Fairy Tale Romance Collection

  Gisela could hear people discussing whether Valten would come back to fight the rest of his opponents. Was he finished for the day? How many more challengers were waiting to fight him?

  “Gisela?”

  She turned to Cristyne, who was standing at Gisela’s left side. “Emeludt and I want to walk around. Will you come with us?”

  Was she allowed to leave her place while the tournament was still going on? “I think I should stay here.”

  “Valten was wonderful, wasn’t he?” Cristyne squeezed Gisela’s arm, her eyes wide.

  “Oh yes,” her cousin Emeludt agreed. “He is the bravest knight of all. I hope we will see him fight again.”

  Cristyne must have understood Gisela’s lack of excitement, for she said sympathetically, “I don’t think he is seriously injured, but if we find out anything, we will come back and tell you.”

  “I would be grateful.”

  “He looked very well when he smiled at his queen.” Cristyne winked.

  “Yes he did,” Gisela admitted. She clasped her new friend’s hand for a moment before watching Cristyne and her cousin go down the steps of the gallery and disappear into the crowd.

  Two more knights came out onto the field to fight, but Gisela felt little interest in it.

  Once, when she looked to her right, Evfemia and Irma were looking at her. They waved. Irma punched Contzel, who looked startled, and then she turned toward Gisela and smiled and waved too.

  A chill went down Gisela’s spine, but she gave them a stiff wave in return. Why were they pretending they were happy to see her? She was sure it did not bode well. But perhaps they wanted to be nice to her, hoping she would do something for them. Perhaps they would treat her kindly now that she had been singled out by Valten. Maybe they were even sorry for the way they’d treated her in the past.

  Such thinking was pure folly.

  After watching three more bouts of fighting, Gisela could hardly sit still. In the third one, they took off the defeated knight’s helmet as he lay on the ground. He was unconscious and bleeding from the nose, and he had to be carried off the field on a litter.

  Two more knights took the field. Cristyne came into view through the crowd and began climbing the steps toward Gisela.

  When Cristyne reached her, she said, “I saw a boy who knows Valten’s squire.” Cristyne paused to catch her breath. “He says the healer told Valten his left hand was broken and he shouldn’t fight any more today.”

  Poor Valten. He must be disappointed not to be able to finish the day. She hoped he wasn’t in too much pain.

  Cristyne swallowed, still trying to catch her breath. They clasped each other’s hands, and Gisela was thankful for the comfort of her friend’s small fingers.

  “But Valten says he will keep fighting.”

  “Oh no.” Gisela noticed people leaning toward them, trying to hear. So she leaned closer to Cristyne and lowered her voice. “How many more? What will he do about his hand?”

  “He is to fight two more challengers,” Cristyne whispered. “The healer will bind up his hand. He says he only needs that hand to hold the reins.”

  Gisela looked into Cristyne’s eyes and pretended her stomach wasn’t churning dangerously at the thought of how painful it would be to hold the reins with a broken hand.

  “Don’t worry.” Cristyne squeezed her hand. “He will be all right. He wouldn’t fight if he didn’t think he could win.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be all right.” Her voice sounded raspy as she tried to reassure herself. “Thank you, Cristyne. You are a true friend.”

  Cristyne smiled in that understanding way of hers, the tiny freckles wrinkling around her nose. “All will be well.” She leaned forward and whispered in Gisela’s ear. “And tomorrow night at the ball, you can see for yourself how well he is.”

  Gisela would love to dance with Valten again, but at the moment she only wanted him to be taken care of. If only he could survive these next two encounters without another serious injury.

  Chapter

  12

  When Valten came out to fight again, the crowd cheered for him as if he’d already won the tournament and been declared the day’s victor. And when his challenger came out, Gisela watched anxiously. Valten’s hand looked twice its normal size, at least partially due to the bandage covering it. He was once again mounted on Sieger.

