Timestruck by Flora Speer Page B

was sure
were sacrifices from the chatelaine’s treasured flock of laying
hens. There was a huge salad of garden greens and herbs sprinkled
with violets and rose petals, plenty of fresh bread, and even a
bowl of newly churned butter, which was a special treat fit for a
king s son.
    Pepin praised the food, thanked Hedwiga for
her efforts on his behalf, and ate little. Father Guntram uttered
no word of thanks but stuffed himself until Gina wondered how he
kept his lean figure if he routinely ate that way.
    It was not a pleasant meal. Father Guntram’s
dark presence cast a shadow over the high table and, to a lesser
degree, over the tables where men-at-arms and servants sat.
Conversation was stilted, consisting of remarks about the weather,
the difficulties of travel, and the chances of a good harvest. Gina
detected undercurrents, but she didn’t know enough about Frankish
society or about Dominick’s guests to understand what they
were.
    As soon as she could do so without being
rude, she excused herself and fled the hall for the garden. It was
quickly becoming her favorite spot at Feldbruck, especially at
twilight, when all the floral and herbal fragrances released by the
heat of the day combined into a single, complex perfume that was
borne aloft by the gentle evening breeze. Gina meandered slowly
along the gravel path to the sundial at the center of the garden,
where she paused to inhale the sweet air.
    A loud, haranguing voice coming from the
direction of the great hall disturbed her peace. Almost certainly
it was Father Guntram speaking.
    “What is your problem, anyway?” Gina
muttered, glancing over her shoulder toward the door to the hall.
She saw a slender figure silhouetted there, and Father Guntram’s
voice grew louder. Fearing that the priest, too, was planning to
walk amid the flower beds and wanting to avoid him, Gina hurried
past the sundial to the shelter of the trees at the other end of
the garden. The sun was below the mountaintops, night was falling,
and the shadows were growing darker by the minute. She was sure no
one would notice her.
    No sooner had she reached the trees than she
heard footsteps on the gravel and the voices of two men, one of
whom her heart recognized at once. It was not Father Guntram, but
Dominick and Pepin coming along the path. She stepped forward to
join them, then halted. The quiet, intense way they were speaking
told her they were in the garden seeking the same privacy she had
sought.
    She knew what she ought to do, which was slip
quietly through the trees to the open area where the garden ended.
From there she could turn left and walk, unseen, around the wing
where the great hall was, and enter the house through the kitchen
door.
    Whatever Dominick and Pepin wanted to say to
each other was no business of hers. She knew that perfectly well,
yet she remained where she was, hidden in the deepening shadows of
the trees, shamelessly listening to a private conversation.
    “I can bear no more,” Pepin said. “My father
knows that the last thing on earth I want is to become a priest. I
don’t have the vocation, and I never will, yet he insists I must
profess my vows. He has commanded Father Guntram to preach at me
every day until I give in and obey. They say it’s because Charles
fears me that he wants me out of the way.”
    “They?” Dominick’s quiet voice interrupted
Pepin’s passionate outburst. “Who are ‘they’?”
    “The Bavarian nobles. They have invited me to
join them.”
    Gina heard Dominick’s firm footsteps pause.
Pepin’s limping gait continued a few more paces. Then a sudden
movement in the dimness told her Pepin had swung around to face his
friend.
    “Are you speaking,” Dominick said, “of the
nobles who swore fealty to Charles after Duke Tassilo of Bavaria
was deposed and imprisoned? The same nobles who, in return for
their oaths, were permitted by Charles to retain their lands and
titles?”
    “Yes,” Pepin responded fiercely. “Tassilo and
all