Page 33 of Veil of Winter

“Everything must come off,” he said.

“You need to take off your clothes too,” Elyce said as forcefully as she could with her jaw freezing shut and her lips completely numb. Would he freeze to death after saving her?

When he had stripped her of all her outer clothing, he abruptly turned and moved away, the rock outcropping blocking her from the men’s sight.

She was so cold her skin seemed to burn. Ysabeau helped her get off the wet underdress. She quickly replaced it with a dryunderdress and Elyce’s warmest clothes, lastly wrapping her in the bearskin.

Ysabeau embraced her and started crying and talking at the same time. “You were drowning and I didn’t know what to do.” Those were the only words Elyce understood as she continued to cry and talk incoherently.

She patted Ysa’s shoulder and tried not to shiver, though her feet felt like two blocks of ice, her legs barely better, her hands and cheeks burning like bee stings.

“Come to the fire,” Sir Gerard called from around the boulder.

“I’m fully clothed,” Elyce said. “You can come to the fire too.”

“Come.” Ysa sniffed and pulled Elyce forward. “Forgive me for crying. I am composed now.” She sniffed and the tears dried up.

“There is nothing to forgive.” Elyce would probably cry, too, when she was not so numb, outside as well as inside.

If not for Sir Gerard’s selfless bravery, she’d be dead now, drowned at the bottom of the icy mountain lake. Her stomach felt sick and hollow.

She and Sir Gerard both sat as close to the fire as possible while Elyce tried to dry her hair. Ysabeau fussed over her, but there was little she could do besides sit next to her and lend her body heat.

Sir Gerard sat in silence and gazed into the fire. There was no one to sit close to him or dry his hair with a cloth. But he didnot seem to suffer as much from the cold. Perhaps men had more body heat than women.

She wanted, needed, to express her thankfulness to him for saving her. But if she started to speak the words, the tears, which were just under the surface, would surely flow.

Bertold and Oswalt were sitting across from them, probably thinking this fire was going to get them found by King Claude’s men. And well it might. Should she say she was sorry for foolishly walking across a lake and falling in and causing them all this trouble? She was sorry, prodigiously sorry. She had not meant to fall, nor to cause Sir Gerard to fall in either, and there was no other way to get warm. Being cold and wet in this kind of weather would kill as surely as a wolf pack attacking a lone man.

She wanted to weep, to pour out her heart—her shame at causing this disaster and possibly getting them all caught, her gratitude at Sir Gerard’s selflessness, her sorrow at being responsible for his getting cold and possibly sick. The unshed tears ached in her chest. But what could she say? Surely these men would look on her with contempt if she had a fit of emotion, just as her aunt always had.

Was there a man anywhere who wouldn’t scorn her emotions? Was there someone who would understand and even appreciate that she couldn’t hold in her feelings and hide them all the time? Even Ysabeau often looked uncomfortable when Elyce cried or otherwise showed too much emotion. And yet Ysa had just cried. She had also cried after Elyce woke up. Instead of looking down on her, Elyce had felt only compassion at her friend’s distress.

Her aunt always said that crying in public was unacceptable,not behavior that set an example to all around them, as a princess’s behavior should. Poor servants could afford to let their emotions show. But not her.

For now, she just needed to focus on praying that God would not let any harm come to Sir Gerard for the service he had rendered her, that they would not be caught by King Claude, and that King Wenceslaus would help them.

***

Gerard marveled that Bertold, of all people, was the one who insisted they all sleep close together that night, near the fire, with the bearskins and furs covering them.

Gerard thought it was a good idea but was glad he had not had to suggest it. Even after an hour of sitting by the fire, Princess Elyce’s hair still looked wet and her lips were slightly blue. She’d been in the water longer and was just a slip of a thing.

But who would sleep beside the princess? Ysabeau would certainly lie on one side, but Gerard could not abide the thought of either Bertold or Sir Oswalt sleeping on her other side. And yet how could he suggest that person should be him?

They all seemed to be waiting for Bertold to instruct them. Indeed, he was busy arranging the blankets and furs to his liking.

“Lie down there,” he told the princess, “and Ysabeau shall lie there beside you.” He pointed. Then he looked around until he caught Gerard’s eye. “You are to sleep on her other side, while remembering that you are a noble knight who would not wish to disgrace his king nor his family’s title and good name.”

“I would never behave ignobly toward Princess Elyce, nor any other lady.” He turned to face the princess. “You have my word that I will do nothing untoward.”

“I trust you,” she said.

His heart did a strange flip inside his chest. Something about the look in her eyes made him want to linger and search out their mysteries.

Everyone was staring at him.

“Good.” Bertold went on, “Sir Oswalt, you will lie next to the noble princess’s servant and show equal knightly courtesy, and I shall sleep on the other side of Sir Gerard. This is how the native peoples of the north sleep, and it is wise and prudent and may be the only thing that can keep these two warm after their icy swim.”