Page 9 of Historical Hotties
“That is true,” she said, but she didn’t want to continue along a subject that was both frustrating and sometimes painful. With a sigh, she turned for the door. “Grandfather should be returning soon from the festival. I hope he has brought me something from it.”
“You should have gone with him,” Edie said. “There is dancing and food and merriment. It would have been fun.”
Dacia was climbing back up the stone steps that led out into the bailey. “Not me,” she said. “You know I do not attend those festivals. They are not for me.”
Edie looked up from her dye vat, a hint of pity in her expression. “But… what happened was so long ago. Surely you could try again. You might enjoy yourself.”
Dacia was at the top of the stairs, pausing to look down at her most faithful servant. “Nay,” she said softly, firmly. “I am not meant for those gatherings, nor merriment, nor gaiety. Men want to see who they are dancing with or talking to, and you know that I cannot… well, it is not for me. I learned my lessonthe first time I went and a young man yanked off my veil. It will not happen again.”
Sadly, Edie remembered the incident. A very young Dacia, who had just made that awkward transition from childhood to womanhood, wanted very much to attend the very festival that was going on in the village that day– the Lords of Misrule. She had worn her customary veil, but a naughty fool had pulled it from her face and she’d run home, embarrassed, vowing never to attend another festival again.
Edie wasn’t entirely sure that her revealed face had caused a ruckus, because the duke told a slightly different story about the incident, but Dacia was convinced that every person in the village looked upon her and was horrified, so she kept away from anything that had to do with festivals or feasts or celebrations. She went to mass regularly with the duke, but that was the only thing she ever did that involved groups of people.
Dacia of Doncaster had relegated herself to a solitary existence.
But… Edie didn’t argue with her or try to change her mind. It would do no good. As Dacia left the tower, Edie simply smiled and waved her on. It was never productive to convince her that perhaps the marks on her face weren’t as bad as her old nurse had convinced her of.
The old nurse had left an imprint that could not be erased, leaving a ruined young woman in her wake.
*
It was asurprisingly mild spring day as far as spring days went.
Sometimes this far north, even the springtime could be cold and wet. It was rare when there was a bright and crisp day that had a hint of warmth to it, as today did. As Dacia stepped out into the bailey, a veritable hive of activity at this time of day, sheshielded her eyes from the sun and looked up into the blue, blue sky.
It was difficult not to look into the beautiful day and not feel some depression.
Remorse.
Edie had brought up the festival and Dacia had brushed it off, as she always did. But the truth was that it meant more to her than that. She suspected that Edie knew that, but something in Dacia couldn’t let the woman know that it hurt more than she let on. Dacia wasn’t one to complain, nor had she ever been. She was stoic and accepted things as they were.
But still…
As a child, she would go with her grandfather and enjoy the silliness and the entertainment of a festival that had been going on for decades. Even back then, she would cover her face at the insistence of her nurse. She remembered sitting on her grandfather’s knee and eating off of his trencher as minstrels sang and dancers danced. It had been something that she and her grandfather had shared together, and those opportunities were few and far between. The older she became, the more distant and absentminded her grandfather became, and it was increasingly difficult to hold a conversation with him.
He usually seemed to be busy with his own interests.
But not always. After the evening meal, sometimes, they would play games together, like Queek or Draughts. Her grandfather had taught her to play both of those games as a child and it was something they enjoyed together. Lately, however, she was beating him quite regularly and his male pride was having difficulty accepting that. Therefore, they didn’t play either as often as they used to.
Dacia couldn’t help but notice the older she became, the more her grandfather seemed to withdraw. In fact, she almost went into town with him this morning to attend the festivalsimply so she could spend time with him, but her experiences of the past would not let her go. Vincent de Ryes went alone, the benevolent Duke of Doncaster, so beloved by his vassals.
And beloved by his only granddaughter.
In fact, Dacia was eager for him to return so he could tell her all about the festival. She had busied herself around the castle all day long, passing the time until he would return. The older he became, the less his stamina, so she expected him home shortly because she knew he was about at his limit given how long he’d already been gone.
Glancing up to the sky again, she shielded her eyes from the sun, realizing that it was rather warm and bright for her not to be wearing a veil against the sunlight. Her old nurse had been fanatical about covering her face because the sunlight seemed to create more freckles on her face as well as darkening the ones that were already there, so it had become habit to cover up in the sun.
Unfortunately, she’d left her veils in her chamber because she wasn’t really in the habit of wearing them when she was within the walls of Edenthorpe. Everyone knew her and she didn’t feel particularly self-conscious around the people she’d grown up with, but she usually stayed away from the gatehouse where visitors arrived or farmers came through on their way to the kitchen yard.
The bailey of Edenthorpe was so vast that she could easily move about freely near the keep and near the kitchens without having to worry about seeing strangers who would notice a girl with a heavy dusting are freckles over her nose and cheeks. Although she did manage the kitchens and the keep quite efficiently, she let the cook do the buying from the farmers who came to peddle their wares. She didn’t involve herself in that mundane contact, and the truth was that she kept out of sight as much as possible.
It was simply a habit.
But sometimes, her curiosity and need for freedom got the better of her.
Like today. It was beautiful, and she knew that most everyone would be in Doncaster at the festival. No chance of being seen unexpectedly. There were times when she wandered away from Edenthorpe, down to the River Don that ran alongside. It wasn’t a fast-flowing river– mostly, it was a shade of greenish-blue, meandering through heavily forested trees with riverbanks of thick, wet grass. In the summertime, flowers would sprout all around and Dacia spent a good deal of time collecting those blooms for perfumes and salves.
On this day, as she waited for her grandfather to return from Doncaster, something about that slow-moving river was calling to her.
