She also hoped Valten’s injury had not been serious. Perhaps she might overhear one of his attendants talking about his condition.
“Oh, my cousin and her family!” Cristyne waved at a girl who was waving back. “Do you mind if I go talk with them?”
“Go on. I will see you in a little while.” Gisela continued on as Cristyne hurried off to join her relatives.
Gisela looked all around, trying to add the scene to her favorite memories — the beautiful colors of the pavilions, the banners and coats of arms of the knights, the lavishness of the decorations. And then there were the dresses of the wealthy women and maidens … Gisela had never seen anything like this tournament. She longed to store up every detail, even though she probably looked like a country bumpkin who had never been in the wider world before.
As she wandered along, she spied Valten’s striped pavilion. She was drawn toward it but continued to look around as she wandered nearer. She could even see Sieger, as he was tethered under a small wooden shelter behind Valten’s tent.
A familiar laugh, shrill and annoying, rang out behind her. It was Irma, she was sure of it. She ducked behind a large barrel before looking behind her. Her stepmother and stepsisters stood a mere thirty feet away.
Chapter
7
Evfemia and Irma stood talking with Rainhilda, their heads together as if they were trying to make sure no one else heard what they were saying.
While they were not looking her way, Gisela turned her back on them and hurried to get out of sight.
Sieger stood near other knights’ horses lined up on the other side of several large tented pavilions. Her stepmother and stepsisters would never go near such an area, so she headed toward him.
As she drew near, a boy who looked about twelve years old approached Sieger’s makeshift stall with a bag in his hand. He was glancing around nervously, holding the bag protectively against his body.
The boy’s odd behavior made Gisela stop and hide behind the first horse. What was he doing lurking near Valten’s destrier? Then, with a deliberate step, he approached Sieger, drew out some green leaves from his bag, and stuffed them into Sieger’s bucket. The boy turned and broke into a run, disappearing behind the horses’ stalls.
Sieger stuck his nose into the bucket, then pulled it out again, snuffling discontentedly.
Gisela hurried forward, holding up her hem so it didn’t get soiled. Once she reached Sieger, she spoke softly to him, rubbing his nose. He nickered, nodding his head, and nudged her neck. “Hey, boy. Let me see what’s in your feed.”
She bent down and pulled out the green leaves from inside his bucket of oats, and her blood went cold. They were the leaves of a water hemlock plant.
Another young boy, who appeared about the same age as the one who’d placed the water hemlock in Sieger’s bucket, walked toward her from Valten’s tent. “May I help you, fraulein?”
Gisela caught the boy by the arm. “Someone tried to poison Valt — your master’s horse. You must tell him with all haste.” She held up the offending leaves, her hands starting to shake. If Sieger had eaten them, he might have been dead in half an hour.
Without a word, the boy turned and ran to the tent. Valten came out moments later without his heavy armor, wearing only his shirt of mail, the white under-tunic, and leather breeches.
He saw her and stopped in midstride.
“Someone tried to poison Sieger.” Gisela held out the water hemlock.
Valten strode forward, his gaze seeming to move reluctantly from Gisela’s face to the green substance in her hand.
“Hugo!” he barked. The boy came running. “Take this and bury it in the ground. Bury it deep, understand?” There was a cold, dangerous look on his face that sent a chill through Gisela, but was somehow comforting at the same time. Valten would not let anyone get away with harming a horse — or a person — he loved.
The boy took the leaves carefully into his hands. She bent and made sure there was no more in Sieger’s bucket while Valten looked into the horse’s mouth.
After the boy hurried away, Valten said quietly, his voice so deep it rumbled, “Do you think he ate any of it?”
Her heart skipped a beat at his nearness. “I don’t think so.”
The dangerous glint vanished from his eyes. “I’m glad you came when you did.”
She nodded.
“And not just because you saved Sieger’s life.” He stopped rubbing his horse and turned his body toward her. Now she could see the cut over his eye. Someone had stitched it closed, but there was still a light smear of dried blood on his skin. His hair was damp — no doubt he’d had to wash the blood out of it — making it look brown instead of blond. Up close in his shirt of mail, his shoulders seemed even broader, his chest thicker, and he looked like a warrior — a very handsome warrior.
“Did you see the person who did this?”
She nodded. “A boy, about twelve years old.”
“Could you recognize him if you saw him again?”
“I think so.”