“Of course.” Gabe got up and went to the small cell where he would be staying. The sun would be setting soon, and he was tired. He hated to go to bed with things so unsettled, especially since he’d hoped the duke would agree to leave with him early in the morning to go back to Sophie. Suddenly, he was filled with uneasiness about leaving her and felt an urge to go back. But it was probably only because he’d seen Baldewin’s great regret at leaving her all those years ago, the great price Baldewin was paying for not realizing she was still alive. He’d missed his only child’s entire life.
Gabe lay down on his thin mattress. No use staying awake. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a needed nap.
Sophie screamed as she grabbed the duchess’s wrist. She forced the knife back as she squeezed the center of the duchess’s wrist in desperation, knowing she was sending sharp pain through the duchess’s hand. The duchess dropped the knife but yanked Sophie’s hair with her other hand, yanked it so hard Sophie screamed again. Then the duchess, still holding her hair, threw her down forcefully. Sophie’s head hit the edge of the kitchen table.
Everything went black. Sophie blinked hard, trying to ignore the pain in her head. When her eyes focused again, the duchess was again holding the knife. She plunged it toward Sophie.
Before Sophie could react, she felt the knife strike her chest hard.
She was surprised to find the pain in her head was actually worse than the pain in her chest. But she could not deny the knife was lodged in the middle of her chest. I am going to die. “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,” Sophie whispered, then closed her eyes.
Duchess Ermengard had done it. She’d finally killed her.
She stared down at the blood that was pooling at the side of Sophie’s head and the knife sticking out of the girl’s chest. Then she leaned her head back and laughed hard and long, sucking in great draughts of air between the peals of laughter. “That will teach you to run away from me, you selfish, little ungrateful twit.”
Now to show those seven misfits and the rest of the world that they couldn’t defeat Ermengard, Duchess of Hohendorf. She stuck her hand in the kitchen fireplace and grabbed the unburned end of a piece of wood. Holding the burning end out in front of her, she carried it into the main part of the house. She looked around until she spied a basket with several articles of clothing — obviously someone’s mending. She stuck the burning end of the wood into the basket. The fire caught the fabric and blazed up.
She turned to leave and found herself staring at a man, quite tall, with brown hair and a shocked expression on his suntanned face.
“Out of my way or I’ll kill you too.”
The man merely stared at her, a perplexed look coming over his face.
She pushed past him and hurried toward the door, the heavy peasant-style skirts slowing her down.
Suddenly, the man let out an animal-like sound that sent ice through the duchess’s veins. She didn’t turn around but ran out the door, hoping he was occupied with putting out the fire.
Sophie is dead. Sophie is dead. The thought was so wonderful, she let it pound through her head over and over as she ran toward the river. If she could reach the bridge over the river, she could get to her horse on the other side and then Sophie’s little men would never catch her.
A bell started ringing loud and sharp behind her. She turned her head. The tall man was yanking on the string of a large bell at the side of the house, then he started running after her.
The duchess picked up her skirts and ran faster. A shout came from behind her, then another. It seemed all seven men must have been alerted and were shouting and getting closer to her. She kept running, laughing because Sophie was dead. But she couldn’t let them catch her. She couldn’t let them take her to the king. If King Sigismund found out what she’d done, he would certainly have her hanged.
She jumped over a dead tree trunk, surprised at her own speed and agility. Crouching to avoid a low tree branch, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that the men were getting closer, the tall brown-haired man closest.
No. She was so near the river now. But she would never make it to the bridge. The man was too fast. She was not a very good swimmer, but she had no choice. She ran to the bank and jumped into the rushing stream.
She sank, the coldness of it taking her breath away. Fighting her way to the surface was hard, too hard. She flung about, trying to loosen herself from whatever was dragging her to the bottom. Until she realized her impediment was her clothes. They were saturated with water and pulling her down.
She grabbed a root that was sticking out of the side of the bank and pulled with all her strength, drawing herself above the surface. Gasping for breath, she clung to the bank, mud sinking under her now broken fingernails.
Her clothes were so, so heavy.
The brown-haired man was beside her. He grabbed her arm and started to pull her up, but she slapped his hand away. She couldn’t let him capture her. They would all despise her for killing Sophie. They would turn her over to the king.