The Golden Braid (4 page)

Her mother quickly moved between him and the girl. “No. She doesn't need your help.” And she proceeded to haul the young woman to her feet.

Gerek took a step back at her rudeness. Most mothers, when they discovered he was one of Duke Wilhelm's knights, smiled and simpered and nearly threw their daughters at his feet.

The woman began brushing the dust from the girl's clothing. The girl swayed.

“Are you well?” Gerek tried to get a better look at the girl's eyes. Sometimes one could see by a person's eyes if the head injury was serious or not.

“I am well.” She didn't look at him, but she placed a hand on her mother's shoulder to steady herself.

He could not leave them until he made sure the maiden would not fall over as soon as she started to walk. “Where do you live? Were you traveling someplace?”

“We are on our way to Hagenheim,” the girl supplied, as the mother was quite tight-lipped. “How much farther is it?”

“It is at least another day's walk, and you do not look able to walk.” He sensed her mother would never allow her to ride on Donner's back with him.

“We do not need your help,” the mother barked. “We wish to travel at our own pace.”

“The two robbers left a cart and two donkeys near the side of the road when I was chasing them. The donkeys and cart might still
be there. Your daughter could ride in the cart the rest of the way to Hagenheim.”

“My daughter is not your concern.”

He stared at her with his mouth open. “Are
you
not concerned for her? She has suffered an attack and a blow to the head and should not be walking.”

She scrunched her face and raised her nose in the air, turning away. “She is not your concern,” she repeated.

He was getting quite tired of this woman's refusal of his help. Before she could protest, he took the young maiden's arm, led her to Donner's side, and lifted her onto the horse's back so that she was sitting sidesaddle.

The girl's mother sputtered. “What are you doing? Get away from her!”

He held on to her long enough for her to get her balance and grab hold of the pommel. “Are you secure?” he asked, still holding on to her elbow. “You will not fall if I release you?”

“No.” She finally met his eye. Her lips pursed in a tight line, she did not smile, and she did not thank him.

He pulled on Donner's reins and they started down the road.

His prisoner followed behind the horse, remaining silent. The mother's expression was surly as she urged her ox forward.

They moved slowly and no one spoke. Gerek couldn't help thinking about the girl. In all his travels around the Continent—in Burgundy, Normandy, Silesia, Aquitaine, Castile, and Bavaria—he couldn't recall a more beautiful maiden. But it was quite strange to see one her age—at least eighteen or nineteen—unmarried. Especially one so beautiful. Possibly she was widowed.

But he shouldn't be wondering about her. He was still stinging from them rejecting his help.

When they reached the cart, they found it as it had been left by
the robbers, except that one of the donkeys was missing. The other culprit must have returned long enough to untie the donkey and ride away on it.

Before the mother could object, Gerek quickly helped the maiden down from the horse.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“
Ja
, I am well. Only a slight headache.”

He should not be staring into her eyes, as he was aware of her mother scowling at them.

He closed his eyes for a moment. She was only a peasant, after all. “I shall accompany you the rest of the way to Hagenheim. That is my destination anyway.”

She started to say something, but her mother cut her off.

“Not necessary. You may go on your way, knowing you have saved two women from evil men.” Her tone was sarcastic.

“I deem it necessary.” He glared down at the woman. “I shall accompany you the rest of the way, whether you wish it or not.”

She sized him up with a long stare, then turned away. The young woman, in the meantime, had climbed onto the back of the cart. She no longer met his gaze.

He would not pay any more attention to either of them. He would make sure they made their journey safely, and he would never have to see either one of them again.

Chapter Three

Rapunzel's cheeks burned at the way her mother was
treating this knight after he had saved them from their attackers and so courteously helped them. He did sound a bit arrogant in his reply to Mother, but she had been equally rude and had not even told him their names.

Her mother never liked to tell strangers—or anyone else, for that matter—anything. She had often warned Rapunzel, “You should not talk to people. Don't tell any more than is necessary.”

“Why, Mother?” But her mother would give her a vague answer, something about curious people being dangerous people or how their business was no one else's business. She must have absorbed some of her grandmother's—Rapunzel's great-grandmother's—strangeness. Mother had told her some odd stories about her.

But this knight, Sir Gerek, was not at all like the men she had known in the villages where she'd grown up. She couldn't understand why Mother would treat him the same way she had treated all of those “unworthy” men.

In fact, Sir Gerek was different from head to toe. Dressed defensively, he wore a leather vest that was quilted with some sort of thick material—an article of clothing that knights wore to protect themselves from arrows and sword blades. She had never seen one until now. In fact, she had never seen a knight until now. A sword swung at his hip, and high leather shoes came almost to his
knees. His hair fell to his shoulders but was clean, neat, and evenly cut. It was swept off his forehead, well above his black eyebrows.

His eyes were brown, his hair dark, and he was taller than perhaps any man she had ever seen before. His lips and chin were well-formed and masculine. When she was fighting off their attackers and heard his horse's hooves coming toward them, her first thought was that he was the sword-wielding angel she had prayed for, sent by God to protect them.

He was also handsome. But her mother had taught her not to regard fairness of face, especially in men. It was a tool they used to manipulate weak-willed women into giving them what they wanted.

Would Duke Wilhelm and the rest of his knights look as magnificent as this man? But she would not allow herself to be awed by their appearance. Men could not be trusted, as Mother so often told her.

