Reinhart would not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Why don’t you kill me? Why keep me alive?”
“It amuses me to know you are here in the dungeon.” He fingered the hilt of his sword strapped to his hip. “And when it no longer amuses me, perhaps I will kill you and end your misery.”
Geitbart looked hard at Reinhart, as if waiting for him to reply. But Reinhart refused to speak.
“Or perhaps I will give you someone to keep you company here in your cell—it is the largest one. Are you impressed with my generosity? I could give you . . . ach, ja! That servant girl, the one you chose over my daughter and all the other noblemen’s daughters. You and your brother seem to have an affinity for servant girls. Must be a family trait. Shall I have my guards escort her here?”
Heat boiled in his veins and roared in his ears. One blow. Just one. Reinhart lunged at Geitbart. His fist found its mark as it crunched into Geitbart’s nose. The look of surprise on his face made it even more rewarding.
Something slammed into the back of Reinhart’s head. He fell to the floor.
“Shall I kill him, Your Grace?” Something sharp pressed against Reinhart’s throat. He assumed it was a sword point. His vision was still spinning too much for him to see anything.
Dear Jesus and Lord God, forgive my sins and receive my spirit. It was the quick prayer he had taught himself to pray in case he should be about to die in battle.
“No. I want to show the king how gracious I am to let this murderer live.”
The guard removed his sword from Reinhart’s throat as his vision started to clear. With both hands Geitbart was wiping his nose, which was dripping blood.
“Shall I break his legs, Your Grace?”
Geitbart took a cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands and nose. “Later. Later we may break both his legs and his arms. But if the king wants us to bring him to Prague to be tried in the royal court . . . We had better wait.”
They turned and left the small cell, then slammed and locked the door after them.
Reinhart touched the back of his head. His hand came away red and sticky with blood.
There was no window in the rather large cell. He felt around on the wall, searching for a loose stone, anything he could use as a weapon, but all the stones were tightly mortared and he found nothing. Then he went over to the bars that made up the door of his cell. He shook them. But every bar seemed solid.
What would Geitbart do if Reinhart escaped? He would kill his knights and guards.
He lay down on the wooden bench, remembering what Geitbart had said about Avelina. Would he truly throw her into the dungeon with him? To what purpose? Simply to torture Reinhart with the fact that she was being made to suffer because he had chosen her.
He closed his eyes. God, don’t let Avelina suffer because of me. Already she had suffered from being chosen by him, becoming the object of Fronicka and her father’s wrath, nearly killed twice. None of it was her fault. She had simply done what her lord had told her to do—forced her to do by threatening her.
God, protect her, please. She does not deserve to be punished any more. And if I die and I’m never able to protect her again, take care of her and her family. Don’t let her ever be mistreated . . . by anyone. His heart clenched.
What if his brother had never died? What if Reinhart had still been just a knight, a captain of his brother’s guard? He could have married Avelina. What would it have been like to love her? He could have fulfilled her dreams of being loved and cherished and valued.
Now that he was possibly about to die—Geitbart could not take the risk of sending him to Prague to be heard by the king—Reinhart couldn’t think of very many things he regretted in his life. But he should not have kissed Avelina. It was rather like making a promise that he could not keep. It had been unutterably sweet, but it had made him long for her even more.
His head ached. There seemed nothing left to do, so he kept his eyes closed. Lying on his side on the wooden bench, his head pillowed on his arm, he fell asleep.
Avelina stood just outside the back door of the castle on the cobblestone walkway between the castle and kitchen. Two of Geitbart’s guards emerged from the kitchen. Avelina ducked her head and walked toward them. They were carrying several loaves of bread in their arms.
Please don’t let them notice me. She was wearing the clothing brought to her after the wolf attack, so she looked like all the other servants at the castle.
The guards were talking to each other, their heads close together. They looked at her but passed right by. As soon as they went inside, she turned around and followed them back into the castle and down the stone stairs that led to the dairy-buttery where she and Gerhaws had churned butter. The dungeon, Gerhaws had told her, lay at the bottom of those same stairs.
Avelina crept down the steps behind the guards and ducked into the dairy as they continued down to the next level.
She stood in the doorway. The sound of metal grating on metal rose to her ears, as well as muted voices. Harsh, muttered curses also rose, then a shout of, “Quiet!”
The footsteps were coming back up the stairs. She hid herself in the dark dairy room as the guards passed by her, then quietly followed them back up to the ground level.
Avelina hurried to the chapel to find the priest. She looked all around the beautiful chapel, lighted by the sun shining through the colored glass. Finally, she opened a door to the right of the chancel. Inside was a room with white robes for the choir boys who sang the plainsong hymns every Sunday. There was also a priest’s black robe hanging on a hook by the door.
“Just what I need,” Avelina said softly, taking the dark robe down off its hook, folding it, and stuffing it under her arm. She quickly left the room.
Avelina hurried down the stairs and out to the kitchen.
Just as she was about to go inside, Odette came around the side of the building. “Avelina.” She stopped, then motioned for Avelina to follow her.
She followed Odette to a hidden area between two buildings. No one was around.
