Fairy Tale Romance Collection

  Now instead of seeing Lord Rupert nearly every morning in the chapel at prime, she saw Lord Hamlin. She found herself living for the sight of him, packing all her memories of him carefully away to be revisited later. He knelt near the altar at the front of the chapel, the stained-glass window painting him in reds and blues and golden yellows. Often she stayed after everyone had left to ask forgiveness for having her attention on Lord Hamlin rather than the Lord of heaven.

  The first weeks of autumn came and went. In spite of himself, Wilhelm looked forward every morning to going to the chapel for morning prayers. While Rupert had started attending devotions and mass at the town cathedral—whether to avoid Rose and his brother or to be near his future “flock,” he wasn’t sure—Wilhelm nearly always saw Rose at the chapel, kneeling near the back.

  Most days he barely caught a glimpse of her, as he entered the chapel through the second-story entrance, directly from the castle. But sometimes he exited through the main door. When he did, he always searched for her. He would nod and smile just to see her smile in return. He often asked God to take away his love for her. But a part of him still believed in the message he had heard in the woods the night he took Rose through the tunnel. Hope had taken hold of his heart, hope that God would make a way for them to be together.

  “I’m a silly, insipid, pathetic creature,” Rose told Hildy. They were alone in Frau Geruscha’s chamber, the frau having become less vigilant since Lord Rupert stopped coming to see her. “I can’t get Lord Hamlin out of my mind. It sounds ridiculous, but I see us together in my dreams. I know it could never be. He’s a man of honor and would never break his betrothal.”

  “Well, he is handsome. You can hardly help looking at him, and he isn’t married yet.”

  “You want to know what I sometimes think about doing?” Rose rested her cheek against the cold, hard window casing. “Sometimes I wish I could run away with the Meistersingers and travel all over, singing. I’m sure they need someone who can write stories, and I could start writing songs too, and they would let me join them.”

  “Oh, Rose, you wouldn’t truly do that, would you?” Hildy’s face fell and she grabbed Rose’s hand.

  “Why not? I suppose Frau Geruscha would disapprove.”

  “What about your parents?”

  Rose took a deep breath. She might as well tell someone. Hildy’s shock would assuage some of her pain. “Two months ago I found out that Thomas and Enid Roemer are not my mother and father.”

  “What do you mean?” Hildy’s eyes opened wide.

  “They took me in when I was a baby. My father says he doesn’t know who my parents were. He won’t tell me the whole story, how I came to live with them. He said that he and my mother thought she was barren.”

  A slow smile spread over Hildy’s face and her eyes brightened. “Rose, that’s amazing. You know what I’m about to say, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.” Rose frowned.

  “You could be Lord Hamlin’s betrothed!”

  “No, Hildy, I couldn’t. His betrothed turns nineteen—nineteen—two weeks before Christmas. I will only be eighteen five weeks before Christmas. You know that.”

  Hildy sat musing, leaning her head on her hand. “I still think it’s possible.”

  “Besides, what duke would leave his daughter to be raised by a woodcutter?”

  “What’s wrong with a woodcutter, Rose? Thomas Roemer is a good man.”

  “I know, but why would the duke leave his daughter with a stranger in another region and never make contact with her?”

  “Because of the evil conjurer Moncore. To keep you safe from him.”

  “Oh, please, Hildy. Don’t let crazy ideas in your head. It’s simply impossible.”

  The cold autumn wind puffed down the chimney and into the fireplace, threatening to extinguish the fire Rose was trying to feed with more wood. She carefully placed small limbs over the flame until they caught and burned higher, then put down the poker and rubbed her hands.

  The door banged open. A man and woman rushed in, carrying a small child about three years old. The child was flushed with fever. The parents—a baker and his wife—described a convulsion the child had suffered on their way to Frau Geruscha’s chambers. Her pale blonde curls clung to her temples.

  Rose drew some cold water from the well and dipped a cloth in it to wipe the little girl’s face and neck. She was unconscious, but the mother had been able to make out the child’s complaints earlier in the day. Her head and neck hurt.

