Fairy Tale Romance Collection

  “I’m a prize worth waiting for, don’t you think?”

  “Cocky now that you’ve defended your maiden’s honor, aren’t you?”

  They both laughed, causing Frau Geruscha to peek around the doorway from the storage room.

  “I’d better go.” Gunther bowed to Frau Geruscha. He winked at Rose and departed.

  Two days later, Hildy came in the door while Rose rubbed Wolfie’s head.

  “Oh, Hildy, it’s so wonderful to see you.” Rose jumped up and grabbed her friend’s arm. “It will only take me a moment to put away these herbs. Then will you walk with me around the courtyard? I feel like a prisoner.” She whispered the last few words to make sure Frau Geruscha didn’t hear.

  Rose asked Frau Geruscha if she could go for a walk with Hildy, just around the courtyard. Upon receiving Frau Geruscha’s blessing the two of them, followed by Wolfie, strolled out into the sunshine.

  “Tell me something exciting.” Rose hooked her arm through Hildy’s.

  “I love Gunther.” She giggled exultantly.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Well, Arnold Hintzen is missing, or so says his mother.”

  “Good riddance. I suppose he was deservedly ashamed and ran away.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about him. Have you heard anything about when Lord Hamlin is coming home?”

  “Actually, I have.” Rose sighed, remembering feeling an eager anticipation when she’d learned Lord Hamlin would be home in a few days. Her conscience smote her. Was she so inconstant? After all, she was falling in love with Lord Rupert, wasn’t she? She wasn’t supposed to be excited about his brother coming home—the arrogant, burdened-with-responsibility older brother.

  “Well?”

  “He’s coming home. He didn’t find Moncore, and his wedding is five months away.”

  “I feel sorry for him.” Hildy shook her head. “He’s tried so hard to protect his betrothed from that horrible conjurer, and he hasn’t even been able to find him.”

  “Oh, I suppose he’ll be able to protect her well enough once they’re married. Perhaps he should be trying to find her, before Moncore does.”

  “Hmm. I wonder that he hasn’t thought of that.”

  That afternoon, Hildy rushed into Frau Geruscha’s chambers, her eyes red, her face pale and desperate. She latched onto Rose and began to sob.

  Rose had the eerie sensation that she had been through this before.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” She grasped Hildy by the shoulders.

  “It’s Gunther,” Hildy choked out. “The bailiff and his men have taken him to the dungeon. The duke has already sentenced him, Rose—to death!” Hildy blanched. Her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled back in her head.

  “Frau Geruscha!” Rose held tight to Hildy, trying to support Hildy’s weight as she went limp in her arms.

  Frau Geruscha entered from the storage room. “Oh my!”

  The two of them half carried, half dragged Hildy to the bed and laid her on her back.

  “Is she sick?” Frau Geruscha asked.

  “I know not, I know not.” Rose pressed her hands to her face. “I wish she would wake up and tell me!” She wanted to cry, to relieve the hard knot in her chest, but that wouldn’t help her find out what had happened—although she was afraid she knew why Gunther was sentenced to die.

  Frau Geruscha made a few passes under Hildy’s nose with a handful of pungent herbs and she began to rouse. She wrinkled her nose at the smell, weakly lifting her hand and swatting at the offensive odor.

  “Hildy? Are you all right?” Rose took Hildy’s hand in hers as she hovered over her.

  Hildy opened her eyes and looked up at Rose. Her face wrinkled up again. Tears overflowed their banks and slid across her temples into her hairline.

  “Oh, Rose. I can’t bear it. It’s too horrible.”

  “Don’t cry. I know there is something we can do. Please tell me everything. We’ll save Gunther. We will.” Rose infused her words with raw determination, hoping to bolster Hildy’s courage.

  “They found Arnold Hintzen, Rose. He was dead. In the river. Someone said Gunther did it. When the bailiff asked him about it, I guess he must have said he did. I’m not sure, Rose. But I don’t care if he did kill Arnold Hintzen. I love him. He can’t die. I couldn’t bear it.”

