Chapter 23
Margaretha
Belinda’s snores were soft but rhythmic.
She’d slept more soundly the last few weeks, her sleep no longer disturbed by frequent soft whimpers.
As I watched her, I wondered what had driven the nightmares away.
Love for my father? Or was it his security?
I slipped my feet out of bed, pausing when the floor creaked, but Belinda didn’t stir.
Still holding my breath, I padded over to the clothes press, fetching shoes and a long cloak, then giving Belinda a final glance before softly closing the chamber door behind me.
The corridor floors were cold on my bare feet, but I only risked donning my shoes once I was almost out of the castle.
Outside, the wind stirred, sweeping away the crunch of dead leaves beneath my steps as I moved along the edges of the courtyard.
I pulled my cloak tighter around me, leaning into the castle’s shadows and bracing my back against the cold.
When a hand gripped my arm, I nearly shrieked, but it was only Friedrich.
“You’re here.” He sounded surprised.
“I said I’d come. Why did you wish to speak with me?” I glanced around us nervously before meeting his eye, and when I did, his jaw tightened, and he stepped toward me.
“You’ve been crying.”
I ducked my eyes. “I haven’t.”
“You have. Even in the dark I can see your eyes are red. It’s because of Mistress Hatzfeld, isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer.
“Did you have no idea of their engagement before the banquet?”
“None.” I shook my head. “She never gave a hint of it. Belinda was to be my one comfort in Brussels.” I rubbed my nose, fighting the threatening emotion.
“Traitorous snake,” he muttered.
I dropped my hand and took a breath, reminding myself of the truth. “Friedrich, that is unfair. You do not know what her life has been before now. How she craves . . . security and safe—”
He stepped into my space. “Why do you do this, Margaretha? Why do you tolerate and forgive and accommodate everyone else’s wishes? What of your desires?” His eyes burned into mine, and he moved impossibly closer, the heat of him searing me. “What of your heart?”
The threat of tears vanished. “What do you know of my heart?” I challenged.
“That it is stubborn,” he growled.
I cast my gaze aside with a huff, but he took a gentle hold of my arm, his voice turning soft. “Why won’t you admit what you want?”
My gaze shot to his face, my body tensing.
Because what I wanted was impossible. Selfish. How could I even consider abandoning my brother and abandoning my very soul’s redemption to stay here in Wildungen? Belinda needed me. Samuel needed me.
But I wanted Friedrich.
Though I would never confess it.
I stood my ground, matching the fire in Friedrich’s eyes as the first drops of rain plinked around us, then fell faster, drumming on our heads and dripping frigid drops down our necks. When I started to shiver, he finally broke his gaze, squinting through the rain as he searched around us.
“Over there.” He took my hand and led me to the same nook where we’d hidden earlier, urging me inside it first, then tucking in just as a sudden gale caught the rain and threw it sideways.
Though I watched the storm outside of the small, warm space, all my focus centered on Friedrich’s fingers still clutching mine, his thumb brushing the back of my hand.
The movements were tentative, skimming soft patterns across my skin.
A shiver rolled up my spine. I needed to pull free.
Instinct would have me withdraw from his touch, jerk back as if I’d grazed a hot stove, and yet I did not move, foolishly relishing the burn.
“Margaretha.” His rough voice brought my eyes up to his, the intensity there making me pull in a quick breath. “I did not ask you here to fight with you. I needed to admit . . .”
Fear and desire swirled together as I anticipated what he would say.
“I must confess that I . . .” He ducked his gaze, the rest of his words coming out in a rush. “I have developed feelings for you. I care for you. And I’m asking you to stay.”
Emotions swarmed, my stomach becoming a hive of fluttering and swooping and soaring. Then piercing little stings as reason attacked desire.
I could not give in.
With a sigh, I attempted to slip my hand from his grasp, but he wrapped his fingers tighter around mine. “Don’t do this, Margaretha. Don’t push me away.” His whisper was fierce.
I took a deep breath of rain-stained air. “Friedrich, I don’t—”
“Please stay.” He released my hand and set his cool fingers on my cheek. “Stay for yourself. Stay for me.”
My cloak waved as Friedrich’s other hand moved beneath it, landing on my waist and sliding around my back to slowly pull me closer. I was rigid, every nerve taut with the effort to resist his pleas. To resist my selfish longing.
“Stay for me.” His voice was gentle, a whisper, and when his eyes dipped to my mouth, I melted into his strength, fear and doubt and resistance all evaporating in the warm way he held me.
He lowered his head and I—weak and human—tipped my chin up, lifting my face to his and relishing the way his hand splayed across my back to pull me closer to him.
His touch was his soundest argument, convincing me that I should fight for this. That I should find a way to stay.
Warmth flickered in my chest, and this time I did not push it out.
Instead, I rolled onto my toes, brushing my nose along Friedrich’s rough jawline, then sliding my cheek against his until our lips touched.
His gasp of surprise made me smile, but my smile fled the moment he took control of the kiss, his hand traveling up my back to cradle my neck.
He tipped my head to the side, the angle bringing him closer as his mouth captured mine again and again.
With every caress of his lips, the warmth in me grew, the heat reaching through me and seeping deeper into my core until a gentle rhythm pulsed in my heart.
Friedrich wanted me to stay. He wanted me.
But would he want you if he knew the truth?
Ice blasted through me, and I pulled away from Friedrich with a sharp gasp.
