WE RETURNED to the manor in time for the bountiful feast. The mysterious guests had arrived on horseback, and the kitchen servants were preoccupied with baking the brown bread and cutting the venison, preparing rare haricot beans from exotic places and slicing vegetables. Soft aromas floated in through the corridor, wrapping around me like a long woven blanket as I closed my eyes in eager anticipation.

"Why are you idle while we are all toiling away at our work?" Gerard, responsible for hunting for the master's game, asked gruffly, though his eyes were playful.

A deer was draped across his broad shoulders, and the frozen expression on the poor fawn's face made me gulp. I loved animals, especially the fawns that played on the edge of the manor, between the pastures and the forest. Between washes, I would sit behind a tree stump and observe them, transfixed by their natural serenity. As a child, I would name them—considering them my woodland friends.

"The poor animal." I sighed, exhaling sadness. "She was young."

"She died quickly, with no pain," Gerard reassured me, though he must have thought me very odd for my sadness.

"I hope that is the truth." I averted my gaze.

I reminded myself that he didn't mean to be cruel. His service was hunting, just as mine was laundering. I knew his father had been the hunter of the manor before him, just as my mother had been a laundress. He had little say in the matter of his livelihood, and besides, our masters had to eat.

"I was told that our future master's bride is but twelve years old. Is that the truth?" I asked, as if the villein knew any better than I about the affairs within the manor. Gerard often kept to himself and did not like to spend his time playing knucklebones or hunting for sport with the other men. After his work, he would return to his hut on the edge of the manor. For this, he had earned himself a reputation of abnormality, and I doubted anyone would have shared manor news with him.

A line appeared between Gerard's brows. "I have not seen her. But if it is true, it will be strange for our master to be wed to a child. I would not enjoy such a fate."

"I wonder if she is beautiful." It took me a moment to realize that I had spoken aloud, as Gerard stared at me, his mouth agape.

I felt my heart rate increase, and my palms grew clammy, clutching the basket of laundry to my chest to hide beneath the stack of clothes. I knew that Bernard sometimes joined Gerard on his hunts, and if the villein suspected my affection for the man, I could be in grave peril.

"I only hope she knows how to appreciate good venison," Gerard commented off-handedly, dismissing my candid remark, to my profound relief.

We parted ways as Gerard carried the venison to the kitchen. I retreated through an exterior passageway so as not to disrupt the master's noble guests and then walked through the screen's passage to the great hall. I stood below the minstrels' gallery, where the hearty Song of Roland had played strings, harp, and lute, strumming in a haunting yet beautiful melody.

The noble guests and knights had already settled in the great hall, with Count Frederic and Countess Emeline seated atop the dais at the high table, smiling down at their guests regally. It was customary for the countess to eat her food in private, with only her ladies-in-waiting gathered around her for the sake of maintaining the utmost standard of cleanliness and politeness. To avoid impropriety, she nibbled at a piece of bread while her husband gnawed on his.

Lady Adeliza sat beside her parents, her wide blue eyes concealed beneath a thin veil in a fashion befitting any eligible unmarried woman. She did not indulge in much besides a loaf of bread and a gauntlet of wine, imitating the elegant movements of her good mother. She had recently been betrothed to the King's son: a match that had struck pride in the hearts of her kin. I supposed she would soon live in his court.

"Come have a seat with me, child. The meal has already been prepared, no need to stand while everyone else sits." Fleurine guided me to one of the servant tables, where Gerard, William, and some cooks, grooms, pages, and scullions were convening.

Fleurine gossiped happily with Marie, a young chambermaid, leaving me to search the crowd.

The aromatic scents of wine, incense, and fire wafted in the air of the great hall as teenaged squires delivered platters of roast meats, pies and rolls of bread to the lower tables. However, we did not begin enjoying the meal until the parish priest had said grace. When Count Frederic pinched a grain of salt from the cellar in a grand fashion, we began eating.

After a few moments of undisturbed feasting, a deep voice sliced through the instrumental music of the giddy poet-musicians. A troupe of miming actors that had been earning more ridicule than applause from the audience ceased their exaggerated movements. My fellow servants turned their heads to peer up at the dais.

"Welcome, our dear friends." Count Frederic stood to meet his full, tall stature, clearing his throat. "We hope you are enjoying the venison."

A rumble of appreciation rose and fell, and the count nodded. He shared a knowing look with his wife and continued. "We have a surprise for you all this evening. My son and heir, Bernard, has returned from Cologne."

A cheer bubbled through the room, and one of the knights, too merry from wine, stood and clapped.

I felt my cheeks flush, my heart racing. Had he returned so soon?

Fleurine and Marie, knowledgeable of a woman's heart, directed their intense gazes to rest upon me. I tried to ignore their scrutiny and gazed through the screens passage instead, but Lord Bernard still appeared to be missing. If he had returned, he would have been sitting with his parents and companions.

My confusion was shared by the crowd, and the same knight who stood earlier voiced my question. "Then, where is he?"

Countess Emeline paled, then recovered, mouthing something inaudible to her husband. I often noticed this about my master and mistress. They were unlike other married people, affectionate even in their respective old ages, with Count Frederic listening to his wife's advice and gazing upon her with warmth and appreciation. To do so was unusual, for a man would not seek advice from his woman, but from his fellow men.

