“I can imagine that Lord Rupert was a wonderful dancer. Did you enjoy dancing with him? Oh, tell me again what it was like.”
Rose hadn’t told her she’d also danced with Lord Hamlin. For some reason, she couldn’t bear to tell Hildy about that. It would be like publicly showing off one’s most treasured possession. Some things weren’t meant to be shared.
“Dancing with Lord Rupert was very exciting.”
“Did he kiss your hand?”
“No.”
“Tell me again what he was wearing.”
Frau Geruscha emerged from the storage room. “Rose, I’m going into town to look in on Adelheide Bulger. She had a high fever yesterday. I may not be back until nones.”
Rose nodded and listened to her mistress’s instructions until she left, closing the door behind her.
Rose regaled Hildy with more details of everyone’s dress, from Lord Rupert to the duchess, to Lady Osanna and other girls who were there.
Hildy sighed deeply. “Oh, it would be heavenly to be able to dance and wear beautiful clothes and be admired.”
Rose hoped that Hildy would get her chance some day.
Someone knocked at the door. Rose got up and opened it to find Gunther Schoff.
“Good morning, Rose.” He smiled and bowed.
“Gunther! Come in, please.” Feeling almost as giggly and excited as Hildy often looked, Rose pulled Gunther inside. “Gunther Schoff, I present to you Hildy, daughter of Hezilo the chandler.”
“Good morning.” A look of interest flickered in his pale blue eyes. His sandy red hair and freckles made him boyishly handsome. “I came to see Frau Geruscha about some herbs for my mother.”
“She’ll be back later.” An idea came to Rose. She smiled and arched her eyebrows. “You have time to wait, don’t you? I want to teach Hildy to dance. It would be hard without a man to serve as her partner. Would you…?”
A smile spread across Gunther’s face, and Hildy’s cheeks turned pink.
Rose and Hildy set their sewing bundles in the corner. The chamber where Frau Geruscha and Rose tended the sick and injured was spacious. They pushed the benches against the wall, leaving plenty of room for a couple to dance.
Rose clapped to provide the rhythm while Gunther instructed Hildy in the dances, starting with the Maltese Branle. Rose watched with approval as Gunther gently guided his pupil, who caught on quickly to the order of the steps. The air was cool for May, and a breeze blew through the open windows and fanned the dancers’ cheeks. Rose hoped Gunther noticed the alluring tendrils of blonde hair that had wriggled loose from Hildy’s braid and fluttered at her temples.
As Hildy laughed at a misstep, someone moved into the open doorway. Lord Hamlin. Rose caught her breath and covered her mouth with her hand. Gunther and Hildy saw him too, and the dancing ceased.
“Good day.” Lord Hamlin nodded first to Rose, then to Gunther and Hildy.
Hildy snatched her hand away from Gunther’s and placed it behind her back. Though Rose and Hildy outnumbered Gunther two to one, they were all unmarried and, therefore, improperly chaperoned. Rose held her breath, waiting for Lord Hamlin’s reaction.
She swallowed. “Good day, Lord Hamlin. We were just teaching Hildy some dances.”
“I see.”
All the blood had drained from Hildy’s face. Her eyes had the look of a rabbit caught in a trap.
Finally, Lord Hamlin spoke. “I have my lute in my saddle bag. I could play for you.”
They all exhaled at once. Rose almost giggled.
“That is most gracious of you, my lord,” Gunther said.
Lord Hamlin disappeared from the doorway and returned moments later with the lute. “What dance were you practicing?”
“The Maltese Branle, my lord,” Gunther said.
Lord Hamlin looked down, adjusted his fingers on the instrument, and began to play the melody for the dance. Rose perched on the stool by the window. She tried to keep her eyes on the dancers. They did provide a delightful scene, since by now Hildy had learned the dance well. But Rose’s eyes were drawn over and over to Lord Hamlin. He stood against the wall, exuding easy confidence. She watched his hands move over the strings, his brow puckered in concentration. The music gave her an overwhelming feeling of joy. She told herself it had nothing to do with Lord Hamlin’s presence.
