The Healer's Apprentice Page 9

  Both horses slowed and halted.

  Rose held on to the pommel with both hands. Her breath came in gasps and she marveled at how easily Lord Rupert had managed to slow the powerful beasts to a halt.

  “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” Rupert still held her mare’s reins. He covered her hand where it rested on the saddle. “Forgive me.”

  Rose looked into his eyes. “Of course.”

  He was relentless with his flirting. She knew she should feel irritated, but instead, his words made her feel like cooked pottage—warm and weak. What a ridiculous romantic she was turning out to be—as bad as Hildy.

  Lord Rupert removed his hand from hers and Rose blinked hard, trying to clear her mind. The sun bore down on them from high in the cloudless sky. She brushed a strand of hair back from her temple.

  “Where’s Frau Geruscha?” She turned and spotted her mistress behind them, the scowl on her face so threatening it made Rose’s heart sink. “We’d better head back. I would not upset Frau Geruscha.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” He turned his horse around.

  Rose had trouble turning her horse. It took her three tries before the gray mare obeyed and followed behind Lord Rupert and his big mount. She was startled when he suddenly stopped his horse and slid off. He walked to the edge of the meadow and bent down.

  He was picking flowers.

  Lord Rupert came toward her, holding a handful of purple, pink, and white wildflowers. If he wanted to flatter her and make her feel special, he certainly knew what he was doing.

  It was the second time in her life someone had given her flowers, and he was the giver both times.

  “I thank you. They’re beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you.” His voice was an octave lower. Even though she had reached out to take the flowers, he continued to hold them then let his thumb lightly stroke the back of her hand.

  His touch irritated her, for she was afraid that Frau Geruscha would see him touching her. Her mistress was still several horse lengths away but getting closer.

  She should not be letting him do this. What would he try next? Her face burned at the thought. Letting him touch her hand went beyond propriety’s boundaries. Besides, she didn’t like the way his touch made her feel—alarmed and out of control.

  “Lord Rupert, I would not mislead you. You know my social position is not comparable to yours—”

  “Rose, please.” The hurt look on his face affected her much more than she wanted it to as she gazed down at him from atop her mare. “I know what you must be thinking, Rose, but I swear, I—”

  “Lesson’s over for today.” Frau Geruscha had closed the gap between them, and her tone brooked no argument. “We thank you, my lord.”

  Rose noticed her stern look. She glanced down at Lord Rupert. His pained expression made her feel worse, as compassion for him suddenly welled up inside her.

  She must harden her heart. He was like all men, merely wanting what he couldn’t have.

  O God, help me.

  A week later, Rose sat beside Hildy on the bench in the southwest tower of Hagenheim Castle. Hildy’s mother was minding their candle shop today, giving Hildy the day off and a chance to spend time with Rose. She’d brought some mending with her. Their needles moved in and out of the fabric on their laps while they talked, and when the conversation was at a lull, Hildy hummed while she sewed.

  Rose’s thoughts drifted to her family. She had gone, just that morning, to remove her few remaining possessions still at her family’s cottage, since she was sleeping at the castle now. Her childhood memories had been stirred, and she remembered how her father came home each evening with his ax slung over his shoulder. No matter how tired he was from chopping wood, he always had a smile for her and her sisters and brother. Her mother, on the other hand, was always yelling and scolding, complaining bitterly about the work she had to do. Rose pitied her mother even as she longed to escape her. Her high-pitched voice, raised frequently in anger and frustration, filled Rose with an ache of desperation.

  Now that she had escaped, the ache strangely remained, as though she’d escaped physically, outwardly, but inwardly she was still affected. She only hoped her little sisters and brother would not feel the brunt of her mother’s sharp harshness. She had always been kinder to them than to Rose.

  Rose was shaken back to the present by the sounds of Frau Geruscha, who was nearby in the storage room putting away some herbs and making a list of those she would need to replenish. Hildy then leaned over and whispered to Rose, “After all you’ve told me about Lord Rupert, I think he must be falling in love with you.”

  “That’s silly, Hildy. Even if he is,” Rose hissed back, “he wouldn’t want to wed me.”

