the surcoats, blouses, and aprons hanging up on display and she was enthralled with the colors and fabrics as they waved about in the breeze. She’d never seen such beautiful things and her feminine heart, the one that loved all things beautiful as most women did, was drawn to the sight. She couldn’t resist. As Daniel conversed and Gunnar played, Liselotte slipped across the street to the beckoning garments.
The very first one in her line of sight was a form-fitting garment with tin buttons down the front, made from a heavy fabric that had been dyed a shade of lavender. The sleeves were long, the neckline high, and it was absolutely magnificent.
Awed, Liselotte reached out to gently touch the fabric. It was soft, like angel’s wings. But then she looked at her own garment, something very old and worn that had belonged to her mother, and she was suddenly very embarrassed at her appearance. She wished she had such a fine gown as the lavender one to wear. But her embarrassment didn’t last long because her attention fell on a very long, billowy, woolen gown dyed an exquisite shade of deep blue. Curiosity and awe took over again. She went to look at the blue garment, inspecting the craftsmanship on it, when she heard a voice behind her.
“You have good taste,” someone said. “I had my eye on that dress, too.”
Startled, Liselotte turned to see a young woman, about her age, standing a few feet away. The young woman was petite, with dark blond hair and blue eyes, and she was very finely dressed. Overwhelmingly self-conscious in the face of such a well-dressed woman, Liselotte let go of the blue dress and stepped away, giving the young woman a wide birth.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I did not mean to… I am sorry that I was in your way.”
The young woman shook her head. “You are not in my way,” she said. “In fact, my father would be glad if you stood between me and that garment. He does not want to buy me anymore dresses but, of course, he cannot deny me.”
She was grinning as she said it but Liselotte was feeling uncertain and awkward. She wasn’t very socially adept outside of Shadowmoor, mostly because she was never really around people that she didn’t know. Shadowmoor was an isolated world, so to speak to those outside of that world was not something that happened very frequently. Liselotte was out of practice.
“It… it will look lovely on you, I am sure,” Liselotte said.
She started to turn away, to make haste back to the livery, but the young woman stopped her. “I have not seen you around here before,” she said. “I come here weekly and know most everyone on the street of merchants, but I’ve not seen you. Do you live nearby?”
Liselotte paused in her flight, turning to the young woman and feeling very nervous. “I… I do not live too far away,” she said. “I… that is to say, I do not come into town very much. I have not been here in a long time.”
The young woman was appraising Liselotte as she spoke, and that meant her clothing. Old, out of date, and repeatedly mended, they were hardly the garments of a well-brought up lady, but the young woman didn’t show any particular reaction to the terrible clothing. In fact, she showed no real reaction at all.
“Then you live locally?” she asked.
“I do.”
The young woman smiled. “My name is Glennie,” she said. “Glennie de Royans. My father is Baron Cononley. We live a few miles away at Netherghyll Castle. What is your name?”
Liselotte dipped into a polite curtsey. “I am Liselotte l’Audacieux,” she said. “I am from Shadowmoor.”
Glennie cocked her head curiously. “Shadowmoor?” she repeated. “Is that not the Saxon settlement?”
Liselotte nodded. “It is,” she said. “You have heard of it?”
Glennie nodded. “I have, indeed,” she said. “I was born at Netherghyll and recently returned home from court, so I know this area well. Shadowmoor always had an eerie, ghostly feel to me. The name
The very first one in her line of sight was a form-fitting garment with tin buttons down the front, made from a heavy fabric that had been dyed a shade of lavender. The sleeves were long, the neckline high, and it was absolutely magnificent.
Awed, Liselotte reached out to gently touch the fabric. It was soft, like angel’s wings. But then she looked at her own garment, something very old and worn that had belonged to her mother, and she was suddenly very embarrassed at her appearance. She wished she had such a fine gown as the lavender one to wear. But her embarrassment didn’t last long because her attention fell on a very long, billowy, woolen gown dyed an exquisite shade of deep blue. Curiosity and awe took over again. She went to look at the blue garment, inspecting the craftsmanship on it, when she heard a voice behind her.
“You have good taste,” someone said. “I had my eye on that dress, too.”
Startled, Liselotte turned to see a young woman, about her age, standing a few feet away. The young woman was petite, with dark blond hair and blue eyes, and she was very finely dressed. Overwhelmingly self-conscious in the face of such a well-dressed woman, Liselotte let go of the blue dress and stepped away, giving the young woman a wide birth.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I did not mean to… I am sorry that I was in your way.”
The young woman shook her head. “You are not in my way,” she said. “In fact, my father would be glad if you stood between me and that garment. He does not want to buy me anymore dresses but, of course, he cannot deny me.”
She was grinning as she said it but Liselotte was feeling uncertain and awkward. She wasn’t very socially adept outside of Shadowmoor, mostly because she was never really around people that she didn’t know. Shadowmoor was an isolated world, so to speak to those outside of that world was not something that happened very frequently. Liselotte was out of practice.
“It… it will look lovely on you, I am sure,” Liselotte said.
She started to turn away, to make haste back to the livery, but the young woman stopped her. “I have not seen you around here before,” she said. “I come here weekly and know most everyone on the street of merchants, but I’ve not seen you. Do you live nearby?”
Liselotte paused in her flight, turning to the young woman and feeling very nervous. “I… I do not live too far away,” she said. “I… that is to say, I do not come into town very much. I have not been here in a long time.”
The young woman was appraising Liselotte as she spoke, and that meant her clothing. Old, out of date, and repeatedly mended, they were hardly the garments of a well-brought up lady, but the young woman didn’t show any particular reaction to the terrible clothing. In fact, she showed no real reaction at all.
“Then you live locally?” she asked.
“I do.”
The young woman smiled. “My name is Glennie,” she said. “Glennie de Royans. My father is Baron Cononley. We live a few miles away at Netherghyll Castle. What is your name?”
Liselotte dipped into a polite curtsey. “I am Liselotte l’Audacieux,” she said. “I am from Shadowmoor.”
Glennie cocked her head curiously. “Shadowmoor?” she repeated. “Is that not the Saxon settlement?”
Liselotte nodded. “It is,” she said. “You have heard of it?”
Glennie nodded. “I have, indeed,” she said. “I was born at Netherghyll and recently returned home from court, so I know this area well. Shadowmoor always had an eerie, ghostly feel to me. The name
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