“My youngest sister, Adela, is afraid of horses and won’t go near them, but I love my mare.”
Gisela and Margaretha continued talking about horses as the servants began bringing out the first course of the meal and filling all the guests’ goblets with wine, including an extra goblet beside Gisela.
Lady Rose seemed to notice her looking at the goblet. “That is for Valten. He will sit next to you and should be here soon. Actually, there he is.” Her face lit up as she focused on someone behind Gisela.
Gisela looked over her shoulder. Valten strode toward her, now dressed in a green doublet, white shirt, and black hose. He looked clean and a bit pale, making the black stitches over his eye more noticeable. He had not shaved, and the light brown stubble made him look even more rugged than usual.
She tried to appear regal and relaxed while refusing to look at Rainhilda. God, help me not to disgrace the one who has chosen me.
Valten stepped over the bench and sat down beside Gisela. He looked at her and almost smiled — that softening of his expression. Gisela smiled back.
Just then, Duke Wilhelm stood where he had been sitting at the head of the table. The room gradually grew quiet.
“Thank you all for accepting our invitation to this banquet. Lady Rose and I are happy to honor our brave knights who have taken part in the competition of this, our first Hagenheim tournament.”
The guests cheered almost as tumultuously as they had at the lists earlier in the day. At that moment, Gisela’s eye caught Friedric Ruexner’s, who was sitting at a lower table with several other knights. He was scowling at Valten in a way that sent a shiver down her back. His gaze then shifted to Gisela, and he gave her a lecherous leer, kissed his two fingers, then raised them in a sort of salute to her. She shuddered and quickly looked at Valten, not realizing she was leaning toward him until her shoulder touched his. He looked from his father to Gisela. She felt instantly safer.
Duke Wilhelm raised his hand to quiet the crowd. “Lift your cup in deference to our tournament sovereign, Gisela” — Duke Wilhelm lifted his goblet high in the air — “the Queen of Beauty and Love.” He reached out to her.
Gisela took his hand and stood.
She looked around at all the people raising their goblets to her. She tried not to appear as terrified as she felt, and forced herself to smile and nod, thankful she had the presence of mind to pick up her own goblet. A cheer arose, then they all took a drink.
Perhaps not all. From the corner of her eye she noticed her stepmother and Irma did not partake.
Gisela sank back down on her bench.
“And let us drink to our day’s champion and victor, my son, Valten Gerstenberg, Earl of Hamlin.”
Another clamor of cheering went up, seeming to fill the high ceilinged hall and Gisela’s ears.
Valten stood and gave a small bow. He looked completely at ease, as if this was an ordinary moment for him. The crowd drank. Someone cried out, “To Lord Hamlin’s health!”
“Hear, hear!” they all shouted. Another man cried out, “To his prosperity!” And another cried, “To his future wife. May they have many children!”
Valten lifted his cup at the man. “I thank you.” And drank the entire goblet of wine.
The crowd shouted yet louder, and did not begin to quiet down until Valten had taken his seat again.
While it was still quite noisy, Valten did not speak to her, but began to eat, and Gisela did the same. She ate slowly, imagining who might be staring at her, but she was determined not to look. She was grateful to have Margaretha’s constant chatter on one side to distract her, and Valten on the other, like a rampart of safety.
Margaretha said she had never had a suitor and often wondered who her father would find for her to marry. “But I’m in no hurry to leave home. Factually speaking, I haven’t decided yet if I will marry, which is why Father still has not made any effort to find someone suitable for me. The idea of marriage isn’t altogether appealing. Do you know what I mean, Gisela?”
Gisela nodded thoughtfully. “I do. But I think I should like to marry someone who loved me.”
For nearly the first time since she had sat down, Margaretha was silent. Her brow furrowed and she pursed her lips and stared down at the table with clouded eyes, as if unseeing. Gisela took a bite of roast pheasant as she waited for Margaretha to speak.
“My parents love me so much, it’s hard for me to imagine a man loving me as much as they do.”
Gisela couldn’t help the slight frown that tugged at her mouth. Margaretha’s life had been so different from Gisela’s. How similar might their lives have been if her parents had lived?