  The marshal’s flag fell and the fight began. Valten and his opponent crossed swords several times. Then Valten forced the sword out of his opponent’s hand. Rather than dismounting to continue fighting, the other knight seemed to realize that he was severely outmatched, and also perhaps realized that by fighting an injured man he would not win the crowd over, and surrendered to Valten.

  Only one more battle.

  His last opponent came out — and Gisela almost groaned out loud. She’d hoped it would be someone inexperienced, an easy opponent, but Sir John, the Englishman whom everyone called the black and gold knight, would not be easily defeated.

  Still, Valten had surely fought with injuries before, had fought long and hard and been victorious. He could do it again.

  Valten and Sir John waited for the flag to drop. When it did, they moved their horses forward and met in the middle of the lists, both thrusting at the same time, clanging their blades together, maneuvering so that their horses were side by side and there was nothing between them except their own swords. The battle was fierce, and Valten was forced to sit slightly angled in his saddle.

  God, don’t let him lose his balance. He could injure his broken hand even worse if he fell. Sir John held on to the pommel with his left hand to help himself stay in the saddle, but Valten did not do the same.

  They continued to cross swords, parrying each strike. How much longer could they both go on? Sometimes one seemed to be getting the better of the other, then it was the opposite. They were quite evenly matched. Perhaps the black and gold knight’s horse would make a wrong step and throw him off balance, or he would grow tired and make a mistake.

  The longer they fought, the more the crowd yelled encouragement to the combatants. Sir John unleashed a flurry of fast thrusts and strikes, forcing Valten to make Sieger sidestep away, but the black knight kept striking, faster and faster, until Valten was hard-pressed to parry his blows. He had Valten’s sword pinned against his breastplate.

  Gisela could hear them talking to each other as they were locked in this position, but she could not make out the words. “Please help him, God,” Gisela whispered, not caring if anyone heard her or saw her concern. She pressed her clasped hands against her chin and prayed, never taking her eyes off Valten, trying not even to blink.

  Valten pushed, moving Sir John off of him until they were in the opposite position, with Valten’s sword holding his opponent’s sword down on his chest, and Valten leaning his weight against the black and gold knight.

  Sir John began to slide backward off his saddle, and he wrapped his free hand around Valten’s neck. The black knight fell on his back and took Valten with him, with Valten falling on top of him.

  They both struggled to get up. Then Valten pushed himself onto his feet. He fought the black and gold knight with his left hand out to his side, while the black knight was on his back, fighting with both hands on his sword hilt. But he was at a great disadvantage lying on his back, and soon Valten sent his sword flying beyond his reach. Sir John was defeated, and he surrendered.

  The crowd cheered like hysterical children, throwing their arms around each other and jumping up and down. Gisela’s arms went limp with exhaustion and relief. He did it! She pressed her lips together so no one would see them tremble.

  Cristyne was jumping up and down and screaming. First she hugged her cousin, then she turned to Gisela and squealed, raising her hands over her head.

  Gisela embraced her new friend, but she didn’t think a queen was supposed to jump up and down. Besides, she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her.

  When Valten reached his tent, Frau Lena, t
he healer, was waiting for him. The pain in his hand was so bad, his head was spinning. He thanked God he’d made it through the last battle without disgracing himself by fainting.

  A tub of water had been brought into his tent, and the entrance was secured behind him. He allowed the attendants and his squire to take off his armor and undress him and help him into the tub. Frau Lena gave him some herbal drink. He didn’t ask her what it was; he didn’t care. He drank it all, then relaxed in the warm water. He began drifting away. But pain brought him fully awake again. Someone was unwrapping his bandage. He opened his eyes enough to see Frau Lena leaning over him.

  “Just rest,” she said. “I need to make sure the swelling isn’t getting worse and making the binding too tight.”

  His hand throbbed. He knew she was trying to be careful, but every movement, no matter how slight, sent sharp pains shooting through his hand.

  “I shall bind it with a splint I made from pieces of wood.”

