A Melanie Dickerson Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  “I already know your views on love and marriage. Do you think you will surprise me with your stories?” He lifted a brow at her.

  “No, probably not.” She couldn’t help but smile.

  His brown eyes focused intently on her and glimmered in the light of the dozens of candles around the room. Birds’ wings fluttered in her stomach. Not scowling, his features relaxed, brought out the square masculinity of his chin and the short stubble on his jaw. But it was the thought of him wanting to know about her stories that made her stomach tumble inside her.

  “The story I am writing now is about a . . . a servant girl who falls in love with a wealthy merchant’s son.” They leaned toward each other to catch the sound of the other’s voice in the noisy Great Hall.

  “What happens next?”

  “The merchant’s son ignores her until one day when she saves his life from bandits who try to rob him.”

  “And that causes him to fall in love with her?”

  “No, not quite yet. He still thinks she is too poor to marry him. But when he sees how she sacrifices herself to save a young child from being trampled by a horse, she is injured, and he marries her as soon as she is able to walk again.” Avelina shrugged. “I suppose it is foolish to write such stories.”

  “It sounds like a good story.”

  She wasn’t sure if she believed him. “I am sure you have spent your time doing much more worthy things besides writing stories.”

  “I have spent my life either preparing for battle or fighting. I am not sure if those were worthy pursuits or not, now that all my training is for naught. Even if I had not suffered this injury . . . I am a margrave now.”

  “What battles have you fought?”

  “Not long after I turned sixteen, I was sent to fight during the siege of Castle Rotherholm. Then I was sent to defend the border by the Duke of Pomerania, who made me the captain of his guard.” His jaw twitched and he glanced down at the roast pheasant a squire had placed on the table before them. He cut a large chunk from it, then placed it on her trencher. Then he cut himself a piece.

  She ignored her food. “Did you enjoy your life of fighting?”

  He shrugged. “I did what needed to be done. Fighting feels like a duty, not a chore, which I suppose is what keeps us from hating it. We defend the innocent, our allies, and each other.”

  She nodded. “Of course.” She should not be talking so much with the margrave. She should draw Magdalen into the conversation. But she could not think how.

  “Forgive me for not thinking of it before, but I will have some paper and a quill and ink sent to your chamber. You may want to write something while you are here.”

  “That is very thoughtful. I thank you.”

  “And you may borrow another book from the library whenever you wish.”

  Why was he paying so much attention to her? But he was only being a good host. He would speak this way to any of the other ladies, were they sitting beside him. But when he looked her in the eye and spoke quietly to her and only her, it filled an empty place inside her, and even made her eyes misty. It made her believe that she was just as worthy as a wealthy daughter of a nobleman.

  Or perhaps she was only allowing herself to believe the pretense. Either way, she wanted to enjoy the feeling Lord Thornbeck’s attention gave her, this warmth and sense of importance. Dangerous though it was.

  She pulled Magdalen into the conversation as often as she could during the rest of the long meal. Sometimes the conversation went on between the four of them, including the Duke of Wolfberg, but then it would inevitably end with the duke talking to Magdalen and Avelina talking with Lord Thornbeck. But that was only because she was nearer to the margrave and the other guests were so loud.

  When the final dishes of sweets had been served and consumed, concluding with an enormous subtlety made in the shape of a peacock, with candied fruits and nuts simulating its feathers, Lord Thornbeck announced the end of the ball and the night’s festivities.

  He fixed his gaze on Avelina. “I hope you enjoyed the ball, as you did dance twice, at least.”

  “I did.” Avelina smiled and drew Magdalen forward so he could speak to her as well. “I thank you all,” she nodded at the Duke of Wolfberg and Lady Magdalen, “for talking with me at the ball and not allowing me to stand alone and without a friend. Lady Magdalen is so kind.”

  “Lady Dorothea is the kind one.”

  “Oh no, I did nothing! You are the one—” But she was cut off before she could enumerate more of her friend’s excellent character traits.