  For two days Rose and Frau Geruscha tended to the child, who made little murmurs in her sleep. Frau Geruscha stayed up with her that first night.

  Rose stayed beside her the second night to let Frau Geruscha rest. She wiped down the child’s small body many times and did her best to pour feverfew tea into her mouth. The child whimpered a few times but didn’t open her eyes.

  The next morning Rose spoke soothingly to her. “Sleep and get well. Your mother will be here to see you any moment now.”

  Rose gently squeezed the child’s hand, but it was cold, much colder than it should have been. She held her breath as she watched the child’s chest, praying to see it rise and fall. But there was no perceptible movement.

  A tentacle of fear tightened around her. “O God, please don’t let her be dead.” She put her ear close to the child’s mouth, desperately hoping to feel her breath on her cheek, but there was nothing. She touched her hand again, but it felt even colder and was growing stiff.

  The door opened and someone walked in. Rose turned to face the mother and watched the woman’s features crumple as she read Rose’s expression. She flew to the child’s side and picked her up, holding her against her chest and cradling her head.

  The father stood near the door, motionless. “Our only comfort,” he said quietly, his face stony, “is that the priest spoke the sacred rites over her yesterday.”

  Rose began to shake all over. She turned and walked up to her room, passing Frau Geruscha on the stairs. Rose didn’t say a word, simply closed the door to her room and sank to the floor by the bed.

  Why? I prayed for her, Frau Geruscha prayed for her. I didn’t want her to die. Why, God? Did you do it so that she wouldn’t have to endure future hardships and pain? I don’t understand.

  Rose stayed in her room all day and night and refused to eat what Frau Geruscha brought her. The next morning she came down and told Frau Geruscha, “I’ve decided to join the Meistersingers.”

  Frau Geruscha merely stared. Finally, she said, “Come, let’s go eat something.”

  Rose ate a hearty meal of eggs, fried pork, and bread.

  When they returned to Frau Geruscha’s chambers, Rose stopped her just inside the door. “So you don’t object to me joining the Meistersingers? They’ll be here at Christmas. I plan to ask to join them then.”

  Frau Geruscha’s top lip twitched. “Rose, that’s no life for a respectable maiden like you. You’ll see. God’s plan for you isn’t traveling the countryside with vagabonds.”

  “They’re not vagabonds.” Anger crept into Rose’s voice, and she suddenly knew how a caged animal felt. Words and feelings expanded inside her, determined to find release. “You don’t understand. I can’t stay here, Frau Geruscha. I can’t. I can’t stand another winter of sickness and death. I’m not like you. I’m no good at helping people. I hate the sight of blood, I get sick when I see it gushing out of people’s heads or oozing from some gashed-up body part. I asked God to change me, but he didn’t. I can’t do it. If I stay here another year I’ll either die or go insane.” Tears streamed down her face and sobs shook her. She covered her face with her hands.

  Frau Geruscha’s arms wrapped around Rose and she patted her on the back. “Now, now, everything will be well, my dear.”

  “Everything won’t be well.” Rose pulled out of her embrace and faced her. “I’m not like you. I’ll never be able to do this.”

  “You’re just upset. Come and sit down.” Frau Geruscha took
her arm and led her to a chair. “Now listen to me, Rose.”

  Rose struggled to control her sobbing.

  “I want to suggest something. You think you want to meet up with the Meistersingers in a few weeks when they come to perform for Christmas. Well, you shall.”

  Rose wiped her face with her apron.

  “When they come, I’ll arrange it. You can talk to them and decide if that’s what you want to do. Can you wait that long, Rose?”

  Rose nodded. Only two and a half more months. Since Lord Hamlin’s betrothed was supposed to come out of hiding and be presented to him and his family two weeks before Christmas, she wouldn’t be able to avoid that dreaded event. But as long as she knew she would soon be getting away—away from him and his wedded bliss, and away from sickness, blood, and death—she could stand it. But for today, she didn’t want to stay around Frau Geruscha’s chambers, sensing her pity, and even amusement, at her wanting to run away with the Meistersingers.

