Ever on her guard around anyone connected to Duchess Ermengard, Sophie asked stiffly, “What do you want?”
She heard a confidant laugh. “Come and see.”
Slowly, Sophie stepped closer, dropping the blanket to the floor and flipping her apron up over her food to hide it.
As he watched her, she studied his face, which was hard and flinty, with sharp angles. A short, stubbly, light-colored beard covered his chin and jaw, and a small scar cut a line under one eye. But he was undeniably handsome, especially a moment later when he flashed his smile, showing perfect, white teeth.
“See what I brought you?” He held out a flask.
“What is it?” She shouldn’t let him think she trusted him.
“Some wine. I heard you were here and thought you may need the refreshment. I know the duchess forbid you to have water, but she never said anything about other ways to quench your thirst.”
Sophie stared at the flask. She had no desire to indebt herself to him by accepting his gift, but two days and nights without anything to drink was a dreadful thought. Still, she made no move to receive it. She wasn’t dying of thirst yet.
“Perhaps I can convince the duchess to let you out after one day instead of two.” He quirked his eyebrows up.
Sophie chewed her lip. Why was he being kind to her and offering to help? Or was he pretending? Sophie had learned early in life that she was unprotected in this cruel world, and the way to survive was to be suspicious of everyone’s motives and intentions until proven otherwise, especially if they had more power and freedom than she had.
“Will you accept my gift?” He held the wine flask up to the bars.
Sophie hesitated. She reasoned that perhaps this was God’s way of providing. Perhaps God had sent him. She would like to believe this man was the answer to her prayers. But she didn’t dare; a deep part of her warned that his gift came from an ulterior motive.
Then she remembered the pain of thirst, the sharp, raw ache in her throat after one day without water, the horror and desperation of the second day.
Sophie slowly reached her hand toward the window. Lorencz slipped the flask through the bars into her open palm.
“Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure. Have I told you how comely you are?”
“Once or twice.” She forced a hard, sarcastic edge into her voice.
“You should go for a picnic with me tomorrow.”
“Even if I were to agree, that would be impossible. I will still be in this dungeon tomorrow.” She tapped one of the bars for emphasis.
“Not if I get you released early.”
“How do you plan to manage that?”
“I have my ways.” His eyes flashed mischeviously.
“A personal favorite of the duchess, are you?”
“You might say that.” His voice was deep and smooth.
“I see.”
“I like you, Sophie. You’re not like the other servant girls.”
“You’re wrong. I am exactly like the other servant girls.” Poor, orphaned, and powerless against her mistress.
“No, there’s something special about you.” He leaned his shoulder against the stone casing around the window, giving her a lopsided grin, his eyes focused on her face. “You have” — he sighed — “a beauty that is quite rare. Any man would be proud to have you for a wife.”
Sophie snorted and was glad she had allowed the rude sound to come forth. She wanted him to know she didn’t trust him, that she believed his mention of marriage was a ruse. He was hoping to fool her into trusting him.
“Why don’t you trust me, Sophie? Don’t you believe that I like you? That you’ve stirred this hard heart of mine?”
So he admits his heart is hard. “Maybe I don’t trust you because I’ve heard it all before. Maybe you’re not the first to lie to me … to attempt to lead me astray.”
Lorencz laughed out loud. Sophie resisted the urge to shush him. She supposed it wouldn’t matter if he did get caught, seeing as he was immune to the duchess’s rules and above punishment. Still chuckling, his gaze returned to her face, and she tried hard to find sincerity in his expression. Was it possible that he was willing to help free her from Duchess Ermengard’s clutches? Unfortunately, there was a wily, secretive glint in his eyes that made such hopes seem foolish.
Still, it was tempting to throw off caution and tell him she’d love to go on a picnic with him, just so he would get her out of her cell. Perhaps she should agree. Why not?
Why not? For many reasons.
