Sophie nodded. “I shall.”
He winked, then turned and walked back the way he had come.
She couldn’t hold him off forever, though. Eventually, she would have to keep her word and go on that picnic with him.
Gabe strode down the corridor to his bedchamber and began gathering up some clothes and supplies, shoving them into a bag he could attach to his saddle. His brother had been right about one thing during his puffed-up tirade — Gabe did want to “play the hero” and save Valten’s betrothed. Admittedly, he had not yet done anything heroic in his life, but how hard could it be to outwit a secluded duchess and rescue a servant girl?
This was his chance to show that he was just as brave as Valten, as well as have the adventure of rescuing this seventeen-year-old maiden from her dire circumstances.
Minstrels would write songs about him that would be sung through every demesne. He might even help them craft a line or two.
Best of all, Valten would be furious that his younger brother had gone on a quest that was rightfully his.
But it was much more than that. Gabe felt a yearning inside him to go and rescue this girl, a compulsion so strong it almost overpowered him. He wasn’t even sure why a strange maiden would affect him so much.
The he remembered his little sister and how he had let her drown. Gabe hung his head as a sudden rush of memories flooded him. Gabe had felt such a heavy weight of guilt — and still did. If he could save this Sophie, it wouldn’t bring Elsebeth back, he knew, but … he suddenly wanted to save this other girl so much it caused an ache in his chest.
At dinner that night, Gabe listened as his father and mother discussed the news that Valten’s betrothed might still be alive, and discussed when Valten and Duke Wilhelm would be able to make the trip to Hohendorf. As if their next-eldest, healthy, brave, and willing son wasn’t even an afterthought.
Gabe chewed his food slowly, plotting his own trip. He would sneak away during the night with plenty of provisions and borrow some old clothes from a servant so he could pass himself off as a poor pilgrim on his way to some cathedral or other. He was thinking through his plan, mentally gathering the things he would need, when his mother spoke up.
“Gabehart, you look so lost in thought. What are you thinking of?”
Gabe knew he shouldn’t reveal anything, but he couldn’t resist finding out just how much his parents believed he was capable of. “Mother, what if I went to Hohendorf to find out if this story is true, if Duke Baldewin’s daughter is truly alive and being mistreated by her stepmother? I would be more than willing to do so.”
“My son,” his mother said, looking alarmed, “how could you think about doing such a dangerous thing?”
“Mother, I’m not exactly a child.” She had no issue with the dangerous things Valten did — his broken leg was proof.
“I am glad you want to help this girl. I think it’s very noble of you. But instead of thinking about saving Valten’s betrothed, you should be thinking of Count Waldomar’s daughter, Brittola.” Her voice was gentle, more pleading than chastising. “Don’t forget, you’ve agreed to marry her. She’s the perfect wife for you … quiet, sweet, raised in a sheltered, peaceful home. And her father will gift you a large estate adjoining his own.”
Gabe stared into his goblet of wine. His mother meant well, after all. He felt a pang of conscience when he imagined how worried she would be when it was discovered he was gone. He should not grieve his parents. The saints above knew they both had experienced more than their fair share of grief already.
His mother and father were good parents who loved their children and each other. They rarely disagreed, and they smiled at each other more often than any two people he’d ever seen. He’d realized that not all married couples were so happy when he started observing some of his friends’ parents. He’d even seen his friend Otto’s mother clobber her husband over the head with a small barrel of vinegar, smashing it and soaking the man, then screaming that it was probably the first bath he’d ever had. He couldn’t imagine his own mother doing such a thing.
As for his mother encouraging him to marry the count’s daughter, Brittola … he had every intention of marrying her. It was a profitable marriage for Gabe, since, as a younger son, he would inherit little from his parents. And she was pretty.
“What does Brittola have to do with this?” he asked.
“I’m not sure how Brittola would feel if she heard you had gone to Hohendorf to save a young, beautiful maiden.”
“Mother, you can’t think I have designs on Valten’s betrothed.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “This girl may not even be his future wife, but if she is, I hardly want to take her away from my brother. I just don’t see why I can’t go and simply look into this old woman’s claims.”