Fairy Tale Romance Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  During the next song, he sang with Siggy, their voices blending harmoniously.

  He kept his gaze on her while he sang, and her heart lodged in her throat, his warm brown eyes trapping hers. No one else seemed to exist, and he seemed to be singing the words directly to her. It was a song about a hunter in love with a dove who changed into a woman when the moon was full. It was as if they were the only two people in the room, as if he was strumming her soul, seeing straight into her heart with his penetrating brown eyes.

  She couldn’t tear her gaze away until he finished the song and looked at Siggy. They spoke quietly. Then Gabe looked around at all the men who were sitting around the room.

  “This next song I wrote a few days ago. For Sophie.” His gaze found her and he winked, his lopsided grin stealing her breath.

  He started playing, looking down at his lute as he found the right notes. His head was bent, but she could see his concentration in the pursing of his lips and the slight crease of his forehead. When he began to sing, he looked up at her. His deep, clear voice was more beautiful than anything she’d ever heard before, so real and true, and the words of his song made her wish she could keep this moment in front of her forever.

  Gabe’s eyes stayed locked on hers as he sang about her blue eyes and her heart of love, her grace and innocence. He compared her hair to ebony, her skin to a dove’s white feathers, and her lips to a rose.

  Her face grew hot with self-consciousness at the words of his song, and tears welled in her eyes to think that he had written these verses about her. He couldn’t have meant them, because she was sure he hadn’t loved her when he’d written it. He’d surely been writing it for the duchess. But the look in his eyes as he sang the words told her that he meant them for her.

  How was it possible for her to experience so much happiness? Her heart swelled inside her until she could barely breathe. Gabe loved her. Or at least he seemed to. He went on to sing more words of adoration, flowery declarations of her beauty and his helplessness to stop loving her.

  When the song was over, Sophie’s face was still burning. She wanted to place her hands over her cheeks, but her hands were shaking and she didn’t want anyone to notice. She stared into her lap and took up her mending, trying to get her breathing under control. But she only pretended to sew. Her hands were too shaky to make a stitch.

  Gabe and Siggy played more songs, but Sophie kept her eyes down as much as possible.

  When the music was over, the men began clapping Gabe on the back and talking. Bartel came over to her to rewrap her bandage.

  “Your arm is healing quickly,” Bartel said, “but it needs a bandage for a while longer.” She felt his eyes boring into her, staring at her face like he’d never done before. What was he thinking?

  The men were going their separate ways and Sophie lost sight of Gabe. Would she see him again before she went to her room? Nervously, she gathered up her mending, put it away, and hurried upstairs. Bartel was right behind her. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that he would prevent her from having a private word with Gabe.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, Gabe was coming out of his chamber. His eyes met hers in the dark corridor, then he saw Bartel over her shoulder. He stepped forward and took Sophie’s hand. He kissed it reverently, his eyes closed. He held on as she moved past him, his fingers caressing hers as long as possible.

  “Good night, Gabe.”

  “Good night, Sophie.”

  Gabe squatted next to Dolf as they pulled weeds from the large vegetable and herb garden behind the cottage while Sophie cooked in the kitchen. Every now and then he couldn’t resist looking through the window to catch glimpses of Sophie. Sometimes she was sneaking looks at him too.

  Bartel stalked up to him. “You shouldn’t be working at this.”

  Dolf continued to work, glancing up at Bartel, while Gabe stood. “I’m only using my right hand.”

  “You’ve done enough for today. You must rest and get well.” He started walking toward the tiny chapel a few feet away before saying over his shoulder, “You can come with me. I have some easier work for you.”

  Gabe looked down at Dolf, pointed to his wounded shoulder, frowned, and pointed over his shoulder at Bartel, rolling his eyes to the sky.

  Dolf chuckled, then shooed Gabe away, nodding and smiling.

  Gabe followed the monk.

  Inside the stone chapel, an altar glowed with several lit candles in front of a picture of Mary and baby Jesus. Both men looked up at the portrait of Jesus on the cross on the wall behind the altar and genuflected, crossing themselves and bowing to say a quick prayer.

