Sophie is dead. Sophie is dead. The thought was so wonderful, she let it pound through her head over and over as she ran toward the river. If she could reach the bridge over the river, she could get to her horse on the other side and then Sophie’s little men would never catch her.
A bell started ringing loud and sharp behind her. She turned her head. The tall man was yanking on the string of a large bell at the side of the house, then he started running after her.
The duchess picked up her skirts and ran faster. A shout came from behind her, then another. It seemed all seven men must have been alerted and were shouting and getting closer to her. She kept running, laughing because Sophie was dead. But she couldn’t let them catch her. She couldn’t let them take her to the king. If King Sigismund found out what she’d done, he would certainly have her hanged.
She jumped over a dead tree trunk, surprised at her own speed and agility. Crouching to avoid a low tree branch, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that the men were getting closer, the tall brown-haired man closest.
No. She was so near the river now. But she would never make it to the bridge. The man was too fast. She was not a very good swimmer, but she had no choice. She ran to the bank and jumped into the rushing stream.
She sank, the coldness of it taking her breath away. Fighting her way to the surface was hard, too hard. She flung about, trying to loosen herself from whatever was dragging her to the bottom. Until she realized her impediment was her clothes. They were saturated with water and pulling her down.
She grabbed a root that was sticking out of the side of the bank and pulled with all her strength, drawing herself above the surface. Gasping for breath, she clung to the bank, mud sinking under her now broken fingernails.
Her clothes were so, so heavy.
The brown-haired man was beside her. He grabbed her arm and started to pull her up, but she slapped his hand away. She couldn’t let him capture her. They would all despise her for killing Sophie. They would turn her over to the king.
She let go of the bank and the man’s grip on her wet arm slipped as he lost his hold on her. She was free of him but had to fight to keep her head above water. The river’s current pulled her downstream even as her heavy garments pulled her under.
Desperation gripped her as her chest began to ache from lack of air. She fought to get herself back to the surface, but the current was pulling her downstream too quickly. Finally she began to rise to the top again. She gasped, then choked, flailing her arms and splashing water. Again, the brown-haired man leaned over the edge of the bank and grabbed her, getting purchase on both of her arms this time and holding her up. He began to drag her out, but when she stopped sputtering and got a good deep breath into her lungs, she saw several other men’s faces, all staring down at her in horror and anger.
No. They would capture her. She couldn’t let them, especially not them. “Let me go!” she screamed at the man, but he only looked at her as if she hadn’t said anything, still pulling her farther onto the bank. Two more men stepped forward and reached for her. “No! Let go!” She lifted her hands to the tall man’s face and dragged her broken, ragged fingernails down his cheeks.
He cried out and let her go. She fell backward into the river with a splash.
The current grabbed her again, readily embracing her even as her cloak weighed her down. The shouts from the men seemed to come from far away, muffled and gurgled. Fighting to get back to the surface, she also tried to propel herself to the opposite side of the river, away from the men. But suddenly she wasn’t moving at all. Something was holding her in place. Frantically she flailed her arms under the water but she wasn’t heading upward or downstream. Then she saw that the skirt of her dress was caught on a root at the bottom of the river. She tugged at her skirt, trying to rip it, but it wouldn’t give.
She was going to die. Her strength was ebbing. Her chest was burning almost unbearably, causing her to swallow mouthfuls of water.
After all the things she had done, she couldn’t ask God for help or mercy. She would soon face the consequences.
But at least Sophie was dead.
Chapter 24
Gabe lay on the cot, unable to fall to sleep, even though he’d spent two days of riding hard and a night sleeping in the forest. He found himself listening for the sound of someone coming to fetch him, or for the duke himself. The longer he lay there, the more anxious he became about getting back to Sophie. When he could lie still no longer, he got up and went to ask for some water so he could clean himself up.
