Roslind turned toward the “traveler,” and Sophie watched the interaction between her and their guest as she continued her work of dipping candles.
Roslind chattered away at him, innocently inquiring, “Where are you going to? We almost never see strangers here. Are you lost?”
The stranger, who called himself Gabe, smiled. “No, I’m on my way to Aachen Cathedral.”
“Where is Aachen Cathedral? Is it very near?”
“It’s many days’ ride from here, to the northwest.”
“Where do you come from? Have you seen much of the world? I have heard there are large waters a long way from here — waters so big that you can’t see the other side of them. Have you been there?”
She continued to ask him lots of questions, and he patiently supplied answers.
The stranger had a gentle, though guarded, expression, and he was obviously being evasive with Roslind. He might fool Roslind, but he wasn’t likely to fool the other servants or Duchess Ermengard. And it was a dangerous thing to try to fool the duchess. The last person who’d tried had ended up buried behind the old cemetery in an unmarked grave.
Gabe simply didn’t know who he was dealing with, and someone needed to warn him.
Roslind went inside the kitchen to help Petra prepare the midday meal, leaving Sophie alone again with the stranger. She approached him as he sat on his stool, still drinking the tankard of wine she’d given him. He looked up, much too boldly for a poor pilgrim, and met her gaze with the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. For a moment she felt a bit startled and almost forgot what she was about to say. She cleared her throat.
“I would advise you to not approach Duchess Ermengard with any requests. Our mistress, the duchess, isn’t given to hospitality.”
He smiled at her, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen anyone with such an unworried look on his face. It was quite a contrast to her fellow servants, who looked out of hunted, desperate, bloodshot eyes more often than not, their teeth stained and uncared for. But his teeth were even more perfect than the huntsman’s.
He was more handsome than Lorencz too, and he completely lacked the hardened expression Lorencz often wore.
She glared at him, uncomfortable with her own reaction to this stranger. But she must make him see the danger he was in. It would be tragic indeed if this handsome young nobleman ran afoul of the duchess. He wouldn’t even live long enough to rue it.
“You must be careful,” Sophie said in an urgent whisper.
“Careful? Of course. I am always careful.”
His lack of fear frightened her. How could she impress upon him the need to hurry on his way?
He had found her. There could hardly be another servant here named Sophie with such black hair, fair skin, and rose-red lips. He was not sorry at all that he’d come on this quest. He had the oddest impression that he was exactly where he was supposed to be, that his whole life had been preparing him for this.
Sophie’s eyes were a deep blue, framed by the longest, blackest lashes he’d ever seen, making her Brittola’s exact opposite. She wore a tattered dress and an even-more-tattered apron, but the state of her dress didn’t seem to diminish her loveliness. Her movements were captivating — even the simple act of rubbing the sleep from her eyes before going straight to work dipping candles.
He could see that he would do well to bring Brittola to mind from time to time.
The other servants — the cook and the large, burly guard — had warned him that their mistress the duchess would not tolerate being disturbed at this time of day. If he was determined to speak to her, the best time was just before the evening meal. So here he waited, alone with Sophie.
Using a stick to hold the candles, which dangled from one long wick, a candle on each end, Sophie lowered the candles into the hot beeswax in the pot over the fire. Two by two she dipped the candles, then hung them over a piece of twine that stretched across the back courtyard. Each time she dipped a pair of candles in the hot wax, she let the excess drip back into the cauldron before hanging the candles back over the line to cool and harden. It was a long process to form a good-sized candle, but each time the candles were dipped, it formed another thin layer of wax.
Her hands were red from touching the hot wax. Gabe imagined how rough and callused her hands would be if he were to turn them over and examine them. The hands of a servant, not a noblewoman.
Again, he wondered if the old woman had told the truth. Was Sophie actually the daughter of Duke Baldewin? For some inexplicable reason, he believed it.
Abruptly, Sophie stopped her work and looked around shrewdly, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Duchess Ermengard doesn’t like strangers. She is not a person to trifle with. You should leave while you have the chance.”