The Golden Braid (16 page)

He stood up straight in spite of the splint. He held his sword in his right hand, his splinted arm by his side. “Can you go get someone to tie him up? I'll guard him while you're gone.”

Her knees threatened to collapse behind her, but she nodded and hurried away, stumbling but righting herself.

She came upon a group of three monks hoeing in the garden. “Can you come? Sir Gerek has caught a criminal at the edge of the forest and needs someone to help tie him up.”

All three men hurried back with her, no doubt curious to see the sight.

By the time they reached them, her attacker was waking up and groaning. While Sir Gerek held his sword to the smiling man's chest, the monks tied his ankles and his hands behind his back. Sir Gerek gave instructions for someone to go to Hagenheim Castle and summon a group of guards to take possession of the prisoner. Meanwhile, they dragged the man, who was rather
small, by his feet and locked him inside one of the guest rooms in a small shed.

It was all over. She was safe. The smiley man couldn't get out, and Duke Wilhelm's men would come soon and take him to the dungeon. So why was she still shaking? And blinking back tears?

Sir Gerek was standing at the edge of the clearing, still looking at her.

“You must get off your leg,” she told him.

He slapped a hand on the bulky splint. “Doesn't even hurt anymore. I think it's healed. Come.” He held out his hand to her. “You need to sit down.”

But instead of taking his hand or walking toward the dormitory, she started sobbing.

She must look a fool, but she couldn't stop. She covered her face with her hands.

Remembering her terror, and how the man had held the knife to her throat, she sobbed harder, her shoulders shaking. She had run as hard as she could. She had cried out to Jesus. But the man had caught up to her anyway. He had pinned her and threatened to slit her throat. And he might have, if Sir Gerek had not come with his sword.

She cried so hard she thought her heart would burst—until Sir Gerek put his arms around her.

Gerek watched in horror as she started to cry, her whole body shaking as she sobbed into her hands. Was she injured? Was she in pain? He should have killed that evil beast for attacking her again. He might yet go and beat his face in.

His heart knotted inside him at the sound of her sobbing. He'd not been around a lot of women in his lifetime, except for Lady Rose
and the duke's daughters, and only from a distance. The few times he had seen one of the duke's daughters upset, Lady Rose had put her arms around them.

So Gerek stepped toward her, laid his sword on the ground, put his arms around her, and patted her shoulder with one hand.

It seemed to work because Rapunzel's sobbing lessened and soon stopped altogether. She stiffened in his arms and stood unmoving. Her arms were pressed against his chest, and he wished she would put her head against him, so much his chest ached.

She stood sniffing and wiping her eyes with her hands, and he continued patting her shoulder, putting his hands in contact with her thick hair. The golden-blond color was as beautiful as it was unusual, and it felt like silk against his fingers.

She pulled away from him and he let her go, the ache intensifying in his chest. She turned away from him, still wiping at her face.

“Are you sure you aren't hurt?”

“I am sorry for crying. I am well.” Her voice was still shaky as she continued to wipe her face with her hands. “You must get back to the dormitory before your bones grow back crooked.”

Before he knew what she was doing, she bent and picked up his sword and handed it to him.

“Can you walk?” she asked.

“Of course I can walk. I ran—or an approximation of running with this heavy splint—all the way to the edge of the forest when I heard you scream.”

She crossed her arms and stared up at him, opening her mouth to say something. But then she closed it and gave her head a slight shake. “Thank you.”

They walked slowly, side by side, back to the dormitory. At least he had been able to get to her before that madman hurt her.

Had it been wrong to hold her? No, he did not believe so, but why
had she stiffened? Why had she turned away from him? His stomach sank, but he clenched his teeth and shook his head. She still did not trust him.

Once they were back in the dormitory and sitting down, Rapunzel couldn't stop thinking about what had happened, about the man grabbing her, throwing her down on the ground, and holding the knife to her throat. Tears kept coming into her eyes. She did her best to hide them from Sir Gerek. Thankfully, he seemed oblivious. He opened a book and started talking about Latin. She tried to pay attention, but her thoughts kept wandering.

He held the book out to her, asking her to read. When she reached for it, her hand was shaking.

Instead of giving her the book, he laid it down and grasped her hand. “You are not well.” He held her hand firmly in his much bigger, calloused one, then reached and took her other hand.

Her back instantly straightened. She wanted to pull her hands away, but he could prevent her. After all, he was much stronger than she was. Her heart trembled at the truth: He was only being kind. He did not want to take advantage of her. So why was fear welling up inside her?

She could not look him in the eye. The tears streamed down her face. The warmth of his gentle grip was unbearably sweet, and it made her heart swell. She kept her head bowed so he couldn't see her tears. How shameful she was. She had no right to ask for his kindness. He was a knight.

“I shall get you some wine.” He let go of her hands and stood up, shuffling to the other side of the room.

Meanwhile, she struggled to get her tears under control, wiping
her face with her sleeves. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Their warmth—warmed by his touch—made her stomach flip.

