The Healers Apprentice (35 page)

He didn’t move from his spot by Rose’s bed, but removed his doublet and pulled his shirt over his head, wincing with the movement.

Frau Geruscha cleaned the cut on his upper arm. “It’s deep enough that I’ll need to close the wound. Do you want to lie down while I sew it up?”

“No.” As Geruscha stitched up his arm, he held Rose’s hand, stroking her fingers and gazing at her face, which helped take his mind off the pain.

Frau Geruscha finished stitching up his wound. As he was putting his shirt back on, he heard someone at the door, which was dangling open on its broken hinges, letting in the freezing air.

“I have a message for His Grace, the Duke of Hagenheim.”

A man dressed in the purple and gold livery of the Duke of Marienberg stood in the doorway.

Reluctantly, he got up from Rose’s bedside and faced him. “I am he.”

The messenger bowed. “Your Grace. A message from the Duke of Marienberg.” He stepped forward and handed him the folded piece of parchment. Wilhelm broke the wax seals and quickly scanned the message.

The duke was less than a day’s ride from Hagenheim. He had decided to come early, not having heard any word about his upcoming introduction and subsequent wedding of his daughter, Lady Salomea.

Not now. Why now?
Wilhelm closed his eyes. He had forgotten to write to the duke. That’s why he was angry and coming a week early, practically unannounced.

Not wishing to portray any negative feelings in front of the duke’s servant, but still trying to think what to do, Wilhelm looked up and said, “Pray, give my heartiest welcome to the duke. I shall…prepare a feast for his arrival. Convey my sincere wish to find him in good health and spirits.” He frowned. Unwise to trust the servant to remember his message word for word. “Wait.”

He glanced again at Rose. She lay still, her eyes closed.

“Frau Geruscha, may I trouble you for some parchment and a quill?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She hurried into the storage and came back with both, as well as a pot of ink.

He sat down at Rose’s desk then asked over his shoulder, “Do you have any beeswax?”

He dashed off the note as fast as he could write. In his haste, he splattered two spots of ink. He quickly blotted them with the heel of his hand, waved the letter in the air a few times to make sure it was relatively dry, and folded it. He held the beeswax candle in the fire for a few seconds and then pressed it against the parchment to seal the letter closed. Wrenching his father’s signet ring from his finger, he pushed it into the soft wax.

He handed the letter to the messenger. “Take this to the duke. I thank you.”

The man took the letter and was off.

Wilhelm had been so distracted lately, so disturbed at having to marry someone besides Rose, he had forgotten to send an official invitation to the duke. The wedding was supposed to take place in two weeks.

His head spun with all the things he would have to do—and at such short notice it was nearly impossible. He would have to warn the kitchen staff, who would be hard-pressed to prepare enough food for
the duke and all his retinue before their arrival. Extra beds and chambers would have to be made ready. His mother should know what else would be required.

He stepped to the door and called out to a servant passing by. “Tell Duchess Katheryn that Duke Godehard is coming today. He will be here in a few hours. She will know what instructions to give for the meal and such. Go now and tell her.”

He came back inside, clenching his fists at the duke’s bad timing. But at least he would find out whether Rose was his betrothed—today.

Could it be?
After all, Moncore was a crazed lunatic. Could a woodcutter’s daughter and healer’s apprentice be Lady Salomea, the daughter of the Duke of Marienberg?

He fastened his eyes on her and again knelt by her side. She looked so pale. “Please God,” he prayed aloud, “please help her wake up. Please let her be well. Please heal her.” Tears dimmed his eyes but he blinked them back. She was so lovely. If she was not his betrothed, if Moncore had insanely believed her to be someone she was not, he might never get this close to her again. He might never again have the pleasure of touching her.

He stared at her perfect lips. “God, if you have made a way for us to be together,” he whispered, “then let me awaken her with this kiss of true love.” Slowly, he leaned toward her, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to hers.

Her eyes fluttered open. She smiled softly then reached up and touched his cheek.

He covered her hand with his. “You are well?”

“Yes.” Her voice was breathy. “Thank you. But if it’s all right, I think I will sleep a bit more.”