  “Can I take Wolfie and go for a walk?”

  Frau Geruscha hesitated. “I don’t think you should.”

  Rose felt her composure crumbling again.

  Frau Geruscha must have seen her distress, because she quickly added, “It isn’t safe for you, since they haven’t captured Peter Brunckhorst yet, and Lord Hamlin is still searching for Moncore, who may be nearby.” Now Frau Geruscha looked distressed.

  “Wolfie will keep me safe. You know he would never let anyone hurt me. And I promise not to be gone long.”

  Frau Geruscha didn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally she sighed. “All right. You may go. But don’t wander far and be back before nones.”

  “Thank you.” Rose wiped her nose, feeling some measure of hope. She longed to fill her lungs with fresh air. That would make her feel even better.

  Wolfie followed her out the door. It was the warmest day they’d had since early September. She hastened through the castle gatehouse and down the street to the town gate. She drew in a deep breath of crisp autumn air then sighed in relief at being alone in the open meadow, heading for the woods and the stream.

  Her head was starting to ache, probably because of her fit of crying. The thought of splashing some water from the stream on her face made her quicken her pace.

  By the time Rose topped the hill, her headache was worse and her neck had begun to feel stiff and sore. Should she turn back? First she would make it to the stream for a drink. Wolfie bounded far ahead of her. She lost sight of him before she entered the forest.

  She sank to her knees by the stream bank and dipped her hand in, drawing the water to her lips. When she swayed and nearly fell face first into the trickling brook, she sat back on her heels, rubbing her forehead with her wet hand.

  Something was wrong.

  “Wolfie!” she called. She slowly got to her feet. Her head ached worse than ever, and she put her hands against her temples. When she tried to turn her head to look for the dog, she gasped in pain.

  Confusion threw a fog over her thoughts as she turned in a circle. Was she looking for Wolfie? She couldn’t remember. She wanted to go home but wasn’t sure if she lived in town or in the forest.

  Wolfie broke through the underbrush and tromped toward her.

  “Wolfie, we have to go home.” Rose started off through the trees. She stretched her arms out in her effort to not look down or move her head.

  Soon she came to the small clearing where her parents’ cottage stood. The door hung open. She wandered inside. Perhaps her mother had some soup she could sip. Her throat was feeling sore.

  “Mama?”

  She looked around. No one was there. Leaves swirled around the dirt floor, and no fire burned.

  “Mama? Agathe? Dorothye?” Where was everyone? Where was her bed? It wasn’t very cold today but still, there should have been a cook fire.

  A vague memory stirred in her foggy mind, of a castle, and of a house in town. O God, there’s something wrong with my head. I can’t think. She sank down on the dirt floor. Unable to hold up her head another minute, she lay full length, moaning at the pain in her neck.

  Wolfie licked her cheek. Rose weakly brushed him away. The dog stretched out beside her, whimpering in his high-pitched dog’s voice.

  “It’s all right, Wolfie. I’ll lie here until I feel better.”

  Rose shut her eyes and darkness closed over her.

  Wilhelm stared out the window of the Great Hall that faced the courtyard. The sky had been darkening all afternoon. Though the morning had been warm, a frigid wind had moved in around noon, bringing colder air and even freezing rain. Ice now covered the ground, turning it silver. He didn’t envy anyone caught out in this weather.

  “Lord Hamlin.”

  He turned and was surprised to see Frau Geruscha hurrying toward him. Her forehead was creased with anxiety and desperation shaded her eyes.

  “Yes, Frau Geruscha?”

  “It’s Rose.”

  His body tensed as he waited for her to catch her breath.

  “I don’t know where she is. She left this morning to go for a walk and hasn’t returned.”

