Rose’s legs turned to water. She sank to her knees and buried her face in Wolfie’s neck. “Thank you, boy.”
Wilhelm sat astride his horse near the entrance to the castle courtyard, at the north end of the Marktplatz. He patted Shadow’s neck as his gaze swept over the various performers, sellers’ booths, and people taking in the sights and sounds. Amid the crowd, someone caught his eye. A maiden stood in front of the musicians. Her eyes were closed and a blissful smile graced her lips.
Rose.
The back of his neck tingled. She looked beautiful, especially with that rapt expression on her face. But I shouldn’t be watching her. He tore his eyes away. He was supposed to be making sure the May Day celebrations took place in an orderly fashion. And, as always, he was keeping an eye out for Moncore, though the evil conjurer was hardly likely to show himself so publicly. Wilhelm had lost days of searching due to his injury, and the man could be far away by now.
He’d read Rose’s story to the rest of his family while he was laid up with his leg, and they were as impressed as he’d been. Now he felt strangely excited at the way she obviously appreciated music.
Perhaps some day he would get a chance to play for her.
Perhaps he should cease staring at her. She was fair of face and form, but it was crude of him to stare admiringly at someone so far beneath his station in life. He’d never been tempted to do so before. But it didn’t mean anything—he was simply curious about the maiden who had taken care of his injury. Besides, he knew his duty, which was to wed the daughter of the Duke of Marienberg. Their grandfathers had quarreled and become enemies years before. As the eldest son, it was his responsibility to his people to marry his betrothed and solidify the alliance between their regions. He didn’t want death and destruction on his head. War had come about under less serious circumstances than a broken betrothal.
Such had been his focus for years now. That, and capturing Moncore. The self-described conjurer and expert in pagan magic had been the personal advisor of the Duke of Marienberg, his betrothed’s grandfather, enjoying the riches of the duke’s fortune and the privilege of favored counselor. However, when the elderly duke died and his son took over, he cast Moncore out as an evil conjurer, banishing him from the region. Moncore swore he would get revenge through the duke’s newborn daughter. He seemed to think his revenge would be more complete if he could prove his powers—by finding the duke’s daughter and unleashing demons to torment her.
If Wilhelm could track down Moncore and stamp out the threat of his black magic, his betrothed’s parents would be satisfied that she was safe. She could come out of hiding and they could marry.
Nearby, a performer played a recorder. Wilhelm watched as the man’s trained bear hopped from one hind leg to the other, shaking his shaggy head from side to side. The sight did not long detract him, however, and within moments his gaze returned to the place where Rose stood. She was gone, having vacated her spot in front of the musicians. A twinge of disappointment stung him, but he told himself it was for the best.
A shout rang out to his right. A boy ran toward him, dodging and pushing in his attempt to escape. A man jogged not far behind, yelling, “Thief! Stop!”
Wilhelm dismounted and limped two steps, catching the boy by his shoulder. “Whoa!”
The boy stared up at him, his face pinched in fear as his pursuer rushed up, gasping for breath. The man’s ample stomach jiggled at his sudden stop. He bowed to Wilhelm and pointed a malevolent finger at the boy. “My lord…that boy…stole an apple…from me.”
The boy looked to be around seven years old, and his eyes were the only part of his face not covered with dust. The green apple in his hand was quite small. A person would have to be terribly hungry to steal such a thing.
“Give the man his apple,” Wilhelm ordered the boy.
The child dropped it into the man’s fleshy palm.
“Thank you, my lord.” The man bowed again to Wilhelm. “Little beggar,” he muttered as he walked away.
Wilhelm held on to the lad’s arm. “What’s your name?”
“Lukas, my lord.”
“Go to the castle, Lukas, and find the kitchen.”
The boy’s mouth hung open as he stared up at him.
“Tell Cook that Lord Hamlin said to give you something to eat, and that you’re to wait there for me.”
“Yes, my lord, sir.”
He let go and the boy shuffled his bare feet through the gate toward the castle. He turned back for a second, a wondering look in his face. Wilhelm winked at him.
