Chapter 4
Gabe headed south for seven days, the last few without encountering a single village or inn. He was counting on his father not sending soldiers after him. After all, Gabe often went on adventures without telling others where he was going.
On the seventh day, when he realized he was nearing Duchess Ermengard’s castle, he backtracked into the forest and discovered an abandoned cottage, its roof caving in. One corner of the dilapidated house still seemed well sheltered from rain, and that is where he stowed his weapon — his crossbow and arrows — and also his regular clothes. He exchanged his comfortable, fine linen shirt for a rough woolen tunic he’d brought along to disguise himself and filled a leather bag with items needed to convince the duchess he was a poor traveler. His horse and saddle could still give him away, but that couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t leave Gingerbread in the woods to fend for himself. Especially since Gabe didn’t know when he’d be able to come back.
And now that he thought about it, he should change his horse’s name to something more warlike than Gingerbread.
Gabe already envisioned his success; he would rescue Duke Baldewin’s daughter from being mistreated as the duchess’s servant — a fate worse than death — and restore her to her rightful position. Then he’d take Duchess Ermengard to the king to stand trial for her misdeeds. Poets would immortalize him, the whole countryside would sing of his valiant deeds, and beautiful maidens would throw their scarves at him whenever he rode down the street.
Even Valten would be impressed. He would take back all the abuse about Gabe being a weakling and show him respect for the first time since they were young children.
Gabe held his head high as he led the horse through the village of Hohendorf on his way to the castle, until he reminded himself to try and look more humble, to keep his head down and stop thinking about his future triumphs. But as he looked around at the townspeople going about their day’s work, he realized he could not have come close to looking as humble as they did in their tattered and stained clothing. Most of them were gaunt, appearing half starved, their clothing hanging off their sharp, angular shoulders and hips.
No one smiled. People stared at him as if his face had turned purple and horns had sprouted from his head. One carter was bent over, picking up the handles of his cart, when his gaze landed on Gabe and his horse. The man jerked back, his eyes round. Gabe stared back at him until the man seemed to collect himself and nodded a simple greeting.
Gabe nodded back and said, “Guten Morgen.”
The man mumbled, “Good morning.”
Why were the people so startled to see him? Was the presence of a stranger such an odd occurrence in this town? Did he look so out of place? Or was something else amiss?
He looked around for a shop of some kind where he might find someone loitering, or a group of people talking and passing the time. But there were no clusters of people anywhere on the street. He kept walking until he came to a baker’s shop. He flung Gingerbread’s reins over a post and stepped inside.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the dimmer light. The shop seemed deserted. There were no cakes or fruit pasties for sale, only a few round loaves of coarse bread.
A man entered the room from behind a curtain in the back, rubbing his hands on his apron. His step stuttered a bit when he saw Gabe, and his eyes narrowed.
“Guten Morgen,” Gabe greeted.
The baker nodded his acknowledgment. “Some bread for you?”
Gabe nodded toward a loaf and handed the man a coin. The baker took it and handed the bread to Gabe.
“I am new to this village and was wondering if you think Her Grace, Duchess Ermengard, would be interested in hearing my music. I play the lute and write song —”
“Your music won’t be welcome here.” The man’s eyes had grown quite large while Gabe was speaking, and his voice was gruff. “You’d best leave here and go elsewhere.”
“The duchess doesn’t like music?”
“She don’t like strangers. Nor music.”
“How long have you lived here?” Gabe decided to try a different tact. Perhaps the man would open up and give him some information.
The man narrowed his eyes.
“Were you here when Duke Baldewin was alive?”
The man brought his fist down hard on the heavy wooden counter and leaned toward Gabe. “Hist, stranger. You are barking down the wrong trail. This is no place for you. If you want to see the morrow, I suggest you depart forthwith.”
Gabe stared at the baker until he turned and left the same way he had come.
