Chapter 41
Friedrich
“Hoof.” I tapped the horse’s foreleg, and he lifted his foot for cleaning. I was thorough with the pick, forcing myself to focus on the dirt packed in the sole of the hoof. It helped keep my mind from wandering to Margaretha, wondering why I hadn’t seen anything of her for days.
Finishing with the last hoof, I set the horse’s leg down and straightened, startling at finding Mistress Hatzfeld leaning against the stall door, her jeweled necklace glittering in the sunlight.
“Good dawning, Friedrich. It’s been a while since our last meeting.”
I tossed the pick into the bucket. “Don’t pretend you’ve missed me.”
“Tsk.” She flicked a strand of straw from her skirt, and her rings clinked together. “You know how keen I was to keep you in County Waldeck.”
“To keep me away from Brussels, you mean. Yes, Ulrich said he could hear your fights with the count all the way out in the kennels.” Picking up the curry comb, I brushed in circular sweeps over the horse’s coat.
“Can we be frank with each other?” she asked.
“I’ve been nothing but frank with you, my lady.”
She flashed a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve received reports regarding your behavior since you arrived here. At best, you’re a distraction, and Lady Margaretha doesn’t need distractions.” She ducked under the crosstie. “I just want to ensure you won’t be a problem for her from now on.”
The horse laid back his ears, warning me I was brushing too hard. I softened my strokes but wouldn’t let myself answer. There was too good a chance I’d spout the string of accusations uncoiling in my mind.
Hatzfeld seemed to know it, because her smile was exultant. “‘’Twere an ill bargain to desire’ the countess’s love.”
I clenched my jaw and kept brushing until her familiar phrase brought my head up with a snap.
Those were Wolkenstein’s words, his poem one of many tucked in love letters sent to Count Samuel.
But they also touched a memory of sitting with Margaretha in her father’s library, reciting those same words from a book. Mistress Hatzfeld’s book.
All those jests of Count Samuel’s—had he said he was escaping the ladies, or a certain lady? One very devoted lady?
“If I may, as you say, be frank”—I brushed the horse again—“why was it you married the count?”
She cocked her head as if surprised by my question but answered, “The man saved me from my uncle. It was out of gratitude.”
“Or was it because Count Samuel ceased to love you?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she quickly recovered, petting the horse’s mane with almost-convincing calm.
“Did you know the kaiser’s Wildungen troops were recalled to Brussels, with Captain Carrera at their head?
You and Carrera haven’t always been the best of friends, I think.
” She lowered her voice and leaned toward me.
“Imagine what he’d do if he knew about your little letters to Samuel. ”
I dropped the curry comb in the bucket and faced her. “What do you want from me?”
“Stay away,” she spat. “Keep your distance from the countess, or I’ll report you to Carrera. He’d be only too happy to see you hanged.” She ducked back under the crossties, wriggling her jeweled fingers at me with a cheery smile. “Have a pleasant day.”
I watched her leave the stables before grabbing the body brush, whisking dirt from the horse’s coat with the stiff bristles.
That snake and her threats. She wouldn’t dare expose my letter exchanges, or she’d implicate her husband in the plot.
A risk I doubted she was willing to take, no matter her talk.
And what did she care about getting Count Samuel freed, anyhow?
She was married now. That should be the end of it.
Was she still holding on to her affections?
Was she expecting the old count to die and leave her free to marry his son?
No, none of it made sense, but one thing was very clear: nothing good could come of her being here, back in Margaretha’s life.
In all Hatzfeld’s scheming, she’d kept her hands clean, leaving Margaretha the one holding a hand to the fire while Hatzfeld got the gain.
She seemed to make a habit of leading Margaretha down dark paths, convincing Margaretha to entrap me with her flirtations, possibly even convincing Margaretha to abandon any thought of self and throw her lot in with the prince.
The woman was poison, and nowhere did her venomous bite sink more deeply than in Margaretha’s mind.
Why couldn’t Margaretha see that? Why was she so ready to believe her life worthless unless she sacrificed it for someone else?
The horse’s coat now a glossy shine, I grabbed the lead rope and unhooked the crossties to guide him back to his stall.
At that moment, a bird swooped through the stables overhead, startling the horse, and he tossed his head back with a jerk.
The lead rope ripped through my hand until the friction burned my skin.
When I’d gotten him settled down and stalled, I looked at the red, stinging stripes traveling over my palm and across my fingers and had to shake my hand to let the chilled air ease the pain.
As I walked to my chambers, glancing at the burn through puffs of cold breath, it was impossible not to draw a connection to Margaretha and our meeting at Walpurgisnacht.
What had been her fixation then, hovering her hand beside the flame?
She’d claimed no desire to hurt herself, but I had sensed it.
Some kind of desperation rolled off her, drawing her hand closer to the torch.
Had the mock burning of the witch filled her with the same painful memories it did me?
Was it an unbearable reminder of her lies, filling her with guilt?
The idea pummeled me with the weight of truth, and I had to sink down onto my bed.
With my head full of frustration for her self-sacrificing and self-doubt, how had I been so blind to her motives?
I should have known it the moment she’d admitted her shame for my mother’s death.
It was guilt driving her to hurt herself.
Not just then, but now too. Why else would she be so quick to follow Hatzfeld’s guidance when it went against Margaretha’s very character?
But it was wrong to settle all the blame on Mistress Hatzfeld.
Though she was guilty of conniving and bending Margaretha to her will, the pang in my heart told me I was to blame too.
Margaretha had opened herself up to me, but when she had shared her agony of regret, what did I do?
Sent her off to Brussels without even thinking of soothing her ache.
I’d treated her like the deplorable person she already thought she was, confirming all her wrongheaded ideas that she was too corrupted to be loved.
Too guilty and sin-filled to have worth.
And so she’d come here, looking to earn her value through misguided deeds, when I should have shown her just how good and worthy a woman she already was.
But it was too late now, wasn’t it? She had already chosen her path, submitting herself to the prince. There was nothing I could do.
Or was there?
Why else would Hatzfeld have ordered me away from Margaretha? If her path really was decided, why get rid of me? What power did I have?
And why did I have it?
Nervous excitement brought me to my feet, and I paced in front of my bed.
Maybe it was only arrogance or wishful thinking, but I had to hope, to believe that if I wielded some influence with the countess, it was because she still cared for me.
My opinion still mattered, and if it did, then it was high time I do the right thing.