A Melanie Dickerson Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  So Gerek stepped toward her, laid his sword on the ground, put his arms around her, and patted her shoulder with one hand.

  It seemed to work because Rapunzel’s sobbing lessened and soon stopped altogether. She stiffened in his arms and stood unmoving. Her arms were pressed against his chest, and he wished she would put her head against him, so much his chest ached.

  She stood sniffing and wiping her eyes with her hands, and he continued patting her shoulder, putting his hands in contact with her thick hair. The golden-blond color was as beautiful as it was unusual, and it felt like silk against his fingers.

  She pulled away from him and he let her go, the ache intensifying in his chest. She turned away from him, still wiping at her face.

  “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

  “I am sorry for crying. I am well.” Her voice was still shaky as she continued to wipe her face with her hands. “You must get back to the dormitory before your bones grow back crooked.”

  Before he knew what she was doing, she bent and picked up his sword and handed it to him.

  “Can you walk?” she asked.

  “Of course I can walk. I ran—or an approximation of running with this heavy splint—all the way to the edge of the forest when I heard you scream.”

  She crossed her arms and stared up at him, opening her mouth to say something. But then she closed it and gave her head a slight shake. “Thank you.”

  They walked slowly, side by side, back to the dormitory. At least he had been able to get to her before that madman hurt her.

  Had it been wrong to hold her? No, he did not believe so, but why had she stiffened? Why had she turned away from him? His stomach sank, but he clenched his teeth and shook his head. She still did not trust him.

  Once they were back in the dormitory and sitting down, Rapunzel couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, about the man grabbing her, throwing her down on the ground, and holding the knife to her throat. Tears kept coming into her eyes. She did her best to hide them from Sir Gerek. Thankfully, he seemed oblivious. He opened a book and started talking about Latin. She tried to pay attention, but her thoughts kept wandering.

  He held the book out to her, asking her to read. When she reached for it, her hand was shaking.

  Instead of giving her the book, he laid it down and grasped her hand. “You are not well.” He held her hand firmly in his much bigger, calloused one, then reached and took her other hand.

  Her back instantly straightened. She wanted to pull her hands away, but he could prevent her. After all, he was much stronger than she was. Her heart trembled at the truth: He was only being kind. He did not want to take advantage of her. So why was fear welling up inside her?

  She could not look him in the eye. The tears streamed down her face. The warmth of his gentle grip was unbearably sweet, and it made her heart swell. She kept her head bowed so he couldn’t see her tears. How shameful she was. She had no right to ask for his kindness. He was a knight.

  “I shall get you some wine.” He let go of her hands and stood up, shuffling to the other side of the room.

  Meanwhile, she struggled to get her tears under control, wiping her face with her sleeves. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Their warmth—warmed by his touch—made her stomach flip.

  He came back and touched the back of her hand with a small cloth, and she used it to finish drying her eyes and her nose. When she dared to peek up at him, he was holding a cup out to her. “This will make you feel better.”

  She took it, and the sharp scent of the red wine filled her nose. She took a sip. She and her mother never drank wine, as it was too expensive. The taste lingered on her tongue and wasn’t as pleasant as she thought it would be—it was rather like drinking vinegar. She took another sip to be polite and then handed it back to him.

  He pushed the cup back toward her. “It isn’t enough to make you drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about. Drink it. You’ll feel better.”

  “No. I don’t like it.” If he thought he could push her around, just because he had saved her life again, and just because she had shown weakness by crying, he was mistaken. He was being too kind to her, paying her too much attention. She kept an eye on the door. She could run away. With his splint, he could not catch her.

  He took it and frowned. “Hardheaded, you are.” He drank it himself in one gulp.

  “Better to be hardheaded than always grumpy.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes.” He was back to his grumpy self. Good.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gerek sat back on the bed and propped his leg up again. He rather liked it when she stood up to him.

  At least she wasn’t crying anymore. He couldn’t bear to see her cry, and hearing her sob had made his stomach hurt. And now that she was no longer crying, and her hair was completely uncovered, he let himself look at her.

  He had always thought her beautiful—for a peasant girl. But with that golden hair falling around her, it made her face and eyes glow like some kind of enchantment.

  He was thinking like an addle-headed knave.

  “Will you help me get a position at Hagenheim Castle?”

  Her question startled him out of his thoughts. “What sort of position?”

  “As a maidservant. I can cook or do any sort of cleaning.”

  Lady Rose would like her very much. “Is that what you wish?”

  She nodded.

  “I shall write Lady Rose a letter, listing your virtues and skills.” He reached down and drew up a piece of real paper—much crisper than parchment—and found a reed pen. “Let’s see, what shall I say? You are hardheaded . . .”

  “Don’t you dare.” But this brought a smile to her face that she was obviously trying to suppress.

  “And terrified of letting anyone see your hair . . .” He found his ink and writing board.

  “You wouldn’t say that!” She self-consciously twisted her long hair and then flung it over her shoulder. It was like molten gold, flowing over her shoulders, reaching all the way to the floor. The silky texture of it shimmered and floated with her every movement . . . Mesmerizing. No wonder her mother made her cover it.