  He wanted to tell her he didn’t care, just hurry and finish, but he was so weary he decided not to talk. He tried to think about how good the water felt. A servant was bathing his face, and he kept his eyes closed, imagining it was Gisela’s gentle, soft hands bathing his face.

  If only he could fall asleep and remain so until he awoke in his bed tomorrow. His hand would feel better by then. And he could bask in his victory—of this, his last tournament.

  Though she stayed for the rest of the tournament battles, Gisela didn’t pay attention to who defeated whom. She was thinking of Valten, wondering when she would see him again. Of course, she was invited to the ball, but that wasn’t until tomorrow evening. Would she be able to spend the night with Margaretha again? She didn’t dare go home. Perhaps Ava would let her sleep in one of her spare rooms. It was at least an hour’s walk away, which Gisela could easily do, but in this dress? And alone?

  Perhaps she could stay with Cristyne. Gisela had almost made up her mind to ask her when Margaretha started up the steps toward her.

  “Did you see Valten win?” Margaretha squealed.

  “He was magnificent,” Gisela gushed, almost laughing with joy. He must be well if his sister was smiling.

  “He will be tired and hurting, but happy because he won.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No, but I’m sure he is well. It is only a broken bone in his hand. He has had worse. Nothing to worry about. He will be quite ready to see you tomorrow, you can be sure.” Margaretha grinned.

  The tournament ended and Duke Wilhelm stood and proclaimed Valten the victor of the second day’s battles as well. The crowd cheered, but not quite as enthusiastically as before, as Valten did not come out on the field to take his victory ride around the lists. Duke Wilhelm spoke a blessing over the crowd and bid them a good night, as it was late and soon would be dark.

  Gisela looked around and saw Margaretha was still beside her, but her back was turned as she was speaking to a young woman on her other side. Cristyne was starting to leave with her cousin. She turned and waved at Gisela. Gisela waved back, deciding not to ask her new friend if she could go home with her after all.

  Margaretha turned back to Gisela and took her arm. “I can hardly wait to see you and Valten dancing together tomorrow night. It will be —”

  “Gisela!”

  Her heart froze as an icy chill raced across her shoulders.

  “Gisela!” Her stepmother’s unmistakable voice.

  Margaretha stopped and turned around, and Gisela was forced to do the same.

  “Gisela, dear.” Evfemia was smiling, actually smiling at her. The friendly look chilled her blood worse than the darkest scowl. What could she be scheming?

  Margaretha smiled back, completely unsuspecting.

  “Gisela, my dear, aren’t you coming with your family?” Irma was flashing a sinister grin, and Contzel’s mouth was hanging open, her eyes wide and bulging.

  Gisela almost said, What family? She looked at Margaretha, silently begging for help. But Margaretha only seemed to be waiting for an introduction.

  “Lady Margaretha, please allow me to present my stepmother, Evfemia Mueller, and her two daughters, Irma and Contzel.”

  “My lady.” Evfemia bowed low. Irma and Contzel curtsied.

  Margaretha clasped her hands in front of her chest. “How lovely to meet Gisela’s family. You all must come to the ball tomorrow night.”

  “You are too kind,” Evfemia purred. “Please do give your mother and father our greetings and well wishes. You must be so proud of your brother Valten. He has fought well.”

  “And you must be so proud of Gisela, our Queen of Beauty and Love.”

  Evfemia’s smile faltered.

  “I am so delighted with her,” Margaretha went on. “I do hope to call her my sister some day. But I suppose I shouldn’t be saying such things. I will embarrass poor Gisela.”

  Yes, and cause Evfemia a fit of fury.

  Evfemia recovered well, only turning a slight shade of green, and she seemed to have difficulty swallowing. When she was able to speak again, she said, “We must go home now. Come, Gisela.” Evfemia held out her hand to Gisela.

  Gisela turned desperate eyes on Margaretha.

  Margaretha said, “I was about to ask if Gisela could sleep in my chamber again tonight, but if you need her to go home …”

  “I’m sure my stepmother can spare me,” Gisela said quickly.

