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The Triumph of Love
17
“I agree with you, Rotrind,” he said wearily. “But nothing can be
done.”
“Why can you not take action?” Rotrind demanded angrily.
“You are betrothed to him, Rotrind,” Sir Richard said wearily, running
his hand through his thinning hair. “It would simply not do for you to be
married in the oubliette. After you are peacefully married I will warn him
that he is not to do such a thing again.”
“I refuse to marry such an oaf!” Rotrind shouted, stomping her foot.
“Is my consent not the most important part of a prosperous marriage?
You will receive no money from Castello if he feels that I am not being a
loving wife!” Richard raised his hand for silence.
“Two days only do I grant to you to find a better nobleman,” he said
slowly. “But if you have not succeeded in your quest by then, you will
have to marry Castello.”
“Two!” Rotrind fumed with rage, gritting her teeth. “Two is
unreasonable.”
“Three days only can you search,” Sir Richard said. And even without
her father’s word, Rotrind knew she was dismissed.
One day passed and still Rotrind had not found a suitable nobleman.
She canceled all her lessons and spent most of her time searching around
the court. She even went so far as to ask the King himself, who merely
replied that Ferdinand Castello was a brave and honorable man. On the
second day, Rotrind journeyed with her father to the fiefdom of Sir
Arthur the Valiant, only to receive a betrothal suggestion about his one
year-old son, William.
“That’s no good!” Rotrind exclaimed. “My father says I must be
married within three days!” Arthur’s ambassador shrugged.
“You’re actually fortunate to have been asked, your ladyship,” he said,
tying a few papers into a stack. “I must excuse myself.” Rotrind swore
under her breath and left the room. Sir Richard awaited her outside the
door.
“No luck?” he asked, staring at the dark room. “I didn’t think so.
There is no choice but to marry Castello.”
“There is still one more day!” Rotrind cried desperately.
“Yes, and that day will be spent in riding. We must get back to the
castle in time for the grand wedding.”
“Are there not any other dukedoms?” Rotrind persisted.
“Lord Elbert of Ainsworth rules a large portion of this land,”
Richard said doubtfully. “But he is old and ailed with leprosy.”
“That is the only other place?” Rotrind asked hopelessly.
THE JOY OF WRITING
18
“No, I believe the Earl of Wylle has a son,” Richard said, turning to
Rotrind. “But enough of this. We must make our leave.” Rotrind sighed
and followed her father.
“Grant me just one more day,” she pleaded. “Surely I will be able to
find a man then.”
“One more day then!” Richard was never that good at opposing his
daughter. “But no more!”
As Rotrind mounted her small brown mare, she happened to look
back and glimpse a party of horsemen approaching near.
“Father!” she cried, halting. “There are men behind us!” Richard
turned sharply and stared at the men.
“They are naught but attendants, my bonnie Rotrind,” he said gently,
taking her hand. “Let us wait for them on our horses.” Rotrind looked at
the party again.
“They are approaching now,” she pleaded. “Why cannot we just ride
on?”
“They are to serve us, Rotrind,” Richard said impatiently. “Sir Arthur
has given them to us, or so is my guess.”
“What if they be in return for me?” Rotrind asked, suddenly afraid.
“What if this is to be only a betrothal gift from that empty-headed clod
Arthur?”
“Do not speak in such a way of the Valiant One!” Richard exclaimed,
turning to face his daughter. “If you are caught on his lands, you will be
questioned and imprisoned!”
“I only speak the truth,” Rotrind said sullenly, holding up her skirts.
“But look, the attendants are approaching.” Indeed the men had drawn
near, and now Rotrind could see that the party was also composed up of
four laundresses and two maidservants.
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