The Captive Maiden

by Melanie Dickerson

  It was time. Valten knew it. Time to exchange his sword for a new life. He no longer had a taste for his old one. And just as Friar Daniel lived his life for more than tangible, earthly rewards, Valten wanted his life to be about more than winning tournaments and gaining prizes. He had fed his pride long enough, and now it was time to feed his spirit and live life at a deeper level.

  Chapter

  30

  Gisela sighed at the luxury of sitting in an actual tub full of warm water. She had to draw her knees up almost to her chin to fit in it, but it was wonderful. The tub was metal with leather strips to reinforce the seams and make it more leakproof. And the soap smelled even more wonderful than the foreign soaps her stepmother and stepsisters used — like roses and lilacs. Roslind, the kind and generous maiden who had helped her fill the tub, told her the soap was made by Bartel, the former monk who was also a healer and one of the seven men who lived at the cottage.

  Valten and his guards had gone to the creek to wash up, so Gisela took her time. Roslind had offered to help her wash her hair, but Gisela was accustomed to doing such things for herself.

  Gisela dried herself, then she put on the dress that Roslind had brought for her to borrow while her other one — the beautiful, blue silk gown she had worn ever since the ball at Hagenheim—was being washed. The gown’s sleeves were torn and the skirt had a few rips in it, but it still looked better than any of the dresses her stepmother had allowed her to wear.

  Roslind had lent her a simple brown work dress, but it was clean and fit Gisela well. Her ankle still hurt when she put her weight on it, but it was already feeling better than it had a few hours ago when she first injured it. She picked up a bucket and filled it with her bathwater and limped as she carried it outside. As she dumped it on the ground, Gisela met the pretty brunette, who seemed to be the only female living at the house of seven men.

  “Lord Valten tells us you are his fiancée.”

  Gisela was smiling even more on the inside at the thought of Valten telling people they were to be married. He wasn’t the most talkative man, after all.

  “I am married.” Roslind wore a pleased look in her pale blue eyes as she helped Gisela empty the bathtub. “His name is Siegfried, but everyone calls him Siggy. I fell in love with him as soon as I saw him.” The girl sighed dreamily.

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Two years.”

  Two years and she was still sighing. Gisela hoped for the same. Truly, she could hardly think beyond the moment, and certainly not beyond the next four weeks, for Valten had declared they would be married then. He’d already sent a messenger back to Hagenheim to tell his parents.

  She was afraid to believe it, afraid it was too good to be true. After all, only a few days ago Valten knew her only as the girl who had a way with horses, with whom he had spent a couple of hours walking around Hagenheim. But after what they had been through together the last few days, she felt they knew each other well.

  After they finished dumping out the bathwater, she and Roslind worked together to make dinner. As they prepared the meat pies, she wondered if Valten had finished his cold bath in the creek and was finally letting Bartel tend to his hand.

  They set the food and drink on the table, and Roslind told her the names of each of the men as they all trouped in. The men looked like a band of traveling miracle players, or jongleurs and circus performers, instead of the woodsmen that they were. Dominyk, their leader, who barely stood as tall as the other men’s waists, sported a thick black moustache and black hair. He was as dignified as any duke as he seated himself at the head of the table.

  Siggy, who was tall and thin and blond, hurried in, grinned in his eagerness as he came over and kissed his wife on the forehead. Dolf smiled shyly and nodded at Gisela as he sat at Dominyk’s left side. He had a pleasant but craggy face, with brown hair and gentle brown eyes. He talked with his hands in gestures and signs that the other men seemed to understand perfectly.

  Vincz, with droopy eyelids that belied his quick movements, broad shoulders, and work-hardened hands, sat beside Dolf. Heinric followed close behind. He was the tallest and broadest of the men, with wide eyes that followed Gisela’s every move, and a bit of saliva that threatened to drip from each corner of his mouth. But at least he was smiling.

  On the other side of the table sat Gotfrid. He scowled at Gisela, then scowled at the food, then crossed his arms and scowled some more. The large scar that covered one side of his head also seemed to scowl at Gisela, where it puckered the skin and prevented any hair from growing.

