by Hannah C. Howard
Raina woke early, as she always did, to milk the royal cows. Stumbling down the hall of the servants’ wing of the castle, and vainly rubbing her eyes to stop them from drifting shut, she tied her hair back, rolled up the sleeves of her gown, and yawned so hugely she almost tripped.
It was too early.
Why these cows needed milking at such an hour, she would never understand. But to milk them was her job, and it gave her food, clothes, and a bed to sleep in, so she couldn’t complain.
“Hello, Josephine!” She greeted the cow whose head was already extended into the aisle of the barn when she entered.
Another long face appeared, and lowed impatiently. “I know, I know, Wilma,” Raina sighed. “Don’t be so pushy.”
She found her stool and pail and set to work, falling into a hypnotic rhythm as the steaming milk hissed into the bucket. But she had not filled half a pail for the third cow when she heard thudding footfalls approaching. She spun around in time to see a young boy sprint into the barn, his cap in his hands and a look of intense worry on his face. He doubled over, panting for breath, and gasped, “Lady… please… help…”
Forgetting the cows, Raina sprang up and hurried to crouch before the boy so she could see his face. “What? What’s the matter?”
The boy took a huge breath and looked at Raina. His face was very white. “It’s…my master. He’s wounded… in the woods…”
Raina immediately crossed to the tack-room where there was a bucket of well-water and a pile of old rags. She seized both and hurried for the door. “Show me,” she ordered the boy.
She did not see the injured man at first, so hidden was he by dense yew branches. But then he croaked, “Good work, George,” and she located him: sprawled on the ground with one leg bent up toward him and the other lying flat with a ripped trouser-leg and more blood than Raina would have ever liked to see.
She knelt beside him and was surprised once more. He was young – not very much older than her! His face was handsome and pleasant, and despite its being tight with pain, there was a jovial glint in his eyes.
“My lady,” he said, nodding respectfully. “Have you come to fix me?”
Raina smiled weakly. “I am no healer, sir. But I will try my best.”
“You have my full confidence,” he assured her.
She swallowed and turned to fetch her things.
Three-quarters of an hour and a heap of soiled rags later, Raina helped the young man stand, having cleaned and bound his wound to the best of her abilities. “What happened?” she asked him as they hobbled slowly around the clearing, Raina straining under his weight.
“Well,” he grunted, clearly straining a bit himself, “George and I were riding, hoping to reach your kingdom by sunrise, and perhaps going a little faster than we should have in such limited light. My horse stumbled on a fallen log and pitched to the side – and in the process, threw my leg against a tree. I fell off, George ran to get you, and you healed me.”
Raina laughed, protesting, “But I didn’t heal you -”
“My name is John, by the way,” he interrupted, shaking his head as if he wouldn’t hear a word against her healing skills. “John of Penland.”
“I’m Raina,” she replied, giggling. “Raina of the Barn. And I had better get you to more skilled care.”
Since John could not climb back into the saddle, they set off at a walk, Raina supporting him, and George leading the horses behind. When at last they reached the castle, Raina having discovered that John was a representative of the Prince of Penland himself, having come to choose a future Princess of Penland, she nervously requested an audience with the King and Queen.
The monarchs were solemn and imposing people. Raina would have trembled with anxiety had she not been holding up a young man much taller and heavier than herself. After the story had been repeated to them, however, the King and Queen warmed considerably.
“On behalf of the prince!” repeated the Queen, with a smile. “We must call our daughters.”
“Not yet, dearest,” the King said, nodding to John’s bandaged leg. “First we must see this young knight properly taken care of.” He snapped his fingers at a serving woman in the corner. “Hilda, show this man to a bedroom, and fetch the nurse. And you -” he pointed at Raina. “You must make sure our young knight has everything he needs.” John looked apologetically at Raina. “Your Highness, that won’t be -”
“Nonsense,” the King interrupted. “That’s what she’s here for. She has nothing better to do.”
Raina felt her cheeks burn, and she ducked her head so no one would see.