  Rose sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Hildy into her arms. She had never felt so helpless in her life. O God, please, please do something. Don’t let Gunther die. Surely he didn’t kill him. Something else must have happened. O Lord, please help us.

  Rose tried to think. She had to find Gunther a way out of his sentence. But first she had to find out exactly what happened to Arnold Hintzen.

  “Frau Geruscha, help me. Make Bailiff Eckehart take me to see Gunther.”

  “Child, he’s in the dungeon. Are you sure you want to—”

  “Yes! Frau Geruscha, please.”

  “Rose…perhaps you should let his family try to help him. Besides, I don’t think there will be anything that can be done.”

  “His mother has already tried,” Hildy wailed. “The duke won’t listen to her.”

  “I must try. Please help me.” Rose was determined to help Gunther, since she felt partially responsible. And to help him she had to find out from him exactly what happened.

  “Very well, then.” Frau Geruscha’s brows were knit together in wrinkles of worry. “Hildy, stay here. Don’t try to get up. Will you be all right for a few minutes?”

  Hildy nodded, looking like a frightened, lost child.

  Rose bent and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. God will help us.”

  Chapter

  16

  Wilhelm, Georg, and Christoff made it to the little valley hamlet in the northern section of the Harz Mountains after riding for several days. A cold drizzle started falling. Wilhelm was anxious to find a stable for the horses and an inn with beds, preferably without lice, for himself and his men.

  The first establishment they came to seemed promising for the former—less so for the latter. Two shutters hung awry, providing inferior protection from the cold rain. The front door boasted a deep groove in the middle of it about the size of an ax blade. Raucous laughter, obviously influenced by too much wine, drifted out.

  The three men debated on whether they should go on in the rain to try to find a better place or stay where they were. Christoff and Georg suggested they stay. “The next place may be worse,” Georg said, grunting, “in this God-forsaken…” His voice trailed off.

  They saw to their horses first, making sure the stableman provided them some hay. Then Wilhelm and his knights slogged toward the inn after the stable hand assured him that at least one room was available.

  They entered the smoky hovel, barely lit by a few stinking candles of pork grease. The patrons looked them up and down. Noting the three men’s swords and confident postures, they quickly averted their glances.

  Wilhelm fought his curiosity, thinking better of asking any questions until he’d had a night’s sleep. The area was known for its soothsayers and self-described witches and conjurers, and the locals might not take to strangers on the hunt for one of their own kind. The bishop who ruled this section of the Harz turned a blind eye to the pagan beliefs and rituals espoused by his people. Wilhelm had gone to him to ask permission to seize Moncore, if he were found, and take him back to Hagenheim. The bishop had grudgingly granted his request but offered no help.

  Wilhelm strode forward and asked the serving maid for a room. She left and came back with the proprietress, a nearly toothless woman with a rotund figure and a stronger than usual body odor.

  “I have just the thing for you,” she said, taking a candle and leading the way up the stairs.

  She opened the door of the room and Wilhelm turned his head to avoid the smell that assaulted him.

  “The last boarders enjoyed their incense. Burned a lot of sandalwood and such, they did.”

  Thre
e straw mattresses lay on the wooden floor. Nothing else was visible in the room. Wilhelm didn’t think what he smelled was sandalwood, but he decided not to argue the point.

  “Stow your things and come down for some lamb stew.”

  Wilhelm hesitated but Georg and Christoff were already brushing past him and tossing their bags in the middle of the floor, where the barest light filtered in through the cracks in the shutters.

  After eating his meal of lamb stew—flavored, so it seemed, with a few weeds and a sprinkling of dirt—in a dark corner table of the inn, Wilhelm wearily climbed the stairs again. He wished for a bath but knew better than to expect any facilities besides a nearby stream or lake. His large tub at home would be a welcome sight upon his return.

  In the room, Wilhelm stared at his mattress. Fleas. He scowled with hatred for them and their vicious biting. He had traveled enough to suspect they infested every inn mattress in the Holy Roman Empire. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of dried pennyroyal and sprinkled it on his mattress.