Thinking about that reminded her that she should find her knife as soon as they stopped again and make sure she carried it with her. Their knight protector had made her feel safe, but that was foolish. She should not assume she could trust him any more than she could trust the lord's son who had tried to attack her when she was fifteen—an incident that seemed to prove right her mother's warnings.

The shaky feeling in her limbs subsided as she rode on the back of the cart. Even the pain in her head subsided, unless she touched the lump where she'd fallen.

The knight was traveling just to her right with his prisoner walking behind him. Mother led the way, her posture stiff, her pace quick.

Rapunzel shifted to a more comfortable position on the bundles. They were lumpy but not terribly uncomfortable, and she wondered what was inside them.

While watching the leaves of the trees overhead, Rapunzel's eyes began to feel heavy. When she opened them, the sun was sinking low. Soon it would be dark and they would be forced to stop for the night.

The knight slowed his pace until he was beside her on his horse. “Are you well?”

The expression on his face was pained. Did it bother him to have to speak to a peasant girl? Or was he sincerely concerned?

“Yes, I thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder. Her mother was watching them.

He must have noticed, too, because without so much as a nod, he turned to face forward.

She studied him out of the corner of her eye. Had he been to distant lands? Did he know how to read and write? Perhaps he had not learned. He probably did not know how to read at all. He may have studied only fighting and war skills. He may have killed men with the very sword that hung from his belt.

But even if he did not know how to read, he might know someone, a priest perhaps, who could teach her, someone she could work for in exchange for reading lessons. She should ask him before he left them or, as was more likely, Mother chased him away.

Darkness slowly began to close in on them, and when the last of the sun's light was fading, Sir Gerek spoke. “We will sleep here for the night.”

He guided his horse off the road, his prisoner following behind him. Would Mother refuse to be led by him?

She seemed to hesitate, then followed slowly, leading the donkey and cart, as well as their ox with all their belongings, off the road behind Sir Gerek.

Rapunzel grabbed the sides of the cart as it rocked from side to side, bumping over the ruts and into the soft, grassy, uneven ground. The smell of loamy forest dirt and leaves surrounded her, a fresher scent than the animal dung that frequently assaulted her on the road.

When the cart halted, she scrambled down and helped Mother
unhitch Moll so she could eat, as well as the donkey that had pulled the cart. They took their water flasks to a stream nearby and refilled them.

Rapunzel stayed close by her mother's side but kept glancing at Sir Gerek. He filled a water flask for the prisoner and allowed him to drink. He did not untie his hands, but did untie him from the back of his horse's saddle and led him into the cover of the trees, no doubt so they could relieve themselves.

Did she have the courage to ask the knight about teaching her to read? The memory of the lord's son in Wagsburg who had tried to get her to go with him to his father's barn, the look of evil intent on his face, came back to her. Her mother had told her stories about men and the unsuspecting, unprotected, gullible women they convinced to lie with them, or who they lured into the woods where no one could hear them scream.

Perhaps she wouldn't speak to him after all.

Gerek kept an eye on his prisoner. The man wore that smile on his face, which was more an odd expression than an actual smile, his lips curling upward at the corners and his teeth showing. He didn't speak, and Gerek was in no mood to talk to him either, so he ordered him to hurry so they could get back to the two women who would be sleeping nearby.

Just thinking of them put him in a grumpy mood. He had never escorted or protected anyone less grateful. The mother had done nothing but glare at him, and the daughter usually avoided making eye contact, even when talking to him. He didn't need their gratitude. As a knight, he would do his duty in protecting Duke Wilhelm's people, grateful or not.

When they returned, he tied the prisoner's rope to a tree and quickly built a fire.

The two women kept to themselves, and after he had fed his prisoner, the man fell asleep, snoring as he lay on his side, facing the fire.

Gerek lay watching the dying flames lick up the last of the sticks he had gathered. He was nearly asleep when he heard a voice, a melody so unearthly and beautiful he glanced up at the sky, expecting to see heaven opened and an angel of music. But all he saw were a few stars winking above him through the leaves.

The sound was coming from beyond the fire, from the direction of the two women who had chosen to sleep a distance away. He thought he had heard every song that was sung in the Holy Roman Empire, as many troubadours,
Meistersingers
, and minstrels as he had encountered in his travels. But this was not any song that he recognized.

He closed his eyes. The melody wrapped around his chest, which ached with the beauty of it, even though he couldn't quite make out the words.

His mother was only a hazy figure now in his memory, as he had last seen her when he was seven years old. He had a memory of her leaning over him. It was nighttime, and she was singing to him. Her voice was sweet and soft and gentle, just like this one. Her song had filled his chest with a beautiful aching love, and now, listening to the song, he was filled with a similar, sweet ache.

It must be the young maiden who was singing. The voice was too young and clear to belong to the older woman. Where had she learned such a song?

How strange it was that two women would be out walking alone on the roads for such a distance. Tomorrow he would ask them where they came from and what their names were. And if they didn't tell him, he would threaten to take them to Duke Wilhelm under suspicion that they were indebted servants who had run away from their rightful lord.

He listened closely to the melody of the song, trying to memorize it. If only she would sing a little louder.

His prisoner made a noise in his sleep like a pig snorting.

The singing ceased. The man rolled over and started breathing heavily again. Gerek waited, holding his breath, but the singing did not resume.