Was the duke still lying on the floor after hearing his daughter was alive? Surely he had come to his senses and was happy about the news Gabe had brought. Or was he still wracked with guilt, knowing that the duchess had treated his daughter horribly?
After washing himself up a bit, Gabe pulled on his boots, left his chamber, and went in search of the duke. A young boy scurried up to him and offered to take him to dinner.
“Can you take me to the du — I mean, Brother Baldewin?”
“He said to tell you he is still praying and can’t be disturbed.”
Gabe blew out a frustrated breath and agreed to follow the boy to the dining hall.
The boy led him to the abbot’s table, where they feasted on roast beef, eel soup, fresh bread, and stewed fruit. But he could hardly enjoy it, eager as he was to get back to Sophie. What was she doing now? Cleaning up the supper dishes? Spending time with the Seven as they played their musical instruments and sang for her? They adored her, but who wouldn’t? She was sweetness and beauty personified. And she was his. He wouldn’t give her up to Valten, not now, not ever.
She deserves to be Valten’s wife, to be privileged and pampered.
Gabe shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He wouldn’t listen to that voice.
But it came again. Wouldn’t she be happier with Valten? After all, he is the responsible one, the one who can give her everything.
Sweat broke out on Gabe’s forehead and trickled down his temple. She doesn’t love Valten, Gabe answered the voice defiantly. She loves me. She wants me.
How do you know? the voice argued. Instead of giving her a chance to choose, you tried to confuse her with kisses and premature declarations of love.
Gabe stared down at his food, his appetite lost.
Sophie blinked and realized she was lying on the floor. The second thing she realized was that her head hurt, and the third thing was that the seven men were hovering over her, and most of them had tears running down their cheeks.
“Just lie still, Sophie,” Bartel said.
She had never thought she would ever see the calm and impassive Bartel looking so pale and horror-stricken. “What is it? Is my head bleeding?”
They bent closer. Their eyes were all moving from her face to her chest, back and forth, with horror and curiosity. Sophie looked down and gasped. The knife was still sticking out of her chest. She cried out, then gasped again, surprised she didn’t feel great pain.
Bartel glanced around at the men hovering about. “Someone bring me some clean cloths and bandages.”
A few of the men went scrambling around and quickly brought two stacks of cloths. Bartel pressed two of the cloths against the side of Sophie’s head, making her wince at the sharp pain. Bartel motioned for Vincz to come over and continue holding the fabric to her head. “Hold it firmly so it will stop bleeding.”
Next, Bartel focused on the knife that was sticking out of her chest. Indeed, it looked gruesome, and there was a sting in her chest, but she didn’t feel as if she was dying. Even though she surely must be. A person didn’t survive a knife wound like this, did they?
“Just hold still,” Bartel said again as he reached down and took hold of the knife’s handle, his gaze flicking to her eyes, then down to the knife again. Bartel gave a short tug and the knife easily came up — along with the wooden cross she wore around her neck.
Sophie grabbed hold of the necklace still underneath her dress, and Bartel yanked on th
e knife, pulling it out of the pendant. Then Sophie lifted the necklace over her head and held it up.
Looking down, she saw the blood soaking through her clothing where the knife point had gone all the way through the wooden cross and into her skin. Bartel leaned over and pulled her neckline down just enough to see where she was bleeding and probed the wound with his finger.
He looked around at the men. “It isn’t serious.” He reached for another cloth and pressed it to her chest. “She will survive.”
She looked at each of the seven faces huddled around her, whose expressions were rapidly changing from abject grief, to joy and relief.
“She stabbed my cross.” Sophie’s voice revealed the wonder she was feeling, and she laughed.
Vincz started laughing too. Bartel said, “The cross must have stopped the blade from penetrating her breastbone. The duchess thought she had killed you, but the cross took the brunt of her blow.”
Dolf sank to the floor beside her, smiling and taking over holding the cloths to Sophie’s head for Vincz, who started wiping his tears on his sleeve.
