The Countess' Captive (The Fairytale Keeper Book 2) (15 page)

It does not surprise me that the archbishop heads to Rome. It is where he spends most of his time. His good friend, the pope, shall surely grant him a new cathedral. The construction will bring builders, and that means more people to support the market with their coin.

During my travels to Bitsch, we passed through a city called Oppenheim. It is a Free Imperial City. It used to be a See of the Church like Cologne. Oppenheim has no archbishop or duke or count. Its lord has little power. He pays his people well for their fealty in the case that he needs them for battle. I never knew such things existed. I wonder if Cologne might one day be a Free Imperial City, too. I wonder how one makes such a thing happen.

It pains me to think of you working so hard. If the reading lessons consume too much time, do not bother. When we are together again, I shall teach you to read. I miss you more than you can know. Nine months cannot come quickly enough for me.

To answer your questions, I am well. Living in a castle is strange. The luxuries of fine fabrics and private baths and rich foods is met with expectations to which I am unaccustomed. No troubadours sing of my beauty. And grace? It shocks me that I have not yet tripped over my skirts and fallen on my face.

With love,

Adelaide

There is so much I think to write him.

Father allowed Galadriel to take our name, our trade. I am no longer Adelaide Schumacher but Adelaide von Cologne. We now pose as wealthy merchants and cannot cobble. Father proposes marriage, his wedding is mere days away, and he’s put a bastard in Galadriel’s belly.

It is all too horrible to write, and I worry that if I do, tears shall drip on the parchment, leaving ugly splotches in my neatly written letter.

Some details I avoid to keep Ivo from worry, others I avoid to keep him from danger. The parchments Ivo mentioned went far beyond scandal. Within them, the archbishop commits treason. He wrote Count William of Holland and offered him the king’s crown, urging William of Holland to sack Aachen and crown himself.

Ivo found those letters the night he burned the cathedral and tucked them in my cloak. Most were useless, but that one was not. I gave the archbishop’s treasonous letter to Wilthelm Aducht, one of the most powerful men in Cologne. I don’t know what Wilthelm has done with the letter, if he has done anything with it at all. He could use it to blackmail the archbishop. Or he could see that the letter reaches King Conrad, gaining favor, riches, and titles for himself.

I hope for the latter because that might mean a quick and well–deserved demise for Konrad von Hochstaden. Perhaps, Wilthelm might have some say in the appointing of Cologne’s next archbishop, a weak puppet who will keep to Rome and allow the people of Cologne to rule themselves. Perhaps Wilthelm shall help see Cologne grow from a Church See beneath the thumb of an archbishop to a Free Imperial City like Oppenheim. If he does, then, in a way, Ivo and I helped Cologne to a freedom it has never known.

Imagine that? A cobbler and an armorer seeing Cologne to a Free Imperial City.

“Adelaide, are you all right?” Hilde calls. I fold my letter and tuck it away.

“Yes,” I shout and slip back into the cold tub, rushing through my bath and drying with haste. Hilde enters and readies my damp hair, covering it with a heavy veil and coif.

“I do not know who glows more radiantly today, you or the countess,” she says.

I bristle at this and hide my happiness behind an ambivalent mask. Surely Galadriel knows I’ve received a letter. If I am sullen, she may think I no longer care for Ivo and find him an unsuitable pawn.

I absent–mindedly stir my stew, lentils and roots parting for the spoon. Quiet conversation buzzes over the song of utensils scraping up the last slurps of broth. A sweet, buttery aroma rises as the buxom servant girl brings the next course. My bowl is still full, and the kitchen maid takes the uneaten dish with a furrow in her brow.

“Are you unwell?” Galadriel coolly prods.

“Well or not, it is ill–manners not to at least try the dishes set before her.” Johanna straightens as the servant lays the fourth course before her. “Really Countess, you are too easy on the girl.”

“I am worried for my father, milady,” I explain, looking to the empty chair at the head of the table. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

We dine in Father’s presence chamber. The first, second, and third courses have come, but Father has not shown.

“He has taken to the forest with Tristan—on that horse he foolishly let you name,” Galadriel says.

The kitchen maid rests the next course before me. Pastries float in a thick almond cream. My stomach makes a hollow growl as I pierce the golden dough with my spoon. Steaming dates and almonds pour from the casing.

“Yes, what exactly was it you named his hunter?” Johanna asks with frigid amusement.

I scoop a heaping spoonful of the pastry into my mouth and chew. I chew and chew and chew before condescending to answer her. “Rumpelstiltskin,” I finally say.

“And what is a Rumpelstiltskin?” she asks.

“He’s an imp who steals babies,” I quickly answer before turning to Galadriel. “May I join Father and Tristan?”

Galadriel rubs a bit of wayward cream between her thumb and finger. “No, it is more important that you see how a lady runs her home,” she replies before looking to Marianna. “I have eaten enough. Let us retire to our sewing. I think I should like to try weaving again.”

At this, we rise and follow Galadriel into her presence chamber. Marianna helps Galadriel try her hand at weaving, but Galadriel grows weary and retires to her chair. I sit at Galadriel’s feet, as Johanna reads from the Bible. I focus on stitching and avoid thoughts of Ivo for fear someone may catch me smiling.

“I hear you received a letter today, Adelaide,” Galadriel prods.

“Yes, milady. I did.”

“A letter already?” Marianna remarks with excitement. “Have you a suitor back home?”