The count smiled at his wife with unbridled love, then gestured towards the screen's passage. "Here my son comes, with his enchanting new bride, Lady Isabelle of Clement!"

Our heads turned towards the screen's passage, and Bernard strode through the door. On his arm, a sickly looking girl with pale, snake-like eyes and grey skin. Some illness had overtaken her in her early childhood because her flesh was scarred and pockmarked.

Bernard looked well, his face flushed with the sun and his hair tousled as if he had just come in after riding his horse or lancing outside. I studied his strong, aristocratic jaw, broad shoulders, and glistening blue eyes, deciding he was the most handsome man in the kingdom of France, though I had not seen many. He wore a surcoat, branded by the bold red family crest and woollen tights beneath. A neck chain sat atop his fur collar.

He nodded at his beautiful mother and sister, Lady Adeliza, and then turned his attention to the great hall, his gaze discerning. For a single moment, our eyes met, and his smile seemed to grow, even if only in my girlish imagination. My cheeks grew warm, and I turned to Ursule and Marie to gather if they had noticed. They had not, for they were just as entranced by the dashing young man as I.

"Good evening, guests and loyal friends. I am sorry you missed the wedding, but I could not wait to marry my bride, the honourable Lady Isabelle of Clement. I hope you will forgive me, with song and dance and drink aplenty!" He raised the miserable girl's hand in the air, and she curtsied. His voice was strong and charismatic but sounded as though the words had been thought of by another.

The room returned to a boisterous cacophony of voices and laughter as I watched Lady Isabelle and Bernard join with my master and his wife. I scrutinized the girl, but could not find any trace of joy or happiness upon her strained face.

Should she not be happy to marry the King's second cousin, the most handsome man in all of Toulouse, and the most gracious and good knight in the Kingdom of France?

The rumours were true, for she looked no older than a mere child, with raven black hair parted into long, limp plaits falling at her sides.

She was adorned in the finest silks and fabrics, a royal blue jacket trimmed with fur, and pointed red shoes. She dressed her pale wrists and ears and arms in precious stones and jewels, announcing her economic value as a bride and wife. A fitted gown flowed down from above her neck to her feet, giving the illusion of a well-cut figure, though she was still thin and built like a young child. Despite her fashionable dress, she had not been gifted with beauty like Bernard's seventeen-year-old sister Adeliza, and her nose was too long and prominent for a woman, like a sharp, sneering hook.

The servants had chattered about our future master's wife, whispering about her great fortune and her father's vast lands, as well as commenting on her thin lips and sallow cheeks.

I felt poorly for thinking of her in such a mean-spirited way, and a wave of guilt passed over me. She must have been lonely and afraid, having travelled many miles to come to an unfamiliar place with a person who was but a stranger to her.

Though I was sure Bernard would make an good husband, she hardly knew him, and could not yet have admired him as I did. I was sure though, that one day she would be enamoured with him too.

"Poor girl. She hasn't been blessed with looks or charm, as Lady Adeliza has." Fleurine blurted, drawing a cup of wine to her lips.

"Ugly, isn't she?" William snorted, to which the men chortled and smirked, as though they had just shared in the most delightful of jokes. "I would not want to share my bed with that wench."

I felt my neck burn, horrified that William could speak with such unrestrained vulgarity. William's rudeness had become a staple of his character. One could not think of William without considering his insolence.

Gerard lowered his chalice, glowering at William with raw contempt. "That is no way to speak of a lady, William."

"I only speak the truth." William bit off a piece of his bread, shrugging. "She is not beautiful."

"Perhaps she is kind." My voice halted the conversation of the servants, and the men stared at me in disbelief, including Fleurine, who dropped the piece of bread she had been gnawing to her plate.

"Yes. Let us hope she is." Gerard nodded, smiling.

William frowned at Gerard, sending daggers with his eyes. "What does an impish hunter know of the beauty of women?"

"All I know is if you continue to degrade our future master's new wife, you will never know the life of anything but an indentured servant," Gerard warned, his dark eyes brimming with a threat.

William squared his shoulders, sliding forward in his chair. Veins in his neck showed like ugly violet cords.

Though William was a valet de chambre and closer to achieving the title and privilege of squire than Gerard ever would be, he did not know the work of plowing the fields or tending to the count's crops as Gerard did.

Therefore, he lacked the frame and physical strength needed to fight or joust, and would never have dreamt of challenging Gerard to a duel.

However, William, unwise with many things, stiffened in his seat and jutted his fists onto the table, slamming them. "Do not malign me, Gerard."

"Do not malign our masters, William." Gerard retorted, glaring. "And do not threaten me. You will come to regret such foolishness. You know well that Count Frederic speaks well of me, and would listen to my urge for your dismissal if I mentioned your conduct to him."

"You will come to regret this, you fool. I am above you in station, and deserve respect." William seethed, clamouring to his feet before storming out of the great hall.

The other servants straightened themselves and tried their best to mend the disagreement, not wanting to disturb the joyful occasion of our master's wedding party, and the only night of respite and celebration we might enjoy for months.