The Countess' Captive (The Fairytale Keeper Book 2) (18 page)

Father and Galadriel left for Landstuhl this morning, a honeymoon done under the guise of business. Everyone rose to see them off, and so did I as ordered.

Hilde put my hair in a pretty plait, covered me in a pretty dress, and adorned me with pretty jewels, so I could be a pretty thing for Father and his witch bride to see as they rode off. Pretending wears me thin.

Father is wed. It is done. There is nothing I can do for it. My prayers went unanswered like they did when Mama fell ill. It was a month ago today that she died. This is the only reason I attend mass. I kneel, sit, and stand in the precise time, the exact order as everyone else does. Sometimes I think these recited words and prayers are like the soft clouds of breath that form in the frigid chapel air: meaningless and soon forgotten.

After mass, I walk the hallways alone, meandering the narrow paths that no one else ventures.

What shall happen to me now?

Galadriel and Father wish to send me away so I can wed some strange nobleman. Ivo slaves over his forge so he can fetch me next winter. But for the next six days Johanna and Marianna are busy with the upcoming festivities and Galadriel and Father are gone. I have nothing but time.

The thought freezes me in my step. Six days…

The brazen idea is born with a gasp.

I hasten to my rooms, rush to the trunk, whip out my riding dress and change quickly. I pocket the loaf of bread on the table as well as a few brooches and rings. I rush to the kitchen and ask a maid to pack a dinner for two and a few wineskins. She does. And as she is turned, I grab the biggest knife that I can find and pocket that, as well.

I head out of the castle through the first gate and to the horse stalls looking for Gundred.

“Good morning, Lady Adelaide,” he calls, clapping mud from his hands. “Going for a ride this morning?”

“Yes, ready Storyteller for me, will you please?”

He tips his head. “Where shall we ride today, milady?”

“
We
shall ride nowhere,” I reply, “but I shall take to the woods.”

Gundred shakes his head. “I cannot allow it. You are not skilled enough. What if she throws you or you fall?”

“If I am not back by nightfall, send a search for me.”

He sighs.

“My mother died a month ago today, Gundred, and my father is already married. Though Lady Galadriel is a gracious stepmother,” I lie, “you can understand, I am sure, as someone who has lost due to this fever, how I need time to be alone and grieve for my losses.”

“I know you do, milady,” he resigns. His gaze shifts to my waist, where I hide a thick satchel beneath my cloak. “It is a warm morning for such a heavy cloak, Lady Adelaide.”

“But the breeze is cool, and the forest is shaded,” I say. “Gundred, now will you please ready my horse?”

He flashes me a knowing look. “Would you like me to also pack that satchel for you, milady?”

“Of course,” I say, sounding calmer than I feel.

He opens the bag. “Gundred?!” I surge forward, but he sidesteps my advance. “Give it back! You have no right to look through
my
things!”

“I am sorry, milady.” His lips twist with pity. “Your father paid me to ensure that you’d not run away.”

“I’ll pay you more.”

He fishes through the satchel and pulls out the jewelry. “You plan to pay me in stolen rings and brooches?”

“Take a brooch or don’t,” I say and snap the satchel from his grasp. “If I’m gone, the countess will assume that I took them. You can tell her that I stole the horse, too. I’ll saddle her myself.”

By the time Galadriel gets back, I will be in Cologne with enough coin in jewelry to see Ivo and myself safely to another city.

“I’m sorry, milady,” he calls, following me deeper into the stables. “It wouldn’t be right to let a girl on the roads alone.”

“You are free to come with me if you like,” I reply.

“I swore an oath of fealty to your father.”

I halt at Storyteller’s stall. It’s empty. I spin on my heel. “Gundred, where is my horse?”

“Your father was very concerned that you would run away…”

“Where is my horse?!” I demand.

“I assure you she is quite well and with the guards’ horses in the stables on the far side of the castle.” He stiffens and tries to look stern. “Please, milady, your father said that if you were disagreeable, I should have you locked in your rooms.”

I would have to get through two gates and past another horse groom in order to fetch Storyteller. My shoulders fall. This plan shan’t work.  I hold out the satchel, and Gundred takes it with a relieved breath. “I am sorry, Gundred. I’ll be good. I was upset. That’s all. I know I cannot manage the roads alone,” I lie. “You won’t tell my stepmother, will you?”

“When your father asked me to swear that I would not let you run away, milady, he also made me swear not to tell anyone if you tried,” he says. “Your secret is safe.”

My father knows me better than I thought. I wonder what other plots he assumes I shall try. Perhaps I should ask Gundred and save myself the trouble.

“Did you still want to ride? I can lead you around the bailey. I’ll even let you hold the reins if you won’t tell Hilde,” he offers, an effort to cheer me, one I don’t deserve. I shake my head. He sighs. “Then, I should escort you back to the castle.”

I nod. “You can keep the food, but I think I’ll take back the jewels.”

His smile is wry. “As you will, milady.”

I pocket the jewels, and he escorts me to the castle entry.

I take the stairs two at a time, pondering the different ways I might escape this purgatory. Perhaps I could pay a serf to smuggle me away in a cart of onions.

Did Father think of that?
I think as I cross the threshold. The stubborn priest sits at my desk. I stand and watch in silence, expecting to catch him reading my parchments, but he doesn’t. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t already. I clap the door closed behind me. Father Hannes starts at the sound.

