Eva of Utrecht was born with a club foot—condemned in the Middle Ages to a life marked by the cruel label “creple.” As the illegitimate daughter of a humble seamstress, her future seems bleak… until an unexpected invitation arrives from Coudenburg Palace. For Eva is also the unacknowledged child of Duke Philip himself. At the opulent May Day Festival, could she dare dream of acceptance—or even love? But how can she capture the heart of a knight when she can scarcely walk, let alone dance?

Mathieu of Liège is the son of a knight, but the scars he carries—some visible, others buried deep—have set him on a quieter path. Content as an ostler to the duke, tending hawks and horses, he avoids the battlefield and the ballroom alike. Love seems distant… until he is tasked with escorting a sharp-tongued, proud young woman who stirs something long dormant in him.
When pride and pain collide, can two souls marked by fate find healing—and each other—in the shadow of the court?

Excerpt

When Eva discovers that a chaperone is coming to take her to Coudenburg, with a palfrey—not a carriage—she panics. She has never ridden a horse before. Her stepfather agrees to take her to the local stable for her first horseback ride…

At the stable yard they were met by Weers, the ostler, a broad, squat man with thick arms and a swarthy complexion. He wore a simple woolen cotehardie over hose, his leather boots wrapped tightly around sturdy ankles. A piece of straw stuck out from one side of his mouth.
He greeted Andries with a curt nod. “Come hither. Your young charge shall receive her first lesson in the stable yard.”

Eva stood clinging to her stepfather’s arm, partly to keep her balance, and partly due to raw fear. The stable yard was a dirt patch tucked between the buildings, lined by a rail fence at the far end. The space was only slightly bigger than the garden behind the tailor shop. The ball of worry in her belly loosened a bit. She need not worry about the horse running off with her, not if contained within this small area.

Her worries leapt anew, though, when she heard the clip-clop of hooves approaching from within the stable.

Weers was not a tall man, but next to the furry brown beast to which he was tethered, he appeared no bigger than Eva’s five-year-old brother. Her eyes widened and she staggered back a step. Andries roughly tightened his hold on her arm.

Andries had no patience for his stepdaughter, no matter what the circumstance.
“This is Tyrion,” Weers said, shifting the straw from one side of his mouth to the other. He studied Eva, his gaze sweeping her from head to hem. His expression softened. “I see you are afraid, lass. You’re but a wisp of a girl. I know Tyrion must look to you like a giant from the land of dragons. But be assured, milady, he is as gentle as a kitten.”

“A very big kitten,” Andries said through a chuckle. He turned to look down at her. “Do not worry, Eva. Weers is to be trusted. If he says the palfrey will do you no harm, then it will be as he says.”

As if the beast understood their words, Tyrion bobbed his gigantic head up and down, then stomped the ground with a massive hoof.

“Oh, my. Papa, his head is bigger than I am,” she murmured. Her whole body was trembling now, and she wished she had relieved herself once more before leaving home. Terror of climbing atop the great beast only added to the embarrassment she knew was imminent: lifting her skirts to reveal her twisted foot.

Weers went on to explain the contraption strapped to Tyrion’s back. To her, it looked like a small, padded chair.

“You won’t be riding astride like a man, milady. You’ll sit here, sideways, with your feet resting on this shelf.” He patted a small wooden step laying against the horse’s side. It looked like the stool her mother used to reach cloth on the upper shelves in the storeroom.

Andries urged Eva closer to the animal. “Pat Tyrion on the nose so he gets to know the smell of you. Then let’s get you aboard,” he barked impatiently.

The horse’s nose was as soft as the brushed underside of leather. Tyrion lowered his head and peered at her. His eye was as big around as her fist. A sudden calm came over her as she ran her fingers over the horse’s warm muzzle. She lifted her chin.

I can do this.

Weers led Tyrion to the mounting block, a chunk of tree trunk standing near the stable door. He offered Eva his hand.

“Come, milady. Step up on the block, then up onto the saddle.”

Eva shot her stepfather a wary glance. Climbing stairs was a challenge for her, since her one foot was unable to turn flat. Balancing on the outer edge had become second nature for her at home, with one hand on the railing. But here, out in the open and beside this giant creature—”

Andries did not give her time to think twice. In one swift movement he wrapped an arm about her waist and lifted her until both feet perched on top of the block. Instinctively Eva grappled for something to hold onto, latching one hand on the front edge of the chair-like seat above her. Before she could suck in another breath, she felt a firm hand on her backside, and up she went.

Eva gasped as she settled into the worn, tapestry-covered seat. She was suddenly higher up in the air than she’d ever been—even higher, she was sure, than when she peered out of the windows of their second floor living quarters. Dizziness overcame her and panic rose in her throat like a spoiled meal.

“You’re fine, just fine, milady,” Weers murmured as he squeezed her leg through her heavy woolen skirt. “Now pick up the reins. Don’t worry, I’ll be holding on to Tyrion’s head for this first ride. You won’t need to do the steering until next time.”

~~~

If you’d like to hear this excerpt read aloud—in the author’s voice—check out this post on Substack. https://gemwriter.substack.com/

“Dreaming of the Dance” is live, so grab your copy today, so you’ll be ready for the next book in the series, “An Armor of Petals,” which will go live June 16, 2025.

Purchase Link https://amzn.to/4igirvn

Meet the Author

Gemma St. Claire is in love with medieval history. She’s always been mysteriously drawn to Flanders, what is present-day France, Belgium, and the Netherlands, even though she has no family roots in the region. If she ever gets to go back in time, 15th C. Flanders is where she’d want to be.

In this life, Gemma resides in Florida with her very own HEA husband (she’s an expert a happily ever after). Her other loves are reading, gardening, and spoiling her grandchildren. Gemma earned her MFA in creative writing from Lesley University in Cambridge, MA, and she now teaches writing at Florida’s state college. She also writes award-winning supernatural suspense and women’s fiction as “Claire Gem.”

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