He seemed careful to look only at his lute, with an occasional glance at the dancers. Part of her felt relieved not to have to return his penetrating gaze.
The two dancers had eyes only for each other.
She sighed. How different would Lord Hamlin behave were he the son of a scribe, like Gunther, instead of the betrothed son of a duke? If he were free to give his attention to whomever he wanted, would he give it to her?
She scolded herself for even having such a thought.
Lord Hamlin came to the end of the song he was playing and Gunther suggested they move on to a new dance, since Hildy had mastered this one. Gunther held out his hand to Rose. “Will you help me demonstrate the steps?”
Rose felt self-conscious dancing with Gunther, wondering if Lord Hamlin was watching her, but she dared not look at him. She couldn’t help remembering how it had felt to dance with him and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. But no. He wouldn’t be.
And so the afternoon went. They even attracted a small crowd of children who stood in the doorway and watched, wide-eyed, as the dance lesson continued.
After several songs had been played and different dances practiced, Frau Geruscha walked in. She looked around the chamber.
Lord Hamlin stopped playing. “Frau Geruscha, good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Lord Hamlin.” A bemused smile came over her face—the one she always seemed to wear when Lord Hamlin was around.
“A dance lesson. I hope you don’t mind.” He turned to Gunther. “I suppose we should put an end to our frivolity.”
“Yes, my lord, quite so,” Gunther replied.
Frau Geruscha shook her head. “I don’t mind. How is your leg? Is it mending well?”
Gunther took advantage of Frau Geruscha’s and Lord Hamlin’s averted attention to whisper something to Hildy. Then, after grabbing the herbs for his mother, he took his leave of Rose and the healer and followed Lord Hamlin out the door to the courtyard.
Hildy’s face flushed as she turned to Rose. She threw her arms around her, buried her face in her shoulder, and squealed.
Rose sat at her desk in Frau Geruscha’s chamber, happily writing a new morality tale, a story about a man who cured his wife of her habit of complaining.
“Rose? Are you here?”
She looked up, her quill poised above the parchment, and smiled at the figure that appeared in the doorway. “Lady Osanna. Good morning.”
Lord Rupert stood just behind, peeking over his sister’s shoulder. Rose’s smile faltered.
Lady Osanna lifted her skirt and stepped inside. “Since it’s such a beautiful day, I thought you might go on a picnic with me. And Lord Rupert begged to come along. I hope you don’t mind.” She lifted her eyebrows hopefully. “Would you like to go?”
Lord Rupert waited beside her with an equally expectant expression.
Just then Frau Geruscha walked in from the storage room, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Frau Geruscha, good morning,” Lady Osanna said. “Would you like to go on a picnic with us?”
Frau Geruscha stared at Lord Rupert, her brows lowering. “Good morning, Lady Osanna, Lord Rupert.” She held the folds of her apron in her hands. After a long pause, she said, “I believe I shall not, today.”
Rose placed her quill in its stand and stood, quickly taking off her apron and smoothing her skirt with her palms. She breathed a sigh of relief that she’d worn her crimson dress and had put on her apron earlier that morning to protect it while she helped Frau Geruscha bandage a woman’s bad burn from a cooking fire. It wasn’t as fine as Lady Osanna’s damask gown, but it was one of her best.
She
smiled. “It sounds like a lovely idea.”
“Rose, wait,” Frau Geruscha said.
They all turned to look at her.
“May I speak with you?”
Rose followed Frau Geruscha into the storage room and stood waiting.
“Rose, I—” Frau Geruscha stopped, took a deep breath, and held it for a moment. She then exhaled and lowered her face, pressing the inside corners of her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and closed it again.
“What is it, Frau Geruscha?”
Frau Geruscha looked at her with pain in her eyes and took hold of Rose’s arm. “Lord Rupert is Duke Nicolaus’s son, but that doesn’t make him any different from other men. You have the option to say no to anything he asks, do you understand?”
Rose wondered why Frau Geruscha felt the need to remind her again of Lord Rupert’s reputation.
“Yes, Frau, of course. I won’t do anything foolish. I only want to be with Lady Osanna.”
