Chapter 20
Friedrich
The hounds strained against their leashes as we waited for the signal from the hunting horns.
The hunters were more relaxed. Count von Waldeck sat on his horse, fiddling with his gloves as he and Mistress Hatzfeld engaged in a quiet conversation.
Carrera lounged in the grass, his attention entirely on Margaretha, and mine on every word he spoke to her.
“You said you had some experience hunting. Do you practice falconry?”
“Something closer to Bercletti, but without a dog. Or prey.” Her tone was almost apologetic.
“Bercletti? And no prey?” He laughed. “What, have you been shooting hand bows at hay butts?”
Margaretha looked past him, giving me a pointed stare. “Something like that.”
“How very primitive. I can see you do need me to educate you.” He jumped up and turned to Ulrich. “You there, bring me that crossbow.”
Waiting with outstretched arms, Carrera’s hands flapped impatiently until Ulrich set the bow in them.
He looped the cranequin’s rope over the back.
“Though I still prefer my spear and sword, I know these are gaining favor in Par Force hunting. For men, at least. I won’t pretend to know the trends of the ladies. ”
I doubted him ignorant of anything when it came to ladies.
He wound the cranequin, pulling the bow to its full draw, then loaded the bolt and shot it off at nothing in particular. The wasted bolt disappeared into a thicket.
Carrera tugged Margaretha to her feet, then put the crossbow in her hands. “You see? Easy enough for a woman.” He walked behind her, dwarfing her tiny frame beneath him as he reached his arms around to slide the cranequin onto the bow. Her cheeks flushed a lovely scarlet.
“Turn the cranequin like this,” he instructed, covering her hand with his and moving their arms in circular unison to wind the crank.
“Now raise the bow. Keep your hands steady.” His arms lay under hers, supporting her aim as she looked down the deck of the crossbow.
“What am I aiming for?” Her voice was tense. Nervous.
“Don’t worry about aiming yet. Simply feel the weight of the bow in your hands. Take note of the change in the winds. Breathe deeply.”
What an obvious bid for more time with Margaretha in his arms. Did I need to step in? Did I have any right to?
I looked around for Hatzfeld, but she was too consumed in her conversation with the count to give any notice to her lady’s predicament.
Carrera lowered his mouth to Margaretha’s ear, his lips brushing the rim of it as he whispered something that made her shiver. My blood churned.
The sudden thwack of the crossbow sounded, and Margaretha’s bolt sank deep in the bark of a tree. “I think I’ve got the idea of it.” She extracted herself from his cage of arms.
“You’re a quick study, but there’s more I could teach you if we have time.”
She returned the crossbow to him. “I know all I want to know. Thank you.”
“Then perhaps I might educate you in other subjects.”
Though he was subtle, I still noticed him run his fingers along her back.
But I was robbed the pleasure of landing a solid punch against his temple when “The Game’s Afoot” trumpeted from somewhere through the trees.
The hunting party jumped to action. Carrera dropped the crossbow and mounted his horse.
Drawing his sword, he urged his horse beside the count’s, seeming to forget Margaretha entirely in his excitement.
With Carrera gone, Margaretha’s gaze moved to me.
Horses and servants and dogs scurried every which way, but the chaos disappeared the moment we locked eyes.
She watched me approach, letting out a small gasp when I settled my hands on her waist. I’d intended to lift her onto her horse, but that gasp .
. . I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even blink as we watched each other, my hands burning with the heat of her.
She was feeling this too, just as she’d been feeling something in the library before Hatzfeld burst in upon us. But would she confess it?
“Friedrich, the dogs!” Ulrich shouted, reminding me of my task.
As if reading my thoughts, Margaretha leapt upward at the very moment I strained to lift her, the two of us moving in fluid synchrony like we’d rehearsed it a thousand times.
Seeing her safely settled on her mount, I left to untie the leashes from the tree, pulling the anxious dogs to heel.
I hovered over them, ready to unhook their collars.
After a few tense moments, a ten-pointed stag jumped through the camp, and I released the raches, sending the volley of dogs racing after the hart with near-deafening barks.
Carrera was quick to join the chase as he reached his long sword out to slash the hind leg of the deer darting past. Blood spilled from the gash, leaving a trail of red scent for the dogs who herded the stag toward the next volley of waiting hounds.
Dogs, hunters, and horses—all clamor and frenzy—melted into the green of the forest, leaving the houndmen in sudden silence to collect and tie up the first round of spent and sweaty raches.
Looping the leashes through their collars, we led them along the trail of crushed plants to the inevitable kill site.
It was hot, dirty work pulling them over fallen trees, down hills, and through streams, but when “The Mort” sounded, we knew we were close to finding the hunters.
Even the tired raches lifted their heads and picked up their pace, drool dripping from their mouths in anticipation.
We arrived at the kill site just as Carrera dug his knife into the deer’s throat for the breaking, slicing through the hide down to the tail while blood bubbled out over Carrera’s hands.
Having had the honor of the first cut, he passed his knife to the count kneeling beside him, and the count continued the grisly work of unmaking the hart.
