Chapter 12 #2
I glanced at Emil now sitting on his bed, his head bowed low, his hands clasped behind his neck. Was he still haunted by Jakob’s muffled screams? Could he hear Jakob’s panic until it faded into silence?
I sucked in air, my head dizzy from my abated breath.
Without meaning to, I’d put myself in poor Jakob’s place, feeling his desperation, his terror.
Imagining his frenzied struggle to free himself as his life was snuffed out beneath the dirt.
I squeezed my eyes closed, shaking my head to rid myself of the thoughts that left a pit in my gut.
***
Friedrich
Margaretha—that is, the countess—kept her eyes pressed shut, scrubbing a hand over her nose as if she might cry.
“Wilhelm,” I called across the room. “This isn’t a tale for young maids. Speak of something jolly. Entertain her with your fairy stories.”
Ernst coughed again, spilling his tonic, and I put my hands over his to help bring the cup to his lips. When he’d finished drinking, I looked back at the countess. She seemed mostly recovered. Her broken look had turned into a soft smile while Wilhelm spoke of kobolds hiding coins in his shoes.
Ernst cleared his throat, wearing a smirk that made me realize I’d been staring at Margaretha with a soft smile of my own. I ducked my head and picked my thumbnail.
“She’s very beautiful, isn’t she,” Ernst said.
It wasn’t a question, and the statement was too obvious to require an answer.
“What d’ya like about her most?”
“Ernst.” I blew out a long breath. “Let me put a stop to such thoughts now. Margaretha is only a friend. She has knowledge of healing, and I hoped she could help you, or I never would have brought her here.”
“And yet she came. Eager to help yer friends. Eager to help you.”
“You assume more than is there,” I answered flatly, wanting to end the conversation.
“Do I?” Ernst smoothed a hand over his whiskers. “Then why does she watch ya so?”
I flicked a glance at the table, meeting Margaretha’s eye as she smiled one of her breathtaking smiles, the kind I had to daily pretend didn’t make my heart pump a few beats quicker.
Heaven and earth, of course she was beautiful!
And frustratingly thoughtful and kind. But what did it matter?
She was noble, I was a servant, and she was set to go to Brussels.
Even the suggestion of some kind of affection between us was too ridiculous to consider.
Why did my lungs suddenly feel tight? I sucked in a breath, rubbing a fist over my chest. “Ernst, there are . . . obstacles.”
He took another sip from his tonic. “Ya mean yer afraid.” I started to object, but he held up a hand. “I don’t blame ya. I’m certain I’d be scared too, winning the favor of such a beautiful maid.”
“I’m not scared. And I’ve won no such favor,” I protested. “The circumstances between us mean I should never even think about her that way. I don’t think of her that way.”
“Tush,” Ernst said. “You young men are all so bent on arrangin’ yer lives, ya forget to step out and live ’em. Move now while she still looks willing.”
Looks willing? Across the room the countess sat listening to another of Wilhelm’s tales, but she kept glancing at me. Why?
When her eyes met mine, she didn’t look away.
The little smile she wore for Wilhelm’s story shifted, smoothing into something more serious, something that sped the blood in my veins.
Our locked gazes intertwined, each passing second twisting another strand around the invisible cord that pulled me to her. A strange headiness overtook me.
“Friedrich.” At Wilhelm’s call, the cord snapped, and I startled to attention. “Who do ya think Margaretha would be?”
I bent my head toward my shoes, rubbing a subtle hand over my cheek. It was hot. “You speak in riddles, Wilhelm.”
“In the pagan legends. Heinrich says Margaretha’d be Hariasa, but I’m certain she’d be Ilmr. What d’ya think?”
It took no time at all for me to reach an answer, but my ears burned just thinking about it. Making the comparison would be too bold.
“That’s enough of this game,” I said, but Ernst spoke up beside me.
“She is beautiful.” His voice was worn and scratchy, but he answered with the same confidence a man would use if commenting on the color of the sky. “A beautiful maiden with milk-white skin. She’d be Holda.”
