Affrais has a new groom

Angharat’s pretty mare was already saddled and waiting outside for her, but Affrais’s horse was nowhere to be seen.

“What’s this?” she cried to no one in particular. “Why isn’t my horse saddled?”

The groom at the head of Ana’s horse shrugged and waved a hand at the stable door.

Affrais scowled and stomped inside. She rather liked the clatter her new boots made on the cobblestones, and this was not a bad opportunity to display it. On the other hand, she had been hoping to show off the boots themselves from horseback, and she did not intend to be denied this pleasure.

“Oh!” She stopped short, aghast at the sight of her horse’s head hanging lazily over the stall door. “She’s not even been taken out yet!”

“That’ll be my fault, my lady, beg pardon,” a dirty groom said as he swung down from the loft. He bowed gracelessly before her and then said brightly, “I was just about to do that, right!”

She cringed away from his crude accent, his coarse clothing, his grimy face, his stubbly beard, his—

Oh! Those eyes! Those emerald eyes next to which hers were no fairer than pools of mashed peas!

He winked at her as he saw her astonishment, but he did not smile. “Don’t look at me,” he whispered, “don’t talk to me, only stand and listen.”

She turned her back to him and listened as he led the mare out of her stall.

Between oaths and endearments for the animal, he whispered, “Will you be at the St. Bartholomew’s fair? Simply shake your head or nod slowly.”

She nodded slowly, trying to make it seem as if she were only thinking about something that had nothing to do with horses, stables, grooms, or St. Bartholomew’s fair.

“I can take you away with me then, if you want me. Your uncle will not have me.”

He walked away from her a moment. Her head continued its slow nod on its own. She did not understand. No… she thought she did understand, but she could not believe.

She heard the jingle of the bridle when he returned.

“The Bishop of Durham is a friend of mine,” he continued softly. “I can take you there to be married. Then we shall see.”

She heard the horse’s mouth close over the bit.

“I think Sigefrith will be sympathetic, for he did something foolish to marry the woman he loved when he was my age. If he is not, I have many friends on the continent, and I have my sword. I haven’t time to tell you how I love you, and this is not how I should have liked to have asked for your hand. I’ve had to fight and struggle for everything I’ve had, and it seems I must get my wife in the same way, but it’s my one chance at happiness, and I shall fight and struggle to take it. If only you’ll have me.”

He left again to get the saddle. Now it was quite clear what he was asking. It was true she had thought and dreamt of nothing but him since she had met him… it was true she had thought he had looked upon her with special favor… but she had not thought nor even dared to dream he loved her so.

“Will you attend Mass at the church on the Assumption Day?” he whispered after he had flung the saddle on the mare’s back.

“Of course,” she whispered and turned her face towards him.

“Shhh! Only nod. Do you always wear your hair loose? When you go to Mass?”

She nodded slowly. Now she did not understand.

“Then listen closely. I shall be in the church that day,” he explained as he worked. “If I see that you have worn your hair braided or bound, I shall know that you love me, and you agree to come with me. Then you need only attend the fair, and stay with your ladies—or better still, alone or only with your sister—and I shall come for you. We shall talk further if I may see you again, but I fear your uncle will not allow it. It will be enough if only you are dressed to fly on that day, and if you do not hesitate when I come for you.”

Now she didn’t know whether to nod or shake her head, to laugh or smile or cry.

“Perhaps I am only a fool,” he whispered after he had cinched the girth tight. “Perhaps you never thought of me at all. Certainly I do not deserve you. If you do not care for me, simply wear your hair loose on Sunday and I shall leave you in peace. Do not betray me to your uncle. But I do not think you would be so cruel to a man who loves you, though he be fool.”

“But, Baldwin…” she whispered and turned her profile to him again.

“Hush! You may consider my offer until Sunday. I am not a wealthy man, but I have my sword, and I have many friends. I have been abroad since I was ten, and lived in many courts in many countries, but I have never met a woman I wanted for wife before you. Consider that, also.” Then he asked aloud, “May I help you mount?” with that rustic accent again and another awkward bow. “My lady? Beg pardon?”

She turned to him at last, and tried to tell him with her eyes what she could not find the words to say. Again he winked at her, and this time he smiled.