by Cory Barclay
Martin frowned. “Please, Dieter. I’d like something to do, something to distract me from Ava . . .” His voice trailed off.
Hearing mention of Ava, Hedda perked up. “Ava Hahn?”
Martin jolted to attention.
“She’s in the jailhouse,” Hedda told him. “Before I was released, a big round man brought her in as a prisoner.”
Dieter glanced at Martin, then turned back to Hedda. “Tell Gebhard of my acquiescence. But also warn him I will do all I can to prevent a bloodbath in Bedburg. This town has seen too much of that already.”
“Some things never change,” Hedda replied.
She and Dieter exchanged a long stare and awkward silence. Finally, she gave him a curt nod and walked to the door. Before exiting she turned back to him.
“Try to stay alive,” she said before shutting the door behind her.
Dieter sighed, then nodded to the closed door.
As Hedda’s footsteps faded down the hall, Martin and Dieter quietly digested the new information.
Martin broke the silence. “Can we trust her?”
Dieter walked to the window and peered out between the curtains. “I see no reason why Ulrich would release her unless he thought her useless. Though I can’t say for sure.”
“Ulrich could have forced her to spy,” Martin said.
Dieter turned from the window. “How did she find us? Unless you told her?”
“Absolutely not!”
Dieter considered that for a moment. “Then how else could she have found us unless she actually had gone to Bergheim and received word from Gebhard about my seeking out Claus.” Raising his eyebrows at Martin, he added, “Remember, the Catholics here still don’t know of Claus’ sympathies for the Protestants, that he secretly provides them sanctuary.”
Martin leaned back against the wall. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Then what do we do? I feel so trapped in this damned place.”
Dieter stared at his son for a few moments, watching him examine a piece of cheese, then peek out at the two men through the holes of one of the slices. The thought of again leaving Peter suddenly overwhelmed him.
Then he got a strange look in his eyes, as if a major decision had been made.
Turning to Martin, he said, “You say you want to help?”
Martin nodded enthusiastically.
“Then I will have you deliver a message to Ulrich.”
Martin was intrigued. “Saying?”
“Explaining the terms of my surrender.”
Martin’s mouth fell open.
“By the Blessed Virgin, what are you talking about?”
“They will kill Aellin and Ava, Martin,” Dieter explained. “I can’t have that on my conscience. Those two have been invaluable to our cause. Should they die, our entire operation could crumble—”
“It certainly will crumble if you’re gone, Dieter. You’re speaking nonsense! I never expected to hear you say you’re willing to lay down and die—”
“I never said I was—”
“You’re throwing your life away—practically putting Ulrich’s noose around your neck for him! They’ll never let you leave that jail.” Martin shot Dieter a look of anger and sadness, the corners of his eyes welling with tears.
“I have a plan, Martin, but I must make sure Aellin and Ava are safe, first. When that is done, I want you to marry Ava. Be a good husband, as I wished I could have been. Have children. They are the most important thing you will ever achieve, our only true legacy.”
A flood of memories suddenly washed over Dieter: he and Sybil in Ulrich’s jailhouse. Georg Sieghart rescuing them. And how Dieter had promised Georg that he’d do the same thing with Sybil that he was now asking of Martin.
But Martin was still bewildered. As he watched Dieter get lost in his thoughts, he began inhaling and exhaling loudly, his fists clenching. When he saw Dieter calmly smile to himself, he couldn’t take it any longer.
“You’re talking like you’re already dead!” Martin yelled.
Breaking his trance, Dieter gave Martin a kind smile. “I’m tired of this fighting, Martin.”
The young man thrust a finger out. “You’re being selfish, Dieter.”
Dieter’s eyebrows rose. “How do you mean?”
Martin walked behind Peter on the bed and silently pointed down at him, signaling his answer.
Understanding his point, Dieter said, “You and Ava will oversee my child, if you would . . .”
“Of course! But . . .”
