The Captive Maiden (38 page)

Chapter
1

Sophie kept her head bowed as she waited for
the duchess to speak. She started to clasp her hands together but stopped. Clasped hands presented an image of idleness, the duchess often said, and the gesture sent her into a rage every time. Sophie let her arms hang limply at her sides.

Carefully, she peeked through her lashes at Duchess Ermengard. The woman’s skin was unnaturally white, her hair dyed ebony using black hickory hulls. Her lips were stained red from berries, and her teeth were so white they made Sophie want to shade her eyes. Did the duchess ever think of anything besides beauty? The irony was that she was naturally beautiful and would look better without all the powder and dye.

The duchess stood unmoving, not making a sound. The silence began to crowd against Sophie’s ears. Duchess Ermengard liked to draw out the waiting, knowing it only increased her victims’ apprehension. Having to stand and wait to hear what her punishment would be was perhaps the worst part.

At long last, when the duchess addressed Sophie, her hoarse voice sent a chill down Sophie’s spine.

“So this is how you repay my kindness to you? You, an orphan, and a girl at that. I could have let you starve by the roadside. Others would have done so in my place.”

No one but you would be so cruel.
Sophie’s breaths came
faster—she was dangerously close to speaking—but she forced the words down.

“How could you be so audacious as to think … when I rightfully punish one of my servants … No. No, I want you to confess what you have done. You seem to enjoy prayer. Surely you enjoy confession as well. Now confess.” Sophie’s skin crawled as the duchess’s voice lowered to a slow, quiet whisper. “What … did … you … do?”

Sophie almost wished the duchess would scream instead. A dark feeling of oppression, of an evil presence in the room, came over her, as it often did when the duchess was interrogating her.
Jesus, help me. Take away my anger.

The oppressive feeling subsided.

Following the rote formula required by the duchess, Sophie began, “Duchess Ermengard, your servant Sophie confesses to sneaking food to your servant Roslind while Roslind was being punished in the dungeon.” Sophie curtsied humbly.
Oh, God, please, please, please let it be enough. Let my confession be enough to appease her. And let me appear meek before her.

Silence. Again. With a churning stomach, Sophie waited for the duchess to speak. Her hands trembled but she dared not hide them behind her back. The duchess had a rule against that as well.

Sophie waited so long for the duchess’s next words that her mind began to wander, imagining what her friends, the other servants, would be doing now. But she pulled herself back, bracing herself for what the duchess would say or do next.

“You confess as though you’re not truly sorry for what you did.”

“Please forgive me, Duchess Ermengard.” Sophie suppressed a shudder. This was not going well. It was no longer a matter of if she’d be punished, but how severely. She bowed her head lower, hoping to appear truly repentant. Even though she wasn’t.

“And there is more, isn’t there?” Once again, the duchess let the silence linger.

What would the duchess accuse her of now? Sophie searched her mind for things she had done that the duchess may have uncovered. She had given food to some starving children who had come begging at the kitchen door, but that had been days ago. She searched her memory for something else …

Then she remembered. Yesterday she had followed a guard into the woods, and after he’d heaved a sack of squirming puppies into the river, against her better judgment, Sophie had dived in after them. Dragging the heavy cloth bag from the bottom of the shallow river, she’d dumped out all five creatures on the riverbank, wet but alive. Someone must have seen her and told the duchess. She couldn’t read minds, could she?

“Nothing to say? You know what you did. You defied me.” The duchess’s voice sounded like the hiss of a snake. “You followed the guard to the river in order to save those worthless, mongrel puppies. You are a disobedient, deceitful, horrible little wretch.” She spat out the words as if they were venom.

Sophie’s mouth went dry. Duchess Ermengard hated dogs, especially lap dogs. Anything small and helpless incited her hatred. And these puppies would never grow anywhere close to the size of hunting dogs, which the duchess gave to Lorencz the huntsman to use in his deer hunts.

“I expect my orders to be obeyed. I don’t expect my scullery maid to defy them.” She said the words
scullery maid
the way she always did, as though they were a curse.

Sophie thought about the tiny dogs she’d saved and remembered their soft fur and the way they’d whimpered and licked her hand. For a moment she could almost feel the little brown-and-white one snuggled against her cheek. The feel of his furry little face against her skin had made her feel loved, as if he knew she’d saved him.

“You are a wicked …” The cold, hard edge of the duchess’s voice tore Sophie out of her pleasant memory.

Sophie closed her eyes.
I will not listen. I will not listen …

“… rebellious, disrespectful girl. You will learn to respect me. You were nothing, a changeling orphan, an ugly child. You wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for me.”

I am not wicked. I am not ugly.

The duchess was snarling now, her voice growing louder. “You will learn not to treat my rules with contempt. You will be disciplined.”

Sophie didn’t have to open her eyes to see the malicious glint in the duchess’s eyes or to see her lips pressed into that tiny, pinched, cold smile, the smile she always wore when doling out punishment.