“What is it?” His forehead creased with worry. “Did I—Have I offended you?”
“No, it’s nothing you’ve done.”
He silently waited for more, fear and vulnerability shaping his features.
I couldn’t stand to see him that way. Turning aside, I watched the leaves nodding in the rain, wrestling with whether or not to admit the guilt of my past. Was Belinda right?
Had my offense made it impossible for any man to love me?
“Margaretha, what’s wrong?”
“I’m only worried about . . .” I squeezed my eyes shut, the confession rolling to the front of my tongue just as Friedrich’s fingers traced along my cheekbone, robbing me of my breath and my courage.
“You worry how to explain your choice to stay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I agreed, gratefully taking hold of anything to delay speaking the sickening words. “How could I justify myself to Father when I’m the only one capable of saving his son?”
Friedrich looked heavenward. “After what he did to you today, do you really think your father cares about anyone but himself?”
“Friedrich, that’s not fair.” My tone was empty, wearied out by this old argument. “He knows how much I love Belinda. I should be happy to have her as my mother.”
Friedrich’s features hardened, his lips pressing into a tight line as he dug into his jerkin.
“You have no idea the kind of man he is. It’s time your delusions about him end.” He handed me a worn, faded paper. “Read this.”
Furrowing my brows, I unfolded the paper and leaned it toward the haze of moonlight outside the nook. It was a letter of some kind, written in elegant French script. I read it quietly to myself.
Dearest Lord Philip,
I find myself at your mercy once more. My neighbors, whose eyes were once merely suspicious, now look upon me with unfettered hatred after the illness of your child.
It would seem that you, too, have come to doubt my innocence, if rumors prove true.
Let me defend my name, swearing by all that is righteous that I have prayed the Lord’s blessings on you and your family.
You well know how tirelessly I worked to save your wife and baby, God rest their souls, and I did the same for your sweet little one, using all my skills of healing against her ague.
I didn’t even leave her bedside until the worst of her fever had passed, and only then with strictest instructions for her care. I have never—
My pace slowed as I took in the next words.
—consorted with the devil. I have never cursed your family.
I do not know where the lies began, but I deny them vehemently.
I beg you would publicly speak out against these rumors, lest the paranoia of the villagers leads them to violence.
I serve God, and I loyally serve you, a most honorable count.
Ever your friend and servant,
Lady Gertraud
There was a pounding in my ears as I looked up at Friedrich. “What is this? What does this mean?”
“It’s the evidence I suspected, isn’t it? It proves your father is not the man you thought he was, that he let the people murder the town healer over naught but rumors. She was innocent, but he did nothing to save her, and I plan to confront him with his treachery.”
“But this letter. Where did you get it?” I demanded, shaking the paper at him.
He looked down at his hands. “She gave it to me, telling me to deliver it to the count at the mines. I waded half a day through snow, but by the time the count had read the letter and tossed it to the ground, the townspeople had already burned”—his last words were a whisper—“my mother.”
When his eyes met mine, all that he’d said came together in one awful moment of understanding. Despair plunged down into my gut as heavy as a fist to the stomach. “But you said . . . you told me your mother died of the plague.”
He cocked his head, confused. “I only meant that she died at the time of the plague, a victim to it, though not in the way you have imagined.”
“But . . . what of . . .” It couldn’t be true. And yet it had to be. Friedrich’s past, his years alone, his hatred of nobles—and of my father in particular. It all fit.
My mind returned to the awful scene, to the woman who’d burned because of my lies. Eyes pricking with pain, I brushed my hand over my nose. “The healer had a child,” I whispered, looking down at the paper in my hands. “You’re the healer’s child. I didn’t know. God, forgive me, I didn’t know.”
I shook my head, pushing the letter into Friedrich’s chest. “This was folly to think I could remain here. I must go to Brussels, now more than ever.”
Shoving past him, I raced into the storm. Friedrich chased after me, catching me by the elbow and spinning me around to face him.
“What does any of this have to do with Brussels?” he asked, the rain streaming down his face. “Do you think banishing yourself will somehow make up for your father’s doing? He bears the shame, not you. The consequence is all his.”
“I did this, Friedrich.” I huffed. “I told the lies that got your mother killed. My father is innocent.” Warm tears mingled with the cold rain on my cheeks while I watched emotions of confusion and doubt play over Friedrich’s face.
“You needn’t . . . lie for your father.” His voice was slow, uncertain.
“I speak the truth.” I flicked a hand over my wet cheek.
“But you’d have no reason to. What could you possibly gai—”
“I lied to protect another. I never could have foreseen such a consequence. I didn’t know the town was already against your mother, but it was my words that led to her death, and I will forever burn with the guilt of it.
” I flattened my palm against my heart. Whatever warmth had been trying to penetrate it had already drained away.
A long, wintry silence passed as I watched Friedrich’s doubt shifting, his eyes growing cold and his back straightening. “If this is true,” he finally spoke, “then maybe you’re right to go to Brussels.”
I bit my lip, nodding as I tipped my head back, blinking against the rain.
His voice was bitter when he added, “Since you come by deception naturally, I have no doubt of your success at court.”
His words were the last shock of ice, the final freeze of my already chilled heart.
“Goodbye, Countess.” He gave a low bow, then paced across the courtyard to the castle gates.
As I watched him leave, three words turned around in my mind like thread on a spinning wheel.
Belinda was right. Belinda was right. Belinda was right.