Fairy Tale Romance Collection

  Sophie touched his cheek, and he reached up and cradled her face in his hands. “You must let God’s love and the blood of Jesus heal you of all those things the duchess said and did to you.”

  Sophie swallowed. “I will.”

  “My mother’s childhood was a little bit like yours. She had to let God heal her, and you have to do the same. You don’t have to believe those lies. You can give them to God.”

  Give them to God? “How do I do that?”

  “God says we should cast our burdens on him and give him our cares. And you have some heavy burdens you need to give to God.” He sighed. “And so do I.”

  “You do? What?” They were both whispering, and Sophie didn’t want to break this magical moment, feeling as if Gabe was not only revealing God to her, but he was about to reveal himself to her.

  He seemed to think about that, staring past her for a moment. She held her breath while she waited for him to speak.

  “I should have let God heal me of the pain of being compared to my brother. Others said Valten was stronger, more of a warrior, and more responsible than I was. And I let that affect me more than I should have.”

  She caressed his cheek with her fingertips.

  “And I think I let my guilt over my sister’s death make me do stupid things and give up on myself instead of trying to be everything I should have been.”

  “Oh. Why would you feel guilty?”

  “I was there when she died. I could have saved her if I’d only known she was drowning. I was six years old and I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. But I so wished I had saved her. I felt responsible for her. I wished I could have spared my mother the pain of my sister’s death.”

  Sophie’s stomach twisted at the pain he must have felt, at the pain she could see in his eyes now as he was looking away from her. She hugged him close, pressing her cheek against his neck and whispering, “It wasn’t your fault.” His arms tightened around her, and they sat like that for a long moment.

  She pulled away and looked him in the eye. “You must let God heal you of this guilt. Because I think you’re very strong and capable and very responsible.”

  He gave her a tiny half smile. “And I think you’re beautiful. Everything the duchess said was a lie. You are clever and resilient, yet so sweet, it makes my heart ache just to look at you.”

  “Then we shall both give our pain to God and let him heal us.” She hugged him again. “Thank you telling me all that.” As she hugged Gabe tighter, she wasn’t thinking. She was only feeling … floating … sealing up the broken places of her heart with God’s love … and Gabe’s.

  Sophie held the bag of food she had packed for him — nuts, apples, cheese, bread, dried fruit, and dried strips of venison — while Gabe made sure Gingerbread’s saddle was tight. He took it from her with a murmured, “Thank you,” and tied it to his saddle. Then he mounted his horse. He’d hugged her and kissed her, but her heart had been so heavy, it was hard to enjoy it, especially when she knew the Seven were watching them out the kitchen window.

  “Don’t go anywhere without one of the men,” Gabe told her for the fifth time. “The duchess might still be looking for you.”

  “I know. I won’t.”

  “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can, or I’ll follow you to Hagenheim.” He stared hard at her. “You must trust me. I need you to trust me.”

  “I know. I will, Gabe.” She reached up to him and he clasped her hand in his. “I think you’re one of the most responsible people I know. And the bravest.”

  He leaned down and kissed her.

  Then he left, urging his eager horse forward, disappearing through the trees.

  The days seemed to stretch out long before her. But she had promised herself she wouldn’t be sad. She would hold on to her happy memories of Gabe, and she would trust him to work things out and come back for her.

  She sighed and went back into the kitchen, deciding to bake several fruit pies and custards and perhaps some extra bread. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have time to cry.

  The men seemed to be making an effort to be cheerful that night. Siggy played only fast-paced music, and some of the men danced a jig, making Sophie laugh at their antics. She was so tired that night, after keeping herself busy all day, she fell asleep while praying for Gabe and his safety and success.

  Two days after Gabe left, the sky was overcast and dreary, but as Sophie worked in the kitchen, preparing food for their night’s dinner, she concentrated on remembering every conversation she’d ever had with Gabe, starting with the first day he had arrived at Hohendorf Castle. She was thinking of the day he’d gotten shot protecting her, when she saw an old woman approaching the back of the cottage. The woman was bent over, hugging a basket to her middle, a hump protruding from the place where her right shoulder blade should have been.