I am not wicked. I am not rebellious …

Sophie longed to touch the wooden cross that hung from her neck, to squeeze it and feel comforted by the thought of her Savior’s suffering, his compassion and forgiveness. But she didn’t dare. If the duchess found the cross that was hidden under her dress, she would tear it away from Sophie and destroy it.

“For your wickedness,” the duchess went on, slowly, as though savoring each word, “you shall spend the next two days and nights in the dungeon with no food or water.”

Two days and nights. Sophie’s heart seemed to stop beating. But at least, maybe, the duchess was finished with her.

Sophie curtsied, keeping her head low. She focused on replying according to the duchess’s rules. “Let it be as you say, Duchess Ermengard. I am your servant Sophie.”

Two soldiers came forward and grabbed her by her arms.

Just as she relaxed slightly, Sophie heard, “Wait! Bring her here.”

Sophie’s stomach dropped. What would the duchess do now? Sophie determined not to show panic as the two guards dragged her forward. Any expression of fear would only make things worse.

“Look at me,” the duchess ordered.

Sophie lifted her face, preparing herself for the black emptiness of the duchess’s eyes.

As soon as their gaze met, the duchess lifted her hand and slapped Sophie across the face.

Stunned, Sophie closed her eyes against the sting, tasting blood on her teeth. Her eyes watered but she refused to cry. She took deep, slow breaths to drive away the tears as the duchess kept up her cold stare.
I mustn’t show weakness.

Time and silence hung heavy in the air. Then Duchess Ermengard ordered, “Take her away.”

The guards pulled Sophie, stumbling, across the stone floor toward the dungeon.

Gabehart hurried down the corridor with his father, Duke Wilhelm. The slap of their boots on the flagstones echoed against the walls. An old woman had been brought in the day before, feverish and unconscious. Gabe had paid the visitor little mind until their healer, Frau Lena, sent for him and his father, saying the woman had awakened and was telling a tale they needed to hear firsthand to believe.

Of course, if his older brother Valten hadn’t broken his leg a few days ago, keeping him confined to his chamber, she wouldn’t have sent for Gabe at all.

Gabe and his father entered the healer’s tower and strode across the room to the sickbed. The mysterious traveler lay still, her white hair plastered to her head, her wrinkled eyelids closed. Her lips were white and her cheeks gray.
Is she already dead?

Frau Lena, their tall, red-haired healer, curtsied to Duke Wilhelm. “Your Grace” — a nod to Gabe — “my lord. Thank you for coming.”

“Are we too late?” Gabe glanced from the healer to the old woman on the bed.

Frau Lena smiled. “She’s only sleeping.” The healer’s expression grew thoughtful as she stared down at her. “She’d been mumbling since she was brought in, but her words made no sense — something about saving someone before the evil one kills her.” Frau Lena shrugged. “She was so feverish I didn’t pay attention. But this morning, she awoke. Her fever had lessened, and she begged me to send for ‘the young lord who is betrothed to Duke Baldewin’s daughter.’ “

What?
Gabe glanced at his father. Duke Wilhelm’s forehead creased.

“Go on,” Duke Wilhelm said.

“When I told her Duke Baldewin’s daughter died as a small child many years ago, she said, ‘No, it’s a lie. She lives. Tell the young lord to go to her, posthaste, and save her from …’ “ Frau Lena hesitated.

“From?” Gabe found himself leaning toward the healer.

Frau Lena let out a deep breath, then whispered, “From Duchess Ermengard.”

Gabe sank back on his heels. Visiting merchants often told stories about the queenly duchess, claiming she never left her castle in Hohendorf, dabbled in black magic to the extent of placing curses on those who crossed her, and even poisoned people. But Gabe had never seen her. Rumors said she never left her castle.

If Duke Baldewin’s daughter
were
still alive, it made sense that she could be in danger from the shadowy Ermengard; Duke Baldewin’s daughter would be sixteen, maybe seventeen years old, making her a threat to the duchess’s rule. Though surely someone would have corrected the erroneous report of her demise by now. The truth would surely have leaked out and spread to Hagenheim. Or so one would think.

And if Duke Baldewin’s daughter were still alive, that would mean Valten was still betrothed. His brother was going to be awfully surprised to find out he had a bride.

A strangled croaking sound came from the bed. The old woman’s faded blue eyes opened and locked on Gabe’s face. She lifted an emaciated hand toward him, beckoning him closer with a crooked, skeletal finger.

“Come here.”

He looked back at his father, who nodded, so Gabe stepped forward and dropped to one knee by her bedside.

He was handsome, though he looked quite young. There was something so pleasing in his features. Such gentleness, an earnest look in his eyes. If only he were strong enough, clever enough … God,
help him.

Pinnosa’s voice was weak, along with the rest of her, and she willed her words to reach the young man’s ears. He was Sophie’s only hope. “My lord, I am an old woman, soon to look my last on this earth.” She paused to breathe. She was here. The one she had journeyed to find knelt before her, and she would soon impart her secret to him. If she weren’t so feeble, she’d laugh with joy.