A Melanie Dickerson Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

“I would.”

  “She is obviously very clever. She is the one you chose, and therefore I give you my blessing to marry her. And after all the clever, courageous things she has done, I shall commission my troubadours to write a song lauding the deeds of Avelina of Plimmwald, the wife of the Margrave of Thornbeck. She is a jewel among the women of the empire, and you could not do better, Thornbeck.”

  Had he truly said what she thought he had said? She turned to look at Lord Thornbeck. His eyes gleamed and he smiled.

  “Thornbeck, I require a bath and a feast. Traveling makes me dirty and famished.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Lord Thornbeck escorted the king from the Great Hall to show him to his room and, no doubt, to order a bath brought to his bedchamber.

  Avelina stared after them. The king had blessed her marriage—marriage—to Lord Thornbeck. The king had called her, Avelina, clever and courageous. Could it be true? Was she only dreaming?

  “Are you well, my lady?” Sir Klas stood at her side. “Shall I take you back to your chamber?”

  “That will not be necessary. I am well, and I know the way.” She smiled and nearly laughed. Perhaps the numbness and disbelief were wearing off a bit.

  She climbed the stairs, wishing with all her heart that Lady Magdalen were here so she could thank her. Lady Magdalen had “spoken highly” of her and had told the king how Avelina had saved Lord Thornbeck. Lady Magdalen must be the reason he spoke so favorably to her—spoke to her at all—and sanctioned her marriage to Lord Thornbeck.

  “May God bless you, Lady Magdalen,” she whispered when she was safely in her bedchamber again. She lay across her bed, hugging her pillow. “May He bless you a thousand . . . thousand times over.”

  30

  FEELING DIRTY AFTER a whole day in the dungeon, Reinhart bathed himself quickly, dunking his head in the washbasin and washing the blood from his hair. He was dressed and ready when he realized he hadn’t shaved. Ah well. The king wore a beard, so he could hardly be offended.

  He glanced out the window as he rushed out. The sun was already nearly hidden behind the trees, indicating it was later than he might have hoped. He did not have much time before he would need to be in the Great Hall for the evening feast his cooks were preparing for the king and his men.

  He hurried down the stairs and through the corridor and knocked on Avelina’s door. Every muscle in his body seemed to strain in anticipation of her opening it.

  Finally, Avelina stood there, her face brightening when she saw him.

  His heart pounded and he took her hands in his. “Avelina of Plimmwald, will you marry me?”

  She gasped.

  As a knight before his liege lord, he knelt before her, still holding her hands.

  “As I have chosen you, will you now choose me? And will you forgive me for ever doubting that we should marry, for treating you unkindly when I learned of your deception?”

  She was smiling. “Yes.”

  He stood and put his arms around her. “If the king had not blessed our marriage, I would have married you anyway.”

  Avelina shook her head. “No, you cannot say that. It is too easy to say that now that everything has changed.”

  “It matters not if you believe me. You have agreed to marry me, and I shall not let you out of the agreement.”

  She was still smiling, but she was staring at his lips. “I have little choice since the king thinks I’m clever and wishes me to marry you, to strengthen the margravate of Thornbeck.”

  “You are jesting, but I don’t care, because now . . . I get what I want.” Reinhart bent his head nearer, his mouth hovering over hers, so close their lips were almost touching. Her hands slipped up his chest to his shoulders.

  “And what is it you want?” Her breath caressed his lips. Her eyes were nearly closed, and she leaned her body closer to his.

  “I want to see you laugh and smile every day. I want to hear you tell me you love me. I want to kiss you . . . every day.” He pulled her body against his. “Now tell me you love me.”

  “You are very impertinent,” she said, her voice breathless and her cheeks turning pink, “when the king has given you permission to marry me.”

  He pulled her even closer, looking deep into her eyes.

  “You know I love you. But do you love me?” Again, her gaze focused on his lips.