Though his laughter had ceased completely, he continued to smile at her in a way that made her feel funny inside. His half grin, his confident look, and the obvious strength in his broad chest and shoulders appealed to her much more than they should have. If anyone could help her escape the duchess, it was surely this man.
He leaned into the bars, only a foot away from her. She took a half step back.
“Come with me,” he whispered, his brown eyes mesmerizing her, like an invisible string holding her to him. “I promise not to lead you astray on our first picnic together.” His mouth twisted in a grin.
Sophie’s heart thumped hard against her chest. He was handsome, yes, and he had singled her out, but he was dangerous. She had to keep telling herself that.
“Very well, then. If you can get me out, I’ll go with you.”
Sophie immediately regretted her words.
Lorencz jumped to his feet. He swept the leather cap from his head and bowed low. “Fare well, then, my lady.”
He was mocking her now. He chuckled as he strode away.
She shuddered at the commitment she now couldn’t rescind, even as a surge of hope rose inside her.
Chapter 3
Valten had stared down the tip of a lance and had been confronted with broadsword and battle-ax, but those tournament games seemed like a child’s playacting. His betrothed alive? And in danger? If there were any small possibility that she was his betrothed, he had to go and rescue her. But how? He couldn’t go anywhere with a broken leg.
“We must find out if this Sophie is Duke Baldewin’s daughter. It wouldn’t be right to ignore the woman’s claims.” Valten clenched his hand into a fist and met his father’s gaze. “I would leave today if I could sit a horse.”
“I know, son.” His father thoughtfully rubbed his jaw.
Valten glanced at Gabe, who stood in the background, looking as deep in thought as Valten felt. Surely Gabe wasn’t concerned with this business? Valten felt a twinge of resentment at his little brother even being allowed in on the discussion. After all, Gabe was no warrior. What could he do? And it wasn’t his betrothed in question. It was Valten’s. Or, rather, she might be.
“I would go and take a few knights with me,” Duke Wilhelm said, “but I have that emissary coming from King Sigismund in two days. It is too late to put him off.”
Gabe stared steadily at Valten, then at his father. Valten knew that look. His little brother was about to propose something foolhardy.
“You must send me, Father. I can find the girl.” Gabe was twenty years old, only two years younger than Valten, but in Valten’s eyes Gabe was still a mere boy — an irresponsible, reckless boy who often overestimated his charm and the trouble it could get him out of.
Valten stifled a laugh, which came out as a snort. “Come now, Gabe. You know …” Valten shook his head at him.
“What? You can’t go, Father can’t go, but I can.”
Valten raised himself higher, pulling himself up with his arms until he felt a stab of pain in his leg. His face grew hot at hearing his brother state the obvious.
“Do you think you can save a duke’s daughter from an evil and powerful duchess? Do you fancy yourself a fierce knight bent on rescuing the damsel in distress?” Valten knew he was being unkind to his little brother, but Gabe needed to come to his senses. “You only like the idea of playing the hero and saving my betrothed.”
Gabe glared back, holding his brother’
s gaze without blinking.
Valten folded his arms across his chest and turned to the man he knew would support his argument. “Father, you’re not thinking of letting him go, are you?”
His father raised his brows and took a deep breath. He turned to Gabe. “Son, I’m glad you are willing to go, but I’m afraid it’s just too dangerous for you to venture alone. When Valten is well again, we can travel to Hohendorf. Besides, the old woman’s claims will most likely turn out to be false. We may learn there is no Sophie, and the duke’s daughter is dead, as we have all believed for the past fifteen years. And even if there is a Sophie who turns out to be the duke’s daughter, she will be safe until we are all able to journey there.”
Gabe shrugged and looked at the floor. “As you say, Father.”
He was giving up too easily, which was a sign that Gabe had an idea — a dangerous idea. Gabe had better not be planning to take on the rescue alone, because Duchess Ermengard had a very alarming reputation, and Gabe was just a thoughtless boy.