He came back and touched the back of her hand with a small cloth, and she used it to finish drying her eyes and her nose. When she dared to peek up at him, he was holding a cup out to her. “This will make you feel better.”

She took it, and the sharp scent of the red wine filled her nose. She took a sip. She and her mother never drank wine, as it was too expensive. The taste lingered on her tongue and wasn't as pleasant as she thought it would be—it was rather like drinking vinegar. She took another sip to be polite and then handed it back to him.

He pushed the cup back toward her. “It isn't enough to make you drunk, if that's what you're worried about. Drink it. You'll feel better.”

“No. I don't like it.” If he thought he could push her around, just because he had saved her life again, and just because she had shown weakness by crying, he was mistaken. He was being too kind to her, paying her too much attention. She kept an eye on the door. She could run away. With his splint, he could not catch her.

He took it and frowned. “Hardheaded, you are.” He drank it himself in one gulp.

“Better to be hardheaded than always grumpy.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” He was back to his grumpy self. Good.

Chapter Sixteen

Gerek sat back on the bed and propped his leg up again.
He rather liked it when she stood up to him.

At least she wasn't crying anymore. He couldn't bear to see her cry, and hearing her sob had made his stomach hurt. And now that she was no longer crying, and her hair was completely uncovered, he let himself look at her.

He had always thought her beautiful—for a peasant girl. But with that golden hair falling around her, it made her face and eyes glow like some kind of enchantment.

He was thinking like an addle-headed knave.

“Will you help me get a position at Hagenheim Castle?”

Her question startled him out of his thoughts. “What sort of position?”

“As a maidservant. I can cook or do any sort of cleaning.”

Lady Rose would like her very much. “Is that what you wish?”

She nodded.

“I shall write Lady Rose a letter, listing your virtues and skills.” He reached down and drew up a piece of real paper—much crisper than parchment—and found a reed pen. “Let's see, what shall I say? You are hardheaded . . .”

“Don't you dare.” But this brought a smile to her face that she was obviously trying to suppress.

“And terrified of letting anyone see your hair . . .” He found his ink and writing board.

“You wouldn't say that!” She self-consciously twisted her long hair and then flung it over her shoulder. It was like molten gold, flowing over her shoulders, reaching all the way to the floor. The silky texture of it shimmered and floated with her every movement . . . Mesmerizing. No wonder her mother made her cover it.

He wrenched his gaze from her hair, dipped his pen in the inkwell, and started writing. “You have very strong ideas about propriety.”

She huffed. “If you will not write a proper letter to help me get the position, then I pray you not write her at all.”

“I shall write to my lady and tell her that you will make a hardworking, honest, clever maidservant.”

“Thank you.”

Rapunzel read the German Bible while he wrote the letter. When he finished, he fanned it in the air to dry the ink, then folded it. Rapunzel held his wax stick close to the flame of the fire in the grate, and then he sealed the letter with the wax and imprinted it with the seal on a ring he wore.

While the hot wax was cooling, she asked, “What sort of person is Lady Rose? I believe you said she was kind.”

“She is very kind.”

“Even to maidservants?”

“Of course. Lady Rose is not like other noble-born ladies I have met. She is kind and thoughtful to everyone, from visiting dukes and duchesses, to her own children, to the pages and squires, to the lowliest maids in the kitchen. She is a virtuous lady who believes in every word of the Holy Writ. There is no other lady like her, I would avow.”

She was gazing at him with raised brows. “You do think very highly of her.”

He felt his cheeks flush. He didn't want anyone, even Rapunzel,
to know just how highly he had thought of her, when he had been a mere boy, missing his mother. It could even be said that he had been a little in love with her.

“Everyone thinks very highly of Lady Rose.”

“What must I do to make her approve of me?”

“Only be yourself. She will approve of you.”

She looked suspicious of his compliment.

“As long as Lady Rose sees you treating others kindly and performing your duties, she will approve of you.”

She nodded. “I suppose I should go.”

He handed her the letter. She took it, then said, “Do all knights marry noble-born ladies?”

Why was she asking him that? Perhaps because she was having tender feelings for him after he had saved her a second time from that brigand.

“Not all knights marry noble-born ladies, though most do. The reason I wish to marry a noble lady is because my father did something terrible when I was a boy, and my older brother blamed me for it. He has hated me since I was very young and refuses to allow me any inheritance. And since I cannot allow my idiot brother to best me—he has inherited the family estates, which includes a large castle and much land—I plan to marry an heiress with great property.”

“That hardly seems like a good reason. No, I would not say that you
must
marry an heiress or a noble-born lady, just because you want to best your brother.”

Heat bubbled up from his chest into his forehead. “You don't understand what my brother said to me, how he believes that God has made him superior to me because he is older. If I marry a noblewoman, and if I gain lands and wealth, it will prove that God is favoring me at least as much as him.” When he said it aloud, it didn't sound as strong an argument as it did in his head. “It doesn't matter
if you understand. That is the way it must be. I will marry an heiress or I shall not marry at all.”