A Melanie Dickerson Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  “It is his castle. I am not surprised he would want to protect it.”

  “You were also seen near the fire.”

  “I was curious.”

  The duke’s gaze settled on the basin of water, turned gray from the soot she and Lord Thornbeck had washed from their faces and necks. He inhaled a deep breath before speaking. “Lord Thornbeck was a knight before he injured his ankle and became Margrave of Thornbeck. Did you know?”

  “Of course. Everyone knows.”

  “I would imagine he knows how to sword fight very well.”

  “I would imagine that is true.” From the muscles she had just seen on his back and arms, she would guess he was very good at it.

  “If you see him, tell him I want to challenge him to a sword fight, just him and me.”

  “I shall be sure to tell him, if I see him.”

  He rose to his feet and looked directly at her. “If I have need of this chamber, I shall send you word. I suppose you may stay, for now.”

  Avelina kept her face unreadable, she hoped. She watched him walk to the door.

  He looked a bit annoyed when she stayed silent. “Good day, Avelina.” He walked out into the corridor without even closing the door behind him.

  She closed it and locked it, leaving the large heavy key in the keyhole. She leaned back against the door and closed her eyes. O God, please don’t allow that man to hurt Lord Thornbeck.

  When she opened her eyes, Lord Thornbeck was limping toward her.

  Reinhart ground his teeth together. “That arrogant . . .” He did not want to assault Avelina’s ears with the words he was thinking. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “I will take him up on his challenge.” He could defeat Geitbart in a sword fight even with his lame foot.

  “It is only a trick to get you out in the open so he can kill you or throw you in the dungeon. You must not do it. Promise me you will not show yourself to him.”

  He longed to slam his fist into Geitbart’s face.

  “I shall help you find your men,” Avelina said stoutly. “Your people need you to stay alive. You cannot help them if you are dead, and the duke knows he will need to kill you to take Thornbeck Castle. You cannot trust him. I can tell from his eyes that he is cruel and deceitful.”

  “You can see that from his eyes?” She was so lovely, it hurt his chest to gaze at her, especially knowing she was courageous and clever too.

  “I am a good judge of character. You can see a lot in a person’s eyes. There’s a certain hardness and coldness in the eyes of a person like Geitbart and his daughter. And even though you had a severe look in your eyes when I first met you, a gentleness was also there, especially when you—” She abruptly stopped and turned away, walking to the water pitcher and pouring herself some.

  “Especially when I what?”

  She shrugged. “When you look at . . . certain people and say certain . . . things.” Her face was turning red. She tapped her fingers on the pitcher and did not meet his eyes.

  “I see,” he said, even though he was not sure he did. A sudden urge came over him to stride over to her, put his arms around her, and make her tell him exactly what she meant, and then kiss her like it was his last day on earth.

  But he could not do that. She was wise not to elaborate on what she meant. She seemed to remember—more often than he did—that they could not be together.

  “You need sleep,” he told her. “But I shall go and find out what has happened to my guards and enlist Jorgen’s help in rounding up a force of men.”

  “You don’t know me if you think I will stay here sleeping while you court danger in the corridors of the castle.”

  He did know her, and he was not surprised. “Come, then.”

  Reinhart used the hood attached to his tunic to shield his face. He took Avelina’s hand and led her down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen to find his guards and supporters.

  “This is insane,” Avelina scolded in a whisper. “Anyone could recognize you, even from behind.”

  “How?”

  “Your back is not like anyone else’s.”

  “Is it crooked?”

  “Of course not. It’s . . . broad and you’re taller than most.” She pursed her lips. “You have a limp as well. Everyone will know it’s you.”

  “I shall risk it.” He brushed past her into the open walkway to the kitchen.

  Avelina cried out just behind him.

  He spun around. A woman was holding on to Avelina’s arm and holding her finger to her lips. It was Odette.

  “Come with me,” she said quietly.

  Reinhart and Avelina followed Odette to a small storage room, which was normally locked, next to the kitchen.

  As soon as they were inside, Odette did not waste a moment but began to speak.

  “Geitbart has a force of men—we are not sure exactly how many—surrounding the castle and even surrounding the town. We have heard that Geitbart sent a missive to Prague, to the king, accusing you of murdering your brother and of weakening the realm by choosing to marry a maidservant instead of a noble lady.” She gave a sad frown to Avelina. “Forgive me, Avelina. It is what is being said by Geitbart’s guards.”

  “I understand.”

  “They also have orders to throw you in the dungeon if they find you,” she said to Reinhart.

  “Where are Jorgen and Sir Klas?”

  “Sir Klas has not been seen for the last two days. We suspect he is in the dungeon, which Geitbart’s guards are guarding, or possibly killed. Jorgen is being closely watched, but he has not been approached by Geitbart or his guards.”

  “I had hoped to rally some men to fight the duke.”

  “That is what Jorgen is doing, but he is having to be very careful. He does not want you to allow yourself to be seen, my lord. Geitbart will throw you in the dungeon, at best, and kill you with very little provocation. They are probably watching me too, so I should go. Give me time to get out of sight.”

  He thanked her, then Odette left.