  “Yes. And kissing you.” He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her long and thoroughly, not holding anything back. Her hands’ grip went weak on his shoulders.

  He pulled away. Her body was nearly limp and her eyes were slow to open.

  “Are you well?”

  Her lips lifted in a slow, languid smile. “I’ll be very well, if you kiss me like that every day.”

  Avelina was dizzy by the time he ended the kiss. The intense smolder in his dark-brown eyes made her breath hitch in her throat.

  His dark hair was damp and curling slightly, and the three days’ growth of stubble on his face increased his masculinity, if that was possible, and took her breath away. Pressing her cheek against his chest, she would forever remember him as he knelt before her and asked her to marry him.

  “It is too much joy,” she said, relishing the feel of his arms around her and his heart beating beneath her cheek. “I don’t know if I can bear it.”

  He pulled away slightly and lifted her chin.

  “But is it truly possible that I shall marry you and that the king approves of me?”

  “If you doubt it, you can ask the king yourself, for we must go to the Great Hall. It would not be good to keep the king waiting.”

  “Oh. But my dress.” She glanced down at the maroon silk cotehardie that had belonged to Lady Dorothea. “Do you think it looks well enough?”

  “It is lovely. Fit for a margrave’s wife. Now let us go.”

  She gave him her hand and he started down the corridor, raising her fingers to his lips as he walked.

  “You are not using your cane.”

  For a moment he looked startled. “I forgot.”

  “Do you not need it?”

  “I don’t suppose I do.”

  He was still limping, but only a bit.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Lord Thornbeck was still holding her hand. The king called to them from above. “Lord Thornbeck. There you two are.”

  The priest was standing beside the king.

  “Since I am here to witness it, I thought you would like to have the priest speak the marriage rites over your union.”

  “Now?” Lord Thornbeck’s face went slack.

  “Of course,” the king boomed. “Sooner is always better than later. You can have the banns cried afterward, and in a few weeks you can invite the nobles and have a big wedding at the cathedral in town. Be sure and invite the Earl of Plimmwald. He definitely ought to be there.” He winked at Avelina.

  Lord Thornbeck and Avelina looked at each other. “Do you have any objection?” he whispered near her ear.

  “Are you sure you don’t have an objection?”

  “I have no objection to marrying you, whether now or two months from now—although I had rather thought it would be two months from now.”

  “What are you saying there?” the king shouted from the top of the staircase. “You can whisper to each other after the wedding and the feast. Come to the chapel.”

  Avelina’s heart skipped a few beats.

  Just then, Jorgen approached them from the other side of the room.

  “Chancellor,” the king called. “Have your wife come and the two of you be witnesses to their marriage.”

  If Jorgen was surprised, he did not betray it. He bowed to the king and quickly went back the way he had come.

  Lord Thornbeck squeezed her hand and they started up the staircase.

  In no time, Avelina found herself standing in the chapel of Thornbeck Castle facing the priest as he asked them to state their names. Avelina listened closely as Lord Thornbeck said, “Reinhart Stolten, third Margrave of Th
ornbeck.”

  They each stated their parents’ names, and then the priest said the marriage rites. They both gave their consent. Then the priest told them, “You may seal the covenant with a kiss, if you wish.”

  Avelina closed her eyes and Lord Thornbeck—Reinhart—briefly kissed her lips.

  She had just married the man she had previously not even dared hope to marry. How had this come about? It was a miracle.

  Odette was kissing her cheek in congratulations, smiling and squeezing her shoulder.

  While the king and Lord Thornbeck—Reinhart—were talking, Odette said quietly, “You look a bit dazed.”

  Avelina laughed, a nervous sound. “It was a bit sudden.”

  Odette smiled sympathetically.

  The feast afterward was a blur of listening to the king, who demanded their full attention for the entire long meal.

  Finally, King Karl announced he was tired and would go to bed early, then was escorted out of the Great Hall by his guards and up to his bedchamber.

  The knights surrounding them—their only guests now besides Jorgen and Odette—drank to their health and wished them wealth, joy, and many children.