  Bartel, the healer, came in next wearing a monk’s coarse robe and a placid look on his handsome face. He walked as if on stilts, making her realize there was something wrong with his feet. He nodded to her solemnly, then sat down on the bench next to Gotfrid.

  Valten and his men entered the room. Valten’s hand was unbandaged and still looked horribly bruised and swollen. The men indicated that he should sit at the end of the table opposite Dominyk, in the place of honor, and Gisela should sit at his left. Roslind squeezed in next to her husband, and Bartel spoke to Valten.

  “I can see your hand will need some special attention, brother knight. Would you like to wait until after we eat?”

  “Yes, I thank you.” Valten bowed to him respectfully. Bartel bowed back.

  The two knights who had traveled with Valten and Gisela packed in with the rest of the men on the benches down the long sides of the table and began to eat, spearing venison with their knives and ladling gravy and cooked vegetables and fruits onto their trenchers with wooden serving spoons. Soon the only sound was the muted sounds of eating. Then Heinric belched … and smiled.

  Gisela couldn’t help smiling back. She caught Roslind’s eye. The girl was also smiling at her, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her husband, who didn’t seem to mind that she was crowding him.

  Valten’s knee brushed hers under the table. She glanced up at him and could have sworn he was blushing.

  They all went back to eating, and Gisela sighed, feeling more content in this house full of misfit men than ever in her life.

  “We are expecting the arrival of your brother, Lord Gabehart,” Dominyk said, looking at Valten, “and Lady Sophie this evening. They are on their way from Hohendorf to Hagenheim for a visit.”

  Valten’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t say anything right away, but continued to chew his food. “Will you have enough room for everyone? My men and I can sleep outside.”

  “If your men have no objection to sleeping in the stable, we shall have accommodations for all.”

  Valten’s guards grunted their consent, saying a pile of hay was as good as a feather bed.

  Gisela finished eating and sat waiting for the others to finish so she and Roslind could clear the table. She laid her hands in her lap. If Valten’s hand wasn’t broken, would he try to hold hers?

  Everyone seemed to have finished eating and were taking the last swills of their drink. Then three of the men stood and started clearing the table. Gisela looked at Roslind, but she sat still, talking quietly with Siggy. Was she letting the men do the menial task of clearing the table?

  The other men stood and Dominyk herded the rest of them outside, with Roslind and Siggy the last to go, leaving Valten, Gisela, and Bartel still sitting at the table.

  Bartel fixed Gisela with a dark brown eye. “I will look at your ankle now.”

  “But Valten’s hand is in more urgent need of your care.”

  “He will not allow me to look at his hand until I’ve tended your ankle.” Bartel spoke factually, his expression as calm and still as the small lake near her home.

  Valten stared straight ahead in stubborn silence, his chin looking like it was carved from stone.

  Gisela decided not to argue. A few more minutes wouldn’t matter.

  They moved to the adjoining room, with Valten helping to support her as she walked, and Bartel had her sit on a bench. Valten sat beside her and Bartel sat a
cross from her on a stool. He lifted her foot and silently examined it, pressing lightly, looking at it from all sides.

  “It isn’t badly swollen, but you should not walk on it if it is painful to do so. Be sure to rest and keep it propped up whenever possible. And in a week or two it may be well.”

  “May be?” Valten asked.

  Bartel shrugged. “I can’t say for sure. It depends on whether she is careful or not. But I do not believe it is broken.”

  Bartel moved his stool closer, and Valten squeezed her hand with his right one as Bartel took his poor swollen left hand. Bartel turned it every which way and pressed his fingers on the back of Valten’s hand, which seemed three times its normal size and was covered in dark shades of purple and green.

  Valten’s good hand tightened on Gisela’s, and sweat appeared at his temple. Bartel bent Valten’s fingers forward while pressing down on the broken bone in the back of his hand. Valten’s face took on an ashen color as sweat ran down his cheek, but he kept his jaw clenched and did not make a sound or pull away.

