Chapter 9
Friedrich
Ulrich’s little dog, Klumpen, snored beside me as I stared at the dark kennel ceiling, irritated to be woken too early by dreams of the countess.
After she’d failed to show for last week’s lesson, offering no explanation, I should have been furious with her.
But these cursed dreams were clouding my justifiable anger.
At the rustling of hay across the kennels, I leaned on my elbow to listen better.
Enough moonlight still drifted through the windows for me to recognize the young varlet’s figure creeping around the sleeping dogs.
He pulled his sleeveless jacket down from the hooks of leashes, sliding the jerkin onto his body.
“Ulrich, where are you going?” I whispered. Klumpen stirred but did not wake.
“It’ll be dawn soon.” He buttoned the jerkin. “The countess needs extra hands to gather herbs while the healin’ Midsummer dew’s still on ’em.”
The countess. Just the person I wanted to speak to. I pushed up out of the hay, startling Klumpen awake, and had my arm through one hole of my jerkin before Ulrich put his hand on my chest, stopping me.
“You can’t go. The dogs need runnin’.”
“You can run them.”
His mouth tightened into a thin line. “It’s Midsummer Day. In a dark forest. With maids.” He shook his head, turning both his hands up as if I should understand. “I have plans.”
“Ulrich, you’re barely fifteen. What would you know of maids?”
“Enough to court a kiss from one.” He pulled his cap firmly over his head and moved out the door, but I followed, Klumpen on my heels.
“Wait, wait, wait.” I grabbed his shirtsleeve. “Listen, there will be bonfires tonight and dancing. You’ll get a chance with your maids then, but I might miss mine if I don’t go now.”
A sly smile slid over his face. “Who’s the girl?”
I put my arm through the other hole of my jerkin. “Not your business.”
“Well enough. Since I outrank you, I’ll be choosin’ who runs the dogs, and I choose you.” He turned toward the gates, but I pulled him to a stop again.
“All right, it’s the countess, but it’s not what you think. I just need to talk with her.”
“Is she the one you’ve been sneakin’ out to meet on Sunday afternoons?” He raised an eyebrow.
Perceptive little beetle. “I’ve been helping her with . . . a project. Will you let me go?”
He stared at me a while, then let out a sigh. “They’re meeting in the dell by Wilde River.”
“Good man.” I clapped his arm and grabbed my cap, shooing Klumpen toward Ulrich with my foot.
“You’ll be muckin’ kennels for a week as payment,” he called after me as I trotted through the courtyard.
I followed the steep road down the hill, all the while planning just what I would say to the countess when I finally saw her.
But upon reaching the dell, instead of being the first to arrive, I found the place busy with servants carrying torches and bending over the ground to search for herbs.
The countess stood by a large fire directing them, handing out torches and baskets to a line of waiting servants.
I stepped in line behind Bernhold, using his frame to hide me from the countess’s view.
From across the dell, Ilsa spotted me and waved, leaving her curious friends behind to speak with me. “What luck finding you this Midsummer’s morn. I expected you’d be runnin’ dogs.”
Crouching lower behind Bernhold, I answered quietly, “I got Ulrich to work in my place.”
“Why’s that, I wonder?” Her smile was coy.
I cleared my throat, using the extra second to invent a reason. “A love of herbs?”
She laughed. “No doubt.”
A pair of girls called to Ilsa, and she sighed. “I must go. Find me tonight?” She gave my arm a quick squeeze and left without waiting for an answer.
I watched her join her friends. If my circumstances were different, I might welcome her attentions.
She was confident and knew her mind. She certainly beat out the countess for boldness, though the countess had every outward advantage over her.
And why was it that a noblewoman would— Blast it!
How had this become about the countess? Casting off such thoughts, I focused my attention ahead.
The line moved forward, putting Bernhold at the front, where the countess greeted him.
She gave him a torch and a basket for carrying herbs, then pointed to an empty spot by the river, sending him on his way while she bent to pick up another basket.
When she straightened to find me standing there, her eyes widened, and the polite little smile on her face disappeared.
“Here’s your basket.” She stiffly held it out to me.
I moved close to take it and lowered my voice. “If you’ve decided to be done with lessons, fine, but I still demand my payment.”
Even in the dim light of dawn, I could see her cheeks flush, coloring her snowy skin a soft pink. “I’ve made no such determination.”
“Your behavior on Sunday made me think differently, since you sent no note or explanation for why you didn’t come. I sat by myself in the rain for an hour waiting for you.”
A flicker of pity flashed in her eyes, but she straightened her shoulders and answered in a detached voice. “You’ll be searching for violets and vervain with Bernhold over by the Wilde. Belinda, give him a torch.” The countess bent to collect another basket, effectively dismissing me.
I snatched the torch and stalked toward the river, glancing back as she greeted the next servant with a broad smile, all beauty and perfection.
She was infuriating. More infuriating still was how often she’d visited my dreams in the last two weeks, her warm smiles and easy manner confusing my resolve to dislike her.