  How odd to see another human being of any kind, but especially a woman. Sophie hurried to the back door and opened it.

  “Guten Morgen,” Sophie called.

  The old woman barely raised her head, as though her neck didn’t work correctly. Something about her reminded Sophie of Pinnosa, the old woman who used to help Petra with the baking at the castle. She immediately felt a pang of sympathy for the poor woman, remembering how kind Pinnosa had been to her.

  “Good mother, won’t you come in?”

  The seven had warned her not to let anyone in the house, but Dolf was somewhere nearby, and Bartel was in the chapel praying, or doing whatever he did in there. Surely she could not be in danger from an old woman.

  The woman ambled slowly toward her, and as she drew closer, Sophie still couldn’t see her face. She wore a headscarf of brightly colored cloth, and from underneath it peeked strands of white hair. Her hands appeared crippled and gnarled, and the handle of her basket hung on her wrist.

  “May I help you inside?” Sophie moved forward to take the old woman’s arm so she could help her the rest of the way, but the woman seemed to bristle when Sophie touched her, as though her help was unwanted. But surely Sophie imagined it.

  “You mustn’t mind an old woman.” The woman’s voice squeaked as though rusty from disuse. “I can manage. But I would like to come inside and rest a moment.”

  “I should think so. Did you walk far? I wasn’t aware there were any other houses around here.”

  “Oh, I am on my way to visit my sister. She lives in a village over that way.” She moved her head to indicate the direction she was heading, but Sophie hadn’t heard about a village, there or anywhere else nearby. She must still have a long way to go.

  Sophie helped her inside the kitchen and led her to a wooden chair. The old woman sank down heavily on it and groaned. Poor thing. She shouldn’t be walking so far on such a warm day.

  “Let me get you some cool water.”

  Sophie filled a clean tankard from the bucket of water she’d just brought back from the well.

  “Here you are.” Sophie tried to see underneath the woman’s scarf, but the old woman reached up to pull it lower over her forehead. Sophie noticed that her hand wasn’t nearly as wrinkled as she had initially thought. Perhaps the woman wasn’t as old as her hunched back would indicate.

  The woman shook her head and refused to take the water. “I have something to give you, since you are so kind to allow an old granny to rest in your kitchen.” She uncovered her basket and showed Sophie a single red apple resting inside.

  The hair on the back of Sophie’s neck prickled, she wasn’t sure why.

  “Thank you.” Sophie held out her hand for the gift.

  The abbot took the letter Gabe handed him, the letter Bartel had written, and read it. Then the abbot stared.

  “So you are Gabehart Gerstenberg, second son of Duke Wilhelm of Hagenheim.”

  Gabe nodded respectfully.

  “I had the pleasure of meeting Duke Wilhelm once. He is a fine man and great leader.”

  “Thank you for saying so. He is indeed.”

 
Gabe waited. The man stared down at the letter again. Finally, he rang a bell and a young monk entered the room through a side door.

  “Go to Brother Baldewin and ask him to come. Have him wait in the anteroom.”

  The young man bowed and walked away.

  “You may wait here.” The abbot rose and left the room.

  Gabe sat in the only chair available and waited. The monks had welcomed him and let him share their food. They had shown him to a room with a small cot where he had stowed his things, assuring him he was welcome to rest after his long trek. But he could not sleep until he found Duke Baldewin.

  Was Sophie the duke’s daughter? He found himself wishing more and more she wasn’t, not only to lessen his guilt, but also the number of other meetings he would need to orchestrate to make Sophie his bride.

  He should soon find out. Unless the duke refused to see him.

  Gabe tapped on the arm of his chair, humming a song and thinking the words in his head. He got up and paced around the bare room, counting the cracks in the walls. The floors were very clean, but a spider with furry legs was busily building a web in the corner. Gabe watched it, impressed with the creature’s structural techniques. Finally, he walked back to his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “How much longer, O Lord?” he asked aloud, just as the door opened.

