“Sweet on him, aren’t you?” Berta snorted.
Had she been smiling? Hastily, Lenora rearranged her expression to one of sober reflection. “You don’t understand, Berta.”
“Oh, don’t I?” Berta said loftily. “I’m guessing that’s why you insisted on getting all dressed up last night. Am I right?” A knowing glint flashed in her eye.
“Well… yes,” Lenora admitted after a moment’s pause. “But it’s not what you think.”
“You… er… let him see your face, did you?” Berta asked with feigned casualness.
“Of course,” Lenora replied coolly. “It would hardly be fair not to.”
“Not fair?” The older woman’s eyebrows rose. “All’s fair in love and war, least that’s what I’m told.”
“Neither apply in this case,” Lenora hastened to assure her with some amusement.
“Humph! Why did you bother putting all those layers over your face, then?” asked a clearly skeptical Berta.
“Oh, that wasn’t for his benefit,” Lenora explained. “But for casual onlookers. I don’t see why I should be expected to provide a sideshow for them.” Even she could hear the bitterness in the last few words. She strove for a lighter tone. “You see Berta, before the pox, my face used to be quite a sight to behold” The words came out rather dryer than she intended.
Berta shrugged. “I gathered that much from the way your kin carried on,” she admitted. She set her yarn down. “And?” she asked pointedly.
“And?”
“What did he say?” Berta demanded curiously.
“He?” Lenora was momentarily thrown.
“Your sweetheart,” Berta said with clear exasperation.
“Oh!” Lenora struggled a moment with her impulse to protest the term. “He…er… he said my face isn’t so bad.”
“Did he indeed,” Berta spluttered. “That must be that courtly chivalry they talk so much about.”
Lenora shot a suspicious look at the old woman’s bland expression. Was she being sarcastic? “Oh, yes,” she agreed smoothly. After all, it wouldn’t do to explain that Garman was marrying her purely for mercenary reasons. After all, what if Berta didn’t come with them, and repeated the tale for the ears of others? “He—um—said he could live perfectly well with it.”
“Good of him,” sniffed Berta.
“Yes,” Lenora murmured in agreement. “I thought so.”
5
It was the next night when Lenora emerged from the shadows in the dark courtyard for her assignation with Garman Orde. She easily made out his bulk as he moved stealthily along the stables, though he moved with remarkable quiet and a sort of grace which surprised her. He halted on catching sight of her, and she saw he was now leading his own massive charger and her own palfrey behind him. She had seen him dip in and out of the stalls but had not realized he had saddled and collected their horses en route. She was impressed, though of course, they could not ride on two horses. Not when she had Berta and her cats to think of.
“I’m afraid,” she assured him in a loud whisper. “That two horses won’t be enough. I have my things with me and my servant Berta.”
“And I don’t ride,” Berta cut in mutinously. “So, you needn’t think I’m climbing atop one of those brutes!”
Lenora watched his gaze flicker over the basket Berta bore with ill-concealed annoyance. And he hadn’t even seen the two sacks of clothes and things that Lenora had dragged down with her yet.
“Are all these sundries strictly necessary to you?” he asked scathingly. “We’ve a three-day ride and will be slowed down considerably by taking a cart.” He spoke the last word with deepest contempt.
Lenora lifted her veils to stress her point. “Strictly necessary, yes,” she said with emphasis. “And once we are outside the capital, the speed of our progress will not matter overmuch.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I do not anticipate we will be pursued. I have left my father a letter saying I have eloped but giving no clue as to my destination or betrothed.”
Garman’s gaze snapped to hers. “A letter?” he repeated with disgust, shaking his head. “I might have known! Women. You can never have enough fuss made, can you?”
“I could hardly disappear without leaving word for my family,” Lenora pointed out reasonably. “That would have caused great perturbation indeed. This way, father will be alarmed, but will not find it necessary to send out soldiers looking for me. I said I would send him word as soon as I was settled.”
A scornful look still on his face, Garman turned on his heel and marched back to the stables. Lenora watching him, noticed his gait was a little stiff. Of course, he had been competing today. She wondered if his mood had been affected by a crushing defeat, or if he was simply bad-tempered. She suspected the latter.
“Huh!” muttered Berta. “Vastly pretty manners, ain’t he?”
Now that, thought Lenora, was definitely sarcasm. She did not reply, but instead fussed with her head-dress, pulling her veils back down again to conceal her face.
When Orde emerged some ten minutes later, he led a plodding horse and cart behind him. Waiting until they drew level, Lenora turned to take the basket from Berta. “You climb up first, Berta, and then I’ll pass the cats up to you.”
Berta picked up the two sacks of clothes and belongings, flung them into the back of the wagon. Then she clambered up into the seat. Lenora waited until she was comfortable and then passed the basket up.
Berta placed it on the floor at her feet. “Safer down there,” she explained.
Lenora turned to find Garman stood directly behind her. “Oh,” she said in startled tones. He was very light on his feet for such a large male.
“I can’t speak to you,” he said irritably, “when your face is covered like that.”
Lenora whisked up the veils. “What is it?” she asked, surprised that he should desire speech with her at all.
“You intend to take your horse?” he asked, glancing toward Brunnhilde.
“Yes, I’m going to ride her. I’m a fair horse-woman.”
He shook his head. “You’re not thinking this through. The west gate is guarded, same as all the other gates to the palace. You need to be up on the cart beside your servant. We can secure your horse to mine and it can follow along behind me.”
“Why?” asked Lenora in startled accents.
“If a lady rides out of the castle at dead of night, on a fine horse like that, wearing a fine dress like yours and a veil, the guards are going to remember it. They may even challenge your leaving.”
Lenora chewed her lip, considering this. “I see,” she said after a moment’s pause. “Then what do you suggest? About my dress, I mean. And my…” she hesitated. “… veil.” He was looking at her now in a speculative fashion she realized. Now why was that?
“I say your servant gives you her cloak to cover up your gown, and you take off the head-dress.” With an effort, Lenora managed to bite back the objections that sprang to her lips. “If challenged, I tell the guards you’re my servants,” Garman said with a shrug. “Accompanying me back home after the tournament.”