Violet Eyes

  Violet jumped up from the table, grabbing an apple as she did so.

  Outside the house Violet could see a horse standing a ways off, his head bent toward something on the ground she couldn’t quite see. William and Thomas both trotted toward the horse, and Violet had to run to keep up. When they drew close, she saw a man crumpled on the ground.

  The horse touched the man with his nose before turning toward them and stamping his feet angrily. His ears were swept back along his head, and his eyes glared wickedly. Violet sucked in her breath. The horse was magnificent. She had never seen his like. His dark gray skin was stretched over massive muscles. His mane and tail were black as night. He was no common plow horse, nor the kind of riding horse owned by a messenger, nor a cart horse owned by anyone in the village.

  Her eyes traveled from the horse to his master, who lay on the ground, his rich clothes covered with mud. A shock of black hair as dark as the horse’s mane topped a pale face. What looked like dried blood matted part of the hair and had been smeared across his cheek.

  Thomas took a step forward, and the horse became more agitated and screamed what seemed a warning. The horse reared and came back down with such force that the ground shook.

  “Careful—if we upset the horse, he might trample his master,” William said.

  “Then what are we going to do?” Thomas asked.

  “Let me try,” Violet said. She turned and walked several paces away from Thomas and her father. She turned back and saw the horse staring at her, one ear flicking forward curiously. Violet stared back at the horse and then slowly extended her hand, holding the apple she had taken from the table.

  Now both ears pricked forward, and the great beast regarded Violet with intense interest. He shifted his weight from one front hoof to the other as though trying to make a decision. Then, slowly, the horse moved away from his master and began to walk toward her, his desire for the apple outweighing his suspicion.

  “You want this apple, Sir Horse?” she asked. The horse’s bearing was so regal Violet fought the urge to curtsy to him. It seemed absurd, but it was as though the horse knew he was her better and was deigning to acknowledge her presence only because of the apple.

  “Well then, good sir, you will have to show fine manners,” she said.

  The horse paused a couple of steps from Violet, but she did not move. Finally, he came forward and took the apple out of her hand. After he had crunched it down, he nuzzled her, clearly looking for more.

  “I don’t have any more, but I can get you some apples if you come with me,” Violet said. She placed her hand on his nose, and he allowed the contact, stepping forward to lip at her skirts.

  Violet slid her hand under his muzzle and gathered the reins loosely in her hand. Then she slid her other hand onto his neck and slowly began to pull the reins over his head so that they hung down from his mouth. Finally, Violet took a firmer hold on the end of the reins. Now she could lead him to the barn.

  Violet glanced past the horse and saw that her father and Thomas were lifting the injured man between them. She stroked the horse’s nose and then took a step toward the barn. The horse stood still for a moment before rearing up. Violet let the reins slide through her hands, but she didn’t let go. His hooves crashed back down to the ground.

  “Are you done showing off?” she asked, giving a slight tug on the reins. The horse stood stubbornly for a minute before taking a reluctant step forward, then another.

  Violet turned to face the barn, and he followed. Behind her she could hear her father and Thomas talking.

  “I ain’t never seen a traveler dressed as him,” Thomas said. “Who do you reckon he is?”

  “A nobleman on his way to the castle, or a churchman, maybe.”

  A nobleman, definitely, Violet thought, glancing again at the horse. As they neared the barn, the stallion picked up his pace and began to nicker. From inside the barn Bessie, their mare, answered. The stallion jumped forward, nearly yanking Violet’s arm from its socket. He plunged into the barn toward the stall where Bessie stood stretching her head out toward him. The horse’s shoulder struck Violet, nearly knocking her over. She realized that within moments she would lose all control over him.

  With all her strength Violet yanked hard on the reins. The stallion paused, startled, and turned to look at her. She pulled hard, and he followed her into the stall next to Bessie’s. Violet turned him around, and then he began to kick. His mighty hooves crashed into the wall of the barn with a resounding thud. Violet hooked a finger into the buckle securing his bridle. Releasing it, she stepped out of the stall in one swift motion. The bridle slid off, and Violet closed the door just as he lunged toward her. The horse kicked the closed door, and Violet took a shaky breath.