  What good did it do to press on the broken bone? Her heart constricted at the pain he was inflicting. But she kept quiet, hoping the healer knew what he was doing and that he was doing Valten more good than harm.

  Bartel then grasped the knuckle of Valten’s middle finger, held his wrist with his other hand, and yanked in opposite directions.

  Valten let out a gasp, then he slumped forward, breathing hard. Perspiration coursed down his temple and cheek, beading on his forehead and upper lip.

  Gisela glared at Bartel. Must he make Valten suffer so? She leaned forward and touched Valten’s arm, wishing she could comfort him. His eyes were closed and he was still pale and breathing hard.

  “Don’t move,” Bartel said. “I’ll be right back with a splint and some cold water.” The man stood and stumped out of the room.

  Gisela moved her hand along his upper arm. “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

  He grunted.

  “Was it necessary to cause you so much pain? I don’t think I like that man.”

  One corner of Valten’s mouth went up, but she wasn’t sure if it was a half smile or a grimace. “He had to reset the bone. If he didn’t, it wouldn’t grow back correctly.”

  That nasty Ruexner. This was all his fault. And to think he was her cousin!

  “I’m so sorry,” Gisela said, caressing his arm. “Can I get you something? I wish you could lie down.”

  “I am well.” Valten’s voice sounded gruff and irritable, but when he spoke again, his voice was softer, and he turned his head to look at her. “It is nothing, liebchen. I’ve had broken bones before.”

  Her heart missed a beat at his calling her liebchen again.

  “You wouldn’t want to marry a man with a crooked hand, would you?” There was a teasing light in his gray-green eyes.

  A burst of honesty made her whisper, “I would want to marry you no matter what your hand looked like.”

  The teasing glint in Valten’s eyes turned more serious, and he focused on her lips. She was about to lean forward and kiss him when Bartel came back into the room. He was carrying a bucket in one hand and some sticks and bandages in the other.

  Valten reached for her hand again with his uninjured one and squeezed it, as if he knew what was coming wouldn’t be pleasant.

  Gisela squeezed back and held her breath as Bartel carefully took Valten’s broken hand and placed the sticks on either side then wrapped a long strip of cloth around it a few times before tying it tightly in place.

  “Now put your hand in this water—you will have to sit on the floor.”

  Valten got down on the floor beside her bench, where he could lean his back against the wall. Bartel placed the bucket beside him and Valten dipped his hand in. The only evidence of his pain was his closed eyes, the tightness in his jaw where a muscle flexed whenever he clenched his teeth, and the creases of tension in his forehead.

  “I wish I had some snow or ice,” Bartel said, “but the cold water will do almost as well. Leave it in until I come back.” And he left the room again.

  Gisela scooted back on her bench until she was leaning against the wall beside Valten. She drew his good hand up to her lips. After discreetly kissing his knuckles, she held his hand in her lap and compared his massive fingers to hers. Many scars — some long, some short, some mere dots — covered his skin. But she thought his hand beautiful. His nails were clean and short, his hand wide and calloused, and she caressed his fingers, wishing she could take away the pain in his other hand.

  Valten was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her. But alas, he couldn’t reach her lips sitting on the floor, and he was fairly immobile, with his hand in the bucket.

  “Are you sure you want to marry me?” She wasn’t sure what made her ask him.

  He looked a bit confused. “Why would you ask?”

  Do I dare say it? “You haven’t said you love me. It may be silly, but I want you to marry me because you love me, not out of a sense of duty or propriety.” She tried to look teasing and flippant, but she watched his face for his reaction.

  A look came over his features — confusion or hurt, she wasn’t sure. “Haven’t I shown you I love you by my actions, by coming to rescue you? By kissing you and telling you that you were beautiful? Did I deal with you in any way that made you think I didn’t love you?”

  The tears that she couldn’t seem to get rid of lately came rushing in. Her bottom lip trembled, and she clamped down on it with her teeth. She wasn’t sure what she felt — anger, embarrassment, pain. Was it so terrible that she wanted him to say the words? Perhaps her stepmother’s evil treatment had made it difficult for her to believe that anyone could love her. But hadn’t Valten shown her that he did love her? He’d risked his life to save her multiple times. What could be more loving than that? She felt guilty for demanding that he say it. And yet, she still wanted him to.

