“Stay away from me.” Sophie tried to think how she could defend herself against the duchess. Her stomach clenched in fear, but then anger arose inside her. “You have no right to hurt me. Get out of here.” Her legs trembled, but she would fight this woman if she had to. She couldn’t allow her and Gabe’s efforts to escape the duchess end in tragedy. She had too much to live for.
I will not let you harm me. Heat rose inside her as she stared at the duchess, rage so strong Sophie could barely focus her eyes.
But getting angry wouldn’t help her. She had to think clearly, to get the attention of Bartel and Dolf. She could scream, but Bartel probably wouldn’t hear her from inside the chapel, and Dolf couldn’t hear her at all, even though he was most likely nearby.
“I came all this way to get rid of you,” the duchess rasped, leaning closer, still holding the apple in Sophie’s face. “And I will not be denied.”
Sophie cast her gaze over the room. She would have to knock the duchess down, somehow get past her and to the door. She glanced at the counter but it was cleared off and there was nothing she could use as a weapon.
“Why do you hate me so much?” She would stall the duchess with talking. Meanwhile she hoped Dolf or Bartel would come into the kitchen, as unlikely as that seemed. God, please help me! Send someone or something to help me or show me what to do.
“You think you’re clever, trying to distract me.” The duchess’s lips curled into a sneer. “But I will tell you anyway. I hate you because you are younger, and everyone thinks you are more beautiful. I hate you most of all because your father loved you more than he loved me. He didn’t love me the way he loved you and your precious mother, no matter how I tried to gain his attention. I hate your dead mother, I hate you, and I hate Duke Baldewin. I drove him to despair by making him think you were dead, and it was one of the greatest moments of my life.” She smiled maliciously, her gaze unflinching as she stared into Sophie’s eyes.
Sophie thought again about trying to push the duchess down, about kicking her, fighting her, but the duchess was bigger and taller. How could she overpower her?
“I thought about poisoning you as I had been poisoning him, but I had to plan my greatest revenge out carefully.” Her lips puckered in a moue of pity. “I couldn’t allow the king to put me in his dungeon, could I?”
“Isn’t the apple poisoned?”
“Of course. But how will anyone prove I did it? You are so far away from Hohendorf, and everyone in the surrounding villages knows I never leave the castle. No one knows I am here now. I have new guards, you see, ones who will not become deserters and fail me, and they are under orders to tell anyone who comes to my chambers that I am ill. And I shall kill anyone who dares say I left Hohendorf’s grounds.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Sophie’s back ached from pressing against the counter behind her. “I won’t return to Hohendorf. You never have to see me again.” The duchess had no reason to know where she was planning to go or the life that awaited her in Hagenheim with Gabe.
“I can’t risk letting you live.” The duchess’s eyes were cold and black, and from the way the strands of white hair at her temple were trembling, her whole body must have been shaking. “I shouldn’t have kept you alive as long as I did. I simply enjoyed tormenting you too much and imagining how bad Baldewin would feel if he knew.” She cackled, a cruel laugh.
“I won’t tell anyone you were here if you go now.” Sophie kept her voice calm. Perhaps she could soothe the duchess into letting down her guard.
“I’m not leaving until you’re dead. Lorencz failed me, but I will see this through.”
She pushed the apple against Sophie’s lips so hard Sophie felt her teeth cut her lip, tasted blood as she turned her head. Sophie grabbed the apple, wrenched it out of the duchess’s hand, and threw it across the room.
A sharp slap resounded through the room. Sophie lifted her arms to protect herself, her cheek stinging where the duchess had struck her. When she opened her eyes and focused, the duchess was smiling. In her hand, poised above her shoulder, gleaming in the room’s meager light, was a knife.
It was true, Gabe realized. Sophie was the duke’s daughter. Gabe was in love with Valten’s betrothed.
Duke Baldewin covered his face and fell to his knees, moaning. “I should have stayed instead of running away like a coward. I should have gone back. I should have protected my little girl.” He began weeping, his shoulders shaking.
Gabe ran his hand over his stubbly jaw. Perhaps I should have broken the news to him more gently.
The duke lifted his tear-stained face. “Is she safe? Is she well? Where is she?”