  Lord Thornbeck excused himself and his new wife, and they went the way the king had gone.

  Lord Thornbeck seemed to be hurrying when he suddenly looked back at her. He pulled her into his arms and held her close. “Don’t be afraid.”

  She hadn’t realized she was afraid until he said that. It must have shown on her face.

  “I shall be a good husband, I promise.”

  “I am not afraid, I just . . . I was not expecting to be married tonight.”

  “Should I have told the king no when he pushed us to get married tonight?”

  “One can hardly say no to the king. No, I do not regret it at all.”

  His eyes softened and he caressed her cheek with his thumb. He leaned down and kissed her lips. “Clever, courageous Avelina.”

  She ran her fingers over the prickly stubble on his chin. “I was too afraid to even hope to ever marry you, until a few hours ago. But I’m full of joy to be your wife.”

  He kissed her cheek, then they went up the stairs together.

  The king left Thornbeck two days later, much to Reinhart and Avelina’s relief. Before he left, he declared that he would take Geitbart back to Prague for a more official judgment, but he planned to divide the region of Geitbart into two parts and make Lord Thornbeck the ruler of half, giving it a new name, and bestowing the other half to the duke’s cousin.

  Jorgen and Odette went to work organizing a wedding celebration, inviting all the noble ladies who had attended Lord Thornbeck’s bridal selection—all except Fronicka, who had left Thornbeck as soon as her father was taken to the dungeon and was probably hiding with relatives—as well as their families. The Earl of Plimmwald was particularly invited, including his daughter, if she had been found and brought back to Plimmwald by now. And in fact, she had returned home, and the earl had even granted his daughter and Sir Dietric permission to marry.

  Lord Thornbeck sent for Avelina’s family and settled them into a wing of the castle. Thornbeck Castle seemed a much more pleasant place with Jacob and Brigitta there, smiling and excited to have a castle to explore. Even her father seemed more talkative and less morose.

  King Karl sent his own musicians and minstrels to entertain at the wedding feast. The first night they sang the song they had written about the epic love between the Margrave of Thornbeck and his clever and courageous wife, Avelina. Some of it was far-fetched and made her laugh, and it extolled Avelina’s brave exploits, but the lines about the true love between Avelina and Lord Thornbeck made tears flood her eyes. When the song was over, everyone cheered and applauded for the margrave and his new bride.

  When the first few courses of the meal were over, the cooks brought out cherry pastries, cakes, compote, and pies.

  “Cherries!” Avelina exclaimed. “How did they know?”

  “I remembered you said they were your favorite fruit,” Reinhart said. “We had some stored in the buttery and the cooks made all these for you.”

  “Just what I wanted.” She nearly drooled at the cherry tart in front of her. Then she leaned over and kissed her husband’s cheek.

  He turned to look into her eyes. He was just what she wanted all those nights she dreamed of romantic love, of her own true love asking her to marry him. Her heart swelled with tender emotion every time she looked at him. So satisfying was the way he had changed, the cheerful expressions she saw on his face, and the way he actually thanked the servants now and was kind to them. He was also kind to her father and siblings and made them feel welcomed and wanted.

  Sometimes she was surprised that she was not more in awe of her husband. After all, he was a margrave and she had been very awestruck by him when she first met him. But she sensed that it would not please him if she considered herself anything less than his equal, and they often teased each other about the king’s praise of her and how impressed he had been with her.

  People had often warned her, when she was a poor maiden and a servant, that romantic love would be ground under reality’s heel, that true love was only something invented by minstrels and poets, that she should not be so naive and fanciful as to believe in romantic love. As it turned out, the reality of her love story with Lord Thornbeck was much more satisfying than any of her romantic stories and imaginings.

  She no longer had to dream about love. God had given her a love all her own, one that the troubadours would sing about for years to come.