  “Brother Baldewin will see you now.” The abbot’s assistant stood in the door, his hands hidden in his robe.

  Gabe crossed the room and followed the monk down a long corridor to a small chamber. Once he was inside, the abbot’s assistant closed the door, leaving Gabe alone with a still form. As his eyes adjusted to the light, or lack thereof, he saw the form was actually a man wearing the same brown robe as the monk who had brought him here. The man was kneeling at the back of the room facing a small crucifix on the wall, his head bowed over his clasped hands.

  Was Duke Baldewin praying? Gabe wasn’t sure if he should interrupt, so he stood and waited, staring at the kneeling figure, willing him to look up and acknowledge his presence.

  “You wished to speak to me?” The figure didn’t move.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Don’t call me ‘Your Grace.’ I have not been that person for fifteen years now. You may simply call me Brother Baldewin.”

  The man still had not moved. His face and head were hidden by the cowl of his robe.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Brother Baldewin.” Speaking to a person’s back was a little uncomfortable, especially when what Gabe had to say was already difficult. But he was too anxious to have his questions answered to spend much time dwelling on how to broach the subject.

  “I have come seeking information, and I believe I may have information of great interest to you as well.” Gabe hoped Baldewin would say something to make this easier. But there was only silence.

  “My name is Gabehart Gerstenberg. Many years ago my brother, Valten, was betrothed to your only daughter, whom we believed to be dead. We were recently told by a servant woman named Pinnosa that your daughter was still alive and living at Hohendorf castle.”

  Gabe wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but the man’s body seemed to become more and more tense and rigid the more Gabe talked. His head had inched up and his back had straightened ever so slightly.

  “My daughter,” he rasped, his voice vastly changed, “is dead. I saw her body lying in a casket when she was but two years old. She died while I was away, but I saw her—” His voice cracked.

  “Forgive me for bringing to mind such a painful memory.” Gabe shifted from one foot to the other, then rubbed his stubbly chin and cheek. He couldn’t stop now. He had to find out for sure, for everyone’s sake.

  Gabe waited, and Baldewin finally sat back on his heels and rubbed his face with both hands. He lowered the cowl from his head, letting it lay in folds around his neck, and looked over his shoulder at Gabe.

  “Pray, go on.” His voice was steadier.

  Baldewin’s hair was a mix of gray and white; he had strong features, but nothing that particularly reminded Gabe of Sophie. Perhaps Sophie wasn’t Baldewin’s daughter. Perhaps she truly was an orphan from nobody-knew-where.

  But he had to find out for sure. Sophie — and Duke Baldewin — deserved to know the truth.

  “Two or three weeks ago, I decided to go to Hohendorf Castle to investigate whether this story was true, whether Sophia, your daughter, was still alive. The old woman who told us this wild tale had said that the girl was in danger from Duchess Ermengard. When I arrived, I found that there was a young woman matching the old woman’s description — black hair, pale skin, blue eyes, and great beauty — serving at the castle as a scullery maid. This young woman knew nothing of her parents and had been told by the duchess that she was a poor orphan. The duchess kept her in servitude in the castle.”

  The man turned and fixed his deep blue eyes on Gabe. Those eyes. They were quite similar in shape and color to Sophie’s.

  “What you say rings somewhat true.” Baldewin stood slowly to his feet and faced Gabe. “I can easily imagine Duchess Ermengard doing such a thing to my daughter. But I saw Sophie’s body myself, laid out in her favorite dress, lying as still as a stone.” He turned away, staring back at the crucifix. “I had just returned from a trip to some holdings several miles to the east. I was only gone for a few days, but how I wish I had never gone … wish I’d done anything but left my little Sophie.”

  The duke seemed overcome with grief and said no more. Gabe spoke softly.

  “Pinnosa said that the child had been given a sleeping potion. Apparently, the duchess wanted everyone to think your daughter was dead.”