Finishing his sentence, Dieter added, “. . . for a time.”
Martin still didn’t understand. “Dieter, please! Minutes ago you were ruminating over not going outside for fear you’d orphan this fine young man here,” he pleaded, nodding to Peter. “And now you suddenly want to surrender and face summary execution! Have you gone mad? What has changed in those few minutes?”
“Hedda’s message,” Dieter answered quickly, emphatically. “Now that I know Gebhard will be here in two days, the best chances my son has for a ‘living’ father is to surrender and wait, rather than keep hiding and face certain death by any guard on the street!”
Dieter walked over to Martin and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Plus, my surrender will ensure that Ava and Aellin will be free.”
Martin closed his eyes tightly, trying to accept this new reality.
“So all I’m asking is for you to watch over my boy for a time,” Dieter repeated. “I don’t plan on dying. At least not in the foreseeable future. I will turn myself in so that the Catholics are relaxed. Then once Heinrich has me in custody—”
“He’ll kill you.”
Dieter shook his head. “No, not at first. He will use Ulrich on me. He needs information, about the rebellion. But more importantly, my surrender will end his need to continue his searches and seizures, his reign of terror. It’s me he wants, Martin. And once he has that, he’ll put down his guard.” Dieter looked off somewhere unseen. “He’ll have Ulrich work on me for what I know.” Looking back at Martin, he added, “And surely I can outlast two days of that. And by then, Gebhard will be here.”
Martin still looked bewildered.
“Don’t you see?” Dieter continued. “As long as Heinrich is caught unawares, Gebhard will crush him! With both Heinrich and Ulrich focused on me, they will be blind to what’s happening around them. I have every confidence that Gebhard will save me once he takes control of the city.”
“That’s your brilliant scheme?” Martin scoffed. “Relying on Gebhard? The man responsible for the Cologne War? Do you forget that he once was a Catholic elector? One of the most influential men in the realm? Then only converted for the love of a woman?”
Martin shook his head in disbelief. “He’s been an archbishop, a traitor, an outcast, and now a bishop again. And this is the man you place your trust in?”
Dieter sighed, then shrugged. “I can see no other way to serve both objectives: help Gebhard and free Ava and Aellin. Just please Martin, do this for me. It will benefit everyone.”
Martin wagged his finger, then, exasperated, held his breath for as long as he could before finally exhaling loudly. “If you die because of this, Dieter . . . I’m going to haunt you in the afterlife.”
Dieter smiled kindly. “You shouldn’t be so attached to me, Martin. It’s odd to hear things like that from you.”
“You are one of my only friends—the only person who’s been kind to me.”
“Well, soon you will have one even closer. Elope, marry, have children. And leave here! Are we in agreement?”
Martin’s shoulders slumped. He held back a sniffle and wiped his nose with the back of his arm. Finally, he nodded.
“I want to hear the words, Martin. Tell me what you’re going to do.”
Martin sighed, looking up to meet Dieter’s eyes. He seemed strangely guilty—strangely off—about something. “I’m going to offer your terms of surrender: yourself for Ava and Aellin.”
“And then?”
/> Blushing, Martin could no longer keep eye contact with Dieter’s intensity. “And then I’m going to marry Ava and start a family with her.”
Dieter nodded. “Away from here, Martin. Promise me you’ll leave this dark shadow of the past behind.”
Still without meeting Dieter’s eyes, Martin bobbed his head slowly. “I promise Dieter. I promise I’ll live the life you wished you could live.”
Dieter smiled back.
Though he had no reason to.
His fate now rested in the hands of the two most dangerous men he’d ever known.
Ulrich the Punisher and Lord Heinrich Franz.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
HUGO
Beauregard held up an elegant, blue silk dress he’d found somewhere in the maze of rooms within House Charmagne. Hugo’s eyes lit up. The dress looked strangely familiar.
