“Thank you.” His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her, making his heart quicken.
He drank the wine even as his eyes drank the sight of her in from over the rim of the cup. He had been telling himself that she would be better off marrying Valten, that Valten was the blessed one, the one with the wealth and the power. But Valten had not seen where she came from, the abuse she had endured, the sweetness in the way she treated other people. Would Valten treat her as well as she deserved? Love her the way he should?
Gabe was wrong to think this way. He felt as though he were on the edge of a cliff and about to jump off. If he made the wrong choice, not only would his life be ruined, but a lot of other lives as well. Especially Sophie’s.
“I’m so happy you’re better.” She knew she’d already told him that, but relief was washing over her at seeing him eat so heartily, his color coming back into his face.
“Like I said, you saved my life with this food. Mm-mm.”
“Hardly.” She laughed. She had wanted to run up the stairs last night to thank him for saving her life, and now he was teasing her about saving his. “How is your shoulder?”
“Practically back to normal.” He winked, and Sophie felt happy to see him in such a jovial mood. She remembered how much pain he had been in, how sick he was, how she had supported his weight in the saddle. Was that only yesterday? Thank you, God, for healing him so quickly. She would have to thank Bartel too.
What should she say to him now? She wanted to see his shoulder, to examine his wound and see for herself if it looked better. But she was afraid to ask. It shouldn’t be awkward for a sister to examine her brother’s wound … but it would be.
Finally, she hit upon a safe topic of conversation. “Have you met all the men yet?”
“No, only Bartel, although I believe there were two others who helped me to bed yesterday.”
“One of them plays the lute, like you. His name is Siggy. He has a bit of a problem speaking, but he seems very kind. And Dominyk plays the drum — he appears to be their leader. And there’s Vincz, who has trouble staying awake, and Gotfrid, who is rather grumpy, and Dolf, I believe, is deaf, and Heinric … Heinric is very happy. Except when he’s … not happy. You will meet them all in due time, I’m sure.”
Gabe began to look a little grumpy himself. “I’m sure these seven men are all quite taken with you.”
Sophie laughed. “They do seem to enjoy my cooking. I don’t think they enjoy doing that task themselves much.” She smirked and avoided looking at him. But from the corner of her eye she saw his unhappy look.
“I have no doubt they enjoy your cooking.”
“Now you rest. You shouldn’t strain yourself. You have to get well.”
She straightened his blanket and had just picked up the now-empty tray when Walther knocked and entered the room.
“Looking much better today, my lord,” Walther said, fixing his eyes on Gabe.
Sophie wondered at Walther calling him “my lord,” then realized they should all call him that. He was the son of a duke. She blushed at the familiarity of her calling him by his given name all this time.
“Thank you, I am,” Gabe said. “And I want to thank you for saving Sophie and me from the duchess’s guard. We would not be here if it weren’t for you. I am very grateful, and if there’s anything I can do for you —”
“As it happens, my lord, there is something …”
“Of course. Go on.”
Walther scratched the back of his neck, hesitating for a moment. “I cannot go back to Hohendorf now, and my wife and children are dependent on me … I was hoping your father—”
“Of course. He always needs capable, loyal guards like you. I shall write a missive to him now and you can take it to him. Sophie, can you find me some paper or parchment, a quill, and ink?”
Sophie hurried from the room and found Bartel nearby. At her request, he fetched the writing implements and then Sophie brought them to Gabe.
“I should like to leave today,” Walther was saying.
What would this mean for Sophie and Gabe? Walther would take his family and go to Hagenheim. He would certainly tell Gabe’s family about his injury, as well as their whereabouts. Gabe’s father would send men to bring them back to Hagenheim, and Sophie would have to marry Valten.
Gabe was busy writing a message to his father, no doubt telling him what Walther had done for them and recommending that his father hire him. She was happy Walther would have a position and would be able to provide for his family. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him after what he had done for them. Perhaps she should go with Walther to Hagenheim. After all, what excuse did she have for staying here with Gabe?
