MANFRED walked alongside Ursula accompanied by several of her pages who followed, pulling a reluctant pony by its bridle. Its back was laden with a basketful of food, flasks of wine and blankets for a picnic by the creek. Rosette, using a tall walking stick, straggled in their wake.
“Brother, I could not help but notice how your eyes never strayed from Rosette!” Ursula whispered discreetly.
“Ha, methinks you have developed an overactive imagination amongst the Welsh.”
“Do not chide me! I know a man in love when I see one. What a quandary for you! She is our blood cousin.”
“I prefer not to discuss this matter with you or anyone at present.”
“Ah, so ’tis true—you are burning for love and for some time too, I daresay!”
Manfred glanced sharply at her. Beyond her disarming manner, she was genuinely concerned for her brother’s plight. “Keep out of my affaire de coeur, sister.”
“I do think it a sweet notion and would offer no objection,” Ursula said gently, attempting to gain his trust regarding the sensitive matter. “Love always finds a way.”
Then the sound of Rosette’s tiny cry as she tripped on the uneven ground made them rush back. Manfred helped to steady her on her feet. The tumble had caused her to tear the hem of her kirtle.
“Are you hurt?” he asked with such frantic concern Ursula pitied him. “Pray, princess, take my arm?”
“Nay, I am fine and can walk,” she insisted, pulling away from him and refusing any further assistance from the prince.
“Rosette, I suggest you take his arm ere he lifts you off your feet and carries you off per force,” Ursula teased.
“You must pardon my sister’s saucy tongue. The Welsh have emboldened her.”
They continued throughout the countryside, along the shady edge of the forest. Manfred was vigilant of Rosette, nodding absentmindedly to everything his sister had to say, and he noted Rosette was heading off in the wrong direction again.
“Rosette,” Manfred called. The sound of his voice nearly made her trip over her feet again.
“You had best fetch her and maybe you should carry her. She will be cut and bruised by the time we return to the abbey, and we shall have to answer to Sister Eugenia.”
Manfred rolled his eyes to his sister. “Why not make yourself and those pages useful by setting up camp along the creek, thither—far off in the shade of yonder trees.”
“Very well…I am off to see what mischief my wee pages are up to, and leave you to your own!”
Manfred darted off to Rosette. “Cousin, this way,” he called again.
She was visibly flustered and hot as she turned around in his direction. “Pray forgive me, but I am not accustomed to these grounds and lost my way.”
“I would never permit that, sweet cousin.” He smiled, looking at her with keen curiosity. He could not resist reaching out his hand to flip her damp, dark curls away from her face so he could see her eyes, so clear, gray and lovely. “You must be parched.”
“Aye, so I am,” she said, lifting her arm to wipe her brow.
“May I escort you back?” Manfred did not wait for a response as he slipped his arm through hers.
She felt stiff and uneasy at his touch but clung to him nonetheless, overcome by heat and exhaustion. On the way back, they could hear the splashing and laughter of the pages at play with Ursula. Manfred helped her to find a comfortable place to sit and offered her a goblet of cool, refreshing wine.
“More?” He smiled, already draining his cup.
She nodded and thirstily emptied her second serving. “’Tis so warm. I do not think I would rate summer as my favorite season, Manfred,” she complained, fanning herself.
“They all have their own charm but in truth…” He paused, enthralled by the beauty of her face. He could not refrain from staring and did so freely now that no one was in the immediate vicinity. Her skin was pale and appeared to be so soft that he longed to touch her. The signs of emergent womanhood, her rounded breasts evident in her tight, wine-stained bodice, enticed his manhood.
Her graceful movements hinted at the shapely, soft curve of hips within the flowing patterns of her kirtle—hips ripe for the bearing of fair babbans. More than anything in the world, Manfred desired one day to become a father, to hold a precious child of his own flesh in his arms. His eyes moved to her face, round with a delicate, dimpled chin, doleful gray eyes that gazed errantly, and her mouth was a delicate pout, pink lips that yearned to be kissed—and Manfred longed to savor them with his own.
“Summer is not my favorite time of year, either, although I would not trade this moment for anything in the world, save maybe for one special thing.”
“What would that be, cousin?”
He supressed a wicked chuckle. “I dare not say.”
“Methinks you are the keeper of secrets,” Rosette exclaimed in rising curiosity. “My papa—he loved summertime, you know. Papa said never to trust anyone who harbored secrets.”
“Aye, I recall. I was proud to serve King Roan. He was great, valiant and most noble.” Manfred hoped to win her approval by speaking highly of her father, though he meant every word sincerely. “We all do miss him.”
Rosette lowered her face and struggled with her emotions. “As I do. I loved my papa more than anyone in the world.”
Manfred moved in closer and breathed in her alluring scent. He summoned the courage to stroke her hair away from her face. He noted the tears streaming down the soft curve of her cheek.
“King Roan lived and died with honor. He shall never be forgotten,” he whispered, his fingertips lightly touching the silken surface of her skin. He was one breath away from a kiss when Rosette shrugged him off.
“Forgive me, I meant no harm by my words…by touching you. Your hair is so dark, so lovely.”
A sudden glint of gold in the sun caught his eye. About her neck, Rosette wore the necklace of the archangel pendants he had given her as a gift, along with the ring. He had forgotten all about it until that moment. He was lost in admiring Rosette, relishing the sudden burst of a cool breeze when Ursula hurried up and poured two flasks of cold water onto her brother, wetting Rosette too.
“Methinks this fire needs quenching!”
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