The Medieval Fairy Tale Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  “I pray your ankle shall heal better than mine has. I believe it will, if you stay off of it.”

  He sounded gruff. Avelina leaned forward again to watch the guard. He was still shuffling through papers. Then he stopped to light a candle, as it had grown quite dark outside.

  “You said you have a brother and sister. How old are they?”

  “Jacob is twelve and Brigitta is six. I miss them.” She sighed.

  “Are your father and mother still alive?”

  “My mother died nearly six years ago and my father worked as the Earl of Plimmwald’s stable master. But he was in an accident. One of Lord Plimmwald’s stallions kicked my father in the back and in the head. He can no longer walk or feel his legs, and he doesn’t think quite so well as he once did.”

  “Did Plimmwald agree to provide for your father and his family?”

  “No. I was already working at the castle as a servant for his daughter. He never even said he was sorry for what happened.”

  No one spoke for a while. She leaned forward to look through the crack. The guards had stopped looking through the papers on the desk and the floor. They both sat down, one in Lord Thornbeck’s chair and the other in Jorgen’s. The guards’ heads were leaned back against the wall, but they faced the rest of the room and would have a clear view if she and Lord Thornbeck tried to sneak out.

  “If the guards fall asleep,” Avelina whispered, “is it too dangerous to try to sneak out?”

  “We will try it.”

  What if the guards woke up? Lord Thornbeck had no weapon. She chewed on her lip, then reminded herself to pray for his protection.

  They both watched the guards for a while, trying to see if they were falling asleep, until Avelina’s cheek brushed against his hair. She had not realized she was so close to him. She moved her head away a few inches.

  “I am going to stand,” he said.

  She drew her knees up to give him more room. He carefully got to his feet, no doubt trying to make sure he did not make any noise. When he was fully upright, he put his eye to the crack.

  He stood like that for a long time. A crash sounded, as from something falling to the floor. Lord Thornbeck stepped back. “Not sleeping,” he whispered.

  Avelina gazed up at him in the dark. He was very tall, with broad shoulders, and her memory filled in what she could not see in the dark—perfect masculine features, dark hair, a shadow of beard on his face, and brown eyes that could melt her heart—or freeze it, depending on his expression.

  “Do you wish to stretch your legs?” He seemed to be holding out his hand to her.

  She groped for it in the dark, and he pulled her to her feet. Now they were standing only inches apart, her hand still clasped in his. Neither of them moved. She felt his breath on her forehead.

  “It is nighttime now. You should get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll keep watch.” He moved around her, letting go of her hand and touching her shoulder. “I’ll sit here and you can lie down, with your head at the other end.”

  He slid to the floor. Then she sat down at the other end and pillowed her head on her hands, her legs stretched out alongside his. But her body was slow to relax, her muscles still tense. The floor was hard and cold, and her feet were beginning to ache. If she got any colder, she was afraid she would start shivering again.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “A little. Yes.” The pain in her feet reminded her of the frightening experience outside in the snow with the wolves. But she did not want to complain. Besides, what could Lord Thornbeck do about it? There was no blanket in this room and neither of them wore a cloak or outer garment.

  “I do not want to make you uncomfortable,” he said after a short silence, “but the healer said you should not get too cold this soon. You will have to allow me to warm your feet.”

  She sat up. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “Lie back down. Now put your feet between my knees.”

  She had no shoes on, only the stockings they had placed on her feet when all her clothing was wet. He held her feet in his hands, then quickly took hold of the stockings and stripped them off. Then he tucked her bare feet between his knees.

  The warmth from his legs flooded her cold feet.

  Her heart beat fast. She concentrated on staying still, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Her muscles were cramping and even though her feet were warmer, she was still quite cold. She lay on the stone floor, forcing her eyes to stay closed, commanding herself to fall asleep. But it was no use.

  Was Lord Thornbeck asleep? His eyes seemed to be closed, but it was impossible to be sure in the dark little room.

  Her shoulder seemed to have turned to ice against the cold floor. She clamped her teeth together to stop them from making noise. A few minutes later they started chattering and she could no longer control them.

  Would the guards hear? She put her hand over her mouth.

  “Come here,” Lord Thornbeck whispered harshly.

  “What?” But speaking made her teeth chatter louder.

  “Come. Closer.”

  She sat up and crawled closer, still trying to stop her teeth from slamming together, or at least to keep her lips closed so they weren’t so loud.

  He scooped her up before she knew what he was doing and placed her in his lap. “Now put your head on my chest. Your chattering teeth will get us killed.”

  She sat stiffly but had little choice but to lay her head against his chest. His arms were wrapped around her and she was surrounded by his masculine scent and the dried mint and lilac of his clothes. His breath was in her ear, audible through her hair, which hung down unfettered, as she’d lost her ribbons and her braids had come undone when she’d run to find him.

  Sitting in his lap like this was very improper, but she was deliciously warm. Of course he was more concerned about alerting the guard than her comfort. But she did not blame him.

  She closed her eyes, breathing deeply of his comforting scent. If only she could be held like this every day, to feel loved by this man she had come to care for even more than her own life.