  “I am trimming candlewicks,” Bartel pointed to two large spools of string. He sat on the hard floor, folding his legs and malformed feet underneath him before covering them with the hem of his robe.

  Gabe sat in front of him and watched as Bartel measured a length of string about two feet long, then cut the piece from the spool. Gabe did the same thing with the other spool. In a few minutes, they each had a stack of wicks by their sides.

  “We’ve all become quite fond of Sophie, as you can see. Walther said she is rumored to be the daughter of Duke Baldewin, alive and well. Is this true?”

  Gabe shifted slightly. What was Bartel aiming at? “That’s true. Sophie didn’t even know she was the duke’s daughter until a few days ago, when I arrived to rescue her.”

  “I must thank you for your heroics in saving her. Though the men and I have been wondering what your intentions are toward Sophie. A few of us recall hearing, years ago, that as a baby, Sophie was betrothed to a duke’s son — Duke Wilhelm’s oldest son, Valten.” Bartel didn’t look at Gabe as he spoke, but his voice was unyielding and purposeful. “Are you her betrothed?”

  Gabe’s face flooded with heat. “No, I’m not. But I intend to find a way to marry her.”

  Bartel sat stone-faced, cutting wick after wick. Finally, without looking up from his task, he said, “Betrothals are legally binding. Her betrothed may not like you trifling with his future wife.”

  “I am not trifling with her.” Gabe wanted to tell Bartel it was none of his business. He wanted to argue that she belonged to him because he had risked his life for her, taken an arrow for her. He was the one who loved her. Valten didn’t love her, could never love her the way he did.

  But he stopped himself. He had to handle this responsibly.

  “I never intended to fall in love with Sophie.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She is betrothed to my brother Valten, the future duke of Hagenheim.”

  Saying the words aloud seemed to have a dampening effect on Gabe’s spirits. When he looked at the facts, they were stark indeed.

  “I even tried not to fall in love with Sophie.” He squeezed his eyes shut. Please help me, God. “But I believe it was God’s will that I be the one to rescue her from Duchess Ermengard. Valten had broken his leg and was unable to go to her when we found out she was still alive. If I hadn’t gone when I did, Sophie might be dead now.”

  Truthfully, he thought his presence at Hohendorf had probably hastened the duchess’s deciding to kill her. But hadn’t he felt a supernatural urgency to go and rescue her? He’d sensed the danger she was in and had felt compelled to go and save her. Perhaps she would be dead now if it hadn’t been for Gabe.

  “If God had wanted Valten to rescue her, would he have allowed Valten to break his leg?” Gabe asked, turning to face Bartel. “It was God’s will. He knew Sophie and I would fall in love, that we were meant to be together.”

  “If God intended you two to be together, then why did he allow her to be betrothed to your brother?” Bartel fixed a hard eye on Gabe.

  “Maybe God wanted to show his power by making a way for us to now break our betrothals.”

  “Betrothals? You mean you are also betrothed?”

  Gabe winced. It sounded bad when Bartel said it in such a shocked and appalled tone.

  “So you are betraying not only your b
rother but your own betrothed as well?”

  Gabe’s heart sank. This conversation was not going well. He continued to measure out the string and cut it, the pile of wicks growing.

  “How do you know Sophie loves you? She is very young. As are you, and it appears you have not known each other long. Perhaps you will both change your minds.”

  Was Bartel right? Didn’t she deserve to marry the good brother? The one who always did everything right, who was admired and respected, who would inherit wealth and power? The one she was supposed to marry?

  Gabe stopped his work and stared at Bartel. What could he say? The more he defended himself, the more foolish he would appear. But two things he knew: Sophie was not married, and his love for her was real. It would not die no matter how long he lived.

  “You may ask her yourself,” he said softly.

  “Have you asked her? Have you asked her if she prefers to marry you and not your brother?”

  “Not in so many words.” He wasn’t sure how much longer his patience and self-control would hold out. He felt like hitting this cold, self-righteous monk.

