refused to entertain the idea.
After storming out of their chamber in the
morning, Gwalaes had calmed herself down enough to bring a tray of
breakfast to Eleanor soon afterward. But after visiting the chapel,
they’d argued again over Eleanor’s increasing withdrawal; she
hadn’t been seen in the hall in weeks. But there was no reasoning
with her. She left her apartment now only to pray in the chapel.
Prayer, she told an injured Gwalaes, was her sole comfort.
Gwalaes looked up at the stars and saw only
incredible space. She wished she could dive straight into the
blackness and never again have to struggle with the problems of
earth.
“But I’m stuck here forever,” she whispered
out loud.
Hers was a particularly untenable situation
because she didn’t fit neatly into life at Chester. She was
considered the countess’ personal servant but having grown up with
Eleanor she didn’t feel like a servant. And when she quarreled with
Eleanor, there was no place for her to go but to wander around the
different parts of the castle. People might nod to her but no one
spoke much with her. She had nothing at Chester except Eleanor’s
dwindling companionship.
She’d never felt more lonely.
An involuntary chill ran
down her back and she pulled her cloak close around her shoulders
again. She wished someone would come and save her from a future
which seemed endlessly grim. It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly;
she was willing to aid Eleanor in whatever action Eleanor chose to
take against her plight but there was no one to help her .
“Are you—?”
She screamed, startled. A young man was
standing only a foot away from her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed his
approach.
He grinned and tried again. “Sorry. Are you
Gwalaes?”
It was one of the Young King’s messengers,
she realized. Her heart was still pounding from shock but she tried
to breathe normally because she had noticed him a few days ago and
had thought him cute. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front
of a good-looking man, even though she could feel her face turning
red.
“Yes,” she answered but her voice sounded
scratchy. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m Gwalaes.”
She warned her imagination
not to go wild speculating that he had accosted her because he
found her devastatingly attractive. The explanation was probably as
simple as passing on a message. After all, he was a messenger.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, smiling.
“Nothing!” she said hastily. “Is something
wrong?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered cheerfully.
“I was told to inform you that someone named Alan d’Arques has just
come through the gate and is right now settling his horse in the
stable and would like to see you.”
Alan was here! She had barely stammered out
her thanks before her feet were moving her towards the shadowed
stables. It was unbelievable—uncanny—how she had just a moment ago
been wishing for someone to come and rescue her. And now here he
was! The coincidence was too staggering to believe. Perhaps Eleanor
was right after all about ardent prayer.
She hesitated only when she came to the
entrance to the stables and saw no sign of activity. The wide gate
was almost shut-to. She wondered if she should knock on it or just
push it in. The dilemma was solved when it was pulled roughly back
and a laughing man appeared in the doorway. She recognized him as
the Young King’s other messenger. He caught sight of her and held
the door open, and waited as she started through. She looked up to
thank him but his quick, conspiratorial wink forestalled her and
she turned her head in embarrassment. That was nerve, she thought
angrily; what did he think was going to happen?
She walked inside and glanced around, seeing
nothing but unidentifiable shapes in the dusky light. She could
hear the peaceful sounds of the horses; a sudden stomping hoof…a
gentle snort…the rustle of straw…“Alan?” she called in a low,
hesitant voice.
The stable gate
After storming out of their chamber in the
morning, Gwalaes had calmed herself down enough to bring a tray of
breakfast to Eleanor soon afterward. But after visiting the chapel,
they’d argued again over Eleanor’s increasing withdrawal; she
hadn’t been seen in the hall in weeks. But there was no reasoning
with her. She left her apartment now only to pray in the chapel.
Prayer, she told an injured Gwalaes, was her sole comfort.
Gwalaes looked up at the stars and saw only
incredible space. She wished she could dive straight into the
blackness and never again have to struggle with the problems of
earth.
“But I’m stuck here forever,” she whispered
out loud.
Hers was a particularly untenable situation
because she didn’t fit neatly into life at Chester. She was
considered the countess’ personal servant but having grown up with
Eleanor she didn’t feel like a servant. And when she quarreled with
Eleanor, there was no place for her to go but to wander around the
different parts of the castle. People might nod to her but no one
spoke much with her. She had nothing at Chester except Eleanor’s
dwindling companionship.
She’d never felt more lonely.
An involuntary chill ran
down her back and she pulled her cloak close around her shoulders
again. She wished someone would come and save her from a future
which seemed endlessly grim. It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly;
she was willing to aid Eleanor in whatever action Eleanor chose to
take against her plight but there was no one to help her .
“Are you—?”
She screamed, startled. A young man was
standing only a foot away from her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed his
approach.
He grinned and tried again. “Sorry. Are you
Gwalaes?”
It was one of the Young King’s messengers,
she realized. Her heart was still pounding from shock but she tried
to breathe normally because she had noticed him a few days ago and
had thought him cute. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front
of a good-looking man, even though she could feel her face turning
red.
“Yes,” she answered but her voice sounded
scratchy. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m Gwalaes.”
She warned her imagination
not to go wild speculating that he had accosted her because he
found her devastatingly attractive. The explanation was probably as
simple as passing on a message. After all, he was a messenger.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, smiling.
“Nothing!” she said hastily. “Is something
wrong?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered cheerfully.
“I was told to inform you that someone named Alan d’Arques has just
come through the gate and is right now settling his horse in the
stable and would like to see you.”
Alan was here! She had barely stammered out
her thanks before her feet were moving her towards the shadowed
stables. It was unbelievable—uncanny—how she had just a moment ago
been wishing for someone to come and rescue her. And now here he
was! The coincidence was too staggering to believe. Perhaps Eleanor
was right after all about ardent prayer.
She hesitated only when she came to the
entrance to the stables and saw no sign of activity. The wide gate
was almost shut-to. She wondered if she should knock on it or just
push it in. The dilemma was solved when it was pulled roughly back
and a laughing man appeared in the doorway. She recognized him as
the Young King’s other messenger. He caught sight of her and held
the door open, and waited as she started through. She looked up to
thank him but his quick, conspiratorial wink forestalled her and
she turned her head in embarrassment. That was nerve, she thought
angrily; what did he think was going to happen?
She walked inside and glanced around, seeing
nothing but unidentifiable shapes in the dusky light. She could
hear the peaceful sounds of the horses; a sudden stomping hoof…a
gentle snort…the rustle of straw…“Alan?” she called in a low,
hesitant voice.
The stable gate
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