If the boy was an orphan, perhaps he could put him to work in the stable. Lukas could sleep with the other stable hands and take his meals in the castle kitchen. At least he wouldn’t have to steal food anymore.
He climbed back on his horse, throwing his bad leg over the saddle. Raising himself as high as possible, he scanned the crowd and caught sight of Rose again. She stood in front of the players, but she was not watching the play. Instead, a man was holding her by the shoulder. She backed away from him, but he pressed toward her. Now he was touching her face. She cringed and shrank away.
Wilhelm’s face went hot with anger and his fists tightened on the reins. He thrust his heels into Shadow’s sides. But so many people were milling between him and Rose that he had to jerk back on the reins to keep from trampling them. He could only inch forward, forced to wait for the crowd to part.
A deep, ferocious bark rang out, and he imagined rather than saw Wolfie charge to Rose’s aid. The tall man backed away and lost himself in the crowd.
Wilhelm turned his horse in the direction he had gone. He hadn’t seen the man’s face, but he was sure he would recognize him by his clothing and his height. He searched the crowd, scanning the tops of heads, but the man seemed to have vanished.
The way the man had touched Rose made Wilhelm clench his teeth. How dare he? Remembering the fear and repulsion on her face, he maneuvered Shadow around the square, still forced to move slowly because of the crowd. Everywhere he turned, the people acknowledged him with a bow or curtsy, slowing him down even more. The man was certainly long gone now.
His muscles tensed with built-up energy. If only he could expend it on the brute who had dared to touch Rose. He would find a way to make sure this didn’t happen to her again.
Rose couldn’t help but smile at the cheerful red flowers in her arms. She hoped Frau Geruscha would be pleased, since red was her favorite color. She’d bought the ceramic pot with money from her new salary, and the geraniums came from a spot near her parents’ home.
Hildy stood beside the town gate, her older brother beside her. As Rose called out to Hildy, he tipped his hat and walked away. He’d waited with Hildy because of the Church law that said women were not allowed to walk unaccompanied through town—though like most other Church laws, the edict was often disobeyed. Wolfie was Rose’s usual escort, and she believed he was more than sufficient.
They started through town. Rose as usual found the view very impressive—the two- and three-story houses crisscrossed with heavy wooden beams, often decorated with carvings and brightly painted flowers and figures.
Beyond the town Marktplatz rose Hagenheim Castle’s five towers. Its towers anchored it on all four corners, with the largest tower, the keep, rising up in the middle. The crenellations around the top were like stone fringe, perfectly straight and even, decorating the imposing structure.
“Lovely flowers.” Hildy glanced at the red blossoms then fixed her eyes on Rose, her face aglow with excitement. “I have two things to tell you—very interesting things.” Hildy raised her eyebrows, as though trying to look mysterious.
Rose gave her a bland look. “Very interesting things” assaulted Hildy’s notice on a daily basis, things which Rose rarely found so thrilling. “That’s what I love about you, Hildy. Everything is interesting to you.”
“Don’t say another word until you see this.” Hildy practically dragged her forward.
Soon they were stand
ing at the great bronze door to the Hagenheimer Dom—the town cathedral—where new decrees were often posted. A sheet of parchment was tacked to a large wooden placard next to the door. Rose read it aloud.
“Nicolaus Gerstenberg, Duke of Hagenheim, hereby decrees that no man or youth beyond the age of accountability shall touch any woman or maiden who is not a relative or is not his betrothed. Touching a maiden is punishable by placement in the stocks. Death by hanging shall be the penalty if it is found that the woman’s virginity has been compromised. Punishment shall be meted out according to the judgment of Nicolaus Gerstenberg, Duke of Hagenheim, or his son, Wilhelm Gerstenberg, Earl of Hamlin. May God be glorified in all things forever, and amen.”
Duke Nicolaus’s seal was stamped in red wax at the bottom.
She stared. Could this decree have something to do with Peter Brunckhorst accosting her? But how could it?
