“Not crazy. But can I ask why?”
She twisted something on her finger. A ring? “I just never really got the whole idea of dating.”
“Fun, companionship, romance. What’s not to get?”
“Temptation, heartbreak. And I do believe in romance. But more in a courtship type relationship. Meaning I can see myself marrying the guy one day, not just having fun marking time with him now.”
“And you can’t see yourself marrying me?”
She laughed, but her face turned a becoming shade of pink. “I think you might like the fast lane after all, Seth Marshall. Proclaiming love and proposing on the first day?”
Seth let a grin slip across his face. “Touché.” Her stomach growled again, and his focus dropped to her midsection.
She shrugged.
“Iproposewe table this conversation, because I find it utterly fascinating and want to revisit it but I don’t need you fainting in want of nourishment. And as a non-dating friend, I’d like to buy youKäsespätzle, which is the equivalent of the best macaroni and cheese you’ve ever eaten.”
Amber grinned. “I accept your proposal.”
Seth watched her walk toward the center and smiled to himself. So, she didn’t date. He wasn’t about to let a small detail like that get in his way.
Chapter Seven
Holy Roman Empire, 1527
“The portcullis is being raised for visitors, princess,” Hette announced, her hands circling one another. Over, under. Around they went, a constant motion of worry since the arrival of their other guest, Lorenz Meier.
Christyne narrowed her eyes at Hette’s hands, the force of her sharp gaze causing the motion to cease. If Hette did not desist from her endless worry, the ever-astute Bishop Wilmer would press her to confession at his next visit.
Her heart skipped a beat as her mind caught up with Hette’s declaration. They had visitors? “His Excellency is not scheduled to arrive until Father’s marriage.”
The maid’s skin appeared pasty in the shadows of Christyne’s bed chamber. “It is not the bishop.”
“Then who? The captain of the guard would not lower the gate for just any man.”
Hette’s eyes lowered to the ground. “The Duke of Schlestein.”
Christyne crushed the velvet of her gown in her fist. “The duke…but I have refused his offer. He has no business in our lands. Leastwise, not when Father is away.”
“He is not alone.” Hette’s gaze bounced around the chamber, rested on Christyne but a moment, then lowered to the woven rushes once more. “He has a small unit of landsknechtwith him.”
Christyne sucked in a breath. “Does he scheme to take me by force like some peasant? I will not allow it.”
“Mayhap, princess”—Hette visibly swallowed—“his presence has to do with the heretic you hide beneath the castle.”
She considered this. Lorenz—for she had started to think of him by his Christian name since saving his life—seemed to have been fleeing north when she stumbled upon him in the woods. Could he have pursuers from multiple directions?
One way alone to determine the answer.
She released the fisted material in her hand and smoothed out the length of dark purple velvet. For the past several days, she had continued to don her servant’s rough woolen kirtle in order to attend to Lorenz’s injuries, but her skin had begun to itch, and she had felt the need for comfort this morn.
Christyne had soaked in a hot bath while Hette scrubbed her skin fresh and washed her hair. The purple gown, with its laces in the front along her midriff, cinched her in and accentuated the curves the Lord had bestowed upon the fairer sex. The style had been made popular by Cranach, painter in Saxony, when he put to canvas the royal daughters of that house in such raiment. Christyne pressed her hand to her stomach. She hoped she looked half as enchanting in her gown as those ladies had in theirs. As armor girded the warrior in battle, so a graceful gown and a demure smile would gird her for the confrontation to come.
She patted the back of her hair, making sure the coiffure Hette had arranged earlier was still in place. Her palm ran across the tiny pearls adorning the golden weave of herhauben, not feeling any stray hairs.
If it was to battle she headed, then she was prepared.
Hette’s wringing hands caught her attention. She sighed, realizing she must face this foe alone.
