The Captive Maiden (16 page)

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Authors: Melanie Dickerson

BOOK: The Captive Maiden
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She left her door ajar so no one could sneak up on her. Gisela lifted the old blanket that hid her mother’s trunk. Inside it were all her mother’s possessions that had not been lost, sold, or taken over by her stepmother. She picked up one of her mother’s old dresses, a lovely pink silk, but a bad stain marred the front. Gisela couldn’t wear that. The next was emerald green, but it had a tear in the bodice. She could mend it, but it would show, and the bodice seam would be noticeably crooked. She looked through the rest of the dresses. One by one she reluctantly rejected them for some serious flaw. Lastly, she went back to the green dress with the tear. She would simply have to make it do.

She searched for her needle and thread. Sitting by her little window with the shutter open, she began to mend the gash.

Footsteps on the stairs, coming closer to her room, made
Gisela put the dress down and stand. What if her stepmother had another crossbar?

Miep came in carrying a pitcher of water.

“Frau Evfemia bid me bring this to you.” Miep set the pitcher on the scarred table that was actually nothing more than a plank of wood propped up with two stools. She gave Gisela a sullen look that seemed to say, “Gisela has always helped me with my work, and must I serve her too now?” She went away, shaking her head and muttering.

Gisela went over and looked into the pitcher. Was her stepmother trying to poison her? She sniffed it. It looked and smelled like water from the well.

She poured a bit of water into a small cup made from a hollow gourd and put it to her lips. She took the tiniest sip. It tasted like water. She waited to see if it would have a bitter aftertaste, or if her throat would suddenly constrict. Nothing happened. But she had better wait to make sure.

She suddenly realized how much she wanted a bath. In the far corner of the room, she poured most of the water in a basin and hurriedly washed herself, keeping an eye on the door.

When she was finished and had put on her best chemise, she sat back down by the window to keep working on her dress. The rip was jagged and frayed. She did her best to conceal her stitches, to prevent the bodice from looking skewed, but even the best she could do still made the dress look quite flawed.

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. How could Valten be proud to be seen with her if she was wearing this dress? How could she make him see that she was good enough, pretty enough, to be worthy of him?

A tear dripped onto the dark green fabric. Now it would be stained too. She flung the salty drops off her cheeks. Who was she fooling? She was only a servant. When she was seven, her father often told her she was special, that she was beautiful,
that she was born to be someone extraordinary. At seven it had seemed possible that she would marry the heir to the duchy of Hagenheim. But her father’s words now seemed a foolish jest and not at all the way her life had turned out. At some point she had realized her father, whom she had always adored, had been wrong.

Gisela carefully laid the dress aside and walked to the fireplace. She took out the loose brick and pulled his small portrait out of its hiding place. Somehow his memory had gotten entwined with the memory of Valten as a fourteen-year-old boy, coming to her home to buy a horse. At the time she hadn’t seen anything farfetched about her marrying the future duke of Hagenheim. Now …

“Father, I didn’t want you to die.” She touched his portrait face with her fingertip. But he did die, and she must face her problems and take care of them herself.

She sighed and put the picture away, hiding it behind the brick and turning back to the dress. Perhaps she could find something pretty to sew onto the bodice, some kind of border, to disguise the rip. She had to.

Turning back to the trunk, she searched through every inch of it. She decided she could cut up the pink dress and use it to make a border around the hem, the neckline, the waist, and the cuff of the sleeves. She stood staring at the two fabrics. She could work all night, could finish the sewing by morning, but what would it look like when she finished? More like a jester or jongleur’s costume than a lady’s dress!

Gisela groaned and dropped both dresses back into the trunk. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was already late. She walked to her open doorway and stood still, but she didn’t hear a peep. Evfemia must be in bed.

God, what am I to do?
She tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling.

Wear the red dress again.
Yes, she could wear the red dress that she’d borrowed from Margaretha. Of course she could. Her shoulders felt lighter, and she sat down on her little straw-filled bed.

She’d wear the red dress. Her stepmother, if she was still pretending to be kind, might even insist she ride in the carriage with them back to the tournament festivities tomorrow. Gisela would see Margaretha again. She might even insist on letting her borrow another dress. But somehow it would all turn out well.

Gisela yawned. Perhaps she should sneak out and ask Ava if she could sleep at her house tonight, but she was so exhausted after the long day. She had sat in full view of practically everyone in the region, been tense and terrified for Valten, and now her bed was the only place she’d like to be.

Her door was still open.
I mustn’t sleep too hard or too long.
She had to remain on her guard in case her stepmother tried to keep her from going to the tournament or the ball tomorrow. Truth be told, she didn’t care about the tournament. Men would be engaged in competitions of archery and feats of strength, but Gisela had no interest. All she truly cared about was the ball and dancing with Valten, to see him again and talk to him.