Hildy leaned forward and peered at her. “Well? Don’t you see what this means?”
“No.” Rose shifted her pot of geraniums to her other arm, abruptly turning away from the decree.
“Rose! Lord Hamlin must have seen the way Peter Brunckhorst grabbed you.”
Rose’s breath stuck in her throat. She shook her head. “I hardly think it likely.”
“Oh, Rose, I think it very likely! Everyone knows there’s already a law that no man can molest a woman. Why would they make a new decree about it unless the duke—or his son—had seen something that aroused his ire and made him think the law wasn’t being heeded?”
“I know not.” Rose trudged toward the castle, wishing Hildy would talk about something else.
“You want to know what I think?”
“I think I know what you think.” Rose looked heavenward.
“I think Lord Hamlin is smitten with you and wants to protect you—after what you did for him when he was wounded. It must have been so romantic.”
“It wasn’t romantic at all!” Rose drew her eyebrows together, incredulous.
“But I do have some bad news.” Hildy’s tone turned somber. They now stood in front of the castle gate. Hildy grabbed Rose’s arm, making her stop and look at her.
“A lady is coming to stay with the duke’s family. She’s been boarding at Witten Abbey for the past ten years. Her father is a duke—or so it is supposed—from somewhere south of here, who spends most of his time with King Wenceslas.” Hildy leaned closer and whispered, “She’s eighteen. The same age Lord Hamlin’s betrothed would be. Rumor has it that she might be his betrothed, Lady Salomea in hiding.”
“I’m sure that cannot affect me.” Rose said the words as much for her own benefit as for Hildy’s.
“Well, it affects me.” Hildy sniffed. “I was hoping his betrothed no longer existed, that she died or something, and he would fall in love with someone else—like you, Rose.”
Rose couldn’t help but smile. “That’s sweet, Hildy, but not realistic.” How could Hildy possibly even entertain such an idea?
With a sudden burst of drama, Rose tilted her head and squinted at the early morning sun. “I strive to wish everyone well, even Lord Hamlin’s betrothed. As for me, I only hope that one day I shall be as independent as Frau Geruscha—no obligations except the ones I choose.”
She was surprised that her words didn’t elicit a laugh, or at least an amused smile from Hildy, as she had intended.
“There’s probably no man worthy of you anyway.” Hildy’s voice was unusually quiet.
Rose felt a stab of regret. Was her cynicism finally taking a toll on Hildy’s outlook? “That doesn’t sound like my Hildy. After all, we’re seventeen and in the prime of our beauty. Any day now two chivalrous men will sweep us onto their noble steeds and take us to their castles—or cottages, or whatever it may be—where we shall live happily forever after.”
Hildy’s shoulders drooped. “It’s seeming less and less likely, even to me.”
Rose stood on a stool while the Lady Osanna’s own seamstress measured her for a new gown. Things had happened so fast over the last few days, she hadn’t even had time to tell Hildy about all the new developments.
A lovely young lady had approached the entrance to Frau Geruscha’s chambers the day before and asked if she could enter. Lady Osanna introduced herself, smiling with her lips and her eyes. Barely sixteen, she had recently grown taller and thinner, and Rose scarcely recognized her. The young noblewoman asked after her health, made a comment about the weather, then said, “I enjoyed your story, Rose. We all did. I do hope you are writing more.”
Rose gaped at the duke’s daughter, whose quiet grace she had always admired, and the praise washed over her heart like cream over strawberries.
“I wanted to ask you to please come to the feast we are giving for our new guest. Perhaps you have heard that Lady Anne, the daughter of Duke Alfred of Schweitzer, has come to us.”
Rose forced herself not to stammer. “Yes, I heard she was arriving soon.” Was Hildy’s theory true? Was she only being passed off as Duke Alfred of Schweitzer’s daughter? It would make sense that they would want to keep Lady Salomea at Hagenheim Castle, where she’d be safe.
“We want to invite you and Frau Geruscha. It’s to be a week from tomorrow, with much music and dancing.”