“Yes, she’s safe and well. I left her with Bartel at the Cottage of the Seven, two days’ ride west of here. I will take you to her as soon as you’re ready to leave.” The sooner the better, since his father would be arriving at the cottage any day now to take her to Hagenheim.
Baldewin groaned piteously, bowing his head to the stone floor. “How will she stand the sight of me after I left her with that witch?”
Gabe had never seen a grown man in such anguish of spirit — nor any man with more cause.
“It’s not your fault, Your Gra — Brother Baldewin. You couldn’t have known. You thought your daughter was dead.” Gabe stared down at him, wondering what else he could do or say to comfort the duke. “The duchess did this, not you. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
“I should have known. I should have felt in my spirit that she was still alive.” He groaned again.
This hadn’t been what Gabe had expected. He’d thought the duke would be happy that his daughter was alive, would joyfully grasp Gabe’s hand and grant his permission for Gabe to marry Sophie after learning how he’d saved her from the duchess. Gabe had imagined the duke being more than glad to go to Duke Wilhelm and Valten to ask them to break the betrothal so Gabe could marry the daughter Baldewin long thought dead but who was now alive. And perhaps she would be dead, if not for Gabe. Gabe would be sure to mention that.
But now … Gabe’s grand plans for a joyous reunion seemed to be dashed, or at least delayed. What could he say that would bring the duke to a point of action? Perhaps he should allow the duke some time to grieve. If only it wasn’t so urgent that they hurry.
Gabe sat on the floor a few feet away, leaning against the wall. God, help Duke Baldewin forgive himself. Help him to know you forgive him as well.
Gabe wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, maybe half an hour, when the duke lifted his head and said, “Can you leave me alone for a while? I need to pray.”
“Of course.” Gabe got up and went to the small cell where he would be staying. The sun would be setting soon, and he was tired. He hated to go to bed with things so unsettled, especially since he’d hoped the duke would agree to leave with him early in the morning to go back to Sophie. Suddenly, he was filled with uneasiness about leaving her and felt an urge to go back. But it was probably only because he’d seen Baldewin’s great regret at leaving her all those years ago, the great price Baldewin was paying for not realizing she was still alive. He’d missed his only child’s entire life.
Gabe lay down on his thin mattress. No use staying awake. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a needed nap.
Sophie screamed as she grabbed the duchess’s wrist. She forced the knife back as she squeezed the center of the duchess’s wrist in desperation, knowing she was sending sharp pain through the duchess’s hand. The duchess dropped the knife but yanked Sophie’s hair with her other hand, yanked it so hard Sophie screamed again. Then the duchess, still holding her hair, threw her down forcefully. Sophie’s head hit the edge of the kitchen table.
Everything went black. Sophie blinked hard, trying to ignore the pain in her head. When her eyes focused again, the duchess was again holding the knife. She plunged it toward Sophie.
Before Sophie could react, she felt the knife strike her chest hard.
She was surprised to find the pain in her head was a
ctually worse than the pain in her chest. But she could not deny the knife was lodged in the middle of her chest. I am going to die. “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,” Sophie whispered, then closed her eyes.
Duchess Ermengard had done it. She’d finally killed her.
She stared down at the blood that was pooling at the side of Sophie’s head and the knife sticking out of the girl’s chest. Then she leaned her head back and laughed hard and long, sucking in great draughts of air between the peals of laughter. “That will teach you to run away from me, you selfish, little ungrateful twit.”
Now to show those seven misfits and the rest of the world that they couldn’t defeat Ermengard, Duchess of Hohendorf. She stuck her hand in the kitchen fireplace and grabbed the unburned end of a piece of wood. Holding the burning end out in front of her, she carried it into the main part of the house. She looked around until she spied a basket with several articles of clothing — obviously someone’s mending. She stuck the burning end of the wood into the basket. The fire caught the fabric and blazed up.
She turned to leave and found herself staring at a man, quite tall, with brown hair and a shocked expression on his suntanned face.
“Out of my way or I’ll kill you too.”
The man merely stared at her, a perplexed look coming over his face.
She pushed past him and hurried toward the door, the heavy peasant-style skirts slowing her down.
Suddenly, the man let out an animal-like sound that sent ice through the duchess’s veins. She didn’t turn around but ran out the door, hoping he was occupied with putting out the fire.
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 sh
e 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 the 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.
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