The storm still raged outside as Gerard kept watch alternately on the doorway to the stable and the trapper who stood scowling nearby. What made the man so selfish he had to be forced to share his shelter with four travelers, two of whom were women? What made him so suspicious of strangers, so mistrusting?
He did have a lot of valuable furs—red squirrel, pine marten, weasel, stoat, beaver, and even some civet cat and fox fur. Probably the most valuable were the coats of the weasel and stoat trapped in winter, when the animals’ coats turned from brown and gray to white. Ermine was made from these furs, and only the wealthy could afford it.
The women emerged from the stable, Ysabeau quickly making her way to the front door with the bucket, no doubt to dump its contents outside. As Princess Elyce walked past the trapper, the man suddenly produced a sword from somewhere behind him.
Gerard and Oswalt both drew their own weapons. Would the man truly go up against two trained knights?
* * *
Elyce heard a noise from the direction of the trapper. Suddenly, with the speed of trained soldiers on high alert, Sir Gerard and Sir Oswalt unsheathed their swords and pointed them, ready for battle.
Elyce scurried out of the way. She leaned against the wall, waiting to see what would happen.
The trapper pointed his sword at Elyce. “What does she have under her clothes? Those are my furs! She’s stealing them! And that one who just walked out the door—she is probably going right now to hide my furs somewhere.”
“I don’t have your furs, and neither does Ysabeau.” Elyce stared at the man, her jaw starting to clench. How dare he accuse her?
“Take off your clothes, then, and prove it!” The man shook his sword menacingly.
“I will not!” Was he mad?
“Stay back!” Sir Gerard spoke in tandem with Elyce.
At that moment Ysabeau slipped inside and shut the door behind her. She was covered in snow and shivered as she set down the bucket.
“Look at her! She’s not as fat as before. She has taken my furs out and hidden them in the snow!”
Sir Gerard and Sir Oswalt stared at Ysabeau, whose eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open.
“I’ll have you know, we have on five layers of clothing,” Elyce said, glaring as hard as she knew how. “Our own clothing, and our own furs. We have taken nothing of yours, nor would we ever.”
Ysabeau quietly translated for Sir Oswalt and Sir Gerard.
“These women are under our protection,” Sir Gerard said in English, “and I will not allow you to harass them. They have not taken anything, and they do not have your furs under their clothing. And they are not fat.”
After Ysabeau translated, Elyce caught her eye and was hard-pressed to hide her amused smile. Truly, she should not laugh. It was not the time, but it was the way Sir Gerard said Elyce and Ysabeau were not fat that made the urge to laugh almost irresistible.
“I don’t trust you—any of you.”
The man waved his sword to indicate all four of them. When he did, the blade caught the light.
A red jewel was embedded at the base of the blade, and the steel was etched with an emblem or crest just above it, while the rest of the blade was decorated with curly etchings.
The blade seemed familiar. A memory was niggling at her, something from a long time ago. She’d seen that sword blade before.
Like a lightning strike it came to her.
“This is the man who tried to kill Astrid! The woman who lives with Jacob’s sister, Ida.” Elyce said the words in English to make certain Sir Gerard and Sir Oswalt could understand. But the trapper bristled and squinted at her.
“How do you know?” Sir Gerard asked, taking a step toward the trapper.
“Say that again.” The trapper spoke in English, shocking them all. “Who are you speaking of? Astrid?” He looked truly shaken as he said the name.
“She was being chased,” Elyce said in English. “I saw her. It happened eight years ago, but I vividly remember his sword—this very sword, with the red jewel catching the sunlight and the unusual etchings on the blade.”
“What are you saying?” Still speaking English, the trapper’s voice was hoarse as he stumbled back against the wall.
“The man was pointing the sword at her as he closed in. It happened so fast, and I couldn’t see his face, obscured as it was by his hood, but the sun was shining on his sword. Astrid turned and fell off the cliff. The man went to the edge of the cliff and stared down. He must have thought she was dead, because my guard shouted at him and he ran away.”
Sir Gerard and Sir Oswalt both took another step toward the trapper, who crumpled to his knees, his sword going limp in his hand, the tip sinking to the floor.
A shiver crawled across Elyce’s shoulders. This was the coward who had chased a young woman and frightened her so much she was willing to take her own life to get away from him.
Astrid’s would-be murderer.
* * *
Gerard remembered the beautiful woman, Astrid. And here was her attacker speaking English—he’d understood them all along, the cowardly deceiver.
“Put down your sword,” Gerard ordered, stalking closer to the man.
But the trapper was no longer threatening them. His head hung almost as low as his sword.
He lifted his head slightly, but not enough to look any of them in the eyes. “Tell me, please. Is Astrid alive?”
“Yes, and you will not get an opportunity to threaten her,” Gerard told him. “The four of us will make certain of that.”
“Alive, all this time.” The man lifted his eyes to the ceiling. His expression was so altered, so pained, he seemed a different person. Even his voice was different.
“I will not allow you to harm her again,” Princess Elyce said, her voice more tense than Gerard had ever heard it.
The man leapt to his feet, grasping his sword tightly and pointing it at Gerard. “It was not I who harmed her!”
“I saw you,” the princess said. “I remember your sword.”
“There is another who has a sword identical to mine. One other man—my brother.”
Gerard was not sure if he believed him, though the changing expressions, the emotions on his face, did seem genuine.
“And who is your brother?” Princess Elyce asked.
“Claude, the King of Valkenfeld.”
The princess and Ysabeau both gasped.
“It is the crest of Valkenfeld, see?” He held up the sword to show them the flat of the blade.
The etching just above the ruby was indeed some kind of crest, now that he got a better look at it.
“Is it the Valkenfeld crest?” Gerard asked the women.
“It is. But that would mean that you are . . . Bertold, the younger brother of King Claude. But Bertold is dead. No one has seen him for many years. He just disappeared, so King Claude declared him dead.”
Gerard rarely paid attention to the politics of foreign countries. But he listened closely to what the princess was saying, still keeping his sword trained on this trapper who looked nothing like the brother of a king.
“If the Astrid you know is my Astrid,” the trapper said, “then she will have golden blonde hair, straight and fine like silk, and her eyes are a light blue-gray. She is also a bit taller than I am.”
He described the woman at the cottage perfectly. Perhaps some of what he was saying was true.