across it to bar access. Claire sat up at the sounds, her pretty blue eyes rounded with fear in the darkness of the chamber. Leonie quietly walked to the corner of the room where her bow andquiver leaned against the wall, strung the bow, and gathered the arrows in her hand, prepared to shoot them all if she must.
Claire took one arrow and held it like a dagger.
The noises ceased. After a few moments, Claire returned to the bed, but Leonie stayed near the far wall, waiting.
When the sun rose, the knights of the Warrior of God rode out, much as the Peregrine and his knights had done the morning before. All Leonie could think was that she wished she had not been so arrogant with Philippe le Peregrine. Even if he wouldn’t choose to marry her.
As she had every day since Sigge had cut his foot, Leonie went to the modest blacksmith’s quarters within the castle’s lower bailey. And every day, right in front of both Sigge’s parents, she had swiftly traced her thumb over the wound as if merely touching it.
Days before, Harald’s wife had returned Leonie’s veil, carefully soaked and cleaned of the last trace of blood, presenting it to her meekly, as if she had personally caused great harm to the lady’s fine possession, and this day Leonie wore that same veil with pride. Leonie was as fond of Gerdrund and Harald as she was of Sigge.
“I can walk now, Leonie,” Sigge said, his squeaky voice rising as if he pleaded.
His mother turned a beseeching look on Leonie.
“Nay,” Leonie replied. “I said your foot is healing the way it should. I did not say it has healed. Perhaps tomorrow.”
Sigge stuck out his lower lip and slumped into a wretched heap where he sat by the empty hearth. Only dire threats from his father kept him within the house, but that was where he needed to stay a bit longer.
Leonie kept herself busy in the castle, making up a new batch of green dye in various shades to color wool for embroidery. Green had become the castle’s favorite color, not merely because it was Leonie’s preferred color, but also because it was her best dye. She knew full well that if she could just find a way to make her scarlet more brilliant or her blue more like the bright summer sky, those colors would soon become the new favorites. As it was, the only way she could get the bright colors she wanted was to trade her green wool to peddlers.
Several days of rain that heralded the beginning of September also kept her within the castle, embroidering fanciful beasts along the neckline of a new kirtle for Claire. But as busy as she kept herself, the mystery that lay in the forest lingered in her mind.
Lingered. And made a shiver rumble down her spine. Twice she set out when the sun broke through the clouds, but both times she stopped at the forest’s edge and turned away, thinking there was surely something else she needed to do instead.
At last she gave in to Sigge’s pleas, for the wound was completely healed. And she needed a companion in the forest. If she did not return to the forest soon, fear would take over and she would lose her favorite place in all the world.
And soon she would be married. Who knew if her new husband would allow her the pleasure of walking among the trees, or of gathering leaves and moss for dying the wool? If Rufus chose Fulk, she suspected he would forbid even her experiments with dyes as being beneath her dignity.
Ha. She was a Faerie halfling—not a lady. She had no dignity.
Sigge danced about like a young puppy, circling and hopping as they crossed the meadow below the castle. As they came within the boundaries of the trees, he found a long, straight stick and began swinging it about, swishing, swiping, and jabbing into the air. “I’m a brave knight, Leonie!” he shouted, parrying his invisible opponent. “I’m the Peregrine, and I’m fighting the King of Scotland!”
Leonie found a pained smile. Why did it have to be Philippe the boy idolized? But she knew. All the boys wanted
Claire took one arrow and held it like a dagger.
The noises ceased. After a few moments, Claire returned to the bed, but Leonie stayed near the far wall, waiting.
When the sun rose, the knights of the Warrior of God rode out, much as the Peregrine and his knights had done the morning before. All Leonie could think was that she wished she had not been so arrogant with Philippe le Peregrine. Even if he wouldn’t choose to marry her.
As she had every day since Sigge had cut his foot, Leonie went to the modest blacksmith’s quarters within the castle’s lower bailey. And every day, right in front of both Sigge’s parents, she had swiftly traced her thumb over the wound as if merely touching it.
Days before, Harald’s wife had returned Leonie’s veil, carefully soaked and cleaned of the last trace of blood, presenting it to her meekly, as if she had personally caused great harm to the lady’s fine possession, and this day Leonie wore that same veil with pride. Leonie was as fond of Gerdrund and Harald as she was of Sigge.
“I can walk now, Leonie,” Sigge said, his squeaky voice rising as if he pleaded.
His mother turned a beseeching look on Leonie.
“Nay,” Leonie replied. “I said your foot is healing the way it should. I did not say it has healed. Perhaps tomorrow.”
Sigge stuck out his lower lip and slumped into a wretched heap where he sat by the empty hearth. Only dire threats from his father kept him within the house, but that was where he needed to stay a bit longer.
Leonie kept herself busy in the castle, making up a new batch of green dye in various shades to color wool for embroidery. Green had become the castle’s favorite color, not merely because it was Leonie’s preferred color, but also because it was her best dye. She knew full well that if she could just find a way to make her scarlet more brilliant or her blue more like the bright summer sky, those colors would soon become the new favorites. As it was, the only way she could get the bright colors she wanted was to trade her green wool to peddlers.
Several days of rain that heralded the beginning of September also kept her within the castle, embroidering fanciful beasts along the neckline of a new kirtle for Claire. But as busy as she kept herself, the mystery that lay in the forest lingered in her mind.
Lingered. And made a shiver rumble down her spine. Twice she set out when the sun broke through the clouds, but both times she stopped at the forest’s edge and turned away, thinking there was surely something else she needed to do instead.
At last she gave in to Sigge’s pleas, for the wound was completely healed. And she needed a companion in the forest. If she did not return to the forest soon, fear would take over and she would lose her favorite place in all the world.
And soon she would be married. Who knew if her new husband would allow her the pleasure of walking among the trees, or of gathering leaves and moss for dying the wool? If Rufus chose Fulk, she suspected he would forbid even her experiments with dyes as being beneath her dignity.
Ha. She was a Faerie halfling—not a lady. She had no dignity.
Sigge danced about like a young puppy, circling and hopping as they crossed the meadow below the castle. As they came within the boundaries of the trees, he found a long, straight stick and began swinging it about, swishing, swiping, and jabbing into the air. “I’m a brave knight, Leonie!” he shouted, parrying his invisible opponent. “I’m the Peregrine, and I’m fighting the King of Scotland!”
Leonie found a pained smile. Why did it have to be Philippe the boy idolized? But she knew. All the boys wanted
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