“No, I’m sorry. I don’t take walks after dark.” She folded her hands primly on the rough table.
The huntsman clenched his teeth, then composed himself again, making his voice smooth. “I won’t let any harm come to you, Sophie. You are safe with me.” He smiled, reminding Gabe of a fox eyeing a mouse.
“I cannot.”
“Cannot or will not? Sophie, please come with me.” His voice was more commanding now. He stepped toward her.
“She doesn’t wish to go with you.” Gabe rose to his feet and looked Lorencz in the eye. “Stop harassing her.”
“I’m not harassing her, and it’s none of your business. Sophie” — he turned back to her now, leaning over the table — “you aren’t letting this fellow influence you, are you? Come. Take a walk with me.”
“Gabe is not influencing me. I told you earlier that I wouldn’t take a walk with you, and I have not changed my mind.”
Gabe stifled a cheer.
“If you don’t go,” Lorencz said, his voice quiet but with a menacing undertone, “I may just find someone else to walk with me.”
“As I told you before, I think that is a splendid idea.”
Gabe waited tensely, watching the huntsman as he glared at Sophie. Finally, Lorencz straightened and then strode out of the room, his boots clomping loudly on the stone floor.
Sophie exhaled. “You should go. The duchess is probably waiting for you. Good night, Gabe.”
“Good night, Sophie.”
Sophie was helping Petra in the kitchen the next morning when Darla walked in with a big smirk on her face. Sophie always did her best not to detest the maid and prayed for her whenever she thought about the times Darla’s tale-telling had gotten Sophie sent to the dungeon.
“Guten Morgen, Sophie,” Darla said, lifting her nose into the air and breaking into an outright grin.
“Guten Morgen, Darla.”
Darla sat down on a stool and crossed her legs, staring down at her fingernails. “Guess who asked me to go for a walk with him last night.”
Sophie forced herself not to look up from the bread dough she was kneading. “I’m sure I don’t know, but you are very popular, Darla, so it could have been anyone.” Sophie airily turned away from her as she placed the dough on a flat board and shoved it into the crackling oven.
“Lorencz the huntsman.”
“Is that so? I’m so glad he finally found someone to walk with him.”
Sophie chanced a glimpse at Darla, who squinted her eyes a moment before breaking out in another sly grin. “We had a very good time.”
“I’m sure you did. Walking helps balance the humors.”
“We weren’t walking the whole time. And we had a very … good time.” She raised her eyebrows and smoothed her hands suggestively down her hips.
“Did you, now? I’m not surprised.” Sophie forced a smile at Darla. The girl was so bold. It gave Sophie a sick feeling, in spite of her efforts to remain indifferent. But Sophie was glad she hadn’t gone with Lorencz. She certainly would never trust him now.
“Lorencz said he asked you to stroll with him. But he says he won’t be asking you anymore. Only me from now on.”
“I’m so happy to hear it, Darla, because I can’t stand the man myself.” The low, vile, stinking weasel. “He is such a bore.” Sophie scolded herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but the look on Darla’s face was worth it.
“You’re the one who’s a bore, Sophie. You’re just scared and weak and … and … alone. And you’ll always be alone.”
Sophie held the bread dough she was kneading in both hands, her teeth clamping tighter as Darla went on.
“The duchess hates you, and you’ll never be anything but a sad, lowly scullery maid. You’ll probably never marry or bear chil —”
The ball of dough in Sophie’s hands hurtled through the air. It was almost as if she were watching someone else throw it. The floury dough hit Darla smack in the face, then it fell on the floor with a dull splat.
Darla’s face was smudged with flour. She let out a strangled cry and lunged toward Sophie. Sophie turned and ducked behind Petra’s slightly rotund body. Darla grabbed at Sophie’s hair, but Sophie slapped her hand back. Darla lunged again and Petra grabbed Darla’s face in a pinching grip.
“Get out of here with your disgusting boasts and mean talk.” Petra shoved Darla’s head backward, forcing her to stumble back.
In spite of the flour covering Darla’s face, Sophie could see she was turning red, her eyes glinting dangerously. She turned and stalked out of the room.
Sophie felt triumphant for a moment, but then tears pricked her eyes, though she wasn’t sure why. They seemed to be tears of pity. Perhaps Darla only behaved the way she did because, just like Sophie, she only wanted love. But the way she was going about it, she didn’t seem likely to get it.
Chapter 7