the blow, then landed one of his own on Ruexner’s chin. Ruexner bent over, clutching his face.

Ruexner’s hand slipped into his boot while Valten was looking at Gisela.

“Valten!” Gisela cried.

At her warning he jumped back. Ruexner’s hand flew up, and something shot across the three feet between him and Valten. A dagger, which struck a glancing blow across Valten’s chest but couldn’t penetrate his shirt of mail. It missed his chin by only a couple of inches and fell harmlessly to the ground.

Valten leaped forward and knocked Ruexner to the ground, wrapping his hands around the man’s neck. Ruexner tried to push Valten’s hands away.

“I should kill you now,” Valten growled. “Swear you will never bother this maiden again.” A moment’s silence, then he yelled, “Swear it!”

Ruexner made a strangled sound as his face grew red.

Valten seemed to loosen his hold on the man’s throat a fraction.

“I swear!”

“And if you ever send your servants to harm my horse —”

Valten tightened his hold again, making Ruexner’s eyes bulge and his mouth open and close like a fish on dry land.

His knee pressing against Ruexner’s chest, Valten let go of his strangle hold on Ruexner’s neck and pushed himself to his feet in one swift movement.

Ruexner gasped and rolled onto his side, clutching at his neck as he coughed and panted.

Valten motioned to Gisela to come to him. She hurried forward, and he pushed her behind him as he continued to watch Ruexner warily, his hands by his sides but extended slightly, as though readying for another attack.

“You almost killed me,” Ruexner rasped, still clutching his throat.

“You tried to kill me with your dagger,” Valten said calmly. “I can get you disqualified from this tournament.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, Ruexner pulled himself to his feet. Gisela watched over Valten’s shoulder as Ruexner glared dangerously at him. “I’ll see you in the lists.”

“Just remember. One word from me and you will be thrown in the dungeon for trying to poison my horse and then threatening my life.”

Ruexner’s face was unreadable. Then he sneered. “Are you afraid I will defeat you the way I did at Arcy? For this time, I will take that horse of yours instead of taking your coin.”

Valten didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he answered, “If I don’t report your evil deeds, it will be because I shall enjoy defeating you so much more.”

Ruexner snorted, then walked silently back to his own tent. Gisela watched him go and shuddered.

She focused instead on Valten. Even sweaty, with the dust of his tussle with Ruexner still clinging to his damp hair, he made her breathing shallow at being the object of his attention. His expression gradually relaxed.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.” Gisela realized she was still clutching her scarf. Valten too seemed to notice it.

He gave her a questioning lift of his eyebrows and held out his right arm. “May I? Wear your colors?”

She nodded and stepped forward. She hoped he didn’t notice the way her hands shook as she tied the blue scarf around his arm.

He looked into her eyes for a long moment, and neither of them spoke. Clearing his throat, he said, “I must go.”

Gisela wanted to say something. “Of course. Be careful.”
Dumb. Of course he won’t be careful. He’s jousting.

One corner of his mouth went up. “Say a prayer for me.”

“I will.”

And he walked away, the ends of her scarf dancing around his forearm.

Chapter
8

Once back in the stands with Cristyne, Gisela
fidgeted nervously, waiting for Valten to return to the field. She talked with her new friend as much as her attention would allow, and when Valten’s turn came, he rode out looking tall and powerful on Sieger’s back.

Her hands grew sweaty as the blue scarf seemed to wave at her from around Valten’s arm. Her face heated and her heart pounded faster.

“Is that your scarf the duke’s son is wearing?” Cristyne stared at Gisela with wide eyes.

Gisela forced herself to breathe. “It is.”

Cristyne said her name in a slow, awed whisper. “Gisela.”

Gisela shrugged, trying to pretend nonchalance. “He is very kind. I met him accidentally in the Marktplatz two weeks ago.”

“Lord Hamlin, the duke’s son, was wandering around in the Marktplatz?”

She shrugged again. “He was there.”

“And he talked to you?”

“He admired my horse, then he took me to see his at the castle stables. We talked about horses.”

“What will Rainhilda say?” Cristyne asked breathlessly. They both chanced a discreet glance in that lady’s direction. Her gaze was fixed on Valten as he paraded around the lists, and she
looked a shade paler than usual. Her jaw looked set and tight, her lips a firm line.

Cristyne turned her gaze on Gisela, a questioning glint in her eye.

She shook her head slightly and smiled. “He is very kind.” She’d already said that, but it was true. It was a lame explanation for why Valten had wanted her, Gisela Mueller, to tie her scarf around his arm. The fact was, she wasn’t sure why he’d done it, and his kindness seemed the likeliest reason.

Perhaps he thought she was pretty. Many people had told her she was, and perhaps he liked talking about horses with her. He also seemed grateful that she had found the water hemlock in Sieger’s food. He’d said she saved his horse’s life. When he found out she was little more than a servant, however, he would realize his mistake in wearing her colors.

The voice in her head taunted, “Perhaps he is only grateful to you for saving his horse. He feels sorry for you because he saw how badly your stepmother and stepsisters treat you. He’s being kind to you out of gratitude … and pity.”

She wanted so much to believe that he had felt the same thing she felt when she was with him. His eyes softened when he looked at her. There was something in their interactions, a camaraderie that Gisela only felt with a few of her friends. But there was also an attraction, like a magnet drawing metal, creating a spark that she could feel in the air between them when he was near.

Cristyne was looking back and forth, from Valten out on the lists to Gisela beside her. “Ohhh,” she sighed. “I am sitting beside the lady-love of Valten, Lord Hamlin, the next Duke of Hagenheim.”

