Duchess Ermengard seemed very impressed with the song Gabe had sung for her the previous night. He’d played his admiring troubadour role well, he knew, and it was now clear to him he had won her confidence with each warbled note.
Now he only had to figure out a way to steal Sophie away from the duchess. If he kept plying Sophie with stories of his family, she would surely go with him. But how could he keep the duchess from sending her guards once they’d escaped? Now that he’d seen the number of men she had and how powerful they were, he knew it was too risky to try to hold off the entire battalion by himself. He should go home, tell his father Sophie was the duke’s daughter, then come back with a contingent of his father’s soldiers to force Duchess Ermengard to let them take Sophie. But he just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her, even for one day, much less for the two weeks it would take him to go to Hagenheim and return. What would stop the duchess from killing her stepdaughter and commanding all the other servants to deny there ever was a servant girl named Sophie?
Gabe walked down the stone corridor, having been summoned to play for the duchess yet again. He had been working on another song. It wasn’t finished, but he thought he would play a bit of it for her anyway.
He opened the door, and there she was, sitting on her imposing chair, flashing the same creepy smile. He gave her a few compliments as he took out his lute and prepared to play. This ruse is becoming easier by the minute.
He began singing the song he’d written late last night and into the morning. He extolled her silky black hair, red lips, and blue eyes and sang some verses about her virtue and generosity that he knew weren’t true, but he had been thinking about Sophie again when he wrote it.
When he glanced up, she was staring at him as though he had turned into an offensive bug and she was contemplating how to crush him. Her face had turned even whiter, if that were possible, or more of a grayish color, actually. Her lips had also turned bloodless under their red stain. What had he said?
Then it hit him.
The duchess had green eyes.
He was caught. The song he’d sung for her yesterday had extolled their emerald hue, so he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed.
“Who is this song about?” she hissed.
“Why, y-you, of course. Of course, Your Grace.” I’m a dead man.
“You were talking with that scullery maid last night during the evening meal, were you not?”
He tried to swallow, but there seemed to be a ball of wool caught in his throat. O God, save me. I’m doomed.
He nodded.
She stood to her full height — at least as tall as Gabe — and walked across the room to the window. She simply stared out at the gloomy, half-lit forest. The only thing that moved was her lips as she pursed them tighter and tighter.
“Your Grace, forgive me for the oversight. I am still working on the song. Let me perfect it and play it for you tonight.” He smiled, hoping he looked confident and casual, while inwardly he was flaying himself.
But she didn’t look as though she were listening to him, and her face became more and more thunderous, as though the cloud that was hanging over her was turning black before it unleashed its torrent.
She will murder me where I stand.
Finally, she turned to him. That disturbing half smile, more frightening than her menacing grin, was on her face again as she took a step toward him. “You have come here to spy on me, haven’t you?”
Had he? No. He had come to rescue Sophie.
“No, Your Grace. Of course not.”
She took another step. He forced himself not to back away from her.
“Who are you?”
“I am Gabe, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps you think you know who Sophie is. Who told you?”
She stepped closer.
“Told me what, Your Grace?”
“That she is Duke Baldewin’s only daughter.”
The back of his neck tingled. If she was telling him this, she must have decided to kill him. “Everyone knows Duke Baldewin’s daughter is dead. Sophie is only a scullery maid.”
“Oh no,” Duchess Ermengard crooned in a silky, low voice as she slowly walked toward him. “She is Sophia Breitenbach, daughter of Baldewin Breitenbach, Duke of Hohendorf, and the fairest beauty in the Holy Roman Empire. Is she not?” She stopped only two feet in front of him, her white teeth glowing between her unnaturally red lips.
It was no good to lie. Besides, if he was going to die, he wanted to be right with God.
“Sophie is very beautiful, it is true.”
“The most beautiful. Admit it!” Her voice rose in both pitch and intensity. “You think she’s more beautiful than I am!”
Her eyes were two glowing green orbs. Her expression was one of outraged discovery.