  Lady Fronicka strode forward. “Lord Thornbeck, I—”

  “I trust you enjoyed the ball, Lady Fronicka, and I bid you a good night.” He bowed to her, turned, and strode away.

  12

  AVELINA AWOKE TO someone knocking at her door. Sunlight streamed through the edges of the shutters on the windows. She leapt out of bed and hurried to drag the heavy trunk away so she could open the door. When she had pulled it far enough to open the door a foot, she peered out at Frau Schwitzer standing in the corridor.

  “Lord Thornbeck sent you these.” She held out a portable desk—a wooden box with a slanted lid. “You will find paper, ink, and a quill inside.”

  “Thank you, Frau Schwitzer.” Avelina took the box, tilting it sideways to get it through the doorway, and started to close the door.

  “Lady Dorothea?”

  “Ja?”

  “Is something amiss?”

  “No, all is well. Thank you.” She closed the door on the servant’s puzzled expression. She didn’t bother to push the trunk either against the door or back where she had found it but walked over to the window seat and placed the wooden box on the cushion.

  The heavy chair still stood against the door that connected Avelina’s bedchamber to the small room where Irma slept. She stepped to her bed and threw the covers all the way back. No spiders or snakes anywhere to be seen.

  Avelina sighed and lay across the bed.

  Today was only her fourth day here. Ten more to go. She sighed again. But it wasn’t all bad. She closed her eyes and relived her terror when Lord Thornbeck pulled her aside and asked if she was with child and in love with a knight. But squeezing her eyes tighter, she concentrated not on her fear but on his expression . . . his eyes . . . his lips . . . his dark brows and the way his dark hair hung over his forehead. She remembered his voice, the words he had spoken to her, and her stomach did that strange flip it often did when she thought about the margrave.

  Magdalen was a fortunate woman if she married him. She would get to listen to that deep voice and look into those brown eyes for the rest of her life.

  She sat up. “Irma.” She went over and moved the heavy chair from in front of Irma’s door. “Irma, get up and help me get dressed and fix my hair.”

  Avelina opened the door and Irma threw an arm over her face and groaned. “So high and mighty,” she grumbled. “A week ago you were naught but Lady Dorothea’s servant girl.” Irma lay unmoving.

  The scent of strong drink assaulted Avelina’s nose. “What have you been drinking?”

  Irma groaned again. “Stop shouting. I’ll be up in a thrice.” Still, she did not move.

  “Have you been drinking with that Gerhaws woman again? I do not think she is a good influence on you.”

  Avelina got her own gown and began to dress. Then she hurried to Magdalen’s bedchamber and knocked softly on the door.

  In less than half an hour, Avelina was hurrying Magdalen down the stairs.

  “Remember,” Avelina whispered, “if Lord Thornbeck is in the library, tell him you want to read The Song of Roland and ask him if you may borrow it.”

  “Very well, Dorothea, but I do not think it is me Lord Thornbeck is interested in.”

  Avelina stopped abruptly and stared at her friend. “What do you mean?”

  “You must admit, he did show a lot of interest in you at the ball last night, coming all the way around to the other side of the room to t
alk to you.”

  “Do you mean during the dance? That was only because I was the only one not dancing. He did not want to see me standing alone. He would have done the same for any of the ladies.”

  “And if I am not mistaken, he took you aside on the way to the Great Hall so he could sit beside you.”

  “Nein, nein, nein. He took me aside because . . .” Avelina glanced around. The corridor was still and silent. There seemed to be no one else nearby. She lowered her voice even more. “Fronicka had told him some gossip about me, and he was asking me if it was true.”

  Lady Magdalen gasped. “What kind of gossip? What did she say?”

  Avelina probably shouldn’t tell her, but Magdalen would not tell anyone. “He told me that Fronicka said I was with child and the baby belonged to one of my father’s knights. I assured him it was completely false.”

  Magdalen shook her head, her eyes wide. “I cannot believe she would say such a thing. She truly is evil to make up a tale like that and tell it to Lord Thornbeck. He believed you, did he not?”

  Avelina nodded, a shard of guilt piercing her at allowing Magdalen to think Fronicka had made up the story. “I think he believed me.”

