Valten displayed compassion, where her new stepmother and stepsisters showed none. And even though he was taking away one of her horses, she could not hate him. In her mind, she had believed he would treat the destrier well.
Tonight as it grew dark, she wondered what Valten and the horse were doing. Was the horse well? What had Valten named him? Did the horse like training for the jousting tournaments? Were they both happy? Her thoughts, as they often did, gradually focused on Valten alone, the handsome young heir to the duchy of Hagenheim. Did his mother kiss him good night the way her father used to kiss her? Valten was probably too old for that. Was he still handsome? Who would he marry? His bride would be pretty and certainly would not smell like cinders and horses.
Gisela imagined herself grown up, wearing beautiful clothes, and Valten coming to find her and asking her to be his bride. Valten would want to marry someone kind, wouldn’t he? Someone who believed in goodness and mercy and love.
And in spite of the fact that her father was dead and her stepmother and stepsisters hated her, she did believe in goodness, mercy, and love.
Valten would never be cruel. He would be kind and good. At least, she liked to think so.
Gisela turned away from the window and the sight of the castle towers in the distance. She climbed into bed, clutching her blanket to her chin, and closed her eyes. “Guten nacht, Valten.”
Chapter
1
Nine Years Later … Spring, 1412, a few miles west of Hagenheim.
Gisela rode Kaeleb over the hilly meadows near her home, letting the horse run as fast as he liked. The morning air clung to her eyelashes, as a fog had created a misty canopy over the green, rolling hills. The wall surrounding the town of Hagenheim stood at her far right, with the forest to her left and her home behind. Hagenheim Castle hovered in the distance, its upper towers lost in the haze.
If her stepmother found out she’d been riding one of the horses without permission, as Gisela often did, she would find some way to punish her. But Gisela didn’t care. She could leave any time she wanted to, as she had hidden away the money her father had given her just before he died. She chose to stay, at least for now, because of her love for the horses.
Gisela would probably be forced to leave soon. Her stepmother would end up selling all the horses, or would marry someone despicable, or would create some other type of intolerable situation. When that happened, Gisela planned to go into the town and find paying work, perhaps tending a shop or serving as a kitchen maid at Hagenheim Castle.
Evfemia thought she controlled Gisela. But some day her stepdaughter-slave would be gone.
She didn’t want to think about her stepmother anymore. Instead, Gisela focused on the wind in her hair as she flew over the meadow on Kaeleb’s back. The cool air filled her lungs almost to bursting. For this moment, she was free.
Kaeleb loved these rides as much as she did. She could sense it in the tightness of his shoulders, in the way he fairly danced in anticipation before she even tightened his saddle in place.
Movement to her left made her turn her head slightly. A horse and rider emerged from the trees and stood watching her from the edge of the meadow.
Gradually, Gisela slowed Kaeleb. She could tell even from this distance the horse and rider were both taller than average. The bare-headed man had short, dark blond hair and wore a green thigh-length tunic that buttoned down the front. His horse was the same size and color as Kaeleb.
The man reminded her of Valten — more appropriately known as Lord Hamlin.
The duke’s oldest son had been away for two years, but she’d heard of his return. Gisela figured he would be about twenty-four years old now, as it had been ten years since he and his father had come to buy a horse.
She turned Kaeleb back the way they had come. But instead of riding away, she stared at the man. He seemed comfortable in the saddle, and he held his head high and his back straight. No doubt Valten was proud and self-possessed, but was he also still the kind, gentle boy she had dreamed about as a child?
Probably not. But why should she care? She had ceased daydreaming about him years ago, when she realized she was but a servant now and no longer the wealthy land owner’s daughter whose father had been so friendly with Duke Wilhelm.
She glanced down at her coarse woolen overdress. She’d tucked her skirt into her waistband, exposing the leather stockings she wore to cover her legs while she rode, since she hated riding sidesaddle. Her feet were bare and dirty, and her hair was completely unfettered, as she liked to feel the wind lifting and tossing the long strands.