Walking back out into the street, Gabe retrieved his horse and continued through the village. The few people he saw stared at him until he tried to make eye contact, then they invariably looked down. Should he try to talk to someone, try to get lodging for the night in the village, and try to find someone who would answer his questions about a girl named Sophie? If no one was any friendlier than the baker, he would be wasting his time.
Hohendorf Castle stood above the village, on a forbidding hill overlooking the valley inhabitants and surrounded by a dense forest of evergreen trees. Even though the winding road that led up the hill to the castle looked steep and long, Gabe felt a thrill of boldness stiffen his spine and make him walk faster. He was almost there, and he suddenly felt very close to what he was looking for.
At the top of the castle mount, he came around a bend in the road and found himself in the rear courtyard of the castle. He entered the copse of trees that surrounded the road and courtyard and tied Gingerbread to a tree.
Several yards away, a woman stirred a large black pot over a fire. She wore similar clothes to the women in the village, with a stained apron covering her front. As he moved closer, two maidens stepped through the kitchen door into the courtyard.
Gabe hid behind a tree to watch. It was probably best to find out as much as he could before he incited anyone’s curiosity.
The maidens were giggling, until the woman stirring the pot shushed them. She pointed to what appeared to be a heap of clothing resting against the wall.
“Quiet, now. Sophie’s asleep.”
Sophie! He’d only just arrived and had found the girl already. I may be able to leave this place before sunrise tomorrow. He hadn’t proven she was Duke Baldewin’s daughter, however. That would no doubt take quite a bit more time.
As the two maidens hurried off down a worn path into the woods, the woman left off stirring the pot and went toward the heap. Carefully, she peeled back an apron that was on top, revealing the face of a young maiden. After watching her for a moment, the woman left the girl’s face uncovered and went inside the kitchen.
Finding himself alone with the sleeping girl, Gabe crept toward her, keeping just inside the cover of the trees and bushes. When he was barely twenty paces from her, he stopped and studied her.
She lay curled into a ball, her head pressed against the hard stone wall. Her face was relaxed, her eyes closed, and he was sure she was the most strikingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her skin was pale and flawless, her lips a dark rose color, and her hair a glossy black. The girl’s eyebrows and lashes, the same black as her hair, stood out against her pale skin.
Was this Duke Baldewin’s daughter? His heart seemed to press painfully against his chest as he felt a deep yearning to protect her, to save her and fight for her.
This girl could be Valten’s betrothed and the daughter of a duke. But other than her extraordinary beauty, there was no outward sign she was more than a common servant. If the old woman, Pinnosa, had simply been senile, then this girl was no more a duke’s daughter than those people he had just seen in the village below.
What should he do now? As Gabe weighed his options, he heard breaking twigs and rustling leaves, the unmistakable sound of someone walking toward him.
A guard appeared around the side of the castle, a sword hanging down from his belt and bumping his leg with every step.
The man was enormous, and as he came ar
ound the corner, his eyes went straight to Sophie. He halted a few steps away from her, grunted, and then muttered angrily. Like a territorial bull, he lumbered forward, and Gabe held his breath again. If the man intended to harm Sophie …
Gabe crept out of the trees, trying to stay quiet, his eyes glued to the huge guard’s back. The guard went straight up to Sophie and drew his foot back to kick her.
“Halt!” Gabe leaped toward him.
The guard spun around with a fierce growl. His hand hovered menacingly over his sword hilt.
Gabe faced him down, even though he had no weapon except a dagger concealed in his boot. He wasn’t used to having to look up at anyone, since he was taller than most men. But the guard was even taller than Gabe, and his girth would make two of him, maybe three.
This giant could crush him with a few blows of his immense fists. Not to mention his sword could slash Gabe to death in the blink of an eye. But Gabe couldn’t back down like a coward, and he couldn’t let the brute kick Sophie while she lay there asleep, looking defenseless.
The enormous man’s eyes grew wide, his face turned red, and he roared, “Who are you?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe saw Sophie sit straight up, then scramble to her feet.