“Thank you, my lord.” Walther bowed to Gabe as he took the paper from his hand.
“Godspeed.”
Gabe did indeed look the part of the wealthy duke’s son, sitting in bed and writing letters, bidding a giant, burly man “Godspeed.” She glanced down at herself — too thin, dressed in strange garb, her only skills cooking and cleaning — although she could also read. Gabe would be happy to hand her over to his brother and then marry Brittola, the well-bred daughter of a count.
Walther left the room. When Sophie looked up from noticing her worn shoes, Gabe was staring at her. Sophie hurried over to clear away the writing implements from the bed so Gabe could sleep.
“Sophie?”
“Can I get you something?” She turned to go. “I’ll take these things back to —”
“Wait.” Gabe grabbed her wrist, startling her. His warm brown eyes locked on hers, stealing her breath away. He was so handsome. The stubble on his face and chin only made him more appealing. She longed to reach out and rub her hand along his jaw. But that would only embarrass them both.
“Sophie, tell me the truth. Now that Walther is leaving, are you truly safe with all those men around?”
Even more appealing than his appearance was his concern for her. It made her heart constrict almost painfully.
“I feel safe enough, but perhaps I should go with Walther to Hagenheim.” She turned away from Gabe so he wouldn’t see how she was trying to get control of herself. He continued to hold her wrist and she didn’t try to pull away.
“Walther isn’t going straight to Hagenheim.”
“Oh. He’s not?”
“No. He’s going back to collect his wife and children. While you were out of the room he told me he’d sent them to stay with relatives in a village not far from Hohendorf while he came to save you from Malger. He’ll take them back with him to Hagenheim.”
“Will he come back here, to the Cottage of the Seven, on his way to Hagenheim?”
“I don’t know, but if he does, it will take him at least six days to get back here. Will you be all right?”
“I am safe, Gabe. These men are kind and honorable. They will not harm me, so you can rest and not worry.”
He relaxed his hold on her wrist and she pulled away.
“But thank you,” she whispered, “for caring.”
“I do. Very much.”
Sophie straightened, holding the tray between them. When the door opened and Bartel came inside, Sophie hurried away.
Sophie and the seven men loaded packs and bundles of food and supplies on Walther’s saddle in such abundance he claimed his horse would never be able to carry both him and the supplies. Then they bid him farewell and watched him ride away.
That afternoon it was raining too hard for the seven to do their usual work of cutting down trees, so Sophie discovered she had lots of help in performing several apparently overdue cleaning tasks around the cottage. She put Heinric and Vincz to work scrubbing the plaster walls, which were painted with brightly colored scenes of flowering meadows and trees and small animals — rabbits, birds, squirrels, fawns. A little soap and water uncovered the true beauty of the murals, eliminating layers of gray caused by years of dirt and soot. And as she scrubbed, she wondered who had painted the murals, and why. So she as
ked Vincz.
“It was Dolf and Siggy. See the animals? Siggy does those, and Dolf paints the background — the flowers, trees, and clouds.”
Sophie did notice a difference in style, now that he mentioned it, between the animals and the other elements of the murals.
“It is very beautiful. I should think everyone would want their houses decorated in such a way.”
“Dolf and Siggy spent a year in foreign lands east of here, painting these sorts of murals for people. Everyone there loves them, and it is very fashionable, Siggy says.”
“How did they end up here, at the Cottage of the Seven?”
Vincz shrugged. “The same way we all did. People become frightened of people who are different and then start rumors, accuse us of being demon-possessed or cursed.” He turned a sheepish smile on Sophie and shrugged again. “It doesn’t matter. We are happy here.”
Sophie smiled back. “No one who knows you could say such things. And I am happy that you’re here too.”
