you.”
He stroked her hair. “And she was fond of my father. Even with the threats of us being sent to the cloister, she refused to name him. So he confessed.”
“He confessed?” Alda gasped. “He could have been put to death!”
“He had a great affection for my mother, and he was willing to risk his life to restore her honor.”
“How brave!”
“My nurse told me that my mother pleaded for his life. It might have been the only time she ever showed humility. Grandfather Pepin was moved to spare my father’s life, but he tripled the bride price and ordered him to marry my mother.”
“I am glad your mother got to marry a man of her choosing,” Alda said.
“Most women like this story.” Hruodland smiled. “Most men who hear it are horrified that a woman subverted the will of her guardian.”
“And you?”
Hruodland pushed his hair from his eyes and looked up at the stars that were starting to appear. “My mother…” He paused. “My mother is and will always be a mystery to me. What I wish most of all is that I had a true memory of her.”
“Do you have a betrothed waiting for you?” Alda blurted, emboldened by wine.
“No. No betrothed. Not even a start of negotiations, saints be praised. Simply a scheme of my father and Grandmother Bertrada.”
Queen Mother Bertrada , Alda thought, arching an eyebrow.
“My father, actually Grandmother Bertrada, wants me to marry the daughter of the Breton duke,” Hruodland explained. “I heard the clerk read her message assuring my father of the Bretons’ loyalty. As if the Bretons understand such a thing. The marriage would be for naught, just as it was for Uncle Charles and the Lombard.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Do you know what a Breton virgin is?”
Alda shook her head, smiling.
“A sister who can outrun her brother.”
Alda tried to look appalled, but a giggle broke through her lips. Hruodland was laughing with her.
“I do not know Grandmother’s logic to bind me with such a savage,” he said, shaking his head. “I do not know why my father would consent to it. He did not marry a girl who sleeps in the woods like a wild beast. Father told me I could arrange not to see her often, but once is too many times.”
“At least, you could have concubines,” Alda said. “A man is forgiven for that. A woman is not forgiven for having a lover, no matter how unhappy she is. I cannot abide Ganelon.”
She looked toward the hall, afraid Ganelon might come out, more afraid of him than the demons that might be lurking in the forest outside the garden wall or the bats flying over the Rhine, afraid she might have to explain herself, what was she doing with this man? She looked back toward Hruodland. “He would not want to marry me without my dowry. All I can do is refuse my consent and pray for a miracle.”
“What if Alfihar saw why you loathe Ganelon — if in fact he begins to dislike Ganelon himself — and decided that you should marry a different man?” His voice had a tone of urgency, as if her answer would change everything.
“A different man would be better,” Alda said, “especially if he was like you.” She looked down. “But I have no say in the matter. I trust Alfihar to pick someone who would make a good alliance, if not a good husband. Perhaps, I should not have listened to those stories about princes and maidens. They are only stories.”
“Yes, only stories,” he murmured.
“Would you marry a maiden your heart desires?” Alda searched his face for an answer.
“I am not given to fancy,” he said.
It stung Alda to hear her own words used in such a way. She looked away.
“My heart might happen to desire a maiden I married for her fortune and her connections,” he said, stroking her back. “There is one maiden my heart and head want.”
“Any woman who married you would be happy,” she said, turning toward him. “You will make a good husband. You deserve a good wife.”
Hruodland pulled her toward him
He stroked her hair. “And she was fond of my father. Even with the threats of us being sent to the cloister, she refused to name him. So he confessed.”
“He confessed?” Alda gasped. “He could have been put to death!”
“He had a great affection for my mother, and he was willing to risk his life to restore her honor.”
“How brave!”
“My nurse told me that my mother pleaded for his life. It might have been the only time she ever showed humility. Grandfather Pepin was moved to spare my father’s life, but he tripled the bride price and ordered him to marry my mother.”
“I am glad your mother got to marry a man of her choosing,” Alda said.
“Most women like this story.” Hruodland smiled. “Most men who hear it are horrified that a woman subverted the will of her guardian.”
“And you?”
Hruodland pushed his hair from his eyes and looked up at the stars that were starting to appear. “My mother…” He paused. “My mother is and will always be a mystery to me. What I wish most of all is that I had a true memory of her.”
“Do you have a betrothed waiting for you?” Alda blurted, emboldened by wine.
“No. No betrothed. Not even a start of negotiations, saints be praised. Simply a scheme of my father and Grandmother Bertrada.”
Queen Mother Bertrada , Alda thought, arching an eyebrow.
“My father, actually Grandmother Bertrada, wants me to marry the daughter of the Breton duke,” Hruodland explained. “I heard the clerk read her message assuring my father of the Bretons’ loyalty. As if the Bretons understand such a thing. The marriage would be for naught, just as it was for Uncle Charles and the Lombard.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Do you know what a Breton virgin is?”
Alda shook her head, smiling.
“A sister who can outrun her brother.”
Alda tried to look appalled, but a giggle broke through her lips. Hruodland was laughing with her.
“I do not know Grandmother’s logic to bind me with such a savage,” he said, shaking his head. “I do not know why my father would consent to it. He did not marry a girl who sleeps in the woods like a wild beast. Father told me I could arrange not to see her often, but once is too many times.”
“At least, you could have concubines,” Alda said. “A man is forgiven for that. A woman is not forgiven for having a lover, no matter how unhappy she is. I cannot abide Ganelon.”
She looked toward the hall, afraid Ganelon might come out, more afraid of him than the demons that might be lurking in the forest outside the garden wall or the bats flying over the Rhine, afraid she might have to explain herself, what was she doing with this man? She looked back toward Hruodland. “He would not want to marry me without my dowry. All I can do is refuse my consent and pray for a miracle.”
“What if Alfihar saw why you loathe Ganelon — if in fact he begins to dislike Ganelon himself — and decided that you should marry a different man?” His voice had a tone of urgency, as if her answer would change everything.
“A different man would be better,” Alda said, “especially if he was like you.” She looked down. “But I have no say in the matter. I trust Alfihar to pick someone who would make a good alliance, if not a good husband. Perhaps, I should not have listened to those stories about princes and maidens. They are only stories.”
“Yes, only stories,” he murmured.
“Would you marry a maiden your heart desires?” Alda searched his face for an answer.
“I am not given to fancy,” he said.
It stung Alda to hear her own words used in such a way. She looked away.
“My heart might happen to desire a maiden I married for her fortune and her connections,” he said, stroking her back. “There is one maiden my heart and head want.”
“Any woman who married you would be happy,” she said, turning toward him. “You will make a good husband. You deserve a good wife.”
Hruodland pulled her toward him
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