  Fear stabbed his heart. His gaze darted to the window. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  “No.” Frau Geruscha clasped her hands together. “And now it’s sleeting. I sent a messenger to her parents’ home, but they haven’t seen her. I’m so worried. She was upset this morning, but I don’t think she would run away. You don’t suppose Peter Brunckhorst—or Moncore…?”

  “I’ll find her.” He spun around and barked to a servant, “Get Christoff and Georg. Bring them to the stable and tell them to wait for me.” He turned back to Geruscha. The fear in her eyes sent a wave of blood pulsing through his body. “I have an idea where to look. If she isn’t there, I’ll come back for my knights and we’ll search for her until we find her.”

  He took time only to grab two woolen cloaks then ran to the stable.

  Instead of waiting for the stable boy to help him saddle Shadow, he grabbed the gear himself and readied his horse to ride. He threw one of the cloaks around his shoulders and tucked the other one under his arm. Swinging himself into the saddle, he set out, urging Shadow into his fastest gallop. He prayed for protection for Shadow’s legs. Don’t let him slip on the ice.

  His heart pounded in rhythm with the horse’s hooves. O God, please help me find her. Please keep her safe. Show me where to look. If Peter Brunckhorst or Moncore had her…He couldn’t let himself think about that yet. He had a feeling he knew where she was, almost as if God had whispered it in his ear.

  The icy rain pelted his face and hands like a thousand tiny pinpricks. His body heat warmed the extra cloak that was tucked against his side. He hoped he would soon be able to wrap it around Rose.

  He guided Shadow first toward Rose’s tree on the hill, then to her favored spot in the woods beside the waterfall. Not seeing her at either of those places, he began searching for her father’s old house. He had to find it soon, before night fell and it grew even darker.

  He pushed Shadow down the narrow path that he believed led to the woodcutter’s cottage. Shadow responded nimbly to his commands as Wilhelm guided him off the path time and again, searching the woods for the cottage. It was so dark in the dense forest, with the thick clouds darkening the sky, he couldn’t see far. “God, help me!” Wilhelm cried out. Every moment counted. With the fading light, the evening air grew colder and colder. If Rose did happen to be in the little cottage, she would be freezing by now. “God, help me find it!”

  Wolfie’s warning bark and growls came to him from his right. He turned Shadow toward the sound. Soon he spotted the dark square of the house. “Thank you, God.” He leapt off Shadow’s back. Hold on, Rose. I’m coming.

  Chapter

  23

  “It’s me, Wolfie. That’s a good boy.”

  The dog stood in the open doorway. Wilhelm slowed his steps and held out his hand to him, waiting for him to catch his scent and remember that he was a f
riend. The dog sniffed and then whimpered, moving aside. Wilhelm strode quickly into the house.

  “Rose?” A dark form lay on the floor. He crossed the floor and dropped to his knees beside her.

  “Thirsty.”

  Rose was lying on her side. Wilhelm laid his hand on her forehead. Burning hot.

  She shivered. He whipped out the woolen cloak he’d kept against his side and spread it over her. “Everything is all right. I’m here.”

  He jumped up and whirled around, searching for something that would hold water. Spotting a metal dipper with a broken handle on a shelf, he grabbed it and ran outside to the stream behind the house. He dipped it into the icy water and hastened back inside.

  Wilhelm sat on the floor beside her and slipped his arm underneath her. He lifted her head and shoulders and propped her against his chest. She grimaced, but still didn’t open her eyes. “Drink this.” He placed the cup to her lips.

  Some water dribbled down her chin then she parted her lips and drank. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  “Rose. I’m here. I’m taking you home.” He smoothed back the strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “Drink some more.” He held the cup to her lips again.

  “Thank you.”

  Her voice was raspy and weak, but it gave him hope.

  “I don’t think I can walk,” she said.

  “No, you don’t have to walk.”

  Wilhelm pulled the hood of the cloak over her head and lifted her into his arms. She moaned.

  “Are you in pain? Where?”

  Her eyes were closed as she spoke. “My neck. But I think I’m merely tired.” Her voice trailed off.