Just as Sophie’s eyes closed and her body and mind threatened to relax enough to let her fall asleep, the scurry of tiny claws against the hard dirt floor forced them open again. She lifted the stick and brought it down with a whack. It missed the rat’s head by a whisker and violently jarred her arm all the way to her shoulder. Sophie stifled a moan and sighed instead.
She’d hardly slept all night. As soon as she felt herself dozing, another rat would scuttle close. One had even run across her foot just before daybreak. She shivered at the memory. A scar on her wrist was all the reminder she needed that rats had sharp teeth and assumed everything was food until proven otherwise.
A gray light showed itself at the window. The night was over. Her arms trembled as she pulled the blanket tighter about her, and she drew her knees up to her chest. “God, please save me from this place,” she rasped. But she refused to pity herself. Pity would only make her cry, and crying was worse than useless; it would give her a headache.
She might as well drink the last of the watered-down wine, especially as she needed to get rid of the flask before any of the guards found it. No doubt the duchess would lengthen her stay in the dungeon by another day or two if she knew Sophie had been given food and drink. Her bread and cheese had long since been eaten — so as not to send the rodents into a frenzy, driving them with more desperation toward her.
Uncorking the flask, Sophie said a quick prayer of thanks, thinking of Lorencz the huntsman, and drank the last of it. Then she hid it under a loose rock in the farthest corner.
And not a moment too soon, as she heard the sound of metal scraping metal — a key in the lock. The door creaked open with agonizing slowness.
Sophie waited to see who was there and what they wanted before expending the energy to stand.
“Come,” a gruff voice ordered. “Time to go.”
Sophie scrambled to her feet, dropping the blanket — too late to try to hide it. Walking as though in a daze, she climbed the steps and passed through the doorway while the guard held the door. Could Lorencz truly have secured her release after only one night?
A terrible thought entered her mind. Perhaps the guard was letting her out so he could take her to the duchess for more railings, and so the duchess could strike her again.
Sophie looked at the guard, waiting for his orders, but the man only walked away. Within moments, other footsteps sounded down the corridor, growing louder as they came closer. Should she run before the person saw her? Maybe the guard had let her out by mistake, a mistake that would be remedied by the person stalking toward her.
But as the nearby wall torch illuminated the man’s face, Lorencz’s features came into view.
He smiled. “Little Sophie. You survived the night.”
She felt a surge of gratitude that made her knees sag. He stepped forward and reached out to her, as if he thought she was falling.
Sophie warded him off by raising her hands. “I am quite dirty.”
He looked slightly affronted but recovered his smile quickly. “I shall come for you at midday for our picnic, then, after you’ve had time to bathe. Shall I meet you at the back door of the kitchen?”
Sophie blinked at him, unable to make sense of his words. Ah, yes. She had almost forgotten her promise to spend a meal with the huntsman.
“I am sorry, but I have work to do. The cook needs my help.”
“Then I shall speak to the cook. Surely she can spare you for one hour.”
“You may speak to her, but Petra can get very angry, and I am certain she will not allow me to go with you.” That much was true, but only if Sophie could get to her first and warn her not to say yes to the huntsman’s request. “Petra keeps me quite busy.” And I will make sure she continues to need my service during every meal.
“Don’t use me ill. You will dine with me as soon as I can free you from the kitchen?”
Sophie nodded. “I shall.”
He winked, then turned and walked back the way he had come.
She couldn’t hold him off forever, though. Eventually, she would have to keep her word and go on that picnic with him.
Gabe strode down the corridor to his bedchamber and began gathering up some clothes and supplies, shoving them into a bag he could attach to his saddle. His brother had been right about one thing during his puffed-up tirade — Gabe did want to “play the hero” and save Valten’s betrothed. Admittedly, he had not yet done anything heroic in his life, but how hard could it be to outwit a secluded duchess and rescue a servant girl?