  But it was foolish to think such things.

  Neither of them spoke or even moved. Finally, warm and comfortable, she felt herself drifting blissfully into sleep.

  It was night. She was in the forest just outside the town of Plimmwald, and she was searching for Lord Thornbeck.

  A man, one of Geitbart’s guards, was kneeling in front of a fire in the middle of the dark forest. She started to hide, but as soon as she took a step, he looked up and glared at her. He strode toward her. She tried to turn and run but she could not move. Her feet were heavy and would not obey her.

  As the guard approached, his head suddenly changed into the head of a wolf. The wolf face snarled and growled, saliva dripping from its fangs. Its horrible yellow eyes held her captive. Finally, she wrenched herself free from the eyes’ mesmerizing hold and turned to run, but her feet seemed to be made of iron. She could not move.

  The hair on her arms prickled, as if she could feel the breath of the wolf just behind her, even as she could hear it snorting and snapping its jaws. Then, terrible pain tore through her ankle as the wolf sank its teeth into her flesh.

  She jerked awake, gasping.

  “It was only a dream,” Lord Thornbeck whispered in her ear. “You must be quiet.”

  She clutched handfuls of his shirt, pushing herself off his chest. Had she cried out? Would the guard find them now?

  25

  REINHART HELD HER close as her whole body shuddered. She made a strangled sound, as if she was afraid.

  “You must be quiet,” he whispered in her ear.

  She gasped, pushing away from him.

  “It was only a dream.”

  Her eyes finally opened. She stared up at him as if finally understanding where she was.

  One of the guards stood and took a few steps in their direction.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear.

&nbs
p; She was clinging to him now, her face pressed against his chest. If the guard found them, Reinhart would give himself up in exchange for her freedom. But the guard would still tell Geitbart that Avelina was there with him.

  The guard took another step, then another, staring hard at their little alcove. Could he see the crack behind the bookshelf? The closer he came, the more likely he was to see it, to pull the bookcase forward and find them.

  He stood still for several seconds, staring.

  Avelina did not move, but Reinhart could hear her breathing fast. He wanted to tell her all would be well, but he did not dare take the risk of speaking, even in a whisper.

  Finally, the guard muttered, “Must be rats,” and put his sword away. He walked back to his chair and sat down, leaning his head back against the wall.

  Her silky hair brushed against his lips as he whispered, “We’re safe.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” He should stop inhaling the intoxicating lavender of her hair. He should not be holding her.

  He could have let her be cold. He could have left her where she was on the cold, hard floor. But she had no shoes, her clothing was so much thinner than his, and the healer had said she should not get cold this soon after nearly freezing to death. Besides that, her teeth were making too much noise.

  He could control himself. He was not some addle-brained boy of fifteen who would take advantage of any girl who let him. And Avelina probably would not let him anyway.

  He had to not think about how good she felt in his arms, how trusting she was, how beautiful, and especially how good she smelled.

  “Am I hurting you?” she whispered.

  “No. Go back to sleep.”

  “I’m sorry I made that noise and nearly gave us away.”

  “Were you having a bad dream?”

  “I was dreaming that I was in the forest with one of Geitbart’s guards. He was coming after me, and then he turned into a wolf.” She pressed her face against his chest, and her breath caressed his neck with every word she spoke. “I know it was only a dream, but it was terrifying. The wolf bit my ankle. It felt just like when they attacked me in the forest.”

  He resisted the urge to caress her shoulder . . . her hair . . . her back. He closed his eyes, concentrating on not moving, trying not to think.

  She was quiet for a few minutes, then said, “How are your arm and shoulder? Are they healing?”

  “Only scratches.”

  “What is our plan, when we get out of here?”

  “I will find Jorgen and together we will rally the men from Thornbeck and my guards and expel Geitbart from the castle.”

  “And I shall help you.”

  “You shall not. You will go to your bed and rest your ankle.”

  “I will not argue with you, except to say that I will not be able to stay in my room. I will have to do what I can to help.”

  She was right. It was no use to argue.

  After a short pause, she said, “So why did you choose me?”

  “What?” His heart lurched in his chest.

  “Why did you choose me instead of Lady Magdalen?”

  The last thing he needed to think about was all the things about her that had made him want to marry her.

  “Magdalen is a wonderful girl, but she is very young.”

  “Not much younger than I am.”

  He grunted.

  “Did you not think me very strange, that first day when you asked me those questions?”

  “You were . . . not what I thought I wanted.” He should leave it at that. He should not say more. For a long time there was silence. Perhaps she would fall asleep again.

  “You disagreed with what I said about love?”

  He should stay silent . . . “You said people should marry for love, not out of duty, because if there is no love and if you have no romantic thoughts about each other, then you are much more likely to treat each other badly.”

  “And you liked that?”

  “My mother married my father out of duty. They despised each other. It was painful to see my mother and father treating each other with contempt.”

  “That does sound painful.”