  “Why ever not? You’re beautiful, and you have what every noble family wants—a body capable of bearing children.”

  Rose snorted and rolled her eyes heavenward. Leave it to Hildy to point out things Rose would rather not think about.

  “Not everything a noble family wants,” Rose said. “Lord Rupert is accustomed to privilege and wealth, and yet he will not inherit any of it. You know the law. It all goes to the eldest son.”

  “So?”

  “So he will need to marry an heiress. He wouldn’t be happy with only the manor house his mother has entailed to him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He told me at the feast that he should like to be as wealthy as Bishop Albrecht. He doesn’t want to be poor, and he would gain nothing from marrying me. And besides, no one seems to trust him—not his brother, not Frau Geruscha. What does that indicate to you?”

  “That the poor man is being treated unfairly. That motives are being attributed to him that are not his own.”

  “Oh, Hildy.” Rose sighed and shook her head. She had no illusions about what men desired from women of her class or about the lengths to which they would sometimes go to get it.

  She thought of Lord Rupert’s face as he stood near her, of the flowers and of his words before he was interrupted by Frau Geruscha. “I know what you must be thinking, Rose, but I swear, I—” How would it feel to be loved by the son of Duke Nicolaus of Hagenheim? To be loved for herself, her thoughts, her values?

  It would feel good…very, very good.

  She closed her eyes and the image of Lord Hamlin appeared, of his earnest expression. The thought never made it into words, but it was there, in her mind.

  There was no comparison between the two brothers.

  But she would not even allow herself to imagine how it would feel for Lord Hamlin to love her. He was betrothed.

  Rose shook her head again. “I’m afraid it’s more likely that Lord Rupert is hoping to use me for dishonorable purposes.”

  “Rose, I know you like to be realistic, but have a little faith in people. Besides, stranger things have happened.”

  “Name one.”

  Hildy frowned and fell silent for a moment. “What about the duke’s nephew? He married that maiden who sold berries at the market.”

  “Only because she was pregnant with his child. And then he abandoned her, secured an annulment from the pope, and married a duke’s daughter from Bavaria.”

  “Oh.” Hildy’s frown deepened. “I forgot about that.”

  Rose squeezed her eyes closed and rubbed her forehead.

  A maiden caught giving away her virginity to someone other than her husband would be publicly humiliated, placed in the stocks in the Marktplatz for all to see and heckle—if the man was not in a position to marry her. But for Rose, something even more important was in jeopardy. If she allowed herself to be duped by Lord Rupert, if he pressured her and she gave in, she would disappoint her father, Frau Geruscha, and worst of all, God. The prospect was too horrible to contemplate. Rose shuddered.

  “You’re not getting a chill, are you, Rose?”

  “No.” She would heed Frau Geruscha’s warning. She would stay away from Lord Rupert.

  “I can imagine that Lord Rupert was
a wonderful dancer. Did you enjoy dancing with him? Oh, tell me again what it was like.”

  Rose hadn’t told her she’d also danced with Lord Hamlin. For some reason, she couldn’t bear to tell Hildy about that. It would be like publicly showing off one’s most treasured possession. Some things weren’t meant to be shared.

  “Dancing with Lord Rupert was very exciting.”

  “Did he kiss your hand?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me again what he was wearing.”

  Frau Geruscha emerged from the storage room. “Rose, I’m going into town to look in on Adelheide Bulger. She had a high fever yesterday. I may not be back until nones.”

  Rose nodded and listened to her mistress’s instructions until she left, closing the door behind her.

  Rose regaled Hildy with more details of everyone’s dress, from Lord Rupert to the duchess, to Lady Osanna and other girls who were there.

  Hildy sighed deeply. “Oh, it would be heavenly to be able to dance and wear beautiful clothes and be admired.”

  Rose hoped that Hildy would get her chance some day.

  Someone knocked at the door. Rose got up and opened it to find Gunther Schoff.

  “Good morning, Rose.” He smiled and bowed.