Frau Geruscha looked at her for another moment then patted her arm. “Go on, then.”
Chapter
9
Rose and the noble sister and brother walked to a section of the meadow on the north side of the castle, opposite from where Lord Rupert had taken her riding. A stone fence separated them from the grazing area, where a boy guided a group of sheep with a stick. Wildflowers in shades of blue and purple carpeted the ground, and beech trees loomed on two sides.
Lady Osanna and Rose spread the wool blanket on the grass, then spread a smaller linen cloth on which they placed the food. Sitting together as they were, Rose was unable to separate herself from Rupert by more than a couple of handbreadths. Wolfie lay on the grass right beside her, his paw touching her leg. He kept his eyes on Lord Rupert.
The basket contained chunks of cooked pork, chicken, and cheese, bread and pastries, as well as toasted walnuts, raisins, and apples cut in quarters. A flask of wine completed the repast, along with a pewter cup that they all shared.
As they began to eat, Rupert picked up a large piece of pork and held it out to Wolfie. The dog pulled his head up and back, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Here, boy, take it.” Rupert tossed the chunk of meat at Wolfie’s front paw. Wolfie sniffed then wrapped his jowls around it. He chewed twice and swallowed.
“That’s right, see?” Lord Rupert said. “I’m your friend.”
Wolfie licked his black lips. Rupert picked out another nice-sized bite. He held it out, this time waiting until Wolfie inched forward and took the meat from his hand.
“I knew you would learn to like me,” Lord Rupert said with a satisfied grin, but his eyes settled on Rose when he said it.
They ate quietly. Rose didn’t eat with much appetite, aware as she was of Lord Rupert’s eyes on her. She was determined to act naturally, but Hildy’s words about him kept repeating in her head. “I think he’s in love with you…motives are being attributed to him which may not be his own…You have what every noble family wants.”
“Are you writing a new story, Rose?” Lady Osanna asked. “I saw you working on something in Frau Geruscha’s chamber.”
Rose turned to Lady Osanna. “Yes, a new one.”
“Oh, do tell us about it.”
Lord Rupert leaned in. “Do tell.”
Rose smiled and tucked her hands underneath her, trying not to fidget. “Well…it’s about a farmer whose wife constantly complains. She complains when it rains, she complains when it doesn’t. Either the chickens lay too many eggs, or not enough, and her bed is always too lumpy, until her husband decides to cure her of complaining.”
Rose smiled at the way their eyes were focused on her. The meadow around them was quiet except for the rustle of the leaves as the wind blew over the nearby trees.
“So one night after she goes to bed and falls asleep, her husband wraps himself in a white sheet and drapes a veil over his face. He lights three candles and holds them just in front of his chin so that his face appears to be glowing. He calls her name to wake her up. She sits up, clutching her throat, her eyes wide. He tells her he is the angel Gabriel and God has sent him to rebuke her for all her complaining. She must never complain again, for when she does, she will fall down dead on the spot. Instead, she must be thankful for rain and sunshine, food to eat, and a bed to lie in.”
“So what happens next?” Lady Osanna asked.
“The angel—her husband—commands her to lie down and go back to sleep. She falls onto her pillow and closes her eyes. The next morning is cloudy and misty. Her husband greets her with, ‘Good morning, good wife. It’s a lovely day, think ye?’ She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again. She says nothing for a long moment. Then she says, ‘So it is.’ She goes about her usual chores the entire day but doesn’t speak another word. Finally, that night, when they go to bed, she speaks.”
Rose paused again.
“What did she say?” Lord Rupert asked.
“She said, ‘I hope that angel comes back tonight so I can ask him what I’m supposed to say to my husband now. I can’t think of a single thing.’”
“Oh!” Lady Osanna clapped her hands.
Rose popped a shelled walnut into her mouth and looked down at her skirt, hoping she wasn’t blushing noticeably.
Lord Rupert smiled then laughed. His eyes sparkled and his voice was rife with enthusiasm. “That’s wonderful! You must finish writing it so I can read it to everyone.”
Rose brushed a piece of grass off her skirt, embarrassed at his praise.
“You have a gift for stories,” Lady Osanna said.