Carrera stood, mopping his brow with his sleeve before settling his fists against his waist. He looked around with a smile, his gaze landing on Margaretha atop her horse.
Her eyes were as wide and innocent as a doe’s as she witnessed the ritualistic disemboweling of the game her father served at suppers.
Shaking his head, Carrera came to stand beside her horse, resting his arm over his jennet’s mane.
“I think you’ve never seen a breaking before.” He likely thought his words safely covered by the noise of chatting huntsmen, but I’d moved close enough to hear.
She shook her head, her eyes still focused on the dead hart.
“It’s a beautiful game,” he said. “Tracking down the hart, the relays of hounds being slipped as they sprint after the prey. The hart’s pulse beating faster as the fear of capture intensifies.
It may perform its ruse, doubling back on its trail to confuse the dogs, or running through the water to cover its scent.
It may even seek out and cross the path of another deer to distract its predators, but I wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less. ”
Margaretha looked down at him with a dark glare as he toyed with the ribbon of her shoe.
“I expect the cleverest and fittest hart and the finest pursuit. I expect the prey to run hard and the chase to last long. I’m confident I’ll last longer.” His hand slid from her shoe to her ankle, leaving traces of blood as it slipped higher up her hose.
Sucking in a shocked breath, Margaretha kicked out her leg until Carrera released her with a laugh.
The burn in my blood returned in an overwhelming flash, and I dropped the leashes of the dogs to march directly toward the filthy blackguard. I’d taken all of three steps before Ulrich moved in front of me, his hands up to block my way.
“It’s not worth it,” he whispered.
From behind Ulrich’s shoulder, Margaretha noticed me, and her face turned bright crimson.
Ulrich pushed a handful of leashes into my fist. “These dogs’ve had their reward. Get ’em back to the kennels and clean ’em off. I’ll take over your lot.”
I stared at Margaretha, my breath coming fast and my blood still burning. I didn’t want to listen to reason. I wanted to sic the hounds on Carrera and have them chase him all the way back to Spain.
But I could only turn on my heel, jerking the dogs’ leashes to lead them toward the castle.
***
I had enough time to water the dogs and clean the blood off their muzzles before the hunting party returned. Hoping to escape into the castle without being noticed, I walked in the shadows and was halfway to the door when the count called my name.
“Rowohlt. Water for the horses.” He was full of energy after his successful hunt, jumping down beside Carrera to relive the events of the chase with animated hand gestures.
Pulling a bucket from its hook on the stable wall, I plodded back into the courtyard, not acknowledging Margaretha when she tried to catch my eye.
Not even stopping when the fresh clatter of hooves brought an unknown rider wearing unfamiliar black-and-red livery.
With the hunting party’s attention stolen by the stranger, Margaretha softly called out, “Friedrich, wait.”
I slowed my pace but continued around the corner of the castle toward the well while Margaretha’s light footfalls pattered on the stone behind me. She caught my sleeve, turning me to face her.
“Carrera’s behavior was all his own,” she said. “Above basic civility, I’ve done nothing to encourage him.”
“I know. It’s only—” I looked around us, suddenly feeling exposed.
Taking her arm, I led us around the jutting stone and into a recess in the castle wall.
“Is there nothing you can do to rebuff him? It’s painful seeing him touch you with such familiarity.
He paws at you like an animal leaving its mark. ”
“His mark?”
Using the toe of my shoe, I lifted her gown to uncover her bloodstained ankle. “And he assaults you while I stand right there, helpless to do anything. It’s infuriating!” I strained to keep my voice a whisper.
“Friedrich.” Margaretha’s tone was calm, but I was too agitated to be calmed. She gathered the bucket from my grip, setting it on the ground as I whipped off my cap to rake my fingers through my hair.
“Friedrich,” she said again, and this time she lifted her hand, her hesitant fingers touching my cheek and guiding my gaze down to hers.
Those steady blue eyes were a clear winter sky, soothing my temper, cooling the flare of jealousy and replacing it with a different heat as Margaretha’s fingers lingered on my cheek.
Raising my hand to cover hers, I gently pressed her palm against my face. She didn’t pull away.
I stepped closer, relishing the way her breath went ragged, matching mine.
Boots striking against the cobblestones broke our solitude, and we pulled apart just as Carrera’s face came into view. Margaretha ducked her eyes, but I didn’t hesitate to meet his curious gaze.
“This is snug,” he said, looking around the recess. “Countess, your father asked me to find you that he might speak with you.”
“Very well,” she answered, her eyes still on the ground.
Look up, I thought. Show him you’re not afraid.
Carrera didn’t step aside when she tried to leave, forcing her to brush against him as she passed, all the while smiling at me until the sound of Margaretha’s shoes faded.
He picked up the forgotten bucket from the ground, fiddling with the handle. “Boy, remind me of your position here.”
“I tend the hounds,” I answered flatly.
“That’s right.” He pushed the bucket into my chest, forcing a gust from my lungs as he whispered in my ear. “Remember your place.”
When he backed away, his smile was a threat.