  “Gunther! Come in, please.” Feeling almost as giggly and excited as Hildy often looked, Rose pulled Gunther inside. “Gunther Schoff, I present to you Hildy, daughter of Hezilo the chandler.”

  “Good morning.” A look of interest flickered in his pale blue eyes. His sandy red hair and freckles made him boyishly handsome. “I came to see Frau Geruscha about some herbs for my mother.”

  “She’ll be back later.” An idea came to Rose. She smiled and arched her eyebrows. “You have time to wait, don’t you? I want to teach Hildy to dance. It would be hard without a man to serve as her partner. Would you…?”

  A smile spread across Gunther’s face, and Hildy’s cheeks turned pink.

  Rose and Hildy set their sewing bundles in the corner. The chamber where Frau Geruscha and Rose tended the sick and injured was spacious. They pushed the benches against the wall, leaving plenty of room for a couple to dance.

  Rose clapped to provide the rhythm while Gunther instructed Hildy in the dances, starting with the Maltese Branle. Rose watched with approval as Gunther gently guided his pupil, who caught on quickly to the order of the steps. The air was cool for May, and a breeze blew through the open windows and fanned the dancers’ cheeks. Rose hoped Gunther noticed the alluring tendrils of blonde hair that had wriggled loose from Hildy’s braid and fluttered at her temples.

  As Hildy laughed at a misstep, someone moved into the open doorway. Lord Hamlin. Rose caught her breath and covered her mouth with her hand. Gunther and Hildy saw him too, and the dancing ceased.

  “Good day.” Lord Hamlin nodded first to Rose, then to Gunther and Hildy.

  Hildy snatched her hand away from Gunther’s and placed it behind her back. Though Rose and Hildy outnumbered Gunther two to one, they were all unmarried and, therefore, improperly chaperoned. Rose held her breath, waiting for Lord Hamlin’s reaction.

  She swallowed. “Good day, Lord Hamlin. We were just teaching Hildy some dances.”

  “I see.”

  All the blood had drained from Hildy’s face. Her eyes had the look of a rabbit caught in a trap.

  Finally, Lord Hamlin spoke. “I have my lute in my saddle bag. I could play for you.”

  They all exhaled at once. Rose almost giggled.

  “That is most gracious of you, my lord,” Gunther said.

  Lord Hamlin disappeared from the doorway and returned moments later with the lute. “What dance were you practicing?”

  “The Maltese Branle, my lord,” Gunther said.

  Lord Hamlin looked down, adjusted his fingers on the instrument, and began to play the melody for the dance. Rose perched on the stool by the window. She tried to keep her eyes on the dancers. They did provide a delightful scene, since by now Hildy had learned the dance well. But Rose’s eyes were drawn over and over to Lord Hamlin. He stood against the wall, exuding easy confidence. She watched his hands move over the strings, his brow puckered in concentration. The music gave her an overwhelming feeling of joy. She told herself it had nothing to do with Lord Hamlin’s presence.

  He seemed careful to look only at his lute, with an occasional glance at the dancers. Part of her felt relieved not to have to return his penetrating gaze.

  The two dancers had eyes only for each other.

  She sighed. How different would Lord Hamlin behave were he the son of a scribe, like Gunther, instead of the betrothed son of a duke? If he were free to give his attention to whomever he wanted, would he give it to her?

  She scolded herself for even having such a thought.

  Lord Hamlin came to the end of the song he was playing and Gunther suggested they move on to a new dance, since Hildy had mastered this one. Gunther held out his hand to Rose. “Will you help me demonstrate the steps?”

  Rose felt self-conscious dancing with Gunther, wondering if Lord Hamlin was watching her, but she dared not look at him. She couldn’t help remembering how it had felt to dance with him and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. But no. He wouldn’t be.

  And so the afternoon went. They even attracted a small crowd of children who stood in the doorway and watched, wide-eyed, as the dance lesson continued.

  After several songs had been played and different dances practiced, Frau Geruscha walked in. She looked around the chamber.

  Lord Hamlin stopped playing. “Frau Geruscha, good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon, Lord Hamlin.” A bemused smile came over her face—the one she always seemed to wear when Lord Hamlin was around.