She shrugged. “It’s a short one.”
They continued eating while Lord Rupert and Lady Osanna discussed which of Rose’s stories was their favorite. After a few minutes, Lady Osanna said, “Lady Anne is sick a lot. Perhaps Frau Geruscha could prepare something, a remedy for her, some kind of herbal concoction that would make her stronger.”
“I’m sure she could.”
“She is so often tired. But I’m very happy Wilhelm asked her to come and stay with us for a while.”
“Wilhelm—I mean, Lord Hamlin—asked her to come?”
“He decided to send for her when I told him she was so lonely there at the abbey. Wilhelm handles a lot of decisions like that now. If something happens to Father, it will all fall on his shoulders anyway.” Lady Osanna sighed. “Sometimes I pity him.”
“Why?”
“He’s so serious. He won’t let himself forget his duties, even for a short while, and enjoy himself.”
Rose could have argued the point with her, remembering the way he’d played his lute all afternoon so Gunther and Hildy could dance.
“He never does anything solely for himself. He has a heavy sense of his responsibility. Don’t you think so, Rupert?”
“Yes, my brother’s a prude, a priest in layman’s clothing.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Lady Osanna glared. She leaned back on her hands and stared thoughtfully at the sky. “He’s…determined. And he would never break his word or do anything unchivalrous.”
“And he wants to make sure the rest of the family doesn’t, either.” Lord Rupert half closed his eyes and reached out to pet Wolfie, but the dog pulled back out of reach.
“True. He feels responsible for the family’s honor.”
What a heavy burden. But Lord Hamlin seemed capable of bearing it. Rose sensed he accepted his responsibilities almost with relish. Would they some day become cumbersome to him? She couldn’t imagine it. Rupert, on the other hand, would chafe under such a load of responsibility.
“Well, he isn’t responsible for me.” Lord Rupert stood up. He walked a few steps away and began picking the red-orange poppies that grew nearby.
“He’s always trying to find Moncore. He feels so accountable for his betrothed, for her safety. He’s never even met her, but he fully intends to marry her. I worry about him being too serious,” Lady Osanna said. “You understand my meaning, don’t you,
Rose?”
“I think I do.”
“You’re the oldest in your family, and you’ve been working with Frau Geruscha for a while now. Do you have that problem? Is it hard to throw off the mantle of responsibility every now and again?” She chewed absently on some raisins.
“Perhaps, but I don’t have a region to rule like your brother will. I’m sure he is quite capable of bearing the mantle of responsibility. I believe it makes him happy to do his duty, for the good of his people.”
“Yes, duty, that’s it. And you’re right. He’d never be happy if he shirked his duty, but…” Lady Osanna sighed. “I suppose he’ll be happy enough some day, when he’s married to Lady Salomea. It’s only the strain of trying to capture Moncore that weighs so heavily on him, I suppose.”
Rose was sure Osanna was right, but thinking of Lord Hamlin married to the unknown Lady Salomea cast a pall over her spirits. A dark cloud drifted over the sun, blocking its rays for the first time since they’d started on their little jaunt.
Lady Osanna watched Lord Rupert as he gathered a handful of flowers. “That’s a good idea. I could pick some flowers to decorate the table tonight.” Rising, she wandered away toward the assortment of pink, blue, and lavender wildflowers that covered the meadow.
Rose jumped up to help. As she leaned over, pinching off stems one by one, a leather boot came into view next to her. She straightened, tossing her hair over her shoulder and out of her eyes. Lord Rupert stood holding out a fistful of poppies, a big smile on his face.
“For you.”
Rose hesitated. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Wolfie with his nose buried in the grass, probably trying to sniff out a partridge or hare. Lady Osanna was also several feet away. She had fetched the food basket and was stuffing flowers into it.
The look in Lord Rupert’s eyes was so eager she couldn’t disappoint him. She reached out and took the handful of red poppies. He then wrapped his hand around the multicolored wildflowers she had gathered in her other hand, letting his fingers rest against her own for a moment. His chest, covered by his sleeveless crimson doublet, was at eye level and much too close. She took a step back.