Despite their size and energy, Isabel had no fear of the horses. It was the soldiers riding them who made her cautious. She’d never forgotten the feeling of helplessness she’d experienced in this same meadow when other soldiers had overpowered her. Eight years had passed, but the incident still haunted her.
Rolling onto her back, Isabel stared at the patches of blue sky visible through the branches of the trees. The memory of that day was not all terror. A glimmering image stayed with her, a bright recollection that warmed her heart. It was associated with the warrior who had rescued her from the clutches of her would-be ravishers.
After the attack, it frustrated Isabel not to be able to recall his face. “What did he look like?” Isabel had asked her friend Emma.
“Beautiful. He was beautiful. You thought he was an angel,” Emma had replied with a giggle.
“Men aren’t beautiful,” Isabel protested. “Tell me exactly what he looked like.”
“Tall, I guess. No beard. Maybe younger than the others. They seemed to respect him and backed off at his words.”
“What else do you remember, Emma? He carried me. He must have been strong,” she prompted.
“I suppose. You don’t weight much.” Emma shrugged. “Mainly I remember his golden hair. It was long and curly. That’s why you thought he was an angel. Everything happened fast. That’s all I remember.”
Although Isabel had asked her friend many times to repeat the story, Emma had never been able to give her the detailed information she sought. Frustrated, Isabel would close her eyes and bring to mind her own memories of her hero. There was the mellow, soothing sound of his deep voice as he spoke kind and reassuring words. When he adjusted her ripped clothing to cover her breast, his hands had been gentle, although she recalled feeling hard edges on his fingers. She imagined the calluses on his hands, as well as the scent of his body, resulted from controlling a magnificent war horse. Over the years, the memory of his touch had progressed from gentle contact to caress.
Shaking her head, Isabel cleared away the memories she had stored away and revisited many times. The meadow was quiet. No doubt the soldiers would seek shelter for the night at her father’s manor house before continuing north. Isabel knew it would be the first of many stops they would make on their route from the barrier against the Moors on the southernmost boundary of King Louis’s empire. Charlemagne was dead, and King Louis was doing his best to protect the Holy Roman Empire his father had ruled after being crowned emperor by Pope Leo III in 800. Since guarding against invaders along the Spanish March was a desolate tour of duty, the warriors would be happy to be headed for one of the king’s palaces in the north.
For a few years after the vicious attack that had left Isabel with a thin scar below her hairline, she waited for her champion to return. Unwilling to face visiting soldiers, any one of whom could be her attacker, she often hid behind a convenient tapestry in her father’s great hall and searched the assembled lot. Although frustrated that she didn’t have a better description, Isabel was certain her golden hero was never among them.
When all the warriors had passed her hiding place, Isabel ran through the woods to her favorite refuge, a secluded pond that few people knew existed. She peeled off her slippers, vest, and heavy gown. Heated from her run, she found the pond especially inviting. Wearing only a thin shift, Isabel waded into the cool water.
After paddling about quickly to give her warm body a chance to become used to the chilly water, Isabel relaxed. Floating on her back, she squinted at the sun filtering through the trees. Although she was not the first to discover it, Isabel thought of this place as her own. Many years ago, her older brother, Justin, had laid claim to the secret pond on one of his frequent journeys of exploration through the thick forest on their father’s land. The children had been warned against such jaunts, but Justin had been fearless and Isabel tried to emulate him.
She had been but five years old when she followed the brother she adored as he slipped away from the manor. When he discovered her, Justin tried to send her home. But by that time, they were already at the pond and Isabel kept jumping into the water. Justin realized he had to teach her to swim or watch her drown.
The only children of Lord Theodoric, Justin and Isabel spent a great deal of time in each other’s company. Their mother had died shortly after Isabel was born, and their father never remarried. Once Isabel was able to swim, Justin ignored the fact that she was a girl and treated her as an equal. Being included in his many adventures was one of her happiest memories.
But when Justin reached his twelfth year, everything changed. Since it was the custom for young noblemen to be trained on estates much larger than his, Lord Theodoric arranged for his son to enter the household of Count Jonas. Justin would begin his education as a page, serving in the great hall. If all went well, he’d advance to learning how to ride and handle weapons, skills necessary for a knight who would serve the king.
As the servants packed the things Justin would need on his journey, Isabel wailed her protests, insisting that she be allowed to go with him. No matter how hard her grandmother tried, she could not convince Isabel of the justice of the tradition that sent male progeny off to be educated while females
