Christ, Rotenburg was ripe for revolt. That dolt of a prince had no clue how close he lay to a full revolution in his own territory. Wolf would laugh at the arrogance of the man if his face didn’t hurt so much. The tyrant was blind to how thin ran the loyalty of his people now that the possibility of another way of life lay open to them. The prosperity and freedom in England and the revolutions elsewhere in Europe proved there was another way.
Kurt ranted on. From the prince’s shouts and accusations, Wolf gathered that he’d been convicted of treason in a court tribunal where he hadn’t even been invited to appear nor allowed to defend himself. Kurt’s sentence proved that the nobles tolerated no threats to their power: forty lashes of the whip here at the post. Another day and night in the stocks. And then a hanging on the morrow. The more gruesome and bloody, the better, as example and deterrent to all.
Wolf cleared his throat. He would die here at Rotenburg; he’d accepted that back at Dremen when he’d made his bargain with the count in exchange for Lenora’s freedom. But perhaps his death could still serve some purpose for the revolution and its fight for human rights. “Prinz Kurt, I request the right to address the crowd with my last words.”
“Silence, dog!” Kurt turned to him in affront. “You lost all such privileges long ago.”
But a wave of angry muttering crested through the crowd.
“Let the Black Knight speak!”
“It is his right under the law!”
The prince stepped back, startled and suddenly cautious. “This traitor has nothing to say save lies and deception. Do not be fooled. I will, however, by the mercy of the court, allow him his last words.” Kurt flourished Wolf a mocking bow.
Wolf straightened as much as he could, tied to the lashing post. He thought again of Lenora, lashed here also, commanding him not to let her fall. Thank God he hadn’t let her fall. Thank God he’d got her home safe.
All else he could bear.
“Good people, my message is simple.” His voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat again before drawing breath to continue. “You have a choice. You can live in the past as peasants to your overlords in a divided land. You can allow Germany to fall behind as other nations embrace the modern age. Or you, too, can embrace a better future for you and your children. We are all Germans. We should be united in one nation where there are decent working wages and freedom of speech. In a strong and unified Germany, we can all prosper together as free citizens. The world is changing quickly, with new discoveries in science and new technologies in industry. It is time for the German Confederation to change as well.”
A spasm of coughing kept him from saying more. It would have to be enough. Kurt wasn’t about to permit him further liberties anyway.
But then, in the silence after his words, he heard it: a clap from the far back of the crowd. Faint, tentative, but then joined by another.
Cries of “Hear, hear!” and then, “Der Wolfram!”
“For the people!” shouted another voice, nearer the front of the throng.
And a loud cry of what had become the motto of the revolution: Deutschlands Wiedergeburt! Germany’s rebirth!
“Silence!” yelled the prince, red-faced and incensed. “This man is a traitor to the people!”
But the crowd had found its voice. In the safety of their numbers, they joined together in a loud chant: “Der Wolfram! Der Wolfram!”
Finally, the crowd fell silent again, not at the infuriated shouts of their prince, but at the voice of a young farm boy who ran into the castle courtyard and up to the dais.
The words he called out stopped Wolfram’s heart.
“Prince Kurt!” said the boy. “Prince Kurt! Dame Lenora has returned! She’s come back, Excellency! She is here to be your bride!”
Riding back up to Schloss Rotenburg was the hardest thing Lenora had ever done. She’d thrown up her breakfast that morning. Her skin crawled, sweat soaked her linen, and her stomach churned at the thought of seeing Kurt again. The plan could fail so easily. Truth be told, plan was far too strong a word for the sketchy ideas they’d put in place.
She hadn’t had much time, once she’d figured out the truth of the plot and convinced Herr Weisstagen to take her back. Locating Lord Becker, now leading Wolfram’s militia band by himself, had consumed precious days, during which she knew Wolfram must be suffering torture in the dungeon. Or—God forbid—Kurt might have already grown tired of the game and executed his enemy. When she’d finally rendezvoused with Becker in a tavern meeting arranged by Weisstagen, it took her another precious day to wear down the protests of Wolfram’s cousin.