  “You also said, ‘A woman wishes to be swept up by a man’s fervent feelings for her, by love and longing and depth of feeling. She does not wish to be married for her money or her noble birth or because she is a sensible choice. She wants to be wooed, even after she is married, to be cherished and loved for her very self.’ ”

  “You remembered.” She sounded breathless. “It is true. It is what I want. To be cherished and loved.”

  Being with her was what he wanted. But it was impossible.

  “I wanted to talk to you. I wanted so much to . . . but I am not an earl’s daughter.”

  It must be morning, as more light was finding its way in and he could see her a little better now. Her hair had fallen over her cheek and one eye. He succumbed to his desire and smoothed her hair off her face. As he did so, his fingers caressed her cheek. She made a tiny sound, like her breath catching in her throat. His heart crashed against his chest.

  “You passed the tests, and you are the most worthy woman I’ve ever known.”

  She sat so still. Would she let him kiss her? Dangerous, tempting thought. So tempting.

  Shouts and the sound of footsteps broke through his consciousness. Someone was running down the corridor.

  “Fire! Come and help!”

  The two guards in the library scrambled to their feet and ran out.

  Lord Thornbeck lifted Avelina by her waist, and they were both on their feet in two seconds. He pushed open the bookcase door and they hurried out and across the library and into the corridor.

  They were free!

  Avelina smelled smoke. Men ran toward the stairs and Lord Thornbeck went after them.

  “You stay here,” he said over his shoulder at her.

  She followed him anyway as he stopped in the first bedchamber he came to and yanked a curtain down off the bed. He rolled it in a ball and tucked it under his arm as he limped toward the stairs.

  Avelina followed him, “What if Geitbart set the fire to lure you out in the open?”

  “I have to take that chance.” He stayed just far enough ahead of her so that she could not attempt to stop him.

  At the top of the stairs, he turned to go down the corridor toward the west wing.

  The smell of smoke was very strong as it came wafting down the corridor and into their faces. Avelina coughed.

  “Come back,” Avelina called. Geitbart would surely have him captured.

  “Stay there!”

  Men were shouting and emerging, coughing from the thick smoke. Lord Thornbeck ignored them and, holding his arm over his mouth and nose, disappeared down the corridor into the thick gray smoke. Avelina followed.

  Suddenly the smoke all whooshed in the opposite direction. That was when Avelina saw that the door at the end of the damaged west wing was open, showing the pale light of dawn. As the smoke cleared a bit, she could see that someone was standing in the doorway. Gerhaws.

  Gerhaws looked back at Lord Thornbeck, then turned toward the door that led straight down.

  Lord Thornbeck called out to her, but she did not look back. She simply stepped forward, disappearing as she fell.

  Avelina cried out in horror, but the sound was lost in the roar of the fire farther down.

  Just then, another figure emerged as bright-orange flames became visible from a doorway along the corridor.

  “Annlin!” called the high-pitched voice. “Annlin!”

  Lord Thornbeck went toward Endlein and caught her by the hand, but she pulled away from him, going toward the burning room and disappearing inside it. Lord Thornbeck went after her.

  More people were running toward them with buckets of water and blankets, passing by Avelina. She tried to go back toward the burning room and to Lord Thornbeck, but two guards caught her by the arms and pulled her back away from the fire. Soon she
could no longer see Lord Thornbeck.

  Would he die in a fire just as his brother had, in the very same room where his brother had perished? Would he breathe in so much smoke that he would lose consciousness? If only she could get to him, she could convince him to leave.

  She screamed, “Lord Thornbeck!” But no one would let her go to him.

  “What is happening?” she called, but as a guard pushed through, he took hold of Avelina’s arm.

  “You should not be here.”

  “Where is Lord Thornbeck?”

  “He is convincing Endlein to come with him, and the men are putting out the fire. Come.” He pulled her away from the smoke-filled, crowded corridor. “This is no place for you.”

  “No! I will not leave.” Lord Thornbeck would die and no one would let her see him.

  Finally, the men—Lord Thornbeck’s guards and servants—started moving out of the corridor, their faces covered in soot.

  “The fire is out,” one man said.

  They continued to come away from the corridor. Finally, Endlein, the addled old woman, emerged through the smoke, followed by Lord Thornbeck. Both their faces were covered in soot.

  Two servants took charge of Endlein, who was muttering questions and obviously confused. They urged her to go with them and spoke soothingly to her.

  Avelina rushed forward and grabbed Lord Thornbeck’s arm.

  “Let us go,” she said, eager to get him somewhere Geitbart would not find him.

  She hurried him down the corridor, ignoring the people standing around who seemed to want to talk about what had just happened. Two of Geitbart’s guards stood straighter as they noticed Lord Thornbeck approaching. They exchanged a look, then took a step toward the margrave.

  Three of Lord Thornbeck’s guards stood nearby. Avelina got their attention.

  “Those men are trying to molest me!” She pointed at the two red-and-black clad guards.

  Lord Thornbeck’s guards immediately blocked Geitbart’s men’s way and began a shouting match with them. Avelina and Lord Thornbeck hurried away, rushing down the stairs.

  Not sure where else to go, she led him to her own bedchamber.

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