The Captive Maiden

His father clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. The restless feeling will go away in time. You are young, but you’ve seen and done more than most men twice your age.” He added softly, “God will give you a new purpose, if you ask him.”

 

 

Valten wished he had the confidence that his father always seemed to have when it came to the idea of God-given purpose. But Valten did believe that God had been with him many times in the lists and in his travels. Often he’d been saved from danger or injury by the thinnest of margins. He’d gathered quite a lot of followers as well — other knights who’d allied themselves with him, traveled with him, said that God’s favor rested on him and that God was watching over him. But Valten figured it was mostly superstition.

 

Most men who claimed allegiance to God were more afraid of the devil than they were of God, and were careful to do what they thought would appease evil spirits. They put money in the poor box and carried a splinter of the supposed holy cross of Jesus around in their saddlebag to ward off bad luck, but they would carry a witch’s charm or utter an old Druid spell just as readily. Many never set foot in a church, but they were quick to enter into debauchery.

 

The thought of God giving him a purpose, other than winning tournaments, was appealing, but asking God for something did not mean he would get it. Still, he should pray, and perhaps he would also ask the priest to ask God what his purpose was.

 

There must be more to life than tournaments.

 

He couldn’t believe he was saying this, but … “A ball is a good idea, Mother.”

 

“I will go make a list of who to invite.” His mother’s smile was as bright as the sun and almost as wide. “I’ll get Margaretha and Rainhilda to help.”

 

“Will you invite all the marriageable girls in the region?” It was important that she invited Gisela, but he still didn’t know who she was. After all, Gisela was a common name. There could be a hundred Giselas in Hagenheim.

 

“I can’t invite all the marriageable girls.” Mother raised her brows as she smiled at him. “They wouldn’t fit in the Great Hall.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll invite as many as I can.”

 

He might need to enlist Rainhilda’s help in order to make sure Gisela attended this ball. She obviously knew Gisela’s family, though he didn’t think she would be happy to help him find her.

 

Otherwise, he would have to find Gisela at the tournament and invite her himself. Surely she would be there.

 

He was counting on it.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter

 

 

 

5

 

 

 

 

 

“You can’t go to the tournament. You have too much work to do.” Evfemia looked down her long nose at Gisela. She was even taller than bean pole Irma, who stood at the foot of the stairs, smirking with Contzel.

 

Today the tournament would take place in Hagenheim. Although it was unlikely Gisela would get a chance to speak with Valten at the tournament, she desperately wanted to see him again, even if it was only from afar. It would be worth going just to see him defeat that nasty Friedric Ruexner. She hoped Valten knocked him out of the saddle and onto his pompous derriere. And she didn’t want to just hear about it; she wanted to see it.

 

But she didn’t argue with her stepmother. She simply continued scouring the walls. The soot from the fires that burned all winter did build up on the walls, but Gisela had just cleaned them a few weeks ago. While her stepmother watched her, Gisela scrubbed diligently.

 

“Besides, you don’t have any clothes fit to be seated in the gallery,” Evfemia went on. “You’d have to stand below with the yeoman farmers and peasants.”

 

Irma and Contzel snorted and whispered from the other side of the room.

 

Gisela pretended not to hear. She wouldn’t be goaded into saying what she was thinking—that her stepmother was a mean, selfish, petty-minded she-devil. If she bad-mouthed Evfemia, it would be an excuse to lock Gisela in her room. Then she’d have no chance at all of getting to the tournament.

 

Gisela continued cleaning, planning how she would arrange her hair. Irma and Contzel had already dressed, with Gisela’s help. They were wearing elaborate gowns made from the finest materials. Irma’s was a dark red silk with enormous bag sleeves and a jeweled belt that almost succeeded in hiding how emaciated she looked. But the color didn’t become her at all. The red heightened her sallow complexion. And Contzel’s emerald green dress was fitted with a lace-up bodice that was low-cut enough to show her ample cleavage. Though the green was a beautiful shade, it gave her the distinct look of a bullfrog. Gisela was sorry to think such ugly thoughts, but every time she glanced at Contzel, she imagined the girl sitting on a lily pad, catching a fly with her tongue.

 

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