The Fairest Beauty

Petra jumped up from the bench and insisted Gabe sit down in her place, opposite Sophie. She quickly put some stewed pork and vegetables on a trencher and placed it before him.

 

“Thank you,” he said politely, then winked at Sophie. “The duchess said I could eat with the servants.”

 

Sophie nodded and gave him a half smile. With all his bravado and ease at playing a traveler, he seemed too good to be true, as did his story about his brother being her betrothed. Or maybe Gabe’s brother was so hideously ugly — rabbit teeth, hairy moles all over his face, and a nose like a hooked beak — that his family had been happy to foist him off on anyone, even a girl who knew more about how to wash a pot than eat at a duke’s table.

 

“I’ve been writing a song for her. I hope she will let me perform it for her tonight.”

 

“Good.” Sophie nodded again.

 

All the servants stood and began to leave. Sophie looked around her, appalled to see them all glancing slyly at her and Gabe. What were they thinking?

 

“Will you stay and talk with me?” Gabe asked, placing his hand over hers on the rough wooden table.

 

A pleasant tingle crept from her hand up her arm. She stared down at his hand on hers, unable to look him in the eye.

 

“Of course,” she said gruffly, then cleared her throat and moved her hand away from his.

 

Gabe began to eat as everyone disappeared, leaving the two of them alone. “Were you able to talk to Petra?” he said softly.

 

“Yes,” Sophie whispered back. The seriousness of their conversation and all its consequences seemed to fall heavily on her shoulders.

 

“What did she say?” His eyes were wide as he met her gaze.

 

“She says …” Sophie glanced around the room. “She says I am Duke Baldewin’s daughter. She apologized for not telling me sooner.”

 

Gabe stared at her a moment longer, then went back to eating. “I will come up with a plan to get you out of here,” he said between bites.

 

“You won’t be leaving if the duchess finds out why you’re here.”

 

He swallowed and winked at her. “Stop worrying.”

 

Sophie slowly shook her head at him.

 

When he had almost finished his food, he said, “Tell me about your childhood.”

 

“Are you sure you want to know about my childhood?”

 

He nodded.

 

She might as well tell him. “I have vague memories of feeling happy. I remember the priest teaching me to read. I can read.” She may not know anything about how a noblewoman behaved, but she was very happy that she could at least boast that much knowledge. “I remember the priest telling me things about God. I have a memory of standing in an open meadow with the sun on my face … but I’m not sure if that’s a memory or a dream.”

 

“You mean you’ve never been outside the forest?”

 

Sophie felt uncomfortable at his obvious horror. “Is that so unusual? This is Bavaria. We — we are a heavily forested land. Everyone knows that.”

 

“Go on. Tell me more.”

 

“My memory is nearly blank for a few years,” she continued to whisper. “Duchess Ermengard forced the priest to leave — at least I hope he left, instead of meeting a worse fate at her hands — and she attempted to burn down the chapel. I don’t remember very much after that.” Sophie felt uncomfortable again. The things that she did remember were so painful she didn’t want to share them with Gabe … with anyone.

 

He was nearly finished eating, having wolfed down his food while she talked. He picked up his tankard and tipped it back.

 

A longing rose up inside her to hear about a loving family. What had it been like to grow up with two parents, with brothers and sisters? Surprising herself with how much she wanted to know, she asked him, “Will you tell me about your childhood? About your family?”

 

“My mother and father are wonderful, truly. They punished us if we misbehaved, but they talked to us, helped us, read to us. We would sit around the fire at night and my father would play the lute and sing, and my brothers and sisters and I would dance and play games like shatranj, blind man’s buff, and backgammon. Sometimes my mother would read to us or tell us stories that she made up. She was brilliant at inventing stories.”

 

Sophie’s heart beat faster as she tried to imagine the scene. When Gabe paused, she urged him on. “Tell me more. How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

 

“I have three brothers and three sisters. I had four sisters, but … one of them died.” He paused to clear his throat. “I am the second oldest, and my brother Valten, your betrothed, is the oldest.”

 

“Are you and your brother Valten great friends?”

 

“No,” he seemed to say reluctantly.

 

“Why ever not?” she cried, then wished she hadn’t sounded so horrified, as a sheepish look came over Gabe’s face.

 

“You know how boys are.”

 

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