  “When you’ve calmed yourself, maybe we can get that saddle off,” she told him while carefully hanging up his bridle. “I’ll come back later and bring more apples like I promised.”

  Violet closed the barn door on her way out but could still hear the horse’s persistent whinnies. She only hoped his master wouldn’t be as much trouble once he was awake.

  Thinking of the man she had seen, Violet’s heart caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt that his appearance on the heels of the storm was not a coincidence. Violet walked toward the house, her steps sure but her heart fluttering beneath her breast.

  Inside the house there was a flurry of activity. Violet entered and then pressed her back to the door to keep out of the way as she took in the scene.

  The man was lying on her bed. He was dressed in a warm, clean shirt and pair of pants that she recognized as belonging to her father. The man’s sodden, filthy clothes lay in a pile in the corner.

  Violet’s mother had set to work washing the wound on the man’s head, and he groaned but didn’t wake up. She glanced up and, seeing Violet, motioned her over.

  “Here, wash away the blood and dirt as best you can. I’ll see what I can do with his clothes. Once he’s clean, bundle him up so he doesn’t catch a chill. Poor man was probably lying out there all night. I’m heating stew that he can eat when he wakes.”

  “Where’d you put the horse, lass?” William asked.

  “In the stall next to Bessie. I got his bridle off, but he was too wild for me to try and take off his saddle. I figured maybe he would calm down and I could try again in a couple of hours,” she said. Her father nodded approval.

  Violet seated herself on her bed next to the stranger, taking the damp cloth and the washbasin from her mother. She applied the cloth to his forehead and marveled as she got a closer look at him. The man had a strong face with a broad brow, straight nose, and chiseled jaw. She memorized the lines of his face as she bathed it.

  It took a while to loosen the blood and dirt from his hair, but eventually she finished. Violet was relieved to see that the cut, while long, was not deep. She bade her father come look at it. William examined the wound for a minute before straightening with a satisfied look on his face.

  “He should come through just fine,” William said, “long as he doesn’t get the chill. Bundle him up.”

  Violet did as she was told and wrapped several thick warm blankets around the man, tucking them in around his feet. As she finished, the man began to mutter. She leaned close but could only make out one word he was saying over and over. She stood slowly, puzzled and wondering why the word “sensitive” was so important to him.

  At last there was nothing left to do but wait until the stranger awoke. William went outside to tend the fields. And armed with three apples Violet headed to the barn.

  Violet was relieved to discover that the stallion had calmed himself considerably. He even looked glad to see her, although she was sure that had more to do with the apples she was carrying than with her. Violet set two of them down outside the stall and held the third out to him as a peace offering. He took it from her and munched happily as Violet slipped into the stall.

  The horse stood still and let her take off his saddle.
After she had put it away, she returned to his stall with a brush. He flicked his tail contentedly as she brushed out his coat. She also cleaned the packed dirt out of his hooves. The stallion seemed to be in good shape, so whatever accident had befallen his rider had left him unaffected. Finished, Violet offered the horse the second apple. A small whinny from Bessie led Violet to rub the mare’s nose and give her the third apple, a rare treat that the mare relished.

  “Well, good sir and lady, that’s the last of the apples for the day,” Violet told them. She forked some hay into a feeding trough for each of them. When she was satisfied that the visitor had been made as comfortable as possible, Violet headed back to the house.

  “How’s he doing?” Violet asked her mother, who was busy cleaning the kitchen.

  “Better. I think he’s going to wake soon,” her mother said. “Go keep an eye on him.”

  Dutifully, Violet pulled a chair up next to her bed and watched the stranger. He was stirring, and after a minute his eyelids fluttered open to reveal beautiful dark green eyes.

