A Noble Welcome

Entering the timber house, Noren found its interior surprisingly spacious and bright.

A pleasant scent of lavender, rather than any foul odor, permeated the air.

In the drawing-room, a lady of refined attire and pristine countenance awaited, attended by a young yet remarkably robust maid.

The lady possessed brown hair and dark eyes, with faint lines tracing the corners of her eyes.

Her features included a small mouth and a high nose bridge, her complexion a pale, yellowish white.

Adorned with a white noble’s headscarf and a beautiful, light linen belted dress, her hands were clasped gracefully over her lower abdomen, presenting an appearance both dignified and impeccably clean.

The maid, with her flaxen hair, kept her eyes downcast, concealing their color.

Though young and beautiful, with strikingly vivid red lips, her face remained utterly devoid of expression, lending her an almost ascetic beauty.

Indeed, had it not been for her simple black and white maid’s uniform, she might well have eclipsed her mistress’s presence.

Upon seeing her guest arrive, the lady was the first to curtsy, lifting her skirt delicately.

“I am Johanna of Zlín,” she announced, “the mistress of Osbrück.”

Johanna had not anticipated such an exquisitely beautiful noblewoman as her guest.

While the soldier’s announcement had indeed mentioned a remarkably lovely noble, Johanna had dismissed it as the exaggerated observation of a man with poor taste.

Noren, steadying her hand on her sword hilt, offered a slight bow, bending one knee in return.

“I am Noren of Ostrava,” she replied, “the eldest daughter of the iron… Knight Svein.”

Noren had instinctively begun to humble herself as the daughter of a blacksmith.

Yet, she swiftly realized that she stood not before a mayor or a baron, but before the wife of a knight, a fellow member of the lesser nobility.

Consequently, she immediately corrected herself, referring to Svein as a knight.

Though Noren publicly acknowledged Svein as a knight, in truth, throughout her twelve years of memory—she could not recall anything before the age of four—she had never once witnessed Svein fulfilling the military obligations due from a feudal lord of a knight’s fief.

Even Conrad, the Count of Brno and former lord of Opava, had never once demanded his service.

Johanna regarded the tall, golden-haired maiden before her with an appreciative gaze.

“You must surely have received God’s blessing,” she declared.

“With skin as white as lamb’s fat, eyes as deep emeralds, and hair as brilliantly golden, I dare say even a duke’s own princess would pale in comparison to you.”

‘No,’ Noren thought. ‘This is precisely God’s malicious curse.’

Far from delighting in Johanna’s praise, Noren, adhering strictly to noble etiquette, offered a polite compliment in return.

“You, too, possess a beauty akin to the morning sun,” she stated.

“Sir Černý, I imagine, must be immensely proud to have a wife such as yourself.”

Johanna covered her mouth, emitting a soft chuckle.

Her laughter exuded a certain warmth, her gentle facial contours, the subtly upturned inner corners of her brows, and the perfectly proportioned apple cheeks, all combining to make Noren involuntarily mirror her smile.

“Where exactly is Ostrava?” Johanna inquired. “And where might you be headed?”

A long table, draped with a dark tablecloth, occupied the center of the drawing-room.

The maid pulled a wooden chair back from beneath it, whereupon Johanna settled down and gestured for Noren to take a seat.

Noren likewise drew a wooden chair from under the table.

The chair was covered with a fabric slipcover, its seat further cushioned, clearly indicating that this family was both affluent and adept at enjoying their wealth.

“It lies in Opava, near Hradec,” Noren replied, crossing her legs comfortably.

“I am journeying to Kroměříž and Olomouc Castle, where I intend to sell some goods.”

“Opava? Heavens!” Johanna exclaimed, her mouth agape in surprise.

“I heard there was a recent plague outbreak there. Is everything well now?”

Johanna’s surprise stemmed from Noren’s apparent recklessness; at a time of plague, she wondered why Noren was roaming about instead of remaining safely within her own territory.

Did she not fear infection?

“The plague has ended,” Noren stated simply.

“Is that so? Thank heavens… truly, God’s grace,” Johanna murmured, patting her chest and letting out a relieved breath, as if personally grateful for the plague’s cessation.