All the men were eager to help, so she put Siggy and Gotfrid to work mopping the floors. And Dolf and Dominyk were soon clearing the cobwebs from the massive wooden rafters. Dolf would pick up Dominyk, holding him over his head, and Dominyk would sweep the ceiling with his broom.
Bartel was out in a nearby chapel — his usual place, she was told — praying and meditating. She didn’t want to disturb him, but she thought it was a shame she didn’t have his help when Dolf’s arms got tired.
Sophie, in the meantime, began preparing their midday meal. She washed and peeled what fruit she could find — apples, plums, pears, and grapes — for custard, and used what was left of some recently harvested venison for mince pies. She chopped the meat until her hand was numb and her arm was aching. Then she added egg, lots of spices, a little red wine, cider vinegar, some currants, and dried grapes. She mixed it up with her hands, squishing it between her fingers like she’d seen Petra do, and placed it in stiff pastry shells. Then she covered it with another pastry and rubbed egg whites over it before putting it in the oven with some loaves of bread that had been rising all morning.
When Sophie came out of the kitchen to check on the men and their cleaning, they seemed to be making great progress. Most of the walls were clean and Heinric’s sleeves were soaked all the way up to his armpits. But he was smiling, and he waved at Sophie. Dolf and Dominyk were cleaning the thick glass window in the front of the cottage. Outside, the rain was still coming down, lending a pleasant, drowsy hum to the day.
The house was nothing like Hohendorf Castle. The cottage was snug and cozy and warm, while the castle had been drafty and cold and unwelcoming. And no one there had ever let her boss them around. Most of the servants liked her and were kind to her, but they also knew the duchess hated Sophie, so they treated her cautiously. She was just another servant.
But Gabe didn’t treat her that way. Although he had seen how she lived, seen how the duchess treated her, he treated her well. He treated her with kindness and respect, as if she were a member of his family. Which she nearly was.
She realized she was staring out the window at nothing, not even seeing the rain dripping down the pane. She hurried back into the kitchen to make sure nothing had burned and to finish her fruit custards.
Gabe joined them for their midday meal. Bartel didn’t even have to help him down the steps. He’d also shaved and looked more like the fresh-faced man she’d first met. Well, almost. When he looked at Sophie, there was a strange expression on his face, almost a look of sad longing or uncomfortable awareness. It made her feel … unsettled and confused. But she concentrated on how happy she was that he was strong enough to come downstairs.
All eight men sat around the table, with Dominyk at the head, leaving the opposite end for Sophie. For the first few minutes, after Bartel said a prayer thanking God for the food, no one spoke as they were too busy eating. Sophie glanced around the table, surprised at how much she enjoyed watching the men enjoy the food she had cooked. But after a few moments, the compliments began, just as they had at breakfast, each man complimenting her in his own way.
“It’s wonderful, Sophie,” Gabe said. He looked clean and well-rested now, and yet, the first thought that came to her as she looked down the long table to where he sat at the end next to Dominyk was that she wished they were alone again on horseback, running from the duchess and her evil guard.
What an irrational thought.
The men all agreed Sophie’s mince pie was the best they’d ever tasted. She smiled graciously at them, but the bleakness of the gray day, which earlier made the cottage seem so cozy, now seemed to weigh on her like the dreary, unrelenting rain beating down on the thatch roof of the cottage. Now that Gabe was better, would he leave her to go visit his betrothed, Brittola? And Walther, if he traveled hard and didn’t stop back by the Cottage of the Seven, could arrive in Hagenheim in ten days, where he would tell Gabe’s brother Valten where they were. Then Valten might send men to fetch her immediately. Or he might come for her himself. Instead of giving her a feeling of anticipation, as it had when she first left the duchess, the thought of marrying Valten filled her with dread.