Gisela snorted — an unladylike sound — before she could stop herself. “He never called me his lady-love. I barely know him.”

“We shall see.” Cristyne winked.

Valten jousted with another young local who had been
knighted only recently. In their first encounter, the other knight dropped his lance. Valten, in the spirit of chivalry, didn’t strike him, but held his lance aloft. In the second encounter, he missed Valten’s shield altogether, while Valten struck the young knight’s shield so solid a blow, he fell to the ground with a mighty crash.

The crowd cheered both Valten’s skill and his gallantry.

As Valten waited for his next opponent, Gisela heard the two maidens seated just below her talking in low voices. The curly haired brunette said, “Whose scarf do you think Lord Hamlin is wearing? Is it anyone we know?”

“I’ve no notion who it could be,” the one with the horned headdress answered. She looked behind her friend and up at where Rainhilda was seated. “Sir Edgar’s daughter isn’t wearing blue.” They both began looking around, searching the section around the Queen of Beauty and Love’s throne. No doubt they were searching for someone dressed in the same sapphire shade.

Many girls around Gisela and Cristyne were talking intently with their heads together, and a few were staring wonderingly at her. Gisela’s face heated again. She faced forward, keeping her gaze on Valten. Though she couldn’t see any part of his face, not even his eyes because of his helmet, his head was turned toward her as he sat on his horse.

His final opponent came out, Sir John de Lacy from England. His armor was golden and etched with black designs. Sir John was renowned throughout the world as a great tournament champion. Even Gisela had heard of him. She clasped her hands in her lap, praying Valten would defeat him.

The Englishman’s black horse snorted and stamped his feet from his place at the other end of the lists. Valten and Sieger waited in perfect stillness until the marshal dropped his flag. Both horses charged forward, and both lances struck the shield of the other knight and shattered into pieces. The black and gold
knight didn’t waver in the saddle, but seemed to withstand the blow as if it were nothing.

The knights’ squires brought them new blunt-tipped lances. Gisela clamped her hands over her mouth as she watched them ready themselves for their second encounter.

When the two destriers charged forward, both knights aimed their lances at the other’s helmet. They both hit their mark. Valten’s head was knocked sharply to the side by the English knight’s lance, and Valten’s lance knocked Sir John backward, almost unhorsing him, but he kept his seat.

The two knights went back to their places. The black and gold knight kept moving his head side to side, as if trying to shake something off. He called one of the marshals over, apparently to ask for some time. He spoke to his squire, who ran off and then came back with a new helmet. It took him several minutes to remove the earl’s helm and replace it with the new, identical one. Meanwhile, Valten and Sieger stood still and waited.

Gisela’s fingers began to go numb from being clasped too tightly. She let go and pressed them hard against her lips as the marshal raised his flag. Squinting so she couldn’t see the marshal, she focused instead on Valten, praying fervently that he would emerge unscathed from the final encounter.

He’d already faced so many knights. How could he win against them all? He was only human. Valten was surely tired by this time from the many jousts he’d fought, while this knight had only faced one other opponent all day.

They all wanted to face Valten, looking to distinguish themselves by defeating the mighty Earl of Hamlin, the knight who had won more tournaments than any other.

Finally, Valten and his horse—as if they were one being instead of two—leaped forward across the tournament field toward their opponent. Gisela forced herself to watch as they once again aimed their lances at the other’s helmet.

The impact was ferocious. But Valten kept both his helmet and his saddle, and splintered his lance on Sir John’s helm. But that knight did not fare so well. He ended up on the ground, and he lay perfectly still.

The crowd cheered. Valten’s victory was indisputable, as the black and gold knight’s attendants had to come and assist him off the field. Valten was undeniably the winner of the tournament and would be awarded the prize, as well as the honor of choosing the Queen of Beauty and Love, who would subsequently reign over tonight’s banquet and tomorrow’s tournament activities.

The thought of watching Valten fighting hand to hand the next day with these other knights made her stomach churn. But this was what men did; they enjoyed the sport of pounding each other. And as long as they used blunted weapons and full body armor, it was less likely they would kill each other. Fighting a war would have been much more dangerous.

There was a flourish of trumpets as the day’s tournament activities came to an end. Many of the other knights came back out on the field in full armor to wave their banners and be recognized. But Friedric Ruexner was conspicuously absent.

After the parade of knights, Duke Wilhelm called for his son to come forth. Valten rode over to the opposite side of the lists from Gisela, where the duke and his family were seated in the north gallery.

Duke Wilhelm stood and declared, “The victor of today’s jousting event is … Valten Gerstenberg, Earl of Hamlin.”

Valten opened both his visor and bevor so that his face was visible as he listened to his father.

“He has conducted himself with honor and valor, and succeeded in defeating all opponents,” Duke Wilhelm declared in a loud voice, his words clear and precise. “It is now time for the victor to exercise his rightful privilege of choosing for us our
Queen of Beauty and Love, whom, for the duration of this tournament, we are duty bound to honor and obey.”

With those words, he placed a circlet of vines and flowers on the end of Valten’s lance.

Gisela’s stomach tied itself into a knot as Valten slowly walked his horse to the south gallery, where the fair maidens were sitting. A hush fell over the crowd, and Cristyne sat stiff and straight by her side, her mouth open slightly as she seemed to be holding her breath. Gisela concentrated on looking as calm and dignified as possible.

Instead of pacing to and fro in front of the section of fair maidens, as he might have done, Valten guided his horse straight toward Gisela. Did he really mean to pick her? It felt like a dream, not real at all, as Valten made his way to her, lifted his lance over the barrier, and laid the circlet at Gisela’s feet.