  Reinhart stared out the window. He needed a plan. Geitbart had already taken over, with his guards everywhere.

  He was trapped inside his own castle.

  An angry scowl on his face, Lord Thornbeck was standing by the door of the storage room. She was almost afraid to speak, but he seemed to like hearing her honest thoughts.

  “I am very sorry for what Geitbart told the king. I feel to blame.”

  “To blame? For Geitbart’s treachery? Oh, you mean about his saying I wanted to marry a maidservant.”

  Avelina’s stomach twisted at his offhand mention of her as a “maidservant.”

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  She turned and let him capture her with his intense gaze.

  “You are not to blame. Geitbart is only grasping for excuses to take Thornbeck. If you had not come, Lord Plimmwald would have sent someone else. But . . . I am glad he sent you. Now let us go. Odette should have had time to get well away.”

  He was glad she had come?

  She would dwell on that and not on the fact that he could never marry her. But . . . How can I ever be content married to anyone else but him?

  “Foolish, foolish girl.” As Irma had scorned her for believing she truly was as noble as a noble-born lady, Avelina had let herself aspire to something that was forever beyond her reach.

  They went toward the castle. Two of Geitbart’s guards were standing at the back entrance. Would they recognize Lord Thornbeck? They were talking to each other and did not even look at Avelina or Lord Thornbeck as they went inside.

  They passed to the servants’ stairs and started up.

  “I want to get my sword from my room,” he said in the deserted stairwell.

  “What if the door to your chamber is locked? You don’t have the key, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Then come with me first to my chamber, if it’s not guarded. I have something that might help
us get in.”

  They reached the floor of Avelina’s bedchamber. They both slipped inside. She went to take a small bag out of the trunk against the wall. From inside it she withdrew a metal rod that had a crook at one end. “I may be able to get into the room with this.”

  He had a confused look on his face, so she said, “I am rather good at getting into locked rooms and locked trunks. It was sometimes necessary, especially when Lady Dorothea wanted something her father did not want her to have.”

  “I see.”

  They left and made it nearly to his room when she saw two guards clad in red and black standing near his chamber door.

  “Stay here,” she whispered to Lord Thornbeck. Before he could protest, she hurried up to the guards. “Oh, please help! My friend was cleaning in the west wing and she fell. She’s hanging off the burned-out balcony and I can’t pull her up. If you don’t hurry, she will lose her grip and fall to her death.”

  Avelina’s high-pitched, panicked voice must have convinced them, because they hurried in the direction of the west wing.

  As soon as they were out of sight, she started working at the lock on Lord Thornbeck’s door with her little tool. In a matter of moments she had it open.

  Lord Thornbeck rushed toward her, his limp barely even noticeable, and entered his room. She closed the door behind them. With God’s favor, the guards would not even realize the door had been opened.

  Lord Thornbeck stopped short. The room was turned upside down, with furniture overturned, his bedding slashed. When Lord Thornbeck went to find his sword, it was not there.

  His face was thunderous and he clenched his fists.

  Suddenly they heard a herald’s bugle.

  Lord Thornbeck went to the window and threw open the shutter, letting in the cold air. Avelina went to stand beside him, and they both peered out.

  A man wearing Geitbart’s livery blew upon his bugle, loud and long. The Duke of Geitbart was standing beside him. The herald shouted, “Attention all! His Grace, the Duke of Geitbart.”

  In a booming voice, his head high, reminding her again of a rooster, the duke said, “Listen to me, residents of Thornbeck Castle! The Margrave of Thornbeck killed his brother, your rightful lord! Find him and bring him to me and no harm will come to you. But if he is not surrendered to me in one hour, I will begin executing his guards, starting with his chancellor, Jorgen Hartman.”

  Two of Geitbart’s guards dragged Jorgen into view in the small courtyard while he kicked and struggled. Something, a cloth, was stuffed in his mouth, preventing him from speaking.

  Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

  Lord Thornbeck stood beside her watching the scene below, his face a mask of stone.

  Reinhart watched Jorgen being dragged into the courtyard, and his blood changed from a steady boil to cold as ice. “I cannot allow him to slaughter Jorgen and the rest of my men.” He turned away from the window and started toward the door.

  Avelina grabbed his arm and held on. “Please, let us think. Perhaps there is a way. You have an hour.”

  He turned his body to face hers and looked into her eyes. “You should leave here as soon as possible. You will be safer in Plimmwald.”

  The way her eyes caught the light, the desperation in them . . . he wanted to memorize every nuance of her expression, every curve of her beautiful face. While they had been alone together in the tiny room, if it had not been too dark for him to see her, he surely would have kissed her . . . too dark to see how beautiful she was while he was holding her in his arms, while she was lying against his chest and clinging to his tunic, while he whispered in her ear, his lips touching her hair.

  He took her face in his hands, caressing her silken skin with his thumbs. She lifted her face to his.

  “Please say you forgive me for deceiving you,” she whispered. “I could not bear it if you did not forgive me.”