“Doesn’t that goddess have a swan’s foot?” Emil asked. “Check her feet!”
I started to protest, but Margaretha stood and slid off her cow-mouth shoes, flattening her skirts against her stockings.
“No swan’s feet,” she said. “I suppose I can’t be Holda.”
“But ya clearly cavort with witches,” Daniel spoke from his bubbling kettle by the fire.
Margaretha’s smile turned stiff, and she pressed a thumb to the scab of her palm. It was a strange response. Did she worry I’d told him about Walpurgisnacht?
“What makes you say that?” Her voice wavered.
“Ya’ve cast a spell on my housemates to make ’em ferget their empty bellies or the supper ’bout to burn if they don’t sit and eat.”
At his words, the men scrambled for their bowls, tripping over each other to get the food.
Slapping my thighs, I turned to Ernst. “Well, old friend, I suppose we should be off. I see the cou—” I quickly caught myself, “Margaretha left a packet of herbs on the table. Do you want another cup before I leave?”
I reached for his empty mug, but Ernst was quiet, his brows furrowed as he watched Margaretha.
“I saw Count von Waldeck’s daughter once when she were a child.” He spoke slowly. “Do ya ever see her at the castle?”
I paused, my hand still reaching for his cup. “Sometimes. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve heard she’s grown into quite the woman. ‘Unparalleled beauty,’ they say, ‘with skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood.’ I’m told she’s clever too. Clever as a raven.”
“Then she is truly blessed,” I snapped, standing up so quickly I almost bumped the mug out of Ernst’s hands.
He nodded. “Indeed.”
“Get well, Ernst.” Turning, I called, “Margaretha, it’s time to leave.”
Mistress Hatzfeld was quick to be up and out the door, but the countess ducked a curtsy to the men. “Farewell, everyone. Glückauf.” She waved, and I followed her out into the cool summer night air.
The countess tilted her face to the full moon, taking a deep breath before she looked at me with a guilty smile. “Daniel’s food smelled terrible.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t make you eat it.” I smiled back.
Untying the horses, I led them to the mounting block, holding them steady while each lady mounted.
Then I climbed up behind Margaretha. Despite the odor of Daniel’s cooking, her hair still smelled of lilac petals in the sun, and I didn’t lean away from it this time.
When she clicked the horse onto the moonlit path, I eased my arms around her waist, letting my body relax against her.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, you know,” she said.
I went rigid, heat shooting up my neck. “What do you mean?”
“You’re still poaching from Father’s woods, aren’t you?”
I blew out a long breath. “Not often.”
“He could have you discharged,” she said. We ducked our heads as the horse stepped under a low branch. “Even whipped or hanged.”
“Do I detect concern?” Though it was only a jest, I couldn’t dampen my curiosity to hear her answer.
“It would take a great deal of work to find myself another hunting tutor.”
My shoulders drooped, but I scolded myself for wanting anything more from the countess.
Already I’d let Ernst’s words sway me until I was imagining things that weren’t true.
She wasn’t leaning into me, letting me wrap my arms tighter around her.
Her heartbeat pulsing against my chest didn’t beat quicker when I pressed myself closer.
No, it was witless to think the countess would ever care for me, a servant.
But the real question was, why did I suddenly want her to?
I tried to force the thought from my mind, to distract myself, but only an utter fool could ignore what was becoming frighteningly clear: my feelings for the countess were shifting.
My anger and resentment seemed to have crumbled around me until I stood in the rubble of my carefully constructed barriers, bare and exposed and unable to deny that somewhere along the way I’d started to admire the countess. To care for her as more than a friend.
Thrill and fear warred inside my gut, and I balled my hands into fists at the countess’s stomach.
How had I let this happen? I was disciplined, practical.
I knew her to be mountains above me in station and rank.
Where had all my reason gone? Had those blasted dreams done me in?
The time spent in her company during lessons? Her repeated attentions and kindness?