A ball! Rose couldn’t possibly go. She had little idea of how to conduct herself at such an occasion. Several months before, as part of grooming Rose to be her apprentice, Frau Geruscha had made Rose take lessons to learn the dances of the nobility. But Rose wasn’t sure she remembered them. Besides that, she could hardly expect to know a single soul there.
Lady Osanna added, “The scribes and their families are invited, as well as the guild presidents.”
Which wouldn’t include any of Rose’s acquaintances. “That’s very gracious, I’m sure,” she murmured. How should she respond? She couldn’t be impolite.
“I also wanted to thank you for what you did for my brother, Lord Hamlin.” Osanna smiled sweetly. “Our family is very grateful. His leg is healing well. Wilhelm was quite impressed with your skill.”
Rose’s face burned and she knew she was blushing. “I’m thankful I was able to help.”
“I hope you like the fabrics I picked out for you. The gold silk would make a nice gown for the ball. Our seamstress, Cecily, could make it for you. I’ll send her to take your measurements.”
Rose opened her mouth to refuse, but she didn’t know how.
“You must come. You’ll be my personal guest.”
Her mouth went dry as she heard herself say, “It would be my pleasure.”
Chapter 4
Two days later Rose left Frau Geruscha’s chambers to take a walk and clear her head of thoughts of the coming dance. With Wolfie by her side, she exited the town gate. The bright sun warmed the top of her head, and her cheeks stung as the wind lashed her face with her hair. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the fresh spring air, and strode up the hill to her favorite spot between the stream and the big beech tree.
Wolfie dashed past her, barking and snapping at a butterfly. He stopped and paced with his nose to the ground, stalking something in the grass. Suddenly, a hare dashed out of its hiding place and leaped away. Wolfie jumped straight into the air before racing after it.
Rose laughed and the sound made its way around the nearby trees as it was snatched away by the wind.
She stood gazing at the tall tree’s spreading branches. How much she had enjoyed climbing it as a child. A lovely view of the stream and surrounding meadow always rewarded her. If she were to climb it now she could see if everything looked the same.
It truly was the perfect climbing tree, with branches and crooks in just the right places. As she studied it, she tried to recall exactly where she could place her feet. Almost before she knew what she intended, she grasped a limb and hoisted herself up.
As a child, her skirts had been short—not as cumbersome as the voluminous, full-length ones she now wore. Rose stepped on her hem and then had to kick it aside
while she searched for a crook in which to place her other foot. She held on with one hand while she shifted to a higher branch, reaching up with her free hand.
A sound like the snort of a horse came from below her. Her heart jumped. As she turned her head to see who was there, her foot slipped and her fingers lost their grip. She scrambled frantically, her fingertips scraping loose bark. Before she could even scream, she landed on her back on the ground.
Air forcibly escaped her lungs. Darkness shot through with tiny bursts of light filled her vision.
“Are you hurt?” A masculine voice, laden with concern, entered her consciousness a moment before his face came into view above her.
Lord Hamlin.
After the longest moment of her life, Rose drew in a gasping breath. Rolling to her side, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. O God, let this be a dream. But when she opened her eyes again, he was still there, kneeling beside her, worry creasing his brow.
“Are you hurt?” Lord Hamlin repeated.
“No.”
He studied her face, as though trying to make sure she was telling the truth. Then he grasped her arm and pulled her into a sitting position. She leaned limply back against the tree.
He released her, and her arm tingled where his hands had touched her.
Her back ached and her chest had a painful, hollow feel, but she wanted to show him she was not injured. Instead of smiling in reassurance, however, she stared at her lap, too embarrassed to raise her eyes.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt? I’ll go fetch Frau Geruscha.”
“No, no, I am well.”
“Do you climb trees often?”
Rose couldn’t help but peek at him. His eyes were wide, as if he was amazed at her.
“Why not?” She threw the question at him, feeling suddenly reckless.
He lifted an eyebrow. “I should think you’d stop climbing them after such a tumble.”
“If you hadn’t distracted me, I wouldn’t have fallen.”