“What were you doing with him?”
“He asked to escort me while my horse was at the blacksmith’s.” Gisela stumbled. She caught herself before she fell on her knees in the street, then she yanked loose from her stepmother’s grip.
On the other side of the Marktplatz, they were joined by Irma and Contzel, who turned their haughty noses up at Gisela and began piling their packages and bags in her arms. Sir Edgar’s daughter, Rainhilda, stood beside Irma. Rainhilda closed her eyes and turned away, as if looking at Gisela upset her delicate constitution. She wore an elaborate headdress, complete with a gauzy veil and exotic plumage, which made her as out of place at the Hagenheim Marktplatz as a peacock in a dovecote, and even more conspicuous.
The townspeople gaped at Rainhilda, but not just because of her headdress. Her beauty was unrivaled, except perhaps by the duke’s daughters, and they were still a bit young. Her father had been rewarded by the king for service rendered, and next to Duke Wilhelm, Sir Edgar’s was one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the region. A popular speculation of the people was that Rainhilda was hoping—expecting—Valten to designate her the Queen of Beauty and Love at the Hagenheim tournament in two weeks. The tournament champion, whom everyone believed would be Valten, would be allowed to choose one young maiden to sit on the throne for the final display of arms.
Rainhilda looked coifed and pampered. From underneath her headdress her golden hair hung in perfect ringlets, like shavings from a woodworker’s planing blade. The precise folds of her veil and the vibrant pink of her flat, rolled turban accented her pale skin to great advantage.
Irma had managed to endear herself to Rainhilda with gifts and flattery and gossip. Gisela had overheard her stepmother’s whispered counsel to her daughters to ingratiate themselves to Rainhilda in order to get closer to the duke’s family, and most particularly his oldest son. But how on earth Evfemia could think Valten would ever look twice at homely, sticklike Irma, Gisela couldn’t imagine.
She hoped she never had to see Valten with Rainhilda, to witness her triumphant smirk as she flirted with confident abandon. It would only make it painfully clear how impossible it would be for someone like him to care for someone like Gisela. With her wild hair and ragged clothes, Gisela was certainly no Rainhilda.
She walked to the carriage and dumped her stepmother’s and stepsisters’ purchases inside. She continued on to the blacksmith’s shop. Once there, she quickly thanked him and took Kaeleb’s reins.
When she turned, Valten was striding toward her. She drew in a quick breath at the fierce protectiveness in his eyes.
“Will you be at the tournament?” His question was almost a demand.
“I … I will try.” She wanted to touch his arm, his hand, to feel a connection with him before she said good-bye. But that was foolish. He was the duke’s son and she was little more than a servant in her stepmother’s house.
“I don’t even know your name.”
Gisela glanced over his shoulder. Irma, Contzel, and Evfemia were standing at the carriage, staring suspiciously at her. But at least Rainhilda wasn’t with them.
“I can’t talk now.” She tried to walk past him.
“Come to the tournament.” He touched her elbow. “Please.”
The intensity in his eyes made it impossible to look away.
“Cinders-ela!” Irma screeched, then laughed.
“We are waiting for you, Cinders-ela!” Contzel added.
Gisela’s cheeks burned. She brushed past Valten with Kaeleb, but Valten touched her arm again.
“Gisela,” she said, looking into his eyes one last time. “My name is Gisela.” Then she turned and continued walking away from Valten.
Chapter
4
Evfemia leveled a steely, dark glare at Gisela. No doubt she was thinking of some punishment for her. For what? For speaking to a man? Or for taking too long to get the horse hitched back up to the carriage? Likely both. But Gisela didn’t care. Not even her stepmother could ruin this day for her. She would remember it forever as the best day of her life.
Gisela, as usual, drove them home sitting on the coachman’s box. Evfemia probably considered it another method of humiliation, but Gisela loved the arrangement. She could see everything, and she loved the bustling atmosphere of town. Besides, in the driver’s seat she was closer to the horses.
When they arrived home, Gisela helped brush the animals down and get them fed. As she walked toward the house, thoughts of Valten paraded through her head. She wanted to hold on to everything he had said, envision every detail of his face, and recall the way he paid attention to his horses, which somehow reminded her of how she’d felt about her father. Valten had even noticed Sieger’s special reaction to her, how he had remembered her. Perhaps he —
“Gisela!” Evfemia yelled through the open window.