  “Trying to keep away the little beasties?” Christoff asked. The two knights looked at each other and laughed.

  “We’ll see who’s laughing in the morning.”

  He lay his sword beside his bed, and Georg and Christoff did the same. Then Wilhelm pulled his blanket from his saddle bag and wrapped it tightly around himself, fully clothed, before lying down. He lay on his back and looked straight up at the ceiling, since turning his head to the side brought the odor of stale sweat to his nostrils. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to sleep.

  He was surprised to see bright fingers of sunlight highlighting the dust of the tiny room when he opened his eyes. Georg and Christoff were both stirring. Wilhelm saw Christoff scratching his chest, and Georg was scratching his neck.

  “Fleas?”

  The two grimaced and muttered under their breath. Wilhelm grinned.

  They strapped on their swords and went downstairs. After they had drunk some warm ale, Wilhelm gave his knights a significant stare and inclined his head toward the door. They took the hint and exited. When the proprietress returned, he called her over. “Frau, do you know of any conjurers of pagan magic in the area?”

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Who wants to know?”

  “Someone who’s very discreet.” Wilhelm pushed a gold coin across the rough wooden table toward her.

  She quickly covered the coin with her hand and slipped it into her apron pocket. “There are those who adhere to paganism what meets on yonder mountaintop.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating the ridge that towered over the little village. “I don’t truckle with none of their kind, not I.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have heard of a man by the name of Moncore?”

  “I see and hear nothing, and I say nothing.”

  Wilhelm laid down another coin on the table but kept his hand over it. “Are you sure you never heard of him?”

  “Well, now.” Her gaze shifted toward the door then made a pass around the room. When she seemed satisfied no one was listening, she leaned forward. “He was in town last winter. Haven’t seen him since.” She looked over her shoulder then went on. “He has a friend, one Dietmar, lives near the mill.”

  She stared pointedly at his hand, and Wilhelm lifted it. She snatched up the money.

  He nodded to her. Only when she left the room did he allow himself to smile at this bit of information.

  Rose marched out ahead of Frau Geruscha. When they arrived at the dungeon, Geruscha talked to Bailiff Eckehart and convinced him to allow Rose a few minutes with the prisoner. He led Rose to the wooden door at the top of the dungeon stairs and unlocked it with two huge metal keys. It creaked on its hinges as the bailiff pushed it open. The odor of unwashed bodies, excrement, and dead, decaying rats wafted out at them. Rose’s hand flew to her nose, but she yanked it back down by her side.

  She turned to Frau Geruscha. “There’s no need for you to go too.”

  “I’ll go back and check on Hildy. Bailiff Eckehart will take care of you.”

  The bailiff lit two torches and gave one to Rose. He placed a cloth over his nose and mouth then led the way down the uneven stone steps. Rose again fought the urge to cover her nose and instead raised her head. She would brave the smells and not let Gunther see her cowering at the odor.

  The stones of the walls glistened with the damp, and far below she could hear water dripping. They continued their descent until Rose began to wonder if they would ever reach the bottom. She heard an occasional scuffling near her feet. Rats. Even with the two torches, she couldn’t see farther than a couple of steps in any direction.

  Finally, Bailiff Eckehart said, “Excuse me, Fraulein Rose. You stay here while I go make sure the prisoner is decent.”

  Rose hugged herself while waiting on the step. Her arm brushed the cold, wet wall, and she drew it back with a gasp. She didn’t want to bring anything back upstairs with her.

  After a moment, the bailiff and his torch came into view again. “You may proceed.”

  She stepped down carefully, as the last few steps were wet and slippery. The bailiff placed her torch in a sconce on the wall. He took the other and started back up the steps without a word.

  Gunther sat slumped against the stone wall, his red-blond head bowed. His feet were anchored to the wall with thick metal chains around his ankles. His wrists were chained as well.

  He lifted his head and his eyes met hers.