“That’s the one,” he said, emphatically. He took the garment from Beauregard and, holding it close, paraded down the red carpet toward the cellar as morning sunlight streamed in from the hallway windows. When he got to the stairs at the end of the hall, he was in such a rush to show her his find that he took two steps at a time all the way down.
Lucille was resting against the cellar wall, eyes closed, a single torch illuminating her grimy face. When she heard the door open and Hugo’s steps down the stairs, her eyes popped open and she turned to look.
Hugo’s hands were behind him, like a little kid hiding a surprise, but his dumb grin gave it away. Lucille couldn’t help but smirk at the foolish, yet earnest, young man’s expression.
With a flourish and bow, he exposed what he was hiding, presenting the dress to her.
“Oh, Hugo, it’s perfect,” she cried out, clasping her hands together. “Where did you find it?” she asked, taking his offered hand to rise to her feet.
She took the garment and gently ran her hand down its seams.
“My butler,” Hugo replied. “I have no idea who it belonged to, but I think it will be perfect for you.”
“Very much so,” she said, offering a most charming smile. For a long moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes, until the silence became awkward. Finally she glanced away, focusing somewhere toward the ground. “Shall I try it on?”
“Ah, y-yes, of course,” he said, somewhat surprised she hadn’t just waited for him to leave. He turned around to give her privacy, then heard the rustling of cloth and the unclasping of straps.
“You can turn around now.”
He spun around and was instantly stupefied.
Lucille stood naked before him.
His face twitched, his eyes bulged, his body shuddered.
And of course he was speechless.
Standing there like a fool, he just took it all in.
Her shapely body, fair and pale. Her swelling breasts, full with dark nipples hardened in the chilled air. Her blonde hair tumbling past her delicate neck and shoulders. The thin mound of delicate fuzz declaring her womanhood.
Hugo had never seen such a perfect female specimen in his life.
Not knowing what to do with her hands, Lucille smiled modestly, then clasped them tentatively in front of her. Finally she looked away, only slightly embarrassed.
As Hugo continued mindlessly gazing, she began to walk toward him, slowly, stopping just inches away. She was slightly taller than he, so she gently took his chin and lifted it toward her. Then she leaned in and kissed him.
Hugo sucked in his breath as her warm, tantalizing tongue darted smoothly into his mouth. He was immediately aroused. The kiss soon became much more as she pushed herself forward into him. When his back touched the wall, she moved down his neck, then pulled open his shirt and continued down his chest and stomach. All Hugo could do was breathe deeply, frozen in place. He stared up at the ceiling as she knelt down, opened his pants and took him in her mouth. Clutching a handful of hair, he groaned loudly before losing all control.
It was over quickly. Softly, she dabbed at her lips, then looked up and smiled, motioning for him to lie down beside her. Using the torn and bloodied white wedding gown she’d taken off as a makeshift sheet, they lay together while Lucille stroked his chest. Within minutes she had him ready again, this time mounting him as he lay on his back. Leaning forward so her breasts made teasing, intermittent contact with his chest, she slowly began grinding into him, picking up rhythm while her sultry eyes remained fixed on his. His mind left his body as her animal wetness flowed over him like a wave of solid heat. Her pitch quickened, then grew feverish, and they both climaxed together in a rush of groans and whimpers and grunts.
When their heavy breathing began to slow, Lucille rolled off and cuddled against him, gently placing his head across her breasts as he drifted off to a beautiful place. The last thing he remembered was marveling over the wonderment of both losing his virginity and finding true love simultaneously.
Unfortunately, he woke up alone.
He was naked.
His mind a hazy recollection of lustful memories, fading quickly like a distant dream. He was still on the floor, the muddled white wedding dress beneath him only partially insulating him from the cold floor. His eyes scanned the room. The new blue dress was gone.
As was Lucille.
What started as a feeling of immense satisfaction quickly soured into confusion, then anger, then panic. He pushed off the ground and hastily pulled on his clothes while his eyes darted back and forth across the room. The torch still flickered on the wall by where they had made love.