So adamant at first was Becker against her intention to return to Rotenburg that she’d laid plans to quit the tavern in another solo midnight escape. But he’d intercepted her and, eyes grim, finally agreed to help her. He’d ridden off before dawn to see to his part.
Now, three days later, she was back at Rotenburg.
She had intended to reach the castle early yesterday morning. But here it was, the sun high, almost a day and a half later than she was supposed to arrive. Her horse had thrown a shoe crossing a river twenty miles north of Rotenburg. No farriers remained in the towns through which she’d ridden; all were off fighting in the protests, along with most of the other able-bodied men. She, who had never abused an animal in her life, pushed the poor creature until it came up lame. She’d left the beast in an abandoned pasture—her gift to the farmer family, should they return—and had walked and run the last few miles on foot.
She arrived filthy, exhausted, and terrified—both of facing Kurt again and of what he must have done to Wolfram.
According to the plot she’d hatched with his cousin, Becker was to arrive tonight, near midnight. She had only a half day remaining to find allies within the castle, unlock the postern gate, find and free Wolfram, and get him to Becker’s men, all without arousing Kurt’s suspicion or alerting any of the castle guard.
It seemed impossible. Yet, if she failed, Wolfram would surely die. And Kurt would have her in his power, perhaps for good. He’d be unlikely to allow another escape.
“Why are you doing this?” Becker had asked her. “You hate Wolf and disavow the marriage. He set you free and put you on a path to home. Why not follow that path to safety? Why did you return?”
She’d squirmed at his questions. “I don’t hate Lord Ravensworth,” she said. But the questions were hard to answer. Why indeed? “It is true that I disavow the marriage, but I accept that he believed his actions to be for the best. He did what he understood his honor and duty called him to do under the circumstances. And he did save my life at the Ingolbronn crossroads. I am beholden to him for that.”
Wolfram’s cousin stared at her for a long pause. “If I may ask, Lenora, what are your feelings for Wolf?”
“My feelings?” She pulled back with a start. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The man is in some sense your husband.” Becker spoke gently, his gaze not leaving her face. “You are risking your life to save his, in an attempt from which I cannot apparently dissuade you. I can only surmise you have some deep feelings for him.”
She shook her head. “It’s simply that I have an obligation of honor to discharge. I will not allow Lord Ravensworth to martyr himself on my behalf, at the hands of a common enemy.”
“What you propose is very dangerous,” Becker warned. “Once we separate, I can’t protect you nor promise that I can get to Rotenburg with enough men to help in time. Wolf could be dead already or too wounded to offer you any assistance.”
“I can handle Kurt.” She prayed God that might be true. She feared instead that it was bravado of the worst kind.
But she had to try.
Becker sighed deeply. “I shouldn’t allow this. I’m afraid that I’ll live to regret it. But I doubt that I can stop you, and you’re right—you might just have a chance. I love Wolf like a brother—more than I do my own blood brother, God forgive me. He is a good man, far too good for this hopel
ess ragtag rebellion. He might, in fact, be just the mate for a woman as brave as you, if you could accept his love and offer your own in return.”
She slammed shut the gates of her heart to foolishness. “There is no time now for such nonsense. We’ve a lost knight to rescue.”
And so here she was—walking back up to a castle to which she’d sworn she’d never return, in order to offer herself to her enemy. Outside the town of Gruselstadt, she stopped a boy chasing ducks in a farmyard and sent him ahead to the castle with news of her arrival and a message for His Excellency.
Lady Lenora Sherbrooke, penitent runaway betrothed, was pleased to inform Prince Kurt of her return.
Chapter 11
Kurt stood at the Schloss gate when Lenora walked through its ancient stone arch. Surprise widened his eyes. “It really is you,” he said. He raked her with a glance, taking in her dirty clothing and disheveled appearance.
