Fairy Tale Romance Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  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.

  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.