  “You should take care. She has seen how he shows you favor, and if she would tell a lie like that to the margrave, she is capable of . . . terrible things.”

  “I would not say Lord Thornbeck shows me favor.” Avelina’s stomach sank. Surely it was not true. “He would do the same for any of the ladies.”

  “I do not think so.” A little smile graced Magdalen’s lips. “I think he favors you.”

  “Truly, Magdalen, I wish you would not say so.” The sinking feeling grew more pronounced. “I cannot marry the margrave.”

  “Why not?”

  Avelina swallowed and took a deep breath, pressing her hand to her middle. “I wish I could tell you.” Did she dare trust her friend that much? It was not fair to tell her, to force her to keep such a secret. “Please, just believe me when I say that I cannot, nor do I wish to, marry Lord Thornbeck. It has been my intention all along for him to marry you, Magdalen. You are obviously the kindest maiden here, the most discerning, the most intelligent, the most beautiful—”

  “Besides you.”

  Avelina expelled a breath through her pursed lips. “Nonsense. I am nothing compared to you.”

  “How can you say such a thing? Besides, I do not think the margrave would agree with you.” Again, she had the amused smile on her face.

  “I beg you not to say that.” Avelina put her hands over her face.

  “Very well, I shall not say it.” She chuckled. “Come. You wanted to go to the library.”

  Avelina allowed Magdalen to take her hand away from her face, turn her around, and lead her toward the stairs.

  They descended and turned away from the ballroom and went down a wide corridor. On either side were doors, some of them open, some closed. They moved past two before coming to the open door of the library. Cautiously they stepped inside.

  The room was dark near the door, as the windows on the opposite side faced the west and it was still morning. But at the far side of the room, in the corner surrounded by windows, Lord Thornbeck sat at a desk. He was writing.

  He looked up. “Who is there?”

  Magdalen grabbed Avelina’s arm, her eyes wide at Lord Thornbeck’s gruff voice. Would he be angry that they were there?

  “Forgive us, Lord Thornbeck. It is I, Ava—uhh, Lady Dorothea and Lady Magdalen. We did not mean to dis—”

  “Come in.” He took hold of his cane and pushed himself to his feet.

  Avelina’s stomach twisted into a knot. Almost calling herself Avelina, coupled with Magdalen’s words about the margrave’s interest in her, sent her heart racing.

  He moved closer, his cane thumping as he walked.

  “Forgive us for interrupting your work, Lord Thornbeck,” Lady Magdalen said, “but I saw Lady Dorothea reading this book and wanted to ask you if I could borrow it.” Magdalen smiled at him.

  “Why did you not ask Lady Dorothea?” He wore his usual stern look.

  “Oh, I . . .”

  “I have finished it,” Avelina spoke up, “and before I returned it she wanted to ask if she might borrow it.”

  “You may.”

  “Thank you.”

  There was silence, then Lord Thornbeck locked eyes with Avelina. “Would you like another book? Shall I make suggestions?”

  “Oh yes, of course. Lady Magdalen and I both like to read. What do you suggest for us?”

  “This Book of Hours belonged to my mother.”

  He pulled a large book off the shelf and handed it to Avelina.

  “And there is a Psalter here that the Duke of Pomerania gave to me. I have another Psalter that I read from. But perhaps you brought yours with you?” He peered down at her.

  “I did not.”

  He took the book and laid it in Avelina’s arms on top of the Book of Hours. “But if you prefer more books like The Song of Roland”—he searched the shelf and pulled out a smaller book—“you might like this one. It is The Song of the Nibelungs.”

  Avelina had read Dorothea’s copy of the Book of Hours as well as her Psalter, but she had long wanted to read The Song of the Nibelungs. She bit her lip. Magdalen and Lord Thornbeck should be talking to each other. This was not at all the way she had planned this to go.

  They were both looking at Avelina. She had to say something. “Magdalen and I will enjoy reading these.”

  The margrave fixed first one, then the other, with an intense look. “Would you two like to go for a picnic? Winter will soon be upon us and we should enjoy the mild weather while we can.”