Noren watched the lady’s performance with a tranquil gaze, disinclined to believe that the mistress of a noble family—one that had evidently squeezed its villagers into such a state of decrepitude—could possess a truly kind heart.

Having regained her composure, Johanna smiled once more.

“I heard the soldiers at the gate mention you’ve brought only a few retainers?” she began.

“Where are your brothers, your father? It is, after all, quite perilous for a noble young lady to embark on a journey alone!”

Johanna felt no genuine concern for Noren’s alleged trade in goods, nor did she truly believe a noble would stoop to such mercantile activities.

She merely assumed Noren was a vivacious, adventurous noble girl, yearning to explore the world, much as Johanna herself had once been at that age.

“They prefer to remain on their own lands,” Noren replied, rising to her full, imposing height.

“As for danger… I have been trained as a warrior since childhood; a few petty thieves or bandits scarcely concern me.

Moreover, those who accompany me are all seasoned fighters.”

Johanna, having been momentarily captivated by the maiden’s beauty, had entirely overlooked her unusually tall stature.

No wonder her neck had felt so strained from looking up just moments before!

“In that case, would you require lodging in my home?” Johanna offered.

“This timber house frequently hosts noble visitors who enjoy their wine, so we have many vacant rooms, including some specially appointed for noble ladies to rest.”

“I believe I do indeed need a place to rest my feet,” Noren conceded.

“If it is not too much trouble, I would also be grateful if your stableman could attend to my warhorse and mount, and if my retainers could be provided with a place to sleep.”

The lady responded with an affirmative nod.

“Of course! Who could possibly refuse the request of a noble young lady?”

“God bless you,” Noren expressed her gratitude.

“Riva!” Johanna called out, addressing the maid behind her.

“Please escort Miss Noren to her room.”

“Yes, madam,” the maid replied, then approached the young noblewoman.

“Miss, please follow me.”

The maid then led Noren up to the second floor of the timber house.

A long corridor stretched before them, lined with four wooden doors, and the maid pushed open the one at the very end.

At the room’s center stood a large bed, covered with a fur duvet.

A table and chair were positioned beneath the window, and a faint scent of dry dust permeated the air.

As the maid propped open the wooden window, a warm, humid current of summer air immediately swept into the room.

Golden shafts of sunlight pierced the dim space, illuminating it with a newfound brightness.

This sight diverged greatly from Noren’s expectations.

She had anticipated the seemingly luxurious timber house to be dark and decaying within, its walls covered in moss, its beams riddled with wormholes; instead, it was unexpectedly clean and comfortable.

After inspecting the room, the maid led Noren back downstairs to the drawing-room.

There, on the dining table, a dish of candied sweets had been laid out, alongside a glass of clear, purplish-red fine wine.

“I presume you might appreciate a glass of fine wine to moisten your throat, perhaps with a bite of dessert?” Johanna offered, fulfilling her hostess duties with apparent benevolence.

“Indeed, as you’ve surmised, a fine wine and sweets would be most welcome,” Noren replied, settling at the table.

She lifted the silver cup and gently swirled its contents, noting the purplish-red liquid’s almost complete absence of solid impurities—a red wine of superior quality.

Noren brought the wine glass to her lips and took a small sip.

The wine was, surprisingly, quite delicious, unlike any she had tasted before; its flavor resembled a sweet grape beverage from her previous life, utterly devoid of the usual acrid alcoholic scent.

As she savored the wine, Noren glanced at the noblewoman.

Johanna, resting her elbows on the tabletop, her fingers interlaced beneath her chin, watched her with a broad, amiable smile.

For some inexplicable reason, images of the serfs, with their coarse skin and yellowed teeth, surfaced in Noren’s mind.

Yet before her sat the gracefully smiling noblewoman, creating a stark contrast in Noren’s perception.

The disparity was so profound it generated a vast sense of disconnect within her, a feeling akin to standing at the very boundary between heaven and hell.

She had long believed herself accustomed to the Middle Ages, never imagining that today would bring her another small, medieval shock.

‘Enough already, this damned Middle Ages,’ Noren sighed inwardly.

‘I should curb my compassion.

These European barbarians aren’t worth my sympathy.’