  He wrenched his gaze from her hair, dipped his pen in the inkwell, and started writing. “You have very strong ideas about propriety.”

  She huffed. “If you will not write a proper letter to help me get the position, then I pray you not write her at all.”

  “I shall write to my lady and tell her that you will make a hardworking, honest, clever maidservant.”

  “Thank you.”

  Rapunzel read the German Bible while he wrote the letter. When he finished, he fanned it in the air to dry the ink, then folded it. Rapunzel held his wax stick close to the flame of the fire in the grate, and then he sealed the letter with the wax and imprinted it with the seal on a ring he wore.

  While the hot wax was cooling, she asked, “What sort of person is Lady Rose? I believe you said she was kind.”

  “She is very kind.”

  “Even to maidservants?”

  “Of course. Lady Rose is not like other noble-born ladies I have met. She is kind and thoughtful to everyone, from visiting dukes and duchesses, to her own children, to the pages and squires, to the lowliest maids in the kitchen. She is a virtuous lady who believes in every word of the Holy Writ. There is no other lady like her, I would avow.”

  She was gazing at him with raised brows. “You do think very highly of her.”

  He felt his cheeks flush. He didn’t want anyone, even Rapunzel, to know just how highly he had thought of her, when he had been a mere boy, missing his mother. It could even be said that he had been a little in love with her.

  “Everyone thinks very highly of Lady Rose.”

  “What must I do to make her approve of me?”

  “Only be yourself. She will approve of you.”

  She looked suspicious of his compliment.

  “As long as Lady Rose sees you treating others ki
ndly and performing your duties, she will approve of you.”

  She nodded. “I suppose I should go.”

  He handed her the letter. She took it, then said, “Do all knights marry noble-born ladies?”

  Why was she asking him that? Perhaps because she was having tender feelings for him after he had saved her a second time from that brigand.

  “Not all knights marry noble-born ladies, though most do. The reason I wish to marry a noble lady is because my father did something terrible when I was a boy, and my older brother blamed me for it. He has hated me since I was very young and refuses to allow me any inheritance. And since I cannot allow my idiot brother to best me—he has inherited the family estates, which includes a large castle and much land—I plan to marry an heiress with great property.”

  “That hardly seems like a good reason. No, I would not say that you must marry an heiress or a noble-born lady, just because you want to best your brother.”

  Heat bubbled up from his chest into his forehead. “You don’t understand what my brother said to me, how he believes that God has made him superior to me because he is older. If I marry a noblewoman, and if I gain lands and wealth, it will prove that God is favoring me at least as much as him.” When he said it aloud, it didn’t sound as strong an argument as it did in his head. “It doesn’t matter if you understand. That is the way it must be. I will marry an heiress or I shall not marry at all.”

  She frowned slightly but said nothing. What was she thinking? And why in creation did he care?

  “Besides that, I can’t marry someone who is expecting me to love them, and noblewomen usually marry for political reasons, not for love.”

  “What? You don’t want to love your wife?” Her eyes were wide.

  “That’s not what I meant. But my father . . . if you knew what he did, you would understand.”

  “What did he do?”

  He had never told anyone, except Lady Rose, when he was just a boy and still grieving what had happened. “My father . . .” He wasn’t sure why he was telling her. “My father killed my mother. And then . . . he killed himself by leaping from a tower window.”

  Her eyes went wide and her lips formed an O as she stared at him, finally clamping her hand over her mouth. “How?” she whispered.

  “He hit her, then pushed her down the stairs. She was dead, her neck broken, by the time she reached the bottom.” He tore his eyes away from the compassion in her expression. He spoke quickly, to finish the story. “They had been arguing about whether to send for me and bring me home for Christmas. My father wanted to leave me at Keiterhafen, where I was a page, but my mother wanted to bring me home.”

  That old familiar pain weighed down his heart—shame, guilt, sorrow. It overshadowed him like a dark cloud. He shouldn’t have told her.

  “That is very sad. You must have been . . . devastated.”

  He shrugged. It could not hurt him anymore, surely. He was a grown man now. “My brother blamed me, which hurt me very much since I was but a boy and looked up to him as my older brother.” An invisible fist seemed to squeeze his throat. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “I still don’t understand how that keeps you from marrying someone who expects you to love them.”

  Wasn’t it obvious? “He was my father. He had a terrible temper. When he was angry, he would hit anyone who got in his way. He killed his favorite hunting dog just because the dog let a fox get away. He beat me, he beat the servants, he beat his wife. And I am his son.”

  She still didn’t look as if this was explanation enough, so he said, “I have his blood in my veins. If he would beat his wife and children, the people he loved, then I would do it too.”

  She shook her head. “I know that is what people think. If a man is a thief, his child will also be a thief. If a woman lies with other men besides her husband, her daughters will do the same. If a man beats his wife, his sons will beat their wives. But don’t you think that has more to do with what their children grow up seeing their parents do?” She tilted her head to one side and put her hands on her hips. “How old were you when you left home?”

  He growled and shrugged.