  “I forgive you.” He was so close he could see the depths of her blue eyes, the tear that trembled on her lashes, and feel the breath that escaped her slightly parted lips. “Will you forgive me? For my gruffness and my anger?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyelids drooped low. He could resist no longer. He bent and pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her softly at first, making sure she did not want to pull away.

  Her hands clung to his shoulders, then entwined around his neck. He kissed her more urgently then, kissed her as if he could erase every cruel memory of life as a maidservant, kissed her as if he was a knight going off to battle.

  Kissing her was achingly sweet. But he did not want to hurt her any more than he already had. He forced himself to end the kiss, then held her tight as she buried her face against his neck.

  “I must go.”

  She clung to his shoulders for a moment before letting him go.

  He caressed her cheek, then walked out, to his fate at the hands of Geitbart.

  Avelina followed him into the corridor. He was barely limping as he walked toward the stairs.

  He turned around. “Do not draw attention to yourself, or Geitbart may do you harm.”

  She watched him go but couldn’t help following him a little farther. Her heart was breaking as she stood at the top of the stairs. He made his way slowly down.

  The pain in her chest took her breath away as she turned and went back to her bedchamber. She ran to the window. Geitbart still stood there, and she hated him, the way his head was thrown back and his chest puffed out. Finally, Lord Thornbeck emerged and walked boldly toward Geitbart.

  The two men faced each other. Avelina strained to hear but could not make out their words. Then Geitbart waved his hand and two guards came forward and captured Lord Thornbeck’s hands, holding them behind his back, and led him away.

  She touched her fingers to her lips, where she could still feel his kiss. She started to sob but quickly forced away the tears, rubbing them from her cheeks.

  She had a plan.

  28

  THE GUARDS SHOVED Reinhart into the dank cell and slammed the door.

  The only light came from a flickering torch in the corridor outside his cell. There was nothing in the cell except a bare wooden bench about a foot high and four feet long. His bed, apparently.

  A guard unlocked his cell door. Geitbart walked in.

  Reinhart longed to wipe the ugly smile from his face by telling him he knew now exactly what happened to his brother. But he did not want to endanger Avelina, who had discovered the information.

  “Come to gloat?” Reinhart asked Geitbart. “Or have you come to kill me?”

  The duke shook his head. “I do not need to kill you. I will simply tell the king that you have gone mad after killing your brother to gain the margravate.”

  “Were you not content with the duchy of Geitbart?”

  “Thornbeck Castle belongs to my family.” Geitbart pointed to his own chest as he leaned toward Reinhart. “It was taken wrongfully, as you know very well. I intend to have it back. My daughter wanted to marry you, but when you chose a servant over her, I convinced her that we could have the castle for ourselves and we did not need you. We had intended to try to send both you and the servant girl over the side of the balcony, but that failed when you arrived at the wrong time. She hated the little pretender so much, she tried to have the wolves kill her. But she survived—again, thanks to you.”

  He paced in a half circle around Reinhart. “Avelina. Such a pretty little servant girl. She told me you did not care what happened to her anymore, now that you know she is a servant and not an earl’s daughter. Is that true?”

  Reinhart made his expression blank as he stared at him with half-closed eyes.

  “I don’t suppose it matters. It is not as if she can tell her father to send his guards to save you since, as Fronicka learned, her father is only a former servant and a cripple.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “No wonder the girl likes you. You are just like her father.”

  Reinhart would not give him the satisfaction of a
reaction. “Why don’t you kill me? Why keep me alive?”

  “It amuses me to know you are here in the dungeon.” He fingered the hilt of his sword strapped to his hip. “And when it no longer amuses me, perhaps I will kill you and end your misery.”

  Geitbart looked hard at Reinhart, as if waiting for him to reply. But Reinhart refused to speak.

  “Or perhaps I will give you someone to keep you company here in your cell—it is the largest one. Are you impressed with my generosity? I could give you . . . ach, ja! That servant girl, the one you chose over my daughter and all the other noblemen’s daughters. You and your brother seem to have an affinity for servant girls. Must be a family trait. Shall I have my guards escort her here?”

  Heat boiled in his veins and roared in his ears. One blow. Just one. Reinhart lunged at Geitbart. His fist found its mark as it crunched into Geitbart’s nose. The look of surprise on his face made it even more rewarding.

  Something slammed into the back of Reinhart’s head. He fell to the floor.

  “Shall I kill him, Your Grace?” Something sharp pressed against Reinhart’s throat. He assumed it was a sword point. His vision was still spinning too much for him to see anything.

  Dear Jesus and Lord God, forgive my sins and receive my spirit. It was the quick prayer he had taught himself to pray in case he should be about to die in battle.

  “No. I want to show the king how gracious I am to let this murderer live.”

  The guard removed his sword from Reinhart’s throat as his vision started to clear. With both hands Geitbart was wiping his nose, which was dripping blood.

  “Shall I break his legs, Your Grace?”

  Geitbart took a cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands and nose. “Later. Later we may break both his legs and his arms. But if the king wants us to bring him to Prague to be tried in the royal court . . . We had better wait.”

  They turned and left the small cell, then slammed and locked the door after them.

  Reinhart touched the back of his head. His hand came away red and sticky with blood.