  “A dance lesson. I hope you don’t mind.” He turned to Gunther. “I suppose we should put an end to our frivolity.”

  “Yes, my lord, quite so,” Gunther replied.

  Frau Geruscha shook her head. “I don’t mind. How is your leg? Is it mending well?”

  Gunther took advantage of Frau Geruscha’s and Lord Hamlin’s averted attention to whisper something to Hildy. Then, after grabbing the herbs for his mother, he took his leave of Rose and the healer and followed Lord Hamlin out the door to the courtyard.

  Hildy’s face flushed as she turned to Rose. She threw her arms around her, buried her face in her shoulder, and squealed.

  Rose sat at her desk in Frau Geruscha’s chamber, happily writing a new morality tale, a story about a man who cured his wife of her habit of complaining.

  “Rose? Are you here?”

  She looked up, her quill poised above the parchment, and smiled at the figure that appeared in the doorway. “Lady Osanna. Good morning.”

  Lord Rupert stood just behind, peeking over his sister’s shoulder. Rose’s smile faltered.

  Lady Osanna lifted her skirt and stepped inside. “Since it’s such a beautiful day, I thought you might go on a picnic with me. And Lord Rupert begged to come along. I hope you don’t mind.” She lifted her eyebrows hopefully. “Would you like to go?”

  Lord Rupert waited beside her with an equally expectant expression.

  Just then Frau Geruscha walked in from the storage room, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Frau Geruscha, good morning,” Lady Osanna said. “Would you like to go on a picnic with us?”

  Frau Geruscha stared at Lord Rupert, her brows lowering. “Good morning, Lady Osanna, Lord Rupert.” She held the folds of her apron in her hands. After a long pause, she said, “I believe I shall not, today.”

  Rose placed her quill in its stand and stood, quickly taking off her apron and smoothing her skirt with her palms. She breathed a sigh of relief that she’d worn her crimson dress and had put on her apron earlier that morning to protect it while she helped Frau Geruscha bandage a woman’s bad burn from a cooking fire. It wasn’t as fine as Lady Osanna’s damask gown, but it was one of her best.

  She smiled. “It sounds like a lovely idea.”

&
nbsp; “Rose, wait,” Frau Geruscha said.

  They all turned to look at her.

  “May I speak with you?”

  Rose followed Frau Geruscha into the storage room and stood waiting.

  “Rose, I—” Frau Geruscha stopped, took a deep breath, and held it for a moment. She then exhaled and lowered her face, pressing the inside corners of her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and closed it again.

  “What is it, Frau Geruscha?”

  Frau Geruscha looked at her with pain in her eyes and took hold of Rose’s arm. “Lord Rupert is Duke Nicolaus’s son, but that doesn’t make him any different from other men. You have the option to say no to anything he asks, do you understand?”

  Rose wondered why Frau Geruscha felt the need to remind her again of Lord Rupert’s reputation.

  “Yes, Frau, of course. I won’t do anything foolish. I only want to be with Lady Osanna.”

  Frau Geruscha looked at her for another moment then patted her arm. “Go on, then.”

  Chapter 9

  Rose and the noble sister and brother walked to a section of the meadow on the north side of the castle, opposite from where Lord Rupert had taken her riding. A stone fence separated them from the grazing area, where a boy guided a group of sheep with a stick. Wildflowers in shades of blue and purple carpeted the ground, and beech trees loomed on two sides.

  Lady Osanna and Rose spread the wool blanket on the grass, then spread a smaller linen cloth on which they placed the food. Sitting together as they were, Rose was unable to separate herself from Rupert by more than a couple of handbreadths. Wolfie lay on the grass right beside her, his paw touching her leg. He kept his eyes on Lord Rupert.

  The basket contained chunks of cooked pork, chicken, and cheese, bread and pastries, as well as toasted walnuts, raisins, and apples cut in quarters. A flask of wine completed the repast, along with a pewter cup that they all shared.

  As they began to eat, Rupert picked up a large piece of pork and held it out to Wolfie. The dog pulled his head up and back, eyeing him suspiciously.