  Prince Richard groaned as he began to wake up to find that his head was pounding fiercely. He was dimly aware of being indoors and of lying on something that was only marginally softer than the ground he had landed on. He forced his eyes open and blinked rapidly, trying to focus his vision. When everything grew clear, he saw the anxious face of a girl sitting near him.

  She was very beautiful, in a wild sort of way. Her skin was deeply tanned, indicating that she spent a lot of time outdoors. Long honey-colored hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her smile was genuine, and it lit up her face. Most amazing, though, were her eyes. They were a strange, pale shade of purple, and they stared at him with as much curiosity as he was feeling about her. As Richard stared back at the girl, her lovely eyes seemed to widen.

  “Is it you?” she whispered, so low he almost didn’t hear her.

  Richard blinked, not sure what she meant. “Who are you?” he asked, for the moment more interested in that than in knowing where he was.

  “Violet,” she answered simply. “And you are?”

  The question took him somewhat by surprise. “Richard, of course,” he said.

  A glimmer of recognition flickered in her eyes, but before either of them could say anything more, a man appeared, a farmer by his look.

  “Well, here you are, awake,” the man boomed in a deep voice.

  “So it would seem,” Richard answered. “Although I’m not altogether sure where ‘here’ is.”

  The man laughed a deep rumble that seemed to shake the room. “You’re in my home, and welcome. I’m William. We found you and your horse out in my field. This here is my daughter, Violet. My wife, Sarah, is fetching you some hot soup.”

  If he had been another man, Richard might have corrected William. William was a farmer, but the fields he tended did not belong to him. They belonged to the king, as did all the other land in the kingdom. But there was something so earnest and good-natured about William that Richard let it go. The man meant no offense and clearly took his job seriously. Instead Richard asked, “How’s Baron?”

  “Who?” William asked, looking puzzled.

  “My horse. Is he hurt?”

  “He’s fine,” the girl, Violet, assured him. “He was very upset at first, but he has calmed down and is eating now.”

  “That’s a relief. Thank you for looking after him.”

  “It was no trouble, really,” Violet said.

  “So, traveler, where do you hail from?” William asked.

  Richard smiled. “From here, from Cambria. I have been on a long journey, and I am on my way home. I was heading for the village to look for lodging when my horse fell in a patch of mud. I think I struck my head on something.”

  Richard wasn’t sure why he wanted to put off telling them he was the prince. He supposed that it was because it was strange and somewhat pleasurable to have this simple man talk to him so honestly, so bluntly, as one man to another and not as a subject to his sovereign.

  “You did. There was a stone next to you when we found you. I’ve sent to town for Father Paul. He’s a priest, but he knows a fair bit about doctoring animals and people, too. He should be here soon.”

  “You didn’t have to go to that trouble.”

  “ ’Twere no trouble. I reckon you’re going to be fine, but it doesn’t hurt to have him take a look. It wouldn’t do to let a nobleman die in my house, would it?”

  And there it was. The subtle question about who Richard was, though William realized that it was not his place to demand such an answer from a man of higher rank. Richard mustered a smile. “No, it wouldn’t. And if that nobleman happened to be Prince Richard, it would be especially troublesome.”

  William gasped, and there was the sound of breaking pottery as Sarah dropped the bowl of stew she was carrying. The girl, Violet, just sat quietly, having already guessed that he was that Richard.

  “Forgive me, Your Highness,” William said when he found his voice. “I meant no disrespect by speaking with you so familiar.” He dropped clumsily to his knees and bowed.

  Richard put out his hand and touched William’s shoulder. “Arise, honorable William. You have done me no discourtesy. It is I who should apologize to you for not having made myself known sooner. And I’m afraid I gave your good lady a fright. I shall be happy to pay for the broken bowl and for the inconvenience I have brought upon you all.”

  “No, what is ours is yours,” William said, rising back to his feet. Violet rose to take a fresh bowl of stew from her mother and hand it to Richard. Then she went to sweep up the broken bits of pottery while Sarah mopped up the spilled soup.