This was his chance to show that he was just as brave as Valten, as well as have the adventure of rescuing this seventeen-year-old maiden from her dire circumstances.
Minstrels would write songs about him that would be sung through every demesne. He might even help them craft a line or two.
Best of all, Valten would be furious that his younger brother had gone on a quest that was rightfully his.
But it was much more than that. Gabe felt a yearning inside him to go and rescue this girl, a compulsion so strong it almost overpowered him. He wasn’t even sure why a strange maiden would affect him so much.
The he remembered his little sister and how he had let her drown. Gabe hung his head as a sudden rush of memories flooded him. Gabe had felt such a heavy weight of guilt — and still did. If he could save this Sophie, it wouldn’t bring Elsebeth back, he knew, but … he suddenly wanted to save this other girl so much it caused an ache in his chest.
At dinner that night, Gabe listened as his father and mother discussed the news that Valten’s betrothed might still be alive, and discussed when Valten and Duke Wilhelm would be able to make the trip to Hohendorf. As if their next-eldest, healthy, brave, and willing son wasn’t even an afterthought.
Gabe chewed his food slowly, plotting his own trip. He would sneak away during the night with plenty of provisions and borrow some old clothes from a servant so he could pass himself off as a poor pilgrim on his way to some cathedral or other. He was thinking through his plan, mentally gathering the things he would need, when his mother spoke up.
“Gabehart, you look so lost in thought. What are you thinking of?”
Gabe knew he shouldn’t reveal anything, but he couldn’t resist finding out just how much his parents believed he was capable of. “Mother, what if I went to Hohendorf to find out if this story is true, if Duke Baldewin’s daughter is truly alive and being mistreated by her stepmother? I would be more than willing to do so.”
“My son,” his mother said, looking alarmed, “how could you think about doing such a dangerous thing?”
“Mother, I’m not exactly a child.” She had no issue with the dangerous things Valten did — his broken leg was proof.
“I am glad you want to help this girl. I think it’s very noble of you. But instead of thinking about saving Valten’s betrothed, you should be thinking of Count Waldomar’s daughter, Brittola.” Her voice was gentle, more pleading than chastising. “Don’t forget, you’ve agreed
to marry her. She’s the perfect wife for you … quiet, sweet, raised in a sheltered, peaceful home. And her father will gift you a large estate adjoining his own.”
Gabe stared into his goblet of wine. His mother meant well, after all. He felt a pang of conscience when he imagined how worried she would be when it was discovered he was gone. He should not grieve his parents. The saints above knew they both had experienced more than their fair share of grief already.
His mother and father were good parents who loved their children and each other. They rarely disagreed, and they smiled at each other more often than any two people he’d ever seen. He’d realized that not all married couples were so happy when he started observing some of his friends’ parents. He’d even seen his friend Otto’s mother clobber her husband over the head with a small barrel of vinegar, smashing it and soaking the man, then screaming that it was probably the first bath he’d ever had. He couldn’t imagine his own mother doing such a thing.
As for his mother encouraging him to marry the count’s daughter, Brittola … he had every intention of marrying her. It was a profitable marriage for Gabe, since, as a younger son, he would inherit little from his parents. And she was pretty.
“What does Brittola have to do with this?” he asked.
“I’m not sure how Brittola would feel if she heard you had gone to Hohendorf to save a young, beautiful maiden.”
“Mother, you can’t think I have designs on Valten’s betrothed.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “This girl may not even be his future wife, but if she is, I hardly want to take her away from my brother. I just don’t see why I can’t go and simply look into this old woman’s claims.”
“You can. When your brother’s leg is healed and your father’s duties allow him to leave, you can go with them.”
Gabe swallowed his pride and the angry retort that was on the tip of his tongue and instead hung his head. He could pretend compliance. After all, he didn’t want her to guess what he was planning. “Yes, Mother.” Whatever you say.
The Fairest Beauty Page 3