  Her throat closed. She swallowed hard to force out her words. “Gunther? Are you all right?” Tears of pity stung her eyes, but she was determined not to let him see his own pitiable state reflected in her gaze.

  He slowly raised himself to stand, his chains rattling—a sickening sound. “Rose. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” Dried blood plastered his hair to his head above one eye. What had they done to him?

  She tried to sound cheerful. “But these are temporary surroundings.”

  “Very temporary, since I am to be hanged in three days.” His voice sounded flat and unemotional.

  “Gunther, tell me what happened.” In her urgency Rose laid her hand on his shoulder.

  Gunther looked her in the eye, pain clearly etched in the lines of his face. “I’m so sorry.”

  When he didn’t go on, she asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I suppose I did kill him. But I didn’t intend to.”

  “How? What happened?”

  “David and I found him the night after I talked to you. He was sitting on the riverbank, drinking. He didn’t even put up much of a fight, he was so drunk. I beat him senseless and left him lying there, on the bank.” Gunther shook his head. The chain on his wrist clanked as he put his hand over his face. “I think he must have rolled into the river and drowned.”

  Rose closed her eyes. “So is that what you told the bailiff?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the duke still sentenced you to die?” Rose spoke the last word in a whisper and immediately wished she had not uttered it.

  “Yes.”

  “But surely he understood you were simply defending Hildy. It was an accident. He was drunk. He fell in the river and drowned.”

  Gunther shook his head. “You were right. I should have gone to the bailiff with our complaint against Arnold Hintzen. The duke was furious that I took the law into my own hands.” His voice trailed off absently, as if he’d forgotten anyone was listening. He held out his hands, palms up, pulling taut the noisy chains. He stared at his hands, his expression full of misery and anguish.

  And I should have tried to stop you. The guilty thought stabbed Rose like a knife.

  “I am responsible for his death, Rose,” Gunther said, as though reading her thoughts. “Only I am to blame.” He shifted his feet, clanging his leg irons. “I had a dream last night. I had been praying, asking God to forgive me. In my dream, an angel came to me here, in the dungeon, and said, ‘God has heard your prayers and has forgiven you.’” He slowly sho
ok his head as he looked her in the eye. “So don’t cry for me, Rose. God has forgiven me.”

  A tear slipped off her chin and disappeared in the darkness. No, I mustn’t cry. I have to think. She pressed her hand against her trembling lips. “Oh, Gunther, I promise I’ll try to get you out. We have three days. There must be a way.”

  “Don’t worry. My soul is at peace.”

  She grabbed Gunther’s limp hand. “I haven’t given up hope of saving your life, and you mustn’t either.”

  He looked her in the eye. “Tell Hildy I’m sorry, and that I love her. I had hoped to make her my wife…someday. Farewell, Rose. You’re a good friend. Promise me that you will always be Hildy’s.”

  “I promise.” Rose stifled a sob and squeezed his hand. She tried to say, “Farewell,” but her voice had left her, and she was only able to mouth the words. Lifting the torch from its stand, she shuffled toward the stairs.

  As she climbed the steps, she tried to think of her options. What could she do to help Gunther? She couldn’t let herself feel hopeless. There had to be something she could do.

  She reached the top of the steps and knocked on the door. Her only thought was to find Lord Rupert. After all, he was the duke’s own son. Perhaps he could help her win favor with the duke and plead Gunther’s case.

  Bailiff Eckehart’s keys clinked against the lock and he opened the door to her. She handed him the torch and moved past him down the castle corridor.

  The rain had not let up since the night before in the little northern hamlet. The streets—if such they could be called—had turned into a muddy soup. Wilhelm’s boots slipped and sank into the sucking mire. Raindrops trickled down his neck, chilling him all over. But if Moncore was here, or if there was information of him to be had, Wilhelm would have it.

  He, Georg, and Christoff had found another, cleaner inn on the other side of town and returned there to devise a plan.

  “I’ll disguise myself,” Wilhelm said, “and go to Dietmar, asking for Moncore.”