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V awdrey Keep, The Harvest Moon

Gunnilde made her way carefully up the circular steps of the Keep, carrying her platter of herb bread, oat cakes, and mead. Her friend Eden had bidden her most particularly to take it to her husband and his friend in the solar, for them to toast the harvest.

She had taken her turn kneading the bread as one of the unmarried women in the house and eyed the plaited loaf now with satisfaction.

It was well risen and had a lovely golden color.

She only hoped her wish to St. Alden was granted this year.

She was two and twenty now, and it was high time she took a husband.

Nearing the top of the stone steps, she heard the words drifting down toward her. They were talking, she thought, pausing to check there were no crumbs on her bodice, for she had already eaten her portion of the ceremonial bread.

“You’d better watch yourself, Bev, old man,” Sir Roland remarked after clearing his throat. “My wicked faery has a bee in her bonnet about that friend of hers, and you know how determined she can be when she sets her mind to something.”

Gunnilde smiled to herself, reaching the top. Sir Roland often referred to Eden as “his wicked faery.” It never failed to make her smile.

“You don’t need to warn me,” Sir Ned Bevan replied dryly. “I’ve known that any time this past month. Every time I so much as catch her ladyship’s eye, she sends the wretched girl to fetch me something. No offense, Roly, but your wife’s about as subtle as a mace.”

The smile dropped from Gunnilde’s face, and she froze where she stood, one hand raised to draw back the curtain.

Wretched girl? Suddenly it occurred to her that they might well be talking about her.

Surely not? Surely, she had never given Sir Ned cause to hold her in such contempt?

Her distress was so great, she missed Sir Roland’s rejoinder.

“I’ve nothing against the girl, don’t get me wrong,” Sir Ned was now assuring his friend.

“Nice and all that. Bit toothy,” he added critically, “and a bit on the heavy side, but amiable enough if you’re none too exacting in your tastes.

Hal tells me there was some suitor in the making a couple of years back. ”

“Yes, some neighbor of her father’s,” Sir Roland agreed. “Slipped his halter apparently, leaving her high and dry.”

There was a meaningful pause as Gunnilde’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. Hal?

The mention of her brother’s name confirmed the horrible truth beyond all measure of doubt.

She was the object of their conversation and none other.

Toothy? And even worse... A bit on the heavy side. The blood pounded in her ears.

With such casual cruelty, Sir Ned dragged her greatest insecurities into the light and dissected them.

A lump formed in Gunnilde’s throat to hear herself discussed with such cool disdain.

For some reason, she had not thought to hear such unchivalrous speech from Sir Edward Bevan of Knollesley.

It seemed she should add “na?ve” to her list of many faults.

“Well, I’m in no hurry to take his place,” Sir Ned replied with feeling.

“You could do worse,” Sir Roland said thoughtfully. “Mistress Gunnilde always seems keen to please, I’ll say that for her. And likely she’s generously dowered. Old Payne’s got a nice spread at Tranton Vale.”

“Hal will inherit the estate,” Sir Ned pointed out, “as the only son.”

“She’ll get her portion, I’ve no doubt,” Sir Roland replied. “A fond father does not neglect his daughter’s prospects.”

“Egads! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Eden had enlisted you to her cause!” Sir Ned replied with spirit.

Roland laughed. “Hardly that. But she’s a nice, goodhearted girl, when all’s said and done.”

Sir Ned snorted. “Oh aye, I daresay Mistress Gunnilde Payne is nice enough,” he said breezily. “Nice, and eminently forgettable. I’ve no fancy to be clapped in wedding irons for the likes of her.”

A sweep of hot color suffused Gunnilde’s face. Nice, and eminently forgettable . As though anyone had asked him! As though she had ever dreamed ... Except, she had dreamed, hadn’t she? She had been dreaming for years of a handsome knight finally turning her way.