  “No, in fact I can’t spare you, Gisela.” Evfemia’s eyes glinted. “I need you home with me. Come, come, we will be back tomorrow,” she sang out cheerfully, a cheer that no one except Gisela would suspect held a cartload of malice.

  “Very well, then,” Margaretha said. “I shall see you tomorrow, my queen.” She gave Gisela a quick curtsy, then hugged her.

  Don’t leave me! The words were on Gisela’s lips, but she didn’t want Valten’s sister to think she was crazed. She held on to her composure. Besides, what could she say? How could she avoid going home with her stepmother without causing a disturbance and embarrassing herself and Margaretha — and enraging her stepmother?

  As Valten’s sister pulled away, Gisela stared at her, pleading with her to read her thoughts, but Margaretha only turned to speak to the guard who had been watching over Gisela all day.

  The guard nodded, took one last long look at Gisela and her stepmother, then followed behind Margaretha through the crowd toward Hagenheim Castle.

  “Let us be on our way, Gisela.” Evfemia’s voice was almost normal, almost friendly, almost the voice she used with her own two daughters.

  Slowly, Gisela faced her. Her expression looked downright pleasant. It was terrifying.

  “Come.” She motioned at Gisela with her hand and started down the steps, but when Gisela didn’t follow her, she said, “You aren’t afraid of your own stepmother, are you? Come, we must go home. The roads will be crowded and you must get your sleep so you can be ready for the ball tomorrow night. We must all be ready, as we were all invited. Didn’t you hear?”

  Chapter

  13

  Was Evfemia sincere? Did she now want to show respect to Valten’s “Queen of Beauty and Love”? Had she decided to truly be kind, at least on the outside? Gisela didn’t dare believe it. Nevertheless, she followed her stepmother and stepsisters across the grassy slope toward their carriage.

  Surely Evfemia wouldn’t harm her with the duke’s family all expecting her to come to the ball tomorrow night. She was the tournament queen, after all. Even Evfemia wouldn’t dare keep her away.

  Was she foolish to think that?

  She walked slightly behind the three as they made their way down the steps and across the lists. Irma and Contzel kept taking peeks over their shoulders at Gisela, like skittish horses spying something moving in the grass. Were they only biding their time until they got her into the carriage? Would they make her walk home after all? They’d never let her ride in the carriage before.

  Soon they found Wido with the horses, waiting patiently. G
isela and Wido exchanged glances. His eyes were wide and curious, and darted briefly at her stepmother waiting by the door.

  “After you, my dear.” She graciously allowed Gisela to enter the carriage ahead of her.

  Gisela hesitated, but afraid of angering Evfemia, she stepped onto the first step, then the second, and entered the carriage and sat down on the seat cushion.

  Her stepmother came in next, then Irma, both of them sitting across from Gisela. Contzel took the only remaining seat next to Gisela.

  She studied their faces, trying not to stare. What was their plan? She suspected by the look on Contzel’s face that she was wondering the same thing, while Evfemia and Irma wore smug expressions. Wido’s weight made the carriage sway as he climbed onto his perch and started the horses forward.

  The silence was like a fifth person inside the carriage, taking up all the breathable air. Gisela stared out the tiny window, but she couldn’t seem to focus on anything, and out of the corner of her eye she watched for any sign of violence from her stepmother.

  “My dear.” Evfemia broke the silence, still sounding as she had in front of Margaretha. “We are so proud of you. It is quite an honor to be chosen by the duke’s own son to be the tournament queen.”

  Since when had she ever been proud of Gisela? When had she ever said a kind word to her? If Evfemia thought Gisela would forget all her cruelty and injustice since her father died, she was mistaken.

  Gisela gave her a blank stare, the one she used when she didn’t want Evfemia knowing what she was thinking.

  “I know I haven’t always been as kind to you as I could have, but you didn’t make it easy for me, either.” Evfemia raised her eyebrows, as though the truth of her statement were indisputable. “You were always so hostile to me and my girls, from the first day we entered your father’s house.”