“Our scout has told us,” she whispered, “that the king is on his way here.”
“The king? Coming here?”
“He was visiting the Duke of Pomerania and was on his way back to Prague when a missive from Lord Thornbeck found him somehow.”
“God be praised,” Avelina whispered.
“Yes, but I fear Geitbart will hear of it and will kill Lord Thornbeck before the king arrives. He will claim it was an accident, or make up some other story, so Lord Thornbeck cannot tell the king what Geitbart has done. We need to get him out of the dungeon and somewhere safe to wait for the king to arrive.”
“I don’t know if he will be willing to do that. He doesn’t want Geitbart to kill his men, and he’s willing to sacrifice himself for them. But I do have an idea.” Avelina confided her idea to Odette, who went to get the things she would need.
When Odette came back, she had a big, round gourd and a large sack. “Is this too much for you to carry?”
“No.” Avelina took the things from Odette.
“And here is a flask of wine, in case they are not giving him anything to drink.”
“If my plan works, we may be out in less than an hour. But if things do not go as planned . . .”
“I shall be praying for you.” Odette squeezed her arm.
“Thank you.” Yes, that was a good reminder. She began to pray as she walked away and reentered the castle.
She went down the stone stairs to the cool, dark room where all the casks of wine and barrels of supplies were kept. However, this time the door was locked. Avelina pulled out of her pocket the small hooked rod and inserted it into the keyhole. After several moments the lock mechanism turned and the door opened. Avelina slipped inside with her bundles and closed the door most of the way.
Now she waited for the guards to leave their post in the dungeon. Since they’d already fed the prisoners their bread that morning, she was not sure when they would
leave again. They might not leave until evening.
She pulled the stool where she had sat to churn butter up to the doorway so she would not miss the guards if they should go by. The room was cold and Avelina used the priest’s robe to cover herself.
“God,” she whispered, “please forgive me for using this priestly robe for something it was not consecrated for. But life is also sacred, and Lord Thornbeck’s life is in danger. And since I know the Holy Writ says You are compassionate, I will believe that You would want me to help him.” She paused a moment to get her thoughts together.
“God, if You will help me rescue Lord Thornbeck from the dungeon, I promise I will not ask him to marry me. Even though he kissed me—” She lost her breath at the thought of that kiss, savoring the memory. “I will not expect him to marry me. He is a margrave and it would be humiliating for him to marry a servant like me. But if You will allow him to live, I will be grateful, God, for the rest of my life. Forever and ever.” It was on her tongue to say that she loved him. But that seemed an improper thing to say to God. Still, didn’t God know all her thoughts?
“God, I love him, which is why I am willing to give him up and not expect anything of him when he gets out of the dungeon. Let the king realize that Geitbart is the evil one here and that Lord Thornbeck did nothing wrong. Restore the margravate and Thornbeck Castle to Lord Thornbeck.
“Although, if Lord Thornbeck was no longer a margrave he would be free to marry me. Oh God, forgive me for saying that! Such a selfish request. God, I take it back. If he is no longer margrave, my people, my family will be oppressed and possibly killed by Geitbart. Forgive me, God. Give Lord Thornbeck his rightful place. He doesn’t deserve to be stripped of his margravate and disgraced.” Besides, he might not even want to marry her.
After her prayer Avelina tried to do penance by forcing herself not to dwell on Lord Thornbeck’s kiss, but it was near impossible.
As she sat on the stool for hours with nothing to do, she found a churn and some milk that was being stored there and started churning. But the monotonous task did nothing to keep her mind off Lord Thornbeck. Memories of him would not leave her alone. Every interaction she’d had with him seemed to flit unbidden into her thoughts. She tried to tell herself he could never forgive her for deceiving him, but then the memory of his kiss flooded her senses and she had to close her eyes and relive it over again.
No, he definitely forgave her.
A few hours later Avelina’s stomach growled. Lord Thornbeck might be hungry, and if they were on the run, they would need food. Why had she not thought of that before?
Should she risk leaving where she was and go back to the kitchen for food? She had been sitting there for hours, and no one had gone in or out of the dungeon.
Avelina stood and peeked out the door. There was no one in either direction. She slipped out and hurried up the stairs to the outside. Quickly she made her way to the kitchen and asked Cook for some food.
Cook looked at her askance, but rather than questioning her, she gathered some fruit pastries and some bread and a small cheese round, wrapped them in a cloth, and tied the ends together.
“Thank you.” Impulsively, Avelina gave her a quick hug and smiled at her.
Cook’s eyes were wide, but then she smiled.
Avelina took a long drink from the ladle in the bucket of water in the kitchen, then ran out, hurrying back to her post.
Avelina sat on the stool and ate one of the small fruit pastries. She wrapped up the rest of the food and stuck it in her bag, along with the flask of wine Odette had given her.
Footsteps immediately broke through the silence.
Trying to stand perfectly still, Avelina held her breath as the voices and footsteps passed by the doorway. Thankfully, it was the two guards and they were going up.
As soon as she could not hear them anymore, she opened the door and ran down the steps to the dungeon.