She raised her chin, assumed her best daughter-of-a-duke demeanor. “Indeed. I judged it time to return,” she replied to him as he addressed her, in the German they always spoke to each other. She held out a hand for him to kiss, even smiled at him. “You are looking well, Prinz. Have you passed an agreeable few weeks since I had to take such an abrupt leave of you?”
The lies multiplied, of course. In truth, Kurt looked a wreck—thinner, his face taut with anxiety. But after a moment’s pause, he seemed willing, even amused, to play along. He took her hand and bowed over it as she made him her curtsy. “Yes, I’ve kept quite well,” he replied. “Rather busy, you know, what with these outlaws gadding about, but we nobles mustn’t complain about the obligations of duty befalling our rank.”
She laid her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her through the castle forecourt. “You always carried out your duty, Kurt, with the utmost respect for tradition. I have come to appreciate that devotion in my weeks away from Rotenburg.” She turned her head toward him as they strolled by groups of gaping servants and townspeople. “I understand you much better now, and I have returned to make you a deal.”
He barked out a laugh. “I admire your gall, my dear, but you seem in little position to bargain. I have you now, as well as that traitor who blasphemes the role of your husband.”
“You are quite correct, Kurt.” She smiled up at him, fighting hard to make it look genuine. “You do have me now. I presume you would like to keep me, free and clear. I am prepared to renounce and annul my association with Freiherr von Wolfsbach.”
But then her knees almost buckled at the sight ahead. Dear God, there he was! Wolfram—tied to the lashing post. Dark-purple bruises covered his bare torso. His shoulder wounded in the skirmish at Ingolbronn was a bloody mess. Lash marks striped his back. Blood caked his hair and face. One of his eyes was swollen shut.
Her fingernails cut half-moons into the palm hanging at her side, although she forced herself to keep the hand on Kurt’s arm relaxed. “Ah, a fine example of your devotion to duty, as we speak. Is this the dog I met on the road after I left you?”
Kurt stopped in front of the lashing post to stare at her. “What game is this you play, Lenora?” He took her chin in his hand and pinched hard, his earlier amusement gone. “Tell me truly: Why have you come back?”
Earlier, before her time with Wolfram, she had been afraid of Kurt and cowed by his threats and air of violence. Now she slapped playfully at his wrist and twisted away. She almost laughed at the look of puzzled surprise on his face as she broke free. “I play no game, Kurt. I wanted to return to you and Rotenburg.”
Wolfram lifted his head, the effort visible in the grimace that creased his face. “Let her go, Kurt. You’ve got me. She means nothing to the protesters. She won’t help you end the revolution.”
“No.” The prince stepped up to Wolfram, glowering. “But she might amuse me in other ways.”
“Surely you don’t want my leavings?” Wolfram taunted.
Wolfram’s insults disturbed her not; she knew what he was about, trying to protect her even when his battered body had suffered such abuse. Her chest squeezed painfully at the sound of his labored breathing and wheezed words. The man must be in agony. She would get him out of here, she swore to herself—no matter what.
“Throw her out of the castle,” Wolfram continued, “before you defile your pride by taking her back.”
Kurt backhanded Wolfram viciously across the face. “Silence, traitor!”
Lenora barely suppressed a scream as Wolfram’s head snapped back and slammed into the wooden post. She stepped up to lay a soft hand on Kurt’s chest. “My betrothed, do not concern yourself with this upstart. He is clearly jealous of your power and your possessions. I, however, am honored to count myself among those possessions.”
The prince turned from Wolfram to look at her through flinty eyes. “Why would you wish to be my Prinzessin again when such did not please you earlier? And why would you return when you must know I will punish you severely for your betrayal?”
She forced herself to ignore the nausea that roiled her stomach at his words. “I’ve grown up in the last month, Kurt. I’m clearer about what I want and what I’m willing to do to get it. I wish to rule Rotenburg-Gruselstadt with you. It’s the richest principality in this part of Germany and provides a fit territory for someone of my breeding. I simply have a few ground rules of my own this time. And instead of my punishment, I have an idea about something you will enjoy more.”