  Chapter One

  Late winter, 1413, the village of Ottelfelt, Southwest of Hagenheim, the Holy Roman Empire

  Rapunzel, I wish to marry you.”

  At that moment, Mother revealed herself from behind the well in the center of the village, her lips pressed tightly together.

  The look Mother fixed on Wendel Gotekens was the one that always made Rapunzel’s stomach churn.

  Rapunzel shuffled backward on the rutted dirt road, “I am afraid I cannot marry you.”

  “Why not?” He leaned toward her, his wavy hair unusually tame and looking suspiciously like he rubbed it with grease. “I have as much land as the other villagers. I even have two goats and five chickens. Not many people in Ottelfelt have both goats and chickens.”

  She silently repeated the words an old woman had once told her. The truth is kinder than a lie.

  “I do not wish to marry you, Wendel.” She had once seen him unleash his ill temper on one of his goats when it ran away from him. That alone would have been enough to make her lose interest in him, if she had ever felt any.

  He opened his mouth as if to protest further, but he became aware of Mother’s presence and turned toward her.

  “Frau Gothel, I—”

  “I shall speak to you in a moment.” Her mother’s voice was icy. “Rapunzel, go home.”

  Rapunzel hesitated, but the look in Mother’s eyes was so fierce, she turned and hurried down the dirt path toward their little house on the edge of the woods.

  Aside from asking her to marry him, Wendel’s biggest blunder had been letting Mother overhear him.

  Rapunzel made it to their little wattle-and-daub structure and sat down, placing her head in her hands, muffling her voice. “Father God, please don’t let Mother’s sharp tongue flay Wendel too brutally.”

  Mother came through the door only a minute or two later. She looked around their one-room home, then began mumbling under her breath.

  “There is nothing to be upset about, Mother,” Rapunzel said. “I will not marry him, and I told him I wouldn’t.”

  Her mother had that frantic look in her eyes and didn’t seem to be listening. Unpleasant things often happened when Mother got that look. But she simply snatched her broom and went about sweeping the room, muttering unintelligibly.

  Rapunzel was the oldest unmarried maiden she knew, except for the poor half-witted girl in the village where they’d lived several years ago. That p
oor girl drooled and could barely speak a dozen words. The girl’s mother had insisted her daughter was a fairy changeling and would someday be an angel who would come back to earth to punish anyone who mistreated her.

  Mother suddenly put down her broom. “Tomorrow is a market day in Keiterhafen. Perhaps I can sell some healing herbs.” She began searching through her dried herbs on the shelf attached to the wall. “If I take this feverfew and yarrow root to sell, I won’t have any left over,” she mumbled.

  “If you let me stay home, I can gather more for you.”

  Her mother stopped what she was doing and stared at her. “Are you sure you will be safe without me? That Wendel Gotekens—”

  “Of course, Mother. I have my knife.”

  “Very well.”

  The next morning Mother left before the sun was up to make the two-hour walk to Keiterhafen. Rapunzel arose a bit later and went to pick some feverfew and yarrow root in the forest around their little village of Ottelfelt. After several hours of gathering and exploring the small stream in the woods, she had filled two leather bags, which she hung from the belt around her waist. This should put Mother in a better mood.

  Just as Rapunzel reentered the village on her way back home, three boys were standing beside the lord’s stable.

  “Rapunzel! Come over here!”

  The boys were all a few years younger than she was.

  “What do you want?” Rapunzel yelled back.

  “Show us that knife trick again.”

  “It’s not a trick.” She started toward them. “It is a skill, and you will never learn it if you do not practice.”

  Rapunzel pulled her knife out of her kirtle pocket as she reached them. The boys stood back as she took her stance, lifted the knife, and threw it at the wooden building. The knife point struck the wood and held fast, the handle sticking out perfectly horizontal.

  One boy gasped while another whistled.

  “Practice, boys.”

  Rapunzel yanked her knife out of the wall and continued down the dusty path. She had learned the skill of knife throwing in one of the villages where she and Mother had lived.