princess, you are my men. Not my father’s—mine.”
At their glance toward the captain, I clarified. “Oh, not to command. But in my heart. All of you are held there. For this journey and beyond.” I placed a single kiss on each of their cheeks.
Captain Marcus called for us to mount up, jerking the three of us back to the open road.
George hovered near me for the rest of the day. He whistled merry tunes, winking at me in comradeship each time he trotted by on his horse. After our exchange, I exerted myself, engaging the men in simple pleasantries, embarrassed by my recent discourteousness. Small changes, a polite hello and thank you; simple recognition of the men who were part of this endeavor. I pushed myself to stop acting listless and aloof and instead to see, really see, the others in this group. I made it my task to enquire after my men by name, to ask their opinion, to ask for their thoughts. In the days after leaving the Castle Ilmington, I saw them looking at me differently, as if seeing me not as a duty but as someone worthy of conversation.
At one stop, a small posy of wildflowers appeared upon my saddle. Michael and Jeremy stood nonchalantly nearby, bright yellow pollen dusting their shirtfronts. As the days passed, a dozen kindnesses lifted my spirits. One afternoon, slices of dried apple mysteriously appeared on my folded cloak, and that night five of the men entertained me with an impromptu mummer’s play. The following evening, a chessboard was unrolled, like a tiny carpet, as it had on many nights, but this time I was challenged to play the winner. Even though I worked hard not to beat Ethan too badly, they tormented him all the rest of the evening.
“Losing to a slip of a girl,” Jeremy snickered, but now, I was one of them. These men, commoners all, extended themselves, sharing their private stashes of supplies with me, for no recompense. They knew my destiny but shed no false tears and spoke no soothing words to feed my sorrow. These men weren’t looking for an opportunity to further their own status through me. There was no favor to curry in seeing me to this end. And still they gave of themselves, and I felt honored—and loved.
With a single unpleasant incident, many of my assumptions had collapsed. It became clear to me that not all nobles were, well, noble, and that some of the common people were—noble, that is.
Halfway into the week, George trotted up alongside me. Lucinda watched him with a warning set to her eyes. He whistled as if nothing were on his mind. “Your Highness,” he finally said.
I nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“Just thought you ought to know, all men aren’t like that. That’s all.” He tipped his hat and cantered off. As I watched him lope away, some of the strain of the week peeled away.
I had never spent much time in the company of men, never noticed how truly different they were. As I emerged from my initial fog of despair, I started to observe them. Their hearty camaraderie was not much different from Harold and Bartholomew’s, a pleasant change from my dithering ladies-in-waiting. I loved to hear them guffaw, snort and chortle, none of the polite tittering behind an open fan. Once they relaxed around me, my language expanded in interesting ways.
I found observing their antics habit-forming. Watching them became my entertainment, my distraction. George stayed sunny and optimistic. Michael, Jonathan and Sam argued constantly about the best way to hunt boar, whether with hounds or beaters or both. Each endeavored to get me to side with them in the debate. Ever serious Ethan with his high forehead and narrow nose confided to me his worries about his young daughters.
Lawrence, Jeremy, Charles and Douglas were forever playing pranks and teasing each other. I was hard pressed not to laugh when Charles tied one of my pink satin bows on the tail of Captain Markus’s horse. Oh yes, I had given him the bow.
What sympathy, guilt or anger the men felt at
At their glance toward the captain, I clarified. “Oh, not to command. But in my heart. All of you are held there. For this journey and beyond.” I placed a single kiss on each of their cheeks.
Captain Marcus called for us to mount up, jerking the three of us back to the open road.
George hovered near me for the rest of the day. He whistled merry tunes, winking at me in comradeship each time he trotted by on his horse. After our exchange, I exerted myself, engaging the men in simple pleasantries, embarrassed by my recent discourteousness. Small changes, a polite hello and thank you; simple recognition of the men who were part of this endeavor. I pushed myself to stop acting listless and aloof and instead to see, really see, the others in this group. I made it my task to enquire after my men by name, to ask their opinion, to ask for their thoughts. In the days after leaving the Castle Ilmington, I saw them looking at me differently, as if seeing me not as a duty but as someone worthy of conversation.
At one stop, a small posy of wildflowers appeared upon my saddle. Michael and Jeremy stood nonchalantly nearby, bright yellow pollen dusting their shirtfronts. As the days passed, a dozen kindnesses lifted my spirits. One afternoon, slices of dried apple mysteriously appeared on my folded cloak, and that night five of the men entertained me with an impromptu mummer’s play. The following evening, a chessboard was unrolled, like a tiny carpet, as it had on many nights, but this time I was challenged to play the winner. Even though I worked hard not to beat Ethan too badly, they tormented him all the rest of the evening.
“Losing to a slip of a girl,” Jeremy snickered, but now, I was one of them. These men, commoners all, extended themselves, sharing their private stashes of supplies with me, for no recompense. They knew my destiny but shed no false tears and spoke no soothing words to feed my sorrow. These men weren’t looking for an opportunity to further their own status through me. There was no favor to curry in seeing me to this end. And still they gave of themselves, and I felt honored—and loved.
With a single unpleasant incident, many of my assumptions had collapsed. It became clear to me that not all nobles were, well, noble, and that some of the common people were—noble, that is.
Halfway into the week, George trotted up alongside me. Lucinda watched him with a warning set to her eyes. He whistled as if nothing were on his mind. “Your Highness,” he finally said.
I nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“Just thought you ought to know, all men aren’t like that. That’s all.” He tipped his hat and cantered off. As I watched him lope away, some of the strain of the week peeled away.
I had never spent much time in the company of men, never noticed how truly different they were. As I emerged from my initial fog of despair, I started to observe them. Their hearty camaraderie was not much different from Harold and Bartholomew’s, a pleasant change from my dithering ladies-in-waiting. I loved to hear them guffaw, snort and chortle, none of the polite tittering behind an open fan. Once they relaxed around me, my language expanded in interesting ways.
I found observing their antics habit-forming. Watching them became my entertainment, my distraction. George stayed sunny and optimistic. Michael, Jonathan and Sam argued constantly about the best way to hunt boar, whether with hounds or beaters or both. Each endeavored to get me to side with them in the debate. Ever serious Ethan with his high forehead and narrow nose confided to me his worries about his young daughters.
Lawrence, Jeremy, Charles and Douglas were forever playing pranks and teasing each other. I was hard pressed not to laugh when Charles tied one of my pink satin bows on the tail of Captain Markus’s horse. Oh yes, I had given him the bow.
What sympathy, guilt or anger the men felt at
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