  The broth was hot, and it felt good sliding down Richard’s throat. There was a bit of salt pork in it along with leeks, spinach, and cabbage. He also tasted some garlic. Altogether it was not very appetizing, but the emptiness in his stomach urged him to eat. “This is fine stew, milady, and thank you,” he said to Sarah.

  She blushed furiously and returned to her work.

  To William he said, “I know you have much work to do, and I don’t want to keep you. The last thing I want is to be a burden.”

  William bowed briefly and then headed outside, pausing at the door. “Violet, make sure and fetch him anything he needs,” he ordered.

  The girl nodded but said nothing.

  When Richard was finished eating, Violet took the bowl. “Would you like some more stew?” she asked.

  “Not now, thank you,” Richard said, lying down and closing his eyes. The bed was narrow and uncomfortably lumpy. Something was poking him in the back, but he was almost too tired to care.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Violet asked.

  He opened his eyes and looked up at her. Richard’s first impression had been right: She was very beautiful. She had an earnestness to her that was appealing.

  “I have been away from home for a long time. Please, sit and tell me news.”

  Violet sat down on the chair and clasped her hands together in her lap. “What would you like to hear?” she asked with a smile.

  “Everything,” the prince said, closing his eyes again. He heard a door open and close as the mother exited.

  “Well, the biggest news has been about your wedding.”

  “My what?” he asked, opening his eyes again.

  “Your wedding. They say you will marry on High Feast Day, four weeks from now.”

  Richard groaned slightly. “Do they say to whom?”

  “No, that seems something of a mystery,” the girl said, and then paused, clearly hoping that he would enlighten her.

  “At least they haven’t chosen anyone yet,” Richard remarked.

  “They?”

  “My parents.”

  “Then you have not been searching the world to find yourself a bride?” she asked inquisitively.

  Her boldness was surprising to him. Neither of her parents would have dared to question him like this. Maybe she was naïve, or maybe because they were c
lose in age she felt some sort of connection with him. Richard shifted slightly on the hard, little bed. Or maybe …

  “This is your bed, isn’t it?” he asked, opening his eyes again to try and catch her expression.

  She nodded solemnly. Richard wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. If he had had a similar mishap on the way to one of the kingdoms he had visited, any of the simpering princesses would have blushed to acknowledge that he had been placed in their room. A maiden’s room was private, a place where not even a father or brother would dare to disturb her.

  Richard could not have told what devil suddenly possessed him, but he stared at her and asked, “You live here still because none wish to marry you?”

  Violet looked at him oddly for a moment before understanding lit her eyes. Richard expected her to blush, but instead all the color drained from her face, leaving her pale and shaking with rage. Richard stared into her blazing eyes and for one moment thought that she was going to strike him. He tensed, but instead of delivering the blow Violet rose hastily to her feet, knocking over the chair.

  He reached out and caught her hand, instantly sorry for what he had said. “Forgive me; I am not myself. It was a bad jest, and I should not have uttered it. No doubt you have many suitors.”

  She stared down at him, her limbs still shaking and her eyes flaying him alive. And in that moment something told Richard that had he not been a prince, she would have struck him.

  “I am sorry, truly. I do not feel quite well, and talk of my wedding upset me.”

  At that, Violet seemed to relax. But she didn’t move, and Richard kept hold of her hand. A long minute passed, and neither of them stirred. Finally, Violet gave a little sigh, and Richard let go of her hand. She righted the chair, then hesitated. “I should let you rest.”

  “Please, don’t go. At least allow me to explain.”

  She sat slowly, warily. “Why are you so upset about your wedding?”

  “You were right: I have been searching the world for a bride. However, it is my parents’ choice as to which princess I shall marry. I have delivered my parents’ invitation to many kings, inviting their daughters to my home. There my parents plan to test the ladies, because it is a royal decree that I marry a girl of the greatest delicacy, the greatest sensitivity.”