  Not a very Christian thought.

  “How do you plan to break your betrothals? Will you tell your betrothed, ‘I’m sorry, but I fell in love with someone else. Can you and your father kindly let me out of our agreement, on which I and my parents staked our good name?’ ”

  Actually, that was very close to his plan. “There will be a way. Sophie’s parents are dead so they can’t complain. My parents and brother will agree.” They won’t like it, but they’ll eventually agree when they see that Sophie loves me and that I love her, and how she has changed me. Sophie had done what all his parents’ cajoling and his older brother’s goading had been unable to do. She had made him want to be responsible, made him want to make his own way in the world and have a family.

  “My betrothal was not written down or blessed by a priest,” he added.

  Bartel gave him another hard, long look. “So you feel comfortable breaking it for that reason?”

  Gabe glared back at him, then looked away, not wanting to have hatred of a monk on his conscience — along with all his other sins.

  “I am not trying to anger you, Gabe. I only want to make sure you’ve thought these things through and asked God what he would want you to do. You must think about whether you are doing the right thing for Sophie.”

  A physical pang went through his chest as Bartel continued cutting the string into the correct length, looking as tranquil as a woodland pond.

  Was Gabe doing the right thing for Sophie? How could Bartel know this was the very thing that plagued him, that stirred guilt inside him?

  Perhaps he was being selfish, but he simply could not bear to lose her.

  Gabe continued working, pretending to ignore Bartel’s words.

  “You say Sophie’s parents are dead.” Bartel cut two more strings before continuing. “But her father is not dead. He is alive.”

  Gabe laid down the string. “What did you say?”

  “Sophie’s father lives.”

  Chapter

  21

  “Where? How?” Gabe stared at the monk sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him. “Her father is Duke Baldewin. Are you telling me Duke Baldewin is alive?”

  “I am.”

  Gabe clenched his teeth again at the monk’s reticence. “How do you know this? And where is he?”

  “I know it because he lives at Gemeinhart Monastery, where I lived for ten years before I came here.”

  “If Sophie’s father is alive, then why did he leave her all alone with the evil duchess? No father could be that cruel.”

  “He thought she was dead. Everyone believed she was dead, including me. In fact, how do you know this woman, Sophie, is his daughter? I admit she looks like she could be his daughter, but do you have proof?” Bartel unraveled the spool a bit more and snipped off another wick.

  “Well, no. Though Petra the cook, who was there when Duke Baldewin was still there, says she is. The duchess also told me Sophie was the duke’s daughter.”

  “Duke Baldewin told me he came home from a trip to find his daughter lying dead in a casket. Supposedly dead of a fever at two years old. He left without a word to anyone and came to the monastery. The duchess then told everybody he was dead as well.”

  Gabe stared at the flickering candles that were casting light and shadow on the picture of Mary and Jesus. He wasn’t even seeing the candles or the picture when Bartel spoke again.

  “If she is Duke Baldewin’s daughter, he needs to know that she’s alive and try to validate her parentage himself. The duchess may have lied about this scullery maid being the duke’s daughter as part of a sick ruse. His daughter may truly be dead.”

  If that were true, they wouldn’t have to break her betrothal to Valten. Because if she wasn’t Duke Baldewin’s daughter, she wouldn’t be betrothed to Valten. Gabe would only need to find a way to break his betrothal to Brittola. And Brittola might not even want to marry him anymore. He hadn’t heard from her in months.

  His spirits lifted considerably as he continued the monotonous task of cutting candlewicks. He began planning what he needed to do. He would have to go talk to this man at Gemeinhart Monastery and determine if he truly was Duke Baldewin. If Sophie found out about him, she would want to go too. But that wouldn’t be wise.

  He remembered how much she had enjoyed hearing about Gabe’s family. She’d wanted to hear story after story about what it was like to belong to a loving family. He didn’t want her to be disappointed if this man at Gemeinhart turned out to not be her father, or if he had died or didn’t care about her. Gabe didn’t want her heart to be broken.