  Slowly, slightly, Baldewin nodded his head. “I left as soon as I saw her lifeless body. I wanted nothing more to do with Hohendorf. I had lost my gentle wife and had married a fiend in her place. Losing my little Sophie broke something inside me. I didn’t want to live, didn’t want my responsibilities. I simply left and never went back.”

  “Are you aware,” Gabe said, feeling that he was closing in on the truth, “that the duchess has told everyone that you are dead as well? My father, Duke Wilhelm, believed you died with your daughter of the same fever that supposedly killed her fifteen years ago.”

  His shoulders stooped, Baldewin stood still and silent. Finally, he shook his head. “I didn’t know. I didn’t care about anything when I came here, and I haven’t communicated with anyone since coming here. Here I’m known only as Brother Baldewin. Only a few brothers, including the abbot, know who I am or that I am even here.

  “But it’s also possible,” Baldewin went on, “that Ermengard let poor, old Pinnosa believe a lie and that this Sophie isn’t my daughter at all. Ermengard enjoys” — he paused as he seemed to be searching for the right word —”twisting other people’s lives with her deceptions, so I can imagine her perpetrating a trick of that kind.”

  “I thought of that as well.” Gabe took a step toward the duke. “But there is one thing that might prove, or disprove, that she is your daughter.” Gabe took a deep breath, concentrating on Baldewin’s reaction as he said the next words. “Was your daughter born with a small brown mark somewhere on her body?”

  Baldewin got a faraway look in his eyes. Finally, he spoke, his voice cracking again. “On her neck, below her right ear. It looked like a five-petal flower.”

  Gabe swallowed. “The very same as my Sophie.”

  Chapter

  23

  The apple is quite unnaturally red. The thought seemed to drift through Sophie’s mind as though seeking somewhere to land. Why did this make her pull her hand away? It was only an apple. If it was redder than usual, what did that matter?

  “Go on. Take it.” The old woman picked up the apple and held it out to Sophie. “An apple from my orchard. They’re the sweetest apples in the Empire.”

  Sophie reached out her hand again and took the fruit, noticing again that the old woman’s hands didn’t look like the hands of an old woman. In fact, the hands looked f
amiliar.

  The old woman hid her hands in the folds of her shawl, as if she realized Sophie was staring at them. Sophie was frustrated about being unable to see her face, which was still mostly hidden underneath the cowl of her shawl.

  “Go on. Take a bite,” the old woman encouraged.

  Sophie stared at the fruit. It did look good. But something continued to nag at her. There was something almost sinister about the way the woman seemed so eager to give her the fruit. But sometimes people became addled in their old age. Sophie should humor her.

  “What is your name, good mother? Perhaps I’ve heard of your orchard.”

  The woman jerked her basket impatiently. “Oh, I don’t think so. I only share my fruit with a small number of people.”

  Sophie waited for the woman to reveal her name. She was fidgeting with the basket, and Sophie had the urge to punch her hump to see if it was real. A strange thought. But Sophie was more determined than ever to find out the woman’s name and why she was so eager for Sophie to eat the apple. It reminded her of the story the priest often told from Scripture, of the serpent who tempted Eve to eat the forbidden fruit.

  “My name? You want to know my name?” The old woman sounded agitated. Her voice wasn’t as raspy now as it had been before, and suddenly Sophie knew. This was no old woman. This was Duchess Ermengard.

  Sophie’s hand began to tremble. Her knees went weak, and she took a step back. “I-I think I w-will eat the apple later.” She carefully set it down on the table beside her.

  “Eat it now!” The woman stood to her feet, stood tall, no longer bent over, and allowed the shawl to fall from her head. The duchess’s face was without its white powder and was quickly turning red. Her lips twitched, and her eyes were wide and gleamed dangerously down at Sophie from her great height.

  “Eat the apple,” she hissed. “I didn’t come all this way to fail now. Eat it, I say.” She picked up the apple and shoved it in Sophie’s face.

  “No.” Sophie clenched her teeth and pursed her lips tightly, afraid the duchess would try to force it into her mouth. She backed up another step and the duchess followed her until Sophie’s back was pressed against the wooden counter.