At the bottom she whispered, “Lord Thornbeck?”
There were three corridors—one straight ahead, one to the left, and one to the right. She stood in the middle and called a little louder, “Lord Thornbeck? Where are you?”
Was he injured too badly to speak? Was he unconscious? She had to get to him. “Lord Thornbeck?” She started to go straight ahead when she heard a sound.
“What are you doing here?” came his voice.
“Keep talking.” She turned to the right and started walking carefully but quickly through the narrow corridor, bad smells assaulting her nose.
“You should not be here. It is too dangerous.”
Suddenly his hands wrapped around the bars in the cell at the end. She barely glanced at the men in the other cells as she hurried forward.
Finally, she came to Lord Thornbeck’s cell. “Take these.” She shoved the priest’s robe and the sack of straw through the bars. Then she put the gourd down on the floor and took the small metal tool from her pocket. “I am here to get you out.”
Lord Thornbeck leaned into the bars. “You must get out of here now. Geitbart was threatening to throw you in here with me. You must go, Avelina.” His tone was harsh and angry.
“No.” She was frantically trying to open the lock, but it was proving quite stubborn. What if the lock mechanism was too heavy and she could not turn it with her small tool? She kept trying.
“The king is coming,” she whispered. “Odette wants you to go somewhere safe, because when Geitbart finds out, they fear he will kill you to keep you from telling the truth.”
“The king? Coming here?”
“He had been visiting the Duke of Pomerania. The letter you sent him through Lady Magdalen must have reached the king as he was on his way back to Prague.”
“Avelina, you must go. They will find you here and you will be in danger. I forbid you to be here.” He growled. “I want you to go now.”
His forceful tone made her hands start to shake. “My lord, I am sorry. I cannot leave without you.” But the lock did not want to open. She tried over and over, catching the mechanism with her hook, but each time it slipped off.
She shoved the hook in a bit to the left this time, jerking it downward, and the mechanism clicked and slid open.
“Thank You, God,” Avelina breathed, opening the door.
Just then, the voices and footsteps were coming back down the stairs.
Lord Thornbeck grabbed her shoulders and pulled her inside and closed the door, making a clanging sound.
“What was that?” one of the voices said.
Avelina scrambled to stuff the things she brought with her under the wooden bench, the only thing in the room. Lord Thornbeck pulled her up.
“Go stand in the corner,” he whispered. “And don’t move or make a sound.”
She hurried to the back corner of the cell and flattened herself against the wall, as there was no more room under the bench and nowhere else to hide.
The footsteps stomped closer. Lord Thornbeck leaned against the bars of the door, probably trying to block the guards’ view of her.
“Who’s making that noise? Is it you, Thornbeck?”
He shook the bars with his powerful arms, making a loud metallic sound that reverberated off the stone walls.
Avelina tried not to move as the guards stood in front of Lord Thornbeck. Her heart thumped and she tried to slow her breathing, which was making her chest rise and fall. Could they hear her breathing? They would surely see her if they looked her way. God, make me invisible.
“Who is there?” one of the guards said sharply. “Is someone in your cell with you?”
“There is someone,” the other guard said.
“Of course there is,” Lord Thornbeck said. “Geitbart said he would capture Avelina and throw her in here with me, as you heard yourselves. They brought her in while you were gone, getting the bread.” He nodded at the loaves in their hands.
“No one told us,” one guard grumbled.
“Since you’re so in love with each other, you can share.” The
second, slightly larger guard shoved the small loaf through the bars. He turned to leave.
The first guard lingered, staring at Avelina, who stared back at him, her heart still pounding in her ears. Finally, he grunted and turned to follow his fellow guard.
“That was quick thinking.” She moved toward him.
“You should not be here. If Geitbart finds you, he will do harm to you.”
“Did they hurt you? Someone told me you broke the duke’s nose.”
He shook his head but winced and stopped, as if the motion hurt.
“They did. Let me see.”
“It is nothing, only a blow to the head.”
“Is it bleeding? Show me.”
“It’s stopped.”
She reached up and touched the back of his head, feeling the stickiness of blood.
He flinched and drew in a breath through his teeth.
Her stomach clenched at his pain. “You should sit down. Are you sure the bleeding has stopped?”
“Yes. I am well. But how is your ankle? Is it bleeding again?”
“No.” She lifted her foot and showed the bandage.
“Good.” His brows drew together, as he seemed to be thinking. “As long as they don’t realize you broke in, we can simply wait until they go for bread again, then you will have to escape.”
“You mean, we will have to escape.”
“No. I cannot go anywhere or Geitbart will execute my men.”
“But did you not hear what I said? Odette says the king is on his way here. You need to escape before Geitbart discovers—”
“No.”
“I won’t leave here without you.”
“Lower your voice.”
“No. You must listen to me. I—”
He reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I cannot bear it if something happens to you, especially if it’s because of me.” His voice was so deep and tender.
Her breath came faster at his touch and the look on his face, just visible in the light of the torches in the corridor. She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head at the last moment and captured her lips in an intense but brief kiss.