Reaching the shores of the Wilde, I hunched over the ground with my torch, knowing very well I’d find few violets or vervain beneath the shade of the river trees.
Still, the countess wanted me to search here, and nobles always got what they wanted, didn’t they?
Her insult from the other day still rang in my ears.
Calling me a coward before marching off with her companion?
Fie, but she was proud. The fact that she’d had no trouble leaving me to sit in the rain proved it.
But at the memory of our argument, my conscience was pricked.
I’d spoken strongly enough of her father’s guilt that her anger with me was justified—in her eyes, at least. It was no surprise her love made her blind to his faults; such loyalty was only natural, and it did her credit.
My eyes drifted to where she worked, her sleeves pushed back, her hair falling over her cheek as she bent to pluck herbs with muddy fingers.
Not so proud, then. And her efforts at shooting showed a quiet strength of will I could appreciate.
I shook my head, turning back to my task. There was nothing about the countess I should be appreciating.
I kicked against a rock to knock the dew off my shoe, then spent another half hour hunched over the muddy ground. When I finally stood, stretching out my back, Bernhold was putting out his torch in the river.
“Task’s done here, boy.” He moved past me toward the bonfire, and I handed him my torch as he went by.
“I have some work left to do.” I wouldn’t let the countess’s ignorance keep the people from getting their herbs.
Waiting till Bernhold was out of sight, I moved into the forest to find the little meadow.
The grass there was speckled with purple and blue flowers, and I had a basketful of them by the time I heard a soft step on the ferns behind me.
“You spoke of payment.” I recognized Countess Margaretha’s smooth voice before I turned to see her, face smudged with dirt and a wreath of mugwort and vervain in her golden hair. “Have you decided what it is you wish of me?”
Of its own accord, my hand settled over my jerkin, over the letter tucked inside.
The countess’s promise could finally bring understanding, but it would mean relying on her to keep her word.
Trusting a noble at all was a grim prospect, considering they were an untrustworthy lot, but I was left without another choice. “I have.”
“And?”
I took a deep breath. “I want to learn the French language.”
She furrowed her brows. “Why?”
“The why is my business. Will you honor your side of the bargain and teach me?”
She tugged a petal from the pile of sunny flowers in her basket, rolling it between her fingers. “I agree to teach you, but our hunting lessons are not terminated. I’ll continue to expect them every Sunday.”
“Can I expect you to actually be there?” I gave her a stern look, but she ducked her head, refusing to meet my eye.
“If you promise to keep a civil tongue regarding my father. I’ll not have him maligned by you or anyone.”
“Agreed,” I said.
She reached out a hesitant hand, and I knew I should take it to solidify our reconciliation, but I couldn’t.
I could not touch her or take her hand in mine without fear of losing the fragile control I was struggling to keep over my confusing feelings for her.
But I had no reasonable excuse to avoid it.
Lifting my hand to meet hers, I stopped when I noticed the crimson stains on her fingers. “You have blood on your hands.”
Her eyes flashed up to my face, and she took a step back. “Why . . . why do you say that?” Her voice was breathless.
“See there.” I pointed at her hand, and she pulled it toward her, opening it wide for inspection, then laughing with a hint of relief.
“No, it’s not blood. It’s the St. John’s wort. The flowers leave a reddish stain when their petals are pressed.” She wiped her fingers on dewy moss, then dried them on her apron. “Shall we combine our herbs with the others?”
I nodded, and we walked together for a bit.
The rising sun colored the sky in shades of orange and pink, prompting birds to trill their songs.
It was gentle and pleasant. No wonder Midsummer’s morn was known for courting.
Without conscious direction, I found my gaze drifting to the countess, studying the way the light accentuated the flowers in her hair. “That’s a fetching crown you wear.”
The moment the words were out, I wished them unsaid.
Her mouth formed a small O of surprise, but then she fluttered her eyes, recovering. “Many thanks.” She chuckled while pulling the flowers off her head and running a hand over her hair. “The little girls made one for each of the maidens. It is Midsummer, after all. Time for courting.”
“So Ulrich reminded me.” I smiled.
We walked out of the forest, meeting Mistress Hatzfeld at the edge of the dell and trekking back to the bonfire together. Before we reached the crowd, the countess turned to me.
“I think the best time for French lessons will be after dinner. My tutor always falls asleep while I’m reading, so it shouldn’t be difficult to sneak away.”
“Very well. Should we plan on Tuesday afternoons?” I’d be mucking stalls for a year to get this favor from Ulrich, but it had to be done.
“Yes. In Father’s library. Only, take care not to be discovered in that part of the castle.”
“I will, as long as you take care to keep your father from his library.”
Mistress Hatzfeld spoke up. “I’ll see to it.”
I cast her a curious glance, but she did not meet my eye. Bowing, I said, “Then I’ll be there.”
Countess Margaretha smiled and moved toward the bonfire, turning the wreath over in her hands a few times before throwing it into the flames. As she watched it burn, she repeated the phrase from tradition: “May all my ill luck depart and be burned up with these.”