  “Don’t tell Sophie about this.”

  “Don’t even think about riding out yet. Your shoulder isn’t healed enough.”

  Bartel had read his thoughts again. But Gabe would only wait a day or two, no matter what Bartel said. Then he’d go find Duke Baldewin himself.

  Duchess Ermengard paid her new huntsman and watched out of the window as he left the castle and headed toward the stable — and reminded herself to tell him to shave that bushy beard. Then she stepped to her mirror to gaze at herself.

  Sometimes it seemed as if the mirror was her only friend. It always told her the truth, comforting her by showing her that her nose was still perfect and straight, her teeth were still pearly white, and her lips were still plump and red.

  But Sophie was still alive and living with Gabe and seven men — seven misshapen and abnormal men. At the thought of these seven, the duchess shuddered delicately, then smiled at her reflection. The men were misfits who needed to hide away in order to keep the superstitious rabble from persecuting them as men accursed and afflicted by the devil. And now they were harboring Sophie, as well as that foolish boy, Gabe, who appeared to be injured.

  If her guards had done their job, he’d be dead.

  Her lip curled as she thought about how she would make those seven men sorry for helping the little twit and her foolish savior. But she corrected the scowl and turned it into a smile. There, that’s better. The mirror smiled back at her, revealing the demure expression of an enchanting duchess, beautiful and desirable.

  She could contemplate her revenge without ruining the fairness of her face or creating scowl lines on her lovely skin, couldn’t she?

  She could not have Sophie and Gabe running around telling people that she had mistreated the lovely daughter of Duke Baldewin, that she, the duchess of Hohendorf, had faked the poor girl’s death. They would speculate that she had murdered Duke Baldewin. Sophie and Gabe must die — keep smiling — and so must their new friends, the seven who lived in the cottage in the woods. Yes, once she disposed of Sophie, she would have them all killed. And she would have to accomplish the task herself, naturally. If a beautiful duchess wanted something done, especially revenge, then that clever, beautiful duchess must do it herself.

  Yes, she still had a lovely smile. Much fairer than th
e smile of a dead girl. Much fairer than the grinning skull of a poisoned … rotting … miserable dead girl.

  Keep smiling.

  Sophie kept busy cooking and cleaning for the Seven and enjoyed the sense of family around her.

  But Sophie thought about Gabe almost every moment, wondering where he was and what he was doing. It seemed that Dominyk and Bartel had conspired to keep him busy. For two days she and Gabe hadn’t spent any time alone, and she had only seen him at meals and after supper, when he played with Siggy and Dominyk. Sophie found herself looking forward to that time when she could sit in the corner and watch Gabe play and listen to him sing. She loved music, but she loved his voice even more.

  Gabe’s skin seemed to glow tonight. He had worked outdoors quite a bit in the garden lately, giving him a healthy complexion, and he seemed at ease and happy with the other men. They all seemed to like him too. Sophie sighed happily as she settled into her corner, Gabe’s gaze frequently finding her there.

  Gabe didn’t pick up his lute. Instead, he walked over and whispered something to Siggy, who winked at him and started playing. Then he turned and strode purposefully toward Sophie.

  She held her sewing in her lap, her heart thumping hard against her chest. He looked so handsome, with the cocky half grin. Yet there was a vulnerability in his warm brown eyes that twisted her stomach. She longed to throw her arms around him and be embraced by his warmth and his scent, but she was much too aware of the seven pairs of eyes watching them.

  Gabe held his hand out to her as he approached. “Dance with me.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I don’t know how.” It would have been embarrassing in itself if she hadn’t been afraid of embarrassing herself worse by being in Gabe’s arms in front of the seven men.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll show you.”

  She placed her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet. Grabbing her sewing as it slipped from her lap, she laid it on the chair.

  “Gabe, I can’t. We really shouldn’t.” Her face grew hot.

  But he was smirking, pulling her toward the middle of the floor. He took her other hand, and with their arms tucked to their waists, holding hands side by side, he stepped in a circle. Sophie followed his lead, her eyes captured by his.