Foolish dreams, as it now turned out. Dreams that would never come true. Without giving herself time to pause, she seized hold of the curtain with a shaking hand and hauled it back, making both knights startle where they stood.

“Lady Eden thought you might stand in need of refreshment, good sirs,” she announced loudly, stepping between them. “I trust I do not interrupt a matter of great import?”

“Oh, er, course not, Mistress Payne,” Sir Ned answered with bluster. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Always a pleasure.” He had the grace to turn rather red when Gunnilde turned her gaze on him.

She fixed a tight smile on her face. “I’m so glad to hear it, Sir Ned. I would hate to make myself wretchedly in the way.”

Her pointed words were met with an appalled silence.

Sir Ned turned even redder, a hunted look creeping into his eye.

At Sir Roland she did not glance. Lifting the tray, she presented them both with goblets and flagon.

“Mayhap you would be good enough to pour for yourselves this eve? I fear the cork is stoppered fast, but if you cannot prize it free, let me know. Perhaps my teeth could perform the office? They are so exceptionally large after all.”

Sir Ned made a strangled noise in his throat, while Sir Roland made a muffled sound, she was not sure was not a stifled guffaw. Her words seemed to have robbed Sir Ned of speech, though Sir Roland at least had the presence of mind to take the tray from her trembling hands.

“So kind of you,” Gunnilde said brightly, though she did not look at her host. “But then you are always kind, are you not? I suppose it is part of your knightly calling.” Her voice broke over the last few words, and she turned and fled back down the staircase, stumbling as she went.

It was the single most humiliating experience of Gunnilde’s life. She could not face the others in the Great Hall, not with those words still ringing in her ears. Instead, she hurried up another set of winding steps to her own temporary bedchamber, slamming the door behind her.

This was even worse than the humiliation of Sir Arthur Conway not proposing to her at eighteen as everyone in Tranton Vale had expected.

At least then people had whispered behind closed doors, and she had not heard any of the gossip with her own ears.

In time the scalding embarrassment had faded, and she had dusted herself off to face folk again.

Optimistically, she had thought with such a well-connected friend as Viscountess Vawdrey, new and exciting doorways would become opened to her. Instead, it was the same old story. They simply slammed shut in her stupid, provincial face.

Here she was four years later, scorned and found wanting, yet again.

She would never, ever put herself in such a humiliating position again.

From now on, she would stick to the role of confidante and matchmaker.

It suited her far better. Flinging her pillow bearer across the room, she collapsed onto the bed and succumbed to a hearty bout of tears.

When the storm was over, she rolled onto her back and stared listlessly up at the timbered beams above her.

She would face facts squarely. She, Gunnilde, was not some dainty lady to be offering her token to the premier knights of the land.

Clearly marriage was a lost cause for one as stout of limb and strong of tooth as she.

She needed new ambitions, she told herself with a doleful sniff.

Ambitions that did not include matrimony, but what else was there?

Even as fed up as she felt currently, she knew a nunnery held no appeal for her. She sat up. Eden had promised to introduce her at court. And Gunnilde had kept putting it off. She had so much preferred visiting her friend in her home, and spending time with her baby goddaughter, Agnes.

But, after all, she had always wanted to meet the Queen.

She wiped her eyes. Eden always insisted that Gunnilde would benefit from some of the many opportunities at court.

She suffered a moment’s misgiving. But had Eden just meant the opportunity to meet eligible suitors?

No, she thought, she wronged her friend.

Eden spoke of court as a place of learning and culture, a place where intellect could be broadened and like minds discovered.

Before she had married, Eden had resided chiefly at court and been a member of all kinds of societies and even a patroness of the arts.

She had been one of the Queen’s favorite ladies-in-waiting, no less.

Gunnilde’s heart quickened. Could she aspire to climb such lofty heights?

She had never been much of a scholar, but Eden always maintained she had much to offer.

Was she right? Could Gunnilde catch the Queen’s eye, and become one of her attendants?

Her pulse raced. There was only one way to find out. ..