  She let go of his hand and turned away as a tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away with her fist, wondering if he would decide he didn’t want to marry someone so teary-eyed and bothersome.

  I am a dim-witted oaf. He had no sense when it came to talking to Gisela and telling her what she wanted to hear. And now he had made her cry by making her feel bad for wanting him to say he loved her. “You are right,” he said. She didn’t turn her head to look at him.

  Of course she would wonder if he loved her. When she’d confessed in the church tower that she loved him, he hadn’t told her he loved her in return. He’d been too intent on kissing her. He’d asked her to marry him, but he hadn’t said he loved her.

  “I should have told you I loved you. I’m sorry.”

  She was wiping her face, trying to hide her tears. “I understand if you don’t,” she said in a watery voice. “You don’t have to marry me if you don’t love me.”

  Was she not listening to him? He closed his eyes, then sighed. To get angry with her would not help. He knew that from experience with his sisters. If he grew annoyed with them for crying, they just cried harder. Besides, Gisela was worth a hundred confessions of love.

  He reached out and ran his hand along her arm until he caught her hand in his. She continued to wipe her face with her other hand and still wouldn’t look at him.

  “Listen to me. I love you, Gisela.” He leaned toward her, as far as he was able. “I was falling in love with you almost from the moment I saw you, and had nearly made up my mind to ask you to marry me the night of the banquet.”

  “Truly?” She turned her face to him, her mouth open and her eyes wide. Her lashes were wet with tears. “But why? I’m not a duke’s daughter, or even a wealthy knight’s daughter. I’m only an orphan, and one who’s related to your worst enemy, at that.”

  “Why would I care if you were a duke’s daughter, or wealthy?”

  “I thought a duke’s son would need to marry someone whose status was closer to his own.”

  Valten sighed as he looked into her deep blue
eyes, made even bluer by her tears. “I don’t need prestige or wealth,” he said softly. “I need you, and I want you with me forever.” He looked at her lips just above him, so sweet and tempting.

  Her bottom lip quivered and she captured it with her teeth.

  Valten went on. “I want to marry you. I haven’t been able to think about anything but you, and I could barely keep my mind on the tournament because of it.” He pulled her hand closer, placing it over his heart, forcing her to lean over him. “I love you and only you.” He looked deeply into her lovely blue eyes. “I’ve always been a man of action. I’m not like my brother, Gabe, who seems to know the right thing to say. And if I didn’t have my hand in a bucket of water, I’d come up there and show you how much I love you.”

  Her eyes went wide again. “What?”

  He gave her a wicked smile, but when she looked alarmed, he said, “I only want to kiss you.”

  She climbed down off the bench.

  “Be careful of your ankle,” he said, as she knelt beside him and slipped her arms around his neck.

  She stared at him in a way that made him glad he was alive … very glad. Then she closed her eyes and the gap between them and pressed her lips to his so fervently it made him thank God again for protecting him so many times. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her just as fervently, hoping she could hear “I love you” loud and clear in his actions. But if the words “I love you” had this kind of effect, he could imagine himself saying them quite a lot in the years to come.

  She pulled away, holding his face in her hands. “I used to sit at my window, when I felt alone, and stare at the towers of Hagenheim Castle and wonder about you—where you were, what you were doing. I wondered what it would be like to see you again. It feels like a dream to hear you say you love me.”

  Touching her cheek with his fingertips, her skin was softer than silk. He slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her in for another kiss.

  “I will always love you, and you will never be alone again.” He touched his forehead to hers. “When my brother asked me to break my betrothal to Sophie, I was angry. But now I’m grateful. I know God planned all along for me to find you and marry you.” Gisela was his damsel in distress, and she loved him. Even if he wasn’t good at thinking of charming words, now that he knew how she felt about “I love you,” he would say them every day. For the rest of their lives.