“I thought so, but Cologne is no longer my home,” I lie, nearly choking on the words. “We cannot marry for a year, and so many things can change in a month. Who knows what shall happen by next spring?”

“This is true, Adelaide,” Marianna concedes. “But good changes can come, too. A month ago I thought our sadnesses would never end. And now we have reason to celebrate again. The difference a month can make,
oui
?”

I glance at Galadriel. “I certainly could not have foreseen it.” The words taste like ashes.

Marianna puts down her sewing and turns her attention to me. “Tell us about this suitor of yours. He is handsome,
non
? And rich?”

I should like to tell her that he is poor in coin but rich in every way that matters to me, but I know that is unwise. Still, every lie I tell of Ivo shall have to be remembered. It is best to say nothing at all. I look to Galadriel, certain she shall change the subject. But she does not. She simply stares forward, blissful and unseeing.

Johanna coughs loudly. “Countess, my voice tires. Can someone else do the reading?”

“Yes, Adelaide. Would you?” Galadriel asks.

“Yes, milady,” I reply, glad to escape this inquisition.

I take Johanna’s place. The Bible smells of must and incense like the oldest churches in Cologne. My fingers slide across the rim of the worn leather binding as my eyes peruse the Latin. Half of the phrases are unfamiliar to me. I swallow hard, but a realization eases my anxiety. Who would expect a merchant’s daughter to be fluent in Latin? Besides, all that matters is that I can pronounce the words. No one shall ask for a translation.

“Her Latin needs practice,” Johanna notes before I finish reading a full page.

Marianna’s disappointed gaze darts to Johanna. “And so does my flute,” she says.

“I think I would rather listen to Adelaide butcher The Holy Book than you assaulting our ears with that flute,” Johanna drolls.

Marianna shrugs away the insult and summons the flute player who gives her a lesson she badly needs as we sew. We break before supper, and I head for my rooms with hasty steps so I can read Ivo’s letter once more before supper.

I sink into the chair before my desk and slip my fingers between the parchments where Ivo’s letter pokes out from the rest. I shouldn’t read it, I think. If I loved him, I would never write him again. Galadriel would think I no longer loved him, and he would be safer.

But never again would I feel the weave of his fingers between mine or smell the scent of metal and wind and smoke in his hair. I would only hear his laughter or see his smile in memories. And even those would fade with time. The thought is a searing lance to the stomach. How would I feel if Ivo did the same to me? If he robbed me of that choice?

Isn’t that a convenient and selfish logic, I think, chastising myself. Springing up from the chair, I race to the hearth and push Ivo’s letter toward the flames. The corners blacken and curl, smoldering as the hot copper tongues lick at the edges. I toss the letter to the ground and stomp out the glowing embers.

I snatch up the letter and cradle it to my chest. Part of me wants to cry. Most of me wants to shove my pen through Galadriel’s throat. Why must I lose everything, everyone I love because of
her
?

A knock startles me, and Hilde calls through the door. I snap up and shake the fury from my head.

“Give me a moment, Hilde,” I call back.

“Are you ready for supper, dear?”

“Yes,” I call before glancing at my reflection in the mirror. My face is colored with anger.

“Very well,” her voice sounds through the door. “It is in your Father’ presence chambers.”

I dunk my face into the cool water of the basin. I breath out, and bubbles flutter along my cheeks, but my chest longs for air, and I come up. My face is flushed from the cold. I blot my cheeks with a night shift and give myself a few moments for the pale color to return. Then, with a heavy sigh, I pick up my skirts and slip into the hallway.

I sniff at the air, catching the scent of salt and cream and a hint of fish. I imagine we are having blancmange with crayfish for supper. Perhaps with enough almond cream, salt, and grains, Galadriel shall manage to stomach a few morsels of fish. The sound of hushed voices snaps me from thoughts of food. Galadriel’s bedchamber door is opened a crack. I duck into the shadows and peek through.

“If you send her to court, you put yourself at risk,” Johanna says with a yawn as she leans back in the cushioned chair. “Even if you can keep her silenced about her past, she is less a lady than you were when Ulrich found you. Bitsch will be the laughing stock of Christendom.”

Galadriel fixes her with panicked eyes as she paces the room. “I cannot keep her here,” she hisses. “Her Father sulks like a child at her temperament. What if he changes his mind?”

“Threaten her,” Johanna says. “Make the street urchin feign happiness.”

“I have threatened her.” Galadriel freezes in her steps. “She obeys, but the girl is transparent. You’ve heard what they call her.”

Johanna gives a flippant shrug. “She put on a brave face today.”

“Were you fooled?”

“No,” Johanna chortles.

Galadriel plops onto her bed, knee bouncing. “Then her father shan’t be either.”

“He might be just as miserable if you send her away.”

“Not under the guise of securing a better marriage for her,” Galadriel says.

A silence lingers between them. “Have you had letters sent to the nearest courts?”

“Yes, Father sent them the day after we returned.”

“Then, you shan’t hear anything for a while still.”

“Do you think anyone shall take her?” Galadriel’s brow knits.

“I couldn’t say.”

“Can you think of anyone who might?”

Johanna releases a slow breath. “My name is of no good to anyone, and the girl has neither title nor coin.”

“I can supply the coin.”

Johanna grabs Galadriel by the wrists. “Then use the coin to secure a better marriage for yourself.”

Galadriel recoils. “I will not!”

“You are not far into your time. Surely some lordling or country knight would still have you.”

Galadriel crosses her arms. “
Surely?
Where are these lordlings and knights then?”