A spontaneous whoop went up from Siggy, Dominyk, and Gotfrid.
Heinric, however, burst in loud sobs and cried, “Sophie hurt! Sophie hurt!” His sobs were so loud they vibrated the floor and reminded Sophie of the pain in her head and of how her head had struck the edge of the table in her struggle with the duchess.
Siggy went to try to comfort Heinric and distract him while the other men asked her how she was feeling and told her not to get up just yet.
She noticed Dolf kneeling beside her. “Oh! What happened to your face?” Red scratches, three on both sides of his face, were oozing blood. “She did this to you, didn’t she?” Pity rose up inside her for her friend. “Does it hurt very much?”
Vincz signed her words to him, and Dolf shook his head, making a quick gesture with his hand.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Vincz interpreted for Dolf.
“Nonsense. We must wash those scratches with clean water.” Sophie clicked her tongue against her teeth.
“I’ll take care of it,” Bartel said, letting Gotfrid hold the cloth to her chest.
Sudden fear gripped her. “Where is she now?” Sophie whispered. She made the sign for where to Dolf, one of the signs the men had taught her.
Dolf shook his head. He closed his own eyes, pushing his eyelids down with his fingers.
“She’s dead,” Dominyk explained.
“You’re safe from her now,” Gotfrid said, scowling. “She won’t harm you again.”
“What happened?”
“She drowned,” Dominyk said. “Dolf tried to pull her out of the river several times, and she scratched him. By the time we fished her out, she had drowned.”
“Oh.” Sophie felt numb as Bartel washed the blood off her head and bandaged it. Then she insisted he wash Dolf’s scratches. Dolf let Bartel wash his scratches, but when he wanted to apply some of his green paste to the scratches, Dolf pulled away and grunted and gestured no.
“Dolf, you must,” Sophie said. “I insist you let him do it.”
The other men signed to Dolf what Sophie said and he instantly sat back down and didn’t move while Bartel applied his green salve to Dolf’s face.
After the men helped her up and into a chair, Dolf made some signs to her.
“Dolf wants to know what happened to you, what the duchess did to you,” Vincz said.
Sophie’s voice shook as she told of the duchess appearing as an old, crippled woman, how she’d offered Sophie a poisoned apple and then come after her with the knife, and how Sophie had tried to fight her off. She shuddered, remembering the hatred in the duchess’s eyes.
After she finished the tale, Dominyk handed her necklace back to her, its face now marred by a hole shaped like a knife blade. Several of the men crossed themselves when they got a better look at the necklace, their faces pale. Heinric began crying again, tears streaming down his face until Bartel went to get him a cloth to wipe his face and blow his nose.
A strange feeling came over Sophie as she thought about the duchess drowning, refusing help, dying at the bottom of the river. The thought of her having to face God made her feel sick. But now Sophie was truly safe. Wasn’t she? Somehow it still didn’t feel real.
Gabe spent the rest of the evening waiting for Duke Baldewin to send for him. He prayed for a while in his room, then went out to the stable to groom his horse, making sure Gingerbread hadn’t suffered any bad effects from their hard ride to the monastery.
His feeling of uneasiness about being away from Sophie had increased. If the duke wasn’t going to talk to him today, perhaps Gabe should go back to the Cottage of the Seven and bring Sophie here to see her father. But that might not be a good idea. With Sophie riding along, he didn’t think they could make the trip as quickly, which would put him alone with her for too long … No, if he went to fetch Sophie, he’d have to bring Bartel and at least one of the other men with them.
The same little boy who’d greeted him two hours ago came running into the stable. “Sir, Brother Baldewin wishes to speak with you now.”
Gabe left his horse, who looked well taken care of, and hurried to the monastery’s main building.
The boy led him to Baldewin’s own small cell, the gray walls bare, with no furnishings except a narrow bed, a stool, and a bench. His face and hair looked newly scrubbed and clean and his expression was blank as he nodded at the bench in front of him.