  They both seemed to be waiting for Avelina to answer. “Of course, we would be pleased to accept your invitation.”

  “I shall have some servants come along with us, to ensure safety and propriety. And you may also bring your own servants if you wish.”

  A few moments later Avelina found herself carrying three books while walking back upstairs to change into sturdier clothing suitable for a picnic. Magdalen whispered, “Do you think he will invite the other ladies, or only we two?”

  “I don’t know.” She hoped he would invite everyone, and if he didn’t, that Fronicka would not hear of it.

  This was what meddling had gotten her. But perhaps it would still turn out well. Perhaps now Lord Thornbeck would get a chance to talk more intimately with Lady Magdalen. Surely he would see what a kind, worthy young woman she was.

  Reinhart stood at the bottom of the steps as Odette began to descend with Lady Dorothea and Lady Magdalen and her maidservant following her. Good. No one could accuse him of any impropriety with Lady Magdalen’s dour-faced servant along.

  Odette and one of the house servants also came, carrying a large basket of food. Just outside the castle, the stable servants had horses saddled and ready for them and a donkey loaded with supplies.

  Soon they were on their way to the place Jorgen had assured him was an excellent spot for a picnic, in a clearing next to a stream. Odette knew the way, so he allowed her to lead.

  Dorothea was glancing up at the castle, an anxious look in her eyes. The other ladies often seemed nervous around him, but Dorothea seemed almost afraid.

  Dorothea and Magdalen rode side by side on the wide trail. When the trail narrowed, Reinhart ended up between them as they rode singly.

  They arrived at the stream and the servants spread out the blankets and cushions for sitting and set out the food. Soon they were all eating and talking about the beauty of the quiet spot in the woods.

  “There are still a few leaves on the trees,” Lady Magdalen said.

  “Which do you like better, autumn or spring?” he asked Lady Magdalen, but he was watching Lady Dorothea out of the corner of his eye.

  “I think I prefer autumn. I love the brilliant colors of the leaves.” Lady Magdalen took a bite of bread and cheese while propped and leaning back on her other hand, her legs d
rawn up beside her.

  Lady Dorothea was seated similarly. She said nothing, so he asked her, “And you, Lady Dorothea?”

  “Oh, I prefer spring.”

  “And why is that?”

  Now she got that familiar look on her face, her hands curling in her lap as she drew her legs tighter toward herself, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “As Lady Magdalen said, the leaves in autumn are beautiful, but spring holds the promise of new life and warmer weather.”

  He asked Lady Magdalen about her family, her mother and siblings. She spoke of her mother, her deceased father, and her younger siblings. As Magdalen spoke, Lady Dorothea’s shoulders relaxed slightly, her hands uncurled, and she leaned on one hand while eating a bread roll.

  He asked Lady Magdalen more questions. As long as she talked, Lady Dorothea nodded and looked at ease.

  He finally turned his attention to Lady Dorothea. “Tell me about your family, Lady Dorothea.”

  “Oh, there isn’t much to tell.” She kept her gaze down and brushed off her skirt. “My father . . . he is consumed with . . . his responsibilities, and my mother died a few years ago.” She shook her head, a slight movement, and her shoulders were high and tense again. She clasped her hands in her lap and finally said, “I’m sure Lady Magdalen and I would love to hear about your family, Lord Thornbeck.”

  Not that she would love to hear about his family, but that Lady Magdalen and she would.

  He continued to focus most of the conversation on Lady Magdalen, since that seemed to help Lady Dorothea be less guarded when she did speak. They talked about the wolves that had recently claimed Thornbeck Forest as their territory, about their favorite books and writings, and they even managed to get Lady Dorothea to talk about the stories she had written.

  By the time they were ready to pack up their things and go back to the castle, Lady Dorothea was talking as much as Lady Magdalen, and even laughed at something she said.

  Once back at the castle, he parted from them and motioned for Odette to join him in the library, where Jorgen was working.

  Jorgen looked up. “How was your picnic?”