Valten might not even believe she was the duke’s daughter and his betrothed, and therefore might never send for her. Perhaps then she could stay here and take care of the Seven’s house and cook for them. And Gabe would marry Brittola.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed everyone had finished eating and was now beginning to stand and clear off the table. She stood too quickly and knocked her small bench to the floor behind her with a crash, drawing every eye to her. Ducking her head, she righted her chair, then picked up the pitcher of milk, along with the leftover custard, and carried them to the counter. She knew, without looking, that all eyes were still on her as tears pricked her eyelids.
As she set the pitcher and pie down, a tear tracked down first one cheek, then the other. She didn’t even know why she was crying. She should be happy. Gabe was better, his fever was gone, and he looked like himself again. The seven men were happy with her cooking and treated her well. She was safe from the duchess. She was free. She may soon be getting married to her betrothed, the oldest son of a duke …
Her tears came faster. She placed her hands on the edge of the rough wooden counter, leaned over, and stifled a sob, glad the others had left the kitchen.
Sophie brushed the tears away with the back of her hands. She hated crying. It did absolutely no good and was embarrassing. Stupid. That was what the duchess called her sometimes. Now, she wondered if perhaps the duchess was right. She was stupid, too stupid to force herself to stop loving —
“Sophie?” Gabe’s voice came from behind her.
Quickly, she rubbed her face to get rid of the tears.
“Do you need something?” Her voice shook. She cleared her throat and kept her back to him.
“Are you all right?” He laid his hand on her shoulder and she jerked away instinctively. But she regretted her reaction when Gabe took his hand away.
But she had to protect her heart.
“Are you all right?” he asked again. “Did one of the men say something wrong?”
“Of course not. They are nothing but kind.” Sophie still refused to turn around and face him. She continued trying to look busy, stacking dirty dishes and putting away spices. She wondered what he was doing behind her, what he was thinking … if he had left. But then his hand touched her shoulder again. She didn’t flinch this time, but stopped what she was doing.
Gently, he placed both hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. She looked up into his eyes. He wore a strangely intense, pleading expression in his brown eyes. His gaze traveled down to her lips, causing her to shiver inside. Terrified he would kiss her — and wanting him to anyway — she slipped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, realizing too late that doing so only made her heart ache more.
His arms immediately wrapped around her and pulled her close. He l
aid his cheek against the top of her head, bringing back memories of their riding together, the three days they’d spent in the same saddle.
He felt so solid, so strong, warm, and wonderful. Was he thinking of her as a sister? Because she certainly wasn’t thinking of him as a brother, and feared she might never be able to again. She could feel him taking a deep breath as he hugged her more tightly, could hear his heart beating, pounding almost as hard as her own.
Chair legs began scraping across the floor of the front room. Were the Seven coming to check on her? Of course they were. They always did. Just as the footfalls reached the door, Sophie broke away from Gabe and spun around to the counter.
“Help Sophie,” Heinric said in his usual loud voice, as they surveyed the dirty dishes and few leavings from their meal.
“That’s all right,” Sophie said, “I can clean up today. You go —”
“You and Gabe need to rest,” Dominyk said firmly. “Now go.”
Before she could say another word, Gabe was untying the strings of her apron and pulling it off of her. He placed his hand on her back and guided her from the kitchen into the large main room at the front of the cottage. He led her to a chair and sat beside her.
They sat in silence. Then Gabe reached over and took her hand in his. She pulled it away. Why was he doing this to her? “What’s wrong, Sophie?”
She might have been imagining it, but she thought she heard pain in his voice.
“Nothing’s wrong.” She angled her body away from him so that he couldn’t see her face.
“Talk to me,” he pleaded.
Why did he have to make this so hard? She fidgeted, toying with the edge of the sash she had tied around her waist. Such ugly clothes. She was ashamed for Gabe to see her in this. How she wished she had something pretty to wear. But what did it matter? She shouldn’t be trying to look pretty for Gabe.
“I suppose your father will come to escort us back when Walther tells him where we are. Or perhaps Walther will stop here on his way to Hagenheim and I can go back with him.” She held her breath as she waited to see how he would respond.
The Fairest Beauty Page 17