Gabe sat. He waited for the duke to break the silence and start the conversation, but after several minutes, Gabe decided to broach the subject that had been on his mind since he’d arrived.
“Brother Baldewin, I know the news I gave you yesterday was unexpected, but I urge you to let me escort you to your daughter right away. We could leave now and be there in two days.” Please, God, let him say yes.
The duke’s hands were hidden inside the sleeves of his coarse woolen robe. He lifted his head, and his bloodshot eyes met Gabe’s. “Tell me everything. I’m ready to hear it now. How did you come to find her?”
Gabe took a deep breath. Not what he wanted to hear, but he had no choice but to be patient with Sophie’s father.
He told him of Pinnosa’s tale and her death, how he’d felt compelled to go find and rescue Sophie, and the fact that his brother Valten, Sophie’s betrothed, had a broken leg and couldn’t travel. He told of how he and Sophie escaped the duchess and how he had been shot by their pursuer, one of the duchess’s guards.
“So my daughter is with Bartel — with the Seven?”
Gabe nodded.
Baldewin seemed to hug his arms closer to his chest and stared down at the floor.
Just as Gabe was about to again suggest they leave to go to her, Baldewin spoke.
“So you’ve spent time alone with my daughter. What are your intentions? Do you love her?”
“Yes, Your Grace — Brother Baldewin. I have come to love her deeply, and I believe Valten will give his assent to allow me to marry her, if you will also give your permission.”
The duke gave Gabe a sharp look, then stared at the floor again. “What does Sophie want? Does she love you?”
“Yes.” He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “She wants to marry me.”
“Even though she’s betrothed to your brother, the future Duke of Hagenheim?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Gabe stared back defiantly while quaking inside.
“Do you think it is God’s will that she marry you and not Valten? Do you think your brother is so unworthy?”
Gabe’s breath shallowed as he fought to think of an appropriate response to questions he’d not yet been able to answer. What was the truth? He was in a monastery with a man of God and prayer. He felt the pressure to be as truthful as possible.
“Valten is not unworthy.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Valten is … a good man. But perhaps there was a purpose in Valten breaking his leg when he did, and Pinnosa arriving while my brothe
r was unable to travel. God knew what he was doing, surely. He put the urgency in my spirit to send me to Sophie. Perhaps it was His will for us to be together.” And the strange thing is, I believe that. Please let Baldewin believe as well.
But Baldewin didn’t seem moved by Gabe’s impassioned speech. He frowned. “Or perhaps you only want it to be so.”
Gabe felt anger rise inside him, but he pushed it down. He had to keep a steady head. He needed Sophie’s father as an ally, not an enemy.
“I know it sounds bad. It sounds as if I am taking advantage of an opportunity to get myself a duke’s daughter to wed, as if I’m stealing her away from her rightful betrothed.” Gabe swallowed past the scratchiness in his throat, wishing he hadn’t said the words. They sounded much too damning. He wasn’t sure he even liked himself anymore. “But I set out with a noble cause, with noble intentions. I intended to bring her back safely to Valten. I never wished to betray my brother or take away what is rightfully Sophie’s. But I fell in love with her in spite of myself. I love her and she loves me, and now I can’t imagine living without her.”
Baldewin softened his features with a partial smile. “But perhaps you are right. God can do anything. Perhaps he wanted you to find my daughter and save her. But you know and admit that I could see it otherwise. A less sincere man than yourself, for example, could see this as an opportunity to raise his own position in the world. The second son of a duke has fewer prospects for wealth and authority. But … if he should convince the daughter of a duke to fall in love with him … to break her betrothal …”
Gabe’s stomach sank, but he wasn’t about to give up.
“What you say, sir, is true. But I am not that avaricious person. I had no thoughts of betrayal or advancement when I set out.” Would Baldewin believe him? “I fought each feeling I encountered. I thought of her only as my brother’s betrothed —”
The Fairest Beauty Page 24