But suddenly that love melted into humiliation.
How could I have been so stupid, thinking such an unbelievable woman would fall for someone like me? Someone half her age?
He hurried up the stairs. Running down the red-carpeted hallway, he called out for Beauregard.
The butler’s head popped out of a sideroom, a baffled look on his face.
“Young master, what has happened? Your hair! Has there been an incident? Should I call for assistance?”
Hugo impulsively smoothed down his hair, brushed off his wrinkled shirt, then grabbed Beauregard by the shoulders. “Have you seen the Lady Lucille?”
The butler squinted at him. “No, sir. I haven’t. You mean she’s not in the dungeon?”
Hugo groaned, shaking his head. He let go of Beauregard and bolted for the front door which was slightly ajar, throwing it open. The blazing sunlight instantly blinded him. Shielding his eyes, he called for Beauregard to fetch Felix. A few minutes later, the young driver brought the carriage to the front of the house.
Hugo hopped in and they sped off down the cobblestone road, past rows of trees and statues.
“Where to, my lord?” Felix asked.
Hugo yelled over the clop-clop of the horses’ hooves. “Bedburg.”
His eyes surveyed the countryside, searching as far and wide as he could through the carriage window. But Lucille was nowhere.
As they drove on, his anger started to subside and a different, more-positive thought began to form. Slowly, his mouth curved into a sinister smile.
Who cares if she escapes?
But then an image of Heinrich replaced that thought and his smile faded.
He will kill me!
He put his face in his palms, clenched his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and violently launched himself backward into the leather seat.
There was nothing to be done. If he called a search party, his stupidity and humiliation would be known to all.
So he let his mind return to the less-negative perspective.
Maybe it’s not the worst thing that she escaped . . . before Heinrich killed her anyway. After all she’s already been through . . . the murder of her father . . . and her father-in-law . . .
He tried to slow down his thinking, relax, taking in long steady breaths.
She’s lived through so much chaos and death. Perhaps this is for the best. As long as she doesn’t come back, which I doubt she will. Perhaps someday I could even find her. She was truly magnificent,
regardless of her motive. And under different circumstances, who knows . . .
The only thing he regretted was being manipulated. Then again, it had been a most wonderful experience, perhaps the highlight of his short life. There was no denying that.
What’s done is done.
And suddenly, inexplicably, he had the crazy urge to speak to Ava again. This brief but spectacular experience he’d shared with Lucille had changed him. He was a man now, he’d finally experienced love. And facing Ava in this new light excited him.
He yelled to Felix, “Take me to the jailhouse!”
He would speak to Ava—though he had no idea what he’d say. Or he would speak to Ulrich, the man most symbolizing the exact opposite of love.
As he neared the jailhouse, he finalized what he would say to Ava. It would not be pretty. He decided she needed to know that he’d found someone else, that she needn’t worry about him fawning over her any longer, and that she could rot in Hell for all he cared.
He realized that the words—admittedly untrue—sounded somewhat pathetic, but he needed a target for his current hodgepodge of emotions.
Felix dropped him off near the side of the jail at the stroke of noon. Rounding the corner on the way to the gate, Hugo felt a certain new zest in his step. It was amazing what a good woman’s love could do to a man. When he looked up, he stopped in midstride. Directly in front of the jailhouse gate, on both sides of the street, a spectacle was playing out. He quickly moved into the shadows to watch.
A small group stood in front of the jail gate—Ulrich in front, and Ava and a popular barwench, Aellin Brandt, behind him. Two guards surrounded the women who clearly were being handled as prisoners. Aellin had her arm around Ava’s shoulder.
Across the street a much larger group had gathered. Standing in front of a horde of farmers and townsfolk stood Dieter Nicolaus, who was calling out to Ulrich across the road from him.
“I told you I’d be here,” Dieter was saying.
“And I knew you would,” Ulrich responded. “That’s something I respect about you, Dieter Nicolaus—a man of your word.”
