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 around 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 such 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.
Her hands were red from touching the hot wax. Gabe imagined how rough and callused her hands would be if he were to turn them over and examine them. The hands of a servant, not a noblewoman.
Again, he wondered if the old woman had told the truth. Was Sophie actually the daughter of Duke Baldewin? For some inexplicable reason, he believed it.
Abruptly, Sophie stopped her work and looked around shrewdly, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Duchess Ermengard doesn’t like strangers. She is not a person to trifle with. You should leave while you have the chance.”
“Don’t I look like a man who can take care of himself?” He smiled and lifted his eyebrows at her in a way that always made young maidens blush and giggle.
But Sophie placed her hand on her hip, cocked her head to the side, and said, “I am not seduced by your charm” — she said the word as if it were a disease — “and flirting. You’re lying about who you are. I’m no fool, and neither is Duchess Ermengard, so if you are wise you will leave now.”
He may not have charmed her, but he was beguiled by her flashing blue eyes and lovely face. He tried again to make himself look humble, then took a different approach. “You are obviously a maiden not to be trifled with. I was hoping to ask the duchess for work. I can play the lute and sing.” He patted the bag that was slung over his shoulder, out of which protruded the handle of what Sophie assumed was a lute.
“Oh no. That is not a good idea.” She looked over her shoulder and shuddered.
“Why not?”
“Walther already told you — the duchess doesn’t like music or musicians.”
“It’s hard to imagine someone who doesn’t like music.”
Sophie shrugged. “Strange, but it is indeed true.”
He’d finished his wine and set the tankard down on the ground.
“So you are leaving now? You should not tarry.”
Her eyes became hopeful, anticipating his imminent departure. Was she really that concerned? Or did she only want to get rid of him? Sophie had no idea she was the whole reason he was here. Not that he would tell her yet. He had to focus on his next course of action — finding out if Sophie truly was the duke’s daughter and learning why the duchess was keeping her existence a secret.
He stepped toward her until they were face-to-face, only an arm’s length from each other. He lowered his voice. “Do you know who your parents were?”
She narrowed her eyes, obviously suspicious. “Why do you ask about my parents?”
He was as subtle as an ox. But perhaps it was better to go ahead and tell her the truth. “Did you know a woman named Pinnosa?”
“I know only one Pinnosa, and she died a few weeks ago. She was buried beside her husband in the churchyard.”
“Was she a servant here in the duchess’s castle?”
Sophie stood silent and unmoving. Finally, in a soft voice, she answered, “Yes. She helped Petra, our cook, in the kitchen.” Her expression turned defensive. “What do you know about me? About Pinnosa?”
“She told me you were in danger.”
“Ridiculous. She’s dead, and you’re the one who’s in danger.”
Why was she being so stubborn? He was here to rescue her. The least she could do was give him a chance to prove himself. “Is it so strange that I would come here to help you?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Yes.”
“You’re the one who’s being ridiculous.”
“Am I? I’m a servant, while you are clearly not from Hohendorf and are lying about being a poor pilgrim.” She sneered when she said those last two words. “Now you tell me a dead woman told you I was in danger.”
This was not going as he’d hoped. He needed to gain her trust, and he’d done just the opposite. But she was not even giving him a chance. She didn’t even appreciate his smiles and attention. Why was this girl so distrustful? Well, she wanted the truth. He’d give her the truth.
“Pinnosa did not die a few weeks ago, and she’s not buried in the churchyard.”
“Is that so?”
“She only pretended to be dead.”
“You’ve lost your senses.”
“I know it sounds farfetched, but she walked all the way to Hagenheim to tell us that you are in danger. I’ve come here to help you.”
Sophie spun around on her heel, picked up her stick, and resumed dipping candles. “You’re the one who needs help. I can take care of myself. Besides, who goes around thinking they can save servants from their cruel mistresses?” She shook her head and refused to look at him.
He’d imagined her heaping thanks on him for going to so much trouble and endangering himself to save her. Instead, she didn’t even believe him. Didn’t trust him one whit. Ungrateful girl. Perhaps she wasn’t Duke Baldewin’s daughter after all.
She was only a servant. Why would he ask about her parents? This stranger was behaving very suspiciously. And this story about Pinnosa only pretending to be dead … Sophie had seen them close the coffin. She had seen it lowered into the ground. But now that she thought about it … some of the maids had been whispering the following day about the grave being disturbed and how strange it was that grave robbers would have bothered to dig up a penniless old woman.
Could Gabe — if that was his real name — truly have spoken to Pinnos
a? But his story was ridiculous. Pinnosa, faking her own death … it was preposterous. Pinnosa was a common-enough name. But why? Why was this man making up these strange stories?
He ran his hand through his hair and frowned. “The truth is,” he went on, “I only met Pinnosa briefly, but she was adamant that you were in danger.”
He hesitated, watching her closely, as though trying to read her thoughts. His intense brown eyes and good looks made her heart beat faster. She would have to be extra cautious with this man. He was much too handsome and flirtatious to be trusted.
Besides, Sophie already knew she was in danger. Anyone the duchess hated — and she certainly hated Sophie — was in danger. But this stranger could no more protect Sophie from the duchess than he could have saved himself from the beating Walther almost gave him.
At least Sophie knew what to expect from Duchess Ermengard. This stranger had no idea.
“What did she look like, this Pinnosa? And what did she say?”
“She was very old,” he replied. “She was hunched and had a mole below her left eye. Her hair was white and her eyes were faded blue.”
It certainly sounded like Pinnosa. Sophie turned away from him, trying to collect her thoughts.
“And what did Pinnosa tell you?” she asked again.
He stared hard at her. “She said you were Duke Baldewin’s daughter.”
Sophie returned his stare. He looked perfectly sane and serious. Her mind went back to when she was a little girl: The priest singling her out to teach her to read. Pinnosa and Petra whispering in the kitchen. Sophie had heard her name and the name of Duke Baldewin, but when the two cooks had perceived her standing behind them, they abruptly stopped talking.
Could it be true? Was she Duke Baldewin’s daughter? The duchess’s hatred of her would make sense, as the duke’s widow wouldn’t want to share Hohendorf with anyone. She wouldn’t want the king to learn of an heir’s existence either. King Sigismund might want to marry Sophie off to someone, after which she could safely reveal all the duchess’s evil secrets, including the fact that the duchess dabbled in magic and created potions and poisons.
Fairy Tale Romance Collection Page 59