Two tall men appeared, each taking one of John’s arms, and carried him out of the hall, leaving Raina to trail hesitantly after them. She was mortified to have been treated so carelessly by her king – the king she had served her entire life, but who apparently did not know so much as her name – and yet she was strangely grateful for the chance to see more of John.
“Lady Raina,” said John once he was settled, having been given a bed, proper treatment, food, and something to drink. “Will you come tell me a story?”
He looked at her with glinting eyes. She smiled and drew her chair to the side of his bed. “What about?” she asked.
“About you. Tell me a story from your life.”
“But I’m a servant,” she protested. “I milk cows.”
“Then tell me about that,” he insisted. “Please?”
So she did. Raina told John story after story at his request, until her throat was hoarse from speaking, her stomach sore from laughing – and her heart warm from the joy of companionship.
But at noon, a sharp rap on the door announced the arrival of the five princesses, come to impress the prince’s knight. Raina stepped back into the corner, inconspicuous in the shadows.
“Oh, Sir,” gushed Frilda, the eldest of the daughters, when she entered. “Your poor leg! How it grieves me to see such a noble knight so injured.” She smiled sweetly down at John, and gave his bandages an inexpert pat.
“Good Knight, we must take your mind off the horrible pain,” announced Thaldine, the third sister. “Do tell us all about your prince.”
“Is he handsome?” squeaked Fipya, the youngest.
“Devilishly handsome,” replied John gravely.
“Is he rich?” whispered Sepleah, the second daughter.
“Indeed.”
“Is he powerful?” demanded Foupalie, the fourth princess.
“He is,” replied John, the gleam gone from his eyes. Raina thought his voice sounded cold and polite. “But now, please, do tell me more about yourselves. My prince will want to hear all about you.”
And so they did. The princesses jabbered on and on about themselves, often shouting over one another to be heard. By their own declarations, Raina learned that Sepleah was the smartest of them all, but that Foupalie had the best taste, Fipya was the sweetest, and Frilda and Thaldine were both the most beautiful.
Just listening to them made Raina so exhausted she wanted to sit down.
When they were gone, John sank back into his pillows with a tremendous sigh, and Raina began to collect the trinkets the princesses had each left for John to give the prince.
“Will he be more pleased with this vial of perfume,” she began in mock-earnestness, “Or with this gilded fan?” She flipped the fan out and held it in front of her face, peering at John over the ridged top. As she hoped he would, he laughed, running a hand through his sandy hair and mussing it all up.
“Raina, I think the prince would be most pleased with you.”
Raina frowned, her heart suddenly feeling very thick and heavy in her chest. She didn’t want to marry a prince – no matter how handsome, rich, and powerful he may be. She would rather be with someone like John, someone kind, and funny, and fun to be around. The thought made her blush, so she turned away to stack the gifts on the nightstand.
“I’ve made my decision,” he said quietly. “Will you help me walk to the throne room?”
“You’ve already chosen one?” she asked incredulously.
“I have. Help me?”
Once again supporting John, and feeling horribly that he would be leaving as abruptly as he’d come, Raina staggered to the throne room with a heavy heart.
“I’ve made my choice,” John announced to the king and queen. Looking as eager as children being offered candy, the rulers summoned their daughters and bade John continue.
“Which of my daughters do you choose?” asked the queen impatiently.
“None,” answered John.
“What? But the prince said-!”
“I am the prince,” John replied, “And I would marry none of your daughters.”
Stunned silence consumed the room. Raina felt her body go numb. She could not think.
“I have chosen a wife, however,” John continued, his voice suddenly warmer. “I would marry Raina, the cow-milker, if she would have me.”
“Who?” the king boomed.
“A girl you have, incredibly, overlooked for many years.” John slowly knelt before her. “Marry me, Raina? You’ll never have to milk another cow again.”
Raina smiled, and took John’s hand. “Yes, of course. But if I wanted to, could I milk the cows in Penland?”
He laughed jubilantly. “They would be honored.”
the end.
Question Time
1. What was Raina’s job?
2. Who came into the barn while Raina was working? What did he say?
3. What did the king ask Raina to do?
4. Who was Jon really?
5. Who did John choose as his wife? Why?