A woman’s voice sounded behind the giant, getting closer as she ran toward them. “Who’s there? What is it? Sophie, are you all right?”
Gabe decided to change his story, since the one about being a troubadour hadn’t gone over very well. He turned to address the guard. “I am but a poor pilgrim on my way to see the relics at Aachen Cathedral.”
The giant guard snorted and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw Sophie standing there, he stuttered. “S-Sophie, is this man bothering you?”
Her eyes were wide — the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. She rubbed her cheek as she spoke. “No, I’ve never seen him before.”
The guard turned back and shoved Gabe’s shoulder, knocking him off balance. “Don’t stare at Sophie!” he roared — the only tone of voice he possessed, apparently.
“You were about to kick her,” Gabe accused the giant.
The servant, a slightly plump woman who had run up behind the giant, gasped and put her arm around Sophie.
The giant looked sheepish as he glanced back at the two women. “I didn’t know it was Sophie. I couldn’t see her face from where I was standing. You know I would never hurt Sophie.” He turned back to Gabe, anger returning to his face. He flexed his massive arms by his sides and leaned down over Gabe. “I’m not done with you, stranger. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Gabe resisted the urge to turn his head and cough, as the man smelled like he’d been eating raw onions and garlic.
After catching his breath, he said, “I told you. I’m a pilgrim from Hungary on my way to Aachen Cathedral.” He reminded himself to try and look humble, like the villagers he’d just seen. “My name is Gabe, and I’m also a musician.” Should he have chosen a different name? Though who would be looking for him here?
“A musician?” The man grunted in disgust.
“I was just traveling through this region —”
“Why did you come up here? The castle mount is hardly on your way.”
Gabe had no idea how to answer that question and realized he should be acting more afraid of this man.
“I came to seek an audience with Duchess Ermengard. I thought perhaps she might enjoy my lute playing for a season and would send me on my pilgrimage with her blessing.”
“If you’re looking for work of that kind, you won’t find it here. The duchess doesn’t like music. Or musicians.”
Gabe thought about telling the man that he preferred to ask the duchess himself what she liked and disliked, but he held his tongue. Instead, he bowed humbly and said, “You are wise, I am sure.”
The giant frowned and shook his head.
Who did this man — very handsome and not much older than she was — think he was fooling? He was no poor pilgrim from Hungary.
Sophie studied him from where she stood by the fire, dipping candles in the black iron cauldron, taking over the job from Petra, who had been helping her so Sophie could rest. She’d been awake most of the night nursing a sick maid. The young man sat on a stool against the wall, drinking the watered-down wine she’d given him. Walther had taken his horse, with its expensive-looking saddle, to the stable while the man stayed with Sophie.
The stranger’s boots were some of the finest she’d ever seen, the kind worn by noblemen. Few enough noblemen came round their castle, but Sophie had seen a pair just like them on a margrave who’d called on Duchess Ermengard a couple of weeks before. And this “pilgrim” had obviously forgotten to take off his gold ring, with a large ruby in the center, when he’d donned his poor-man’s disguise.
Besides, he didn’t have the visage of a pilgrim. He lacked the sun-beaten, haggard, shuffling look of someone who’d been traveling for weeks over mountains and dusty roads. Instead, he had the distinct look of the rich and privileged, with his high cheekbones, straight nose, and well-groomed hair and fingernails. But more than anything else, it was his tranquil demeanor that set him apart.
He was obviously lying.
Roslind, who had been scrubbing the front steps of the castle, came around the side and threw her arms around Sophie’s neck. “I thought you’d be picnicking by now!” Sophie tried not to cringe at the reminder — for a week she’d been putting off her promise of a midday meal with Lorencz, and she’d run out of excuses. Today he’d been making a show of ordering various foodstuffs from the kitchen.