No. It did no good dwelling on past failures. What was done was done. I knew my weakness now and would simply need to rely upon my strength of will to fight this irrational attraction.
Just then Margaretha’s—the countess’s—head drooped, falling to her chest until she woke with a start. When it happened a second time, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
“Countess?”
She straightened, sucking in a quick breath. “Yes, what?” Her voice was thick and muddled.
“You’re falling asleep.”
She puffed a short, embarrassed laugh. “Apologies. I was up late preparing herbs.”
“I can lead the horse,” I offered, but she shook her head.
“No, I’ll manage. Perhaps conversation will keep me alert?”
“What should we talk about?”
She paused. “Why don’t you tell me which pagan goddess I remind you of?”
For the second time that night, my ears grew hot. I looked behind me, making sure Mistress Hatzfeld was far enough back to not overhear as I answered, “A wei?e frau.”
“What is a wei?e frau?” she asked drowsily.
I kept my voice soft as I spoke. “The wei?e frauen are elvenlike enchanted spirits who live in forests. Sometimes they bathe in streams or sun themselves on rocks as they brush their hair. A halo—” Did I dare admit the rest?
“Yes?”
Her sluggish speech coaxed me to continue. “A halo of light hovers around them, their unearthly beauty luring mortal men to either doom or ecstasy.”
The memory of Margaretha in the woods shaking her braids loose was impossible to forget, the sunshine lighting the golden waves spilling over her porcelain throat.
It didn’t take much imagination to see her as an elvish spirit haunting the forests.
Even now I felt her pull and the promise that she would bring me to either rapture or ruin.
The countess was quiet, only answering with a contented hum, and in a few short minutes, her head nodded again.
When it dropped back against my shoulder, I froze, sitting stiffly while her head bobbed against me with each clop of the horse’s hooves.
I shouldn’t have, but before I could stop myself, I lifted my hand to her cheek and guided her head against my neck, safely tucking it beneath my chin to hold it steady.
She nestled into me, making my heart drum faster.
I rolled my eyes. So much for my strength of mind. When it came to Margaretha, I was all weakness.
Slipping the reins from her hands, I led the horse through the inky woods as the rest of the ride became an exercise in self-control.
When I was tempted by the errant desire to breathe in her lilac scent, I focused on how I could improve my shooting stance.
When she stirred and I reflexively held her tighter, I made myself count the horse’s hoofbeats into the thousands.
By the time we’d reached the clearing, I was exhausted from my efforts.
“Countess,” I whispered into her hair. She didn’t move. “Margaretha, it’s time for me to get down.”
“Hmm?” She sat forward, blinking her eyes like she was trying to make sense of her surroundings. “What time is it?”
“It must be nearing midnight.” I gave her time to wake up before prodding her again. “I need to dismount.”
“But we’re nowhere near the castle. Will you be all right walking in the dark alone?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s better if we don’t return too close together,” I answered. “But are you awake enough to guide the horse?”
“I’m well rested now.” She chuckled.
Hatzfeld’s horse padded into the clearing behind us, and my smile faded. Gripping the pommel, I slid to the ground.
“The reins, please.” Margaretha held out her empty hand.
As I returned the reins, my hand covered hers, and—curse my weakened resolve—I didn’t immediately let go. Our eyes met, and the moment stretched out with her hand in mine, the warmth of my skin building until it reached a fevered heat. I finally forced myself to release her.
“Goodnight, Friedrich,” she whispered. Was her breath unsteady?
“Goodnight, my lady.” I bowed, holding my hand behind my back, squeezing it into a fist, then flexing my fingers out wide and straight; anything to end the burning.
I could still feel the heat of her even after she and Hatzfeld turned their horses toward the castle, and I knew I had to stop this foolish fascination.
The countess must be a friend, nothing more.
But the longer I paced, the stars surveying my unsettled tread, the more I feared it would be impossible to bury my newly discovered regard for the Countess von Waldeck.