“This is my Schloss—I make the rules. And I decide on the punishment.” Kurt stood close to tower over her. She remembered the trick, his attempt to intimidate her with his height. It had worked before. This time she just reached up to pat his cheek.
“Of course you do, my prince. I accept your leadership. You are a man, are you not? It is your role to make the rules, and mine to obey. Don’t worry: you’ll like what I have in mind. I know better now what you need for our marriage union to be a happy and productive one.”
“Our marriage union? Yet here I was under the impression you’d gone and married this traitor dog,” he said, sneering.
“This pitiful pretender?” She waved a hand airily in the direction of Wolfram, who lifted his head to cast a bleary eye on them. “Simply some nonsense on the battlefield when I needed time to think. I’m sure the few words that were spoken do not constitute any binding marriage.”
She calculated rapidly. The sun was already past its zenith. No time remained for the original plan she’d hatched with Becker. Her part had been to scout the castle garrison for sympathizers to the revolution while unlocking the postern gate to allow Becker and whomever he could drum up to storm the castle for a rescue effort. She’d have to change the plan. There was no way for her to get to the gate by midnight.
But Helga could.
“Kurt, what have you done with my wardrobe?” She forced petulance into her tone. “My mother spent a small fortune on that trousseau. I’ve been in rags for weeks now. I want something proper to wear for my homecoming.”
“Your wardrobe? I have no idea.” He looked increasingly bewildered. Under other circumstances, were Wolfram not so badly beaten and both their lives in jeopardy, Kurt’s confusion would have been gratifying.
“Men never give such things a thought, do they?” She beckoned to one of the servants attending Kurt. “Have Helga Stanfeld meet me in my rooms. She helped maintain my wardrobe and knows it well.” She turned to Kurt. “My rooms are still available, aren’t they? I have a plan to present you with, Kurt. This isn’t the place to discuss it, and I’m much too dusty. One must perform a proper toilette to appear before a nobleman of your consequence. But allow me to refresh myself and then let us sit together. We can go over the documents that will allow my return and enjoy a good dinner together, with a bottle of your best Riesling.” She stepped close to him. “In fact, let’s make it a private dinner. In your chambers.”
She watched distrust, anger, and curiosity flit across his narrow face. He wanted her in his power again; she knew that much. It should be
enough—pray God, it was all she had—to stage the scene she had in mind.
He nodded slowly, and she released a shaky breath.
“Good. Then release him, will you?” She flicked a careless hand in Wolfram’s direction. “We can have him brought to your rooms later.”
“Why would we want this dog to be present?” Kurt aimed a hard kick at Wolfram’s shackled legs.
Lenora bit the inside of her cheek to hide her wince at Wolfram’s grunt. “Why, we need him to sign the annulment documents, of course! If you would notify your secretary and solicitor, they can prepare the paperwork this afternoon. We’ll need a minister to witness the documents as well. And let’s get this one cleaned up.” She cast a look of disgust at Wolfram, wrinkling her nose. “We don’t want questions raised later that he wasn’t of sound mind whilst he signed the papers. Have him bathed and his wounds cared for. Some strong beef soup and a rest this afternoon should restore him sufficiently for the task. And he’ll need a decent set of clothing to wear.”
“We can attend to such matters later in the week, Lenora. I want to learn more about this change of heart of yours.”
“No, it must be tonight.” If Kurt locked Wolfram back up in the dungeon, she didn’t know how she could get him out again. In truth, she was loath to let Wolfram out of her sight, not until she knew he was safe. Too late, she heard the desperation in her voice.
The prince bristled. “It is not your role to dictate to me.”
Careful, Lenora. “I would never dream of trying, my betrothed. I merely want to be freed, legally and in all ways, from this brute, as quickly as possible. He is right—I do defile your pride and your castle if I stand before you in any way linked to this false knight. If we draw up and execute the documents today”—she laid a hand against Kurt’s chest again, looking up at him with what she hoped was coyness and not the loathing that burned within—“then you and I will be free to take up where we left off.”
Knight of Love Page 15