Not that Sophie could be angry with her friend for her excitement about the huntsman wanting to take her on a picnic. Roslind was sweet, with her wide-set brown eyes and pretty, childlike face that looked much younger than her sixteen years. In her innocence, she likely assumed the time with Lorencz would be enjoyable. Sophie loved and protected her like Roslind was her own little sister, but it was the truth that the girl’s head was as empty as a day-old sparrow’s. Most people realized this right away, and Sophie was always interested to see how they then treated her.
Roslind turned toward the “traveler,” and Sophie watched the interaction between her and their guest as she continued her work of dipping candles.
Roslind chattered away at him, innocently inquiring, “Where are you going to? We almost never see strangers here. Are you lost?”
The stranger, who called himself Gabe, smiled. “No, I’m on my way to Aachen Cathedral.”
“Where is Aachen Cathedral? Is it very near?”
“It’s many days’ ride from here, to the northwest.”
“Where do you come from? Have you seen much of the world? I have heard there are large waters a long way from here — waters so big that you can’t see the other side of them. Have you been there?”
She continued to ask him lots of questions, and he patiently supplied answers.
The stranger had a gentle, though guarded, expression, and he was obviously being evasive with Roslind. He might fool Roslind, but he wasn’t likely to fool the other servants or Duchess Ermengard. And it was a dangerous thing to try to fool the duchess. The last person who’d tried had ended up buried behind the old cemetery in an unmarked grave.
Gabe simply didn’t know who he was dealing with, and someone needed to warn him.
Roslind went inside the kitchen to help Petra prepare the midday meal, leaving Sophie alone again with the stranger. She approached him as he sat on his stool, still drinking the tankard of wine she’d given him. He looked up, much too boldly for a poor pilgrim, and met her gaze with the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. For a moment she felt a bit startled and almost forgot what she was about to say. She cleared her throat.
“I would advise you to not approach Duchess Ermengard with any requests. Our mistress, the duchess, isn’t given to hospitality.”
He smiled at her, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen anyone with suc
h an unworried look on his face. It was quite a contrast to her fellow servants, who looked out of hunted, desperate, bloodshot eyes more often than not, their teeth stained and uncared for. But his teeth were even more perfect than the huntsman’s.
He was more handsome than Lorencz too, and he completely lacked the hardened expression Lorencz often wore.
She glared at him, uncomfortable with her own reaction to this stranger. But she must make him see the danger he was in. It would be tragic indeed if this handsome young nobleman ran afoul of the duchess. He wouldn’t even live long enough to rue it.
“You must be careful,” Sophie said in an urgent whisper.
“Careful? Of course. I am always careful.”
His lack of fear frightened her. How could she impress upon him the need to hurry on his way?
He had found her. There could hardly be another servant here named Sophie with such black hair, fair skin, and rose-red lips. He was not sorry at all that he’d come on this quest. He had the oddest impression that he was exactly where he was supposed to be, that his whole life had been preparing him for this.
Sophie’s eyes were a deep blue, framed by the longest, blackest lashes he’d ever seen, making her Brittola’s exact opposite. She wore a tattered dress and an even-more-tattered apron, but the state of her dress didn’t seem to diminish her loveliness. Her movements were captivating — even the simple act of rubbing the sleep from her eyes before going straight to work dipping candles.
He could see that he would do well to bring Brittola to mind from time to time.
The other servants — the cook and the large, burly guard — had warned him that their mistress the duchess would not tolerate being disturbed at this time of day. If he was determined to speak to her, the best time was just before the evening meal. So here he waited, alone with Sophie.
Using a stick to hold the candles, which dangled from one long wick, a candle on each end, Sophie lowered the candles into the hot beeswax in the pot over the fire. Two by two she dipped the candles, then hung them over a piece of twine that stretched across the back courtyard. Each time she dipped a pair of candles in the hot wax, she let the excess drip back into the cauldron before hanging the candles back over the line to cool and harden. It was a long process to form a good-sized candle, but each time the candles were dipped, it formed another thin layer of wax.
The Fairest Beauty Page 4