  “No, this is important. Tell me how old you were.”

  “I was seven years old, the same as most boys who are sent away to be pages and to train to be knights.”

  “Yes. You were a child of seven who went to live at Hagenheim Castle, who saw how kind Lady Rose was. You spent more time with Duke Wilhelm and his sons than you did with your own father. Now, I’ve given this a lot of thought.” She wrinkled her brow slightly as she stared down at her hands. “My mother abandoned me when I was very small, but I would never do such a thing to my child. The only mother I have ever known would also never abandon her child. She has loved me, and I will love my own child—if I should ever have a child.

  “And you, you will not be like your father. You will remember what he did and you will strive to not be like him. You will remember the good example you saw in Duke Wilhelm, and you will choose to be a kind husband, not a cruel one. We all have a choice, after all, to be our own person, to be the person we wish to be.”

  His heart swelled in his chest just as it had the first night he had listened to her sing. He had never heard this reasoning before. What if she was right? They stared at each other. His mind was churning.

  “But the fact remains that I must marry an heiress. Otherwise I will have nothing, which is exactly what my brother told me. He hated me and wished me to perish. I think he might have killed me if a servant had not sent me off to Hagenheim in the middle of the night.” He wasn’t sure why he even remembered that. He hadn’t thought of it in years, and he’d never told anyone.

  “I am so sorry that happened to you.” Her eyes began to shimmer. Was she about to cry again?

  “It was a long time ago, and I have lived a very good and interesting life. I have fought in tournaments with the greatest champion of all time, Valten Gerstenberg, the Earl of Hamlin, and I have had the time and resources to be as much of a scholar as I wanted to be, studying the Holy Writ and learning languages. I will not have you pitying me.”

  She only stared, her eyes still misty.

  “Now, if you do not go back home, I am afraid your mother will never let you leave the house again. And you without your head covering.”

  “Oh, yes, my wimple. I must go find it.” She stood up but seemed unable to move.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  She just stood there, her mouth open as she stared at the doorway. She had just been attacked by a madman. Was she afraid to walk back through the woods alone?

  “I’ll send for my horse and take you back. It will be faster.”

  “Oh, I cannot—”

  “I insist.”

  “But your leg.”

  “It is well as long as I have this splint. Come.” He walked to the door and stepped out. “You, there!” he called to a postulant who was walking nearby. “Fetch my horse.”

  Rapunzel walked to the edge of the forest to retrieve her head covering. He watched her pick it up and begin twisting her long hair and stuffing it inside the wimple. What a pity to see the golden locks disappearing inside the piece of fabric.

  He managed to mount his horse—it wasn’t as difficult as mounting with full armor—and walked Donner to where Rapunzel was standing.

  “Put your foot in the stirrup and I’ll pull you the rest of the way. You can sit in front.” He moved back in the saddle to show her that there was room.

  She only stared at him, one side of her mouth twisting.

  “You can sit sidesaddle.”

  Still she hesitated. Finally, she put her foot into the stirrup. He took her by the arm and hauled her up in front. She sat sideways, her skirts covering her legs and feet.

  “What if I feel like I’m falling?”

  “You’ll have to grab either me or the horse.” That should have been obvious. He nudged Donner forward.


  They moved rather slowly through the trees, and she held on to the pommel of the saddle. As Rapunzel told him which direction to go to her home, he thought about what she had said. It made sense. He could decide not to be like his father, could choose to be a kind and loving father and husband. After all, he hardly even remembered his father, and Duke Wilhelm had been a good example to him. He’d never known a better man than Duke Wilhelm. It seemed so simple and true. How had he never thought of it? He’d had to have it pointed out to him by Rapunzel.

  Beautiful, clever, hardheaded Rapunzel, who had broken down and cried, whose hair was as beautiful as a sunset.

  But it was immoral to think of her that way, to think of her beauty and her many appealing qualities, since she was only a peasant and he could never marry her.

  He could go back to Hagenheim Castle now. He was able to sit a horse, he had no more pain in his leg or his arm, and if there was a need, Frau Lena could make new splints for him.

  But he would not be able to teach Rapunzel to read anymore. Did this bother him so much that he would consider staying at the monastery instead of going back?

  “Since my leg is so much better, I’ll be going back to Hagenheim tomorrow.”

  He might very well never see her again, and that thought sent a pain through him.

  Rapunzel’s heart lurched. The lessons with Sir Gerek were over. She hadn’t realized his announcing the end of them would make her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. “That is good. You will be glad to see your friends again.”

  He didn’t answer. Then finally he said, “Yes, I will. I’ve been away for a while, as I escorted Lord Gabehart and Lady Sophie back to Hohendorf after a visit, and I was on my way back to Hagenheim when . . . when I saved you from that thief, the first time he attacked you.”

  “And I saved you when he was about to kill you.” She couldn’t help adding that.

  “Yes.”

  She glanced back at him, but instead of looking annoyed, there was a smile on his lips.

  “You have now saved me twice, and so it is my turn again.”

  He grunted rather than answering.

  “If you cross this little stream, you can follow it the rest of the way.”