She sighed, lying down on her bed in her chemise. She pulled the worn-thin blanket over herself, laid her head on the pillow, and drifted to sleep.

Valten awoke the next morning and immediately felt the pain in his hand. He lifted it and examined the bandage. Frau Lena’s wood-and-cloth splint fit snugly to his hand, and was wrapped tightly so that his hand looked like an enormous white stump. The tips of his fingers were barely visible at the end of it, and it came past his wrist, halfway to his elbow.

He growled. Must he put up with such a conspicuous appendage when he was the tournament champion? But he would
upset not only Frau Lena but also his mother if he took it off. His mother would cry, and he would put up with almost anything to not make her cry.

He growled again. He’d have to have this thing on his hand when he danced with Gisela at the ball tonight. But he could still dance. He could still hold Gisela with his right hand.

Thinking about Gisela made him restless. He threw the covers off and got up.

“Hugo!”

His young squire came running into Valten’s chamber from the small one next to his, blinking and rubbing his face. “Yes, my lord?”

“Find the captain of the guard and tell him I need a report. After you help me get dressed, I won’t need you any more today.” He winked at the boy. “Go have some fun.”

“Yes, my lord.” Hugo, with wide eyes, ran back to his little adjoining chamber.

Valten would see Gisela tonight. In spite of the pain in his hand, it was going to be a great day.

Gisela awoke with a start. Her door was closing. She jumped out of bed, but by the time she was halfway across the floor, the door shut and a heavy thud sounded on the other side.

She pushed on the door, but it didn’t budge. Despite the fact that Gisela had hidden the crossbar, her stepmother must have found another one to lock her in.

Of course she had.

“Who is there?” Gisela tried to keep her voice calm but forceful. “Who is there? Open this door!”

She listened, but heard nothing. “Who dares to lock me in?” Tears choked her words as despair gripped her.

She pressed her ear against the solid wood door but heard nothing, not even footsteps.

I should have known. What a fool I am.
She should have sneaked away to spend the night at Ava’s, or even in the stable. Now she was trapped! How would she ever get to the ball now? She would miss her chance to be with Valten. What would he think of her? What would his family think if she didn’t show up?

“Let me out!” Gisela pounded on the door. “I’ll tell Duke Wilhelm what you did! You’ll be thrown into the dungeon.”

Evfemia’s cackling laugh came from the other side of the door. “You won’t be telling anyone. I have sold you to a man who promises to make sure you are never heard from in Hagenheim again.”

Gisela’s heart pounded harder than her fists. “What man? You’re lying!”

“His name is Friedric Ruexner, and he was very interested in getting his hands on you.”

Gisela sank to the floor, feeling like she was going to throw up.

“He paid quite handsomely,” Evfemia went on, “but don’t worry. He’s a baron and he promised to marry you. You should be thanking me for arranging this marriage for you. It isn’t as if the duke’s heir would have married you. Ruexner is the best you could have ever hoped for. And since I can’t tell the duke’s family the truth, and since we must go to the ball, I shall tell Lord Hamlin you ran away to marry a wealthy merchant.”

No. This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t let this happen! “You will be found out. If you let me out now, I won’t tell them what you were planning.”

Nothing. Then footsteps, getting farther and farther away as Evfemia descended the stairs.

Gisela stared at the door, too horrified to cry, too numb to think. “God,” she whispered. “God, please, please, please … help me.”

Chapter
14

The guard who had been ordered to watch
Gisela met him in the corridor as Valten was leaving his chamber.

“My Lord Hamlin.” The guard bowed swiftly.

“I wish to know how things stand after our first two days of the tournament. Walk with me.” Valten continued down the corridor toward the kitchen. He held his injured hand against his midsection.

“My lord, besides breaking up a few drunken brawls and capturing two pickpockets, we had no problems.”

“And what of the two people I asked you to keep a watch over?”

“My lord, our Queen of Beauty and Love remained safe, and no one attempted to bother her all day.”

“Where is she now?” A fresh breath seemed to enter his lungs at the thought of seeing her right away. Perhaps even now she was in the kitchen with his sisters, eating breakfast.

“She went home with her family after the tournament yesterday.”

Valten stopped in midstride and faced the guard. “What do you mean? I thought she was spending the night with Margaretha.”

“No, my lord. I didn’t know of any such arrangement. A woman and her two daughters approached her and said she was
coming home with them. Lady Margaretha told me they were her family.”

“Who was the woman?”

“Lady Margaretha said she was the girl’s stepmother, Evfemia Mueller. I was careful to ask the name.”

It must have been the woman who treated Gisela so badly in the Marktplatz on the day they’d first met. He supposed she was safe enough with her family, even if they mistreated her, but it annoyed him. He wanted her here, where his guards could watch over her.

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