“Are you here to seek my confession, Father?” I say, annoyed.

He rises. “I seek nothing but your company, milady. Would you join me in your presence chambers?”

I hesitate. He holds an arm open, motioning for me to head into the other room, and I go. Two chairs sit before the fireplace, and a small table between them holds a pitcher and two mugs.

I stand, waiting for him to sit, but he tips his head, reminding me that I am the lady. I sit as he fills both mugs with wine. We drink in strained silence.

“This union upsets you,” he prods.

“I thought you sought only my company?”

“I lied.”

I avert my gaze to the fire, entranced by the swaying flames. “Of course, it upsets me. My mother hasn’t been dead a month.” The confession feels detached. I wait for a lecture about finding fortune in misfortune, but Father Hannes says nothing. “And I must feign happiness and nobility every moment of the day,” I continue. “I hate it. I hate all of it. I want my old life. I want to go home.”

The silence between us lingers. The brilliance of the fire burns my eyes, and I shift my gaze to the priest. He is not like the priests of Cologne, who are fat, well–dressed, and hide from those they are supposed to serve. “What made you want to be a priest, Father Hannes?”

His eyebrows rise in surprise at the question. He leans toward me. “Here, feel my shoulder.”

Feel his shoulder? I wince at his request.

“Go on,” he coaxes, smiling fatherly.

I press my fingers lightly against the wool, unsure of what I’m to search for. Beneath the fabric, welted skin raises, not the scar of a wound, but a pattern. I recoil.

“You’re branded,” I gasp. “Are you—” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Are you an outlaw?”

He nods, rubbing the fabric around his shoulder like that shall somehow smooth the mark. “Most do not know it, but I live outside of the law. In the small town where I am from, anyone could have killed me, maimed me. The laws do not protect me there.”

“What did you do?”

“Oh, many things I shouldn’t have. I stole, I fought, I missed mass. I spent much time in the stocks, got whipped more times than I can remember. The local lord felt pity for me and gave me more chances than I deserved. My parents died before my fifth winter, and my mother’s sister tried to care for me the best that she could, but she had six children of her own and had been widowed twice.” He shrugs. “But I didn’t cease. I ended up with a brand, claimed sanctuary, and here I am. You could kill me right now and claim me as an outlaw, and no one could rightfully touch you. There is my secret. Keep it or not.”

“I stole Galadriel’s jewelry today,” I confess, “and I planned to run away to Cologne.” I remove the brooches and rings from my pocket. “If I had coin of my own, I would use it, but I gave it to a man who needed it before we left Cologne.”

He nods.

The truth tastes like foreign wine: harsh and bitter at first—but strained sips turn into silky gulps as the flavor shifts from strange to desired.

“I’m angry at God. I hate my father at times. More than anything, I hate Galadriel. I even hate that bastard brewing in her stomach.”

Gaze averted, he nods. I examine his face, looking for evidence of surprise, finding none. Of course, he knows Galadriel is with child. He is her confessor after all. She had to have told him. How else would she have convinced him to perform a wedding during Lent? But how can I fault him for keeping her secrets. That’s what priests are supposed to do. At least this one seems to keep his vows. I take and release a long breath. Speaking has eased a burden, but every indulgence has its consequences.

“Aren’t you going to tell me how horrible I am?” I ask, “that I am a spoiled, ungrateful urchin?”

He gives a one–shouldered shrug. “Your sins are no worse than my own and certainly no worse than the worst I’ve heard.”

“Well, aren’t you going to give me penance?”

“I suppose,” he sighs.

“Well, what shall it be?”

“What do you want in life, milady?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“What would bring you joy?”

“What has that to do with my penance?” I ask, but his chiding look bids me to answer his question. “I want to go back to Cologne. I want to have my own trade and marry my betrothed. I want to tell my mother’s stories so she lives on forever.”

“Was your mother a good storyteller?”

“The best in Cologne.”

“Are you as good as she was?”

“No.”

“Then you need practice,” he says. “Your penance is to find joy during your time here. And since sharing your mother’s stories brings you joy, I bid you to share those stories with the children of Bitsch…when they have time to listen.” He rises with a groan and flashes me a folded–lip smile. “Then you not only bring yourself joy, you also spread it.”

To a priest this penance might seem light, easy, but to me it’s harsh. Mama’s death is a fresh wound. Telling her stories won’t bring me joy yet. It is too soon. It was hard enough to share one with Hilde.

“I absolve you, child, of your sins.” He makes the sign of the cross in front of me. “
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen
.”

I cross myself. “Amen.”

He pats my shoulder and heads toward the door. Resting his hand on the handle, he turns. “Lady Adelaide.”

“Yes, Father?”

“Let us invite the town in to sup tonight, and you can regal us all with one of your tales.”

Tonigh
t? “I don’t know if I shall be ready by tonight, Father.”

“Oh, you will be.”

My mouth hangs agape as I hope for an excuse to roll of my tongue, but Father Hannes heads into the hallway and is gone before I utter a word.

This man doesn’t seem like any priest I’ve ever known. I rush back to my bedchamber, plopping into the chair before my desk. Pulling my parchment toward me, I dip the pen in the ink well and think. Which story shall I tell?

Hansel and Gretel was always my favorite—and the last tale that I told Ivo. My lips stretch into a smile at the thought of him.