“Thank you, God.” He watched her face relax as she drifted into sleep again. She had awakened and spoke. He believed it was a sign from God that he had answered his prayer. She would be healed of the poison’s effects.

He watched her sleep, knowing Duke Godehard would arrive very soon. His mother would need his help. He would need to gather some knights to ride out and meet his guest, to try to repair the damage caused by his negligence to the Duke of Marienberg. There was much to do and little time.

Releasing Rose’s hand and stumbling to his feet, Wilhelm turned and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other and walk out.

Rose slowly emerged from a heavy fog of
sleep. She lifted her head and propped herself on her elbows. “Did they capture Peter Brunckhorst? He didn’t get away, did he?”

Frau Geruscha came over and patted her shoulder. “No, child, he didn’t get away. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Truly?”

“Aye. He’s dead.”

“Oh.” She thought for a moment, staring into her lap. She remembered the poison the man had forced her to drink, remembered the demons. She had been so terrified. Then Wilhelm had commanded them to leave in Jesus’ name. And they vanished.

Thank you
,
Jesus
,
for saving me from Brunckhorst and from the demons.
She was safe. Jesus had delivered her. She remembered Duke Wilhelm standing in the middle of the room, his fists clenched, commanding the demons to leave.

Frau Geruscha brought her a cup of water. “Drink this.”

Rose sat up and obeyed, watching her mistress from over the rim of her cup. She let her gaze drop down to her lap as she handed it back, remembering something else. “Duke Wilhelm kissed me, didn’t he? I must leave here.” Her voice was a ragged whisper. “I can’t stay and be a temptation to him, with his bride coming in a few days.”

Frau Geruscha sat beside her on the bed and took Rose’s hands in hers. “Don’t cry, my dear. His bride is already here.”

It had to be Rose.

Wilhelm paced the Great Hall. The Duke and Duchess of
Marienberg, after feasting for what seemed like days instead of an hour, had retired to a large chamber on the second floor. There they would meet their daughter in private.

During the feast, Wilhelm had turned to Duke Godehard and asked if he could be presented to his betrothed immediately.

“Tonight?” the duke roared, drawing his shoulders back and glaring at Wilhelm.

“Yes, sir, if you have no objection.” Wilhelm stared back, daring him to object.

The man rubbed his enormous, stubbly jowls and squinted at Wilhelm. He broke into a grin and clapped Wilhelm on the shoulder. “Why not? You’ve waited long enough to see her.”

Wilhelm’s hope was bolstered when he noticed that the Duchess of Marienberg was a handsome woman. Did he only imagine a resemblance to Rose? If only he could see the color of her hair, but it was completely covered by a wimple and jeweled circlet.

Now here he waited, alone in the Great Hall, all the food having been cleared away and the trestle tables removed by the weary servants. They’d toiled hard all day, ever since the announcement of the Duke of Marienberg’s unexpected arrival. He’d reward them with several days off at Christmas.

He’d sat through the interminable feast. Now he had to wait for her parents to talk to her first. Parents who had been too weak, too afraid, or too indifferent to protect their child themselves, having sent her away as a baby.

A cold feeling oozed through his stomach.

He could burst into the room and let them know he was tired of waiting. What could they do?

The clock chimed the hour—ten o’clock. He tried to pray, to calm his nerves, but the only thing he could say was, “O God, let it be Rose.”

He heard footsteps coming down the corridor toward him. It was probably only a servant, but he couldn’t resist going to the doorway and peering out.

It was Frau Geruscha. She curtsied to him.

“Your betrothed is in the library. You may go to her now.”

He brushed past her, striding briskly down the corridor.

His heart thundered against his chest. He reached out his hand and pushed open the library door. He stepped inside.

Four large candelabras lit the windowless room. A woman stood with her back to the door, wearing a dress he didn’t recognize. Her hair was gathered up on the back of her head and covered by a gold caul.

He took a step toward her. She turned around, a tentative smile on her face.

His beautiful Rose.

He sank to his knees and raised his hands over his face. “Thank you, God. You’re so good to me.”

Rose’s heart fluttered when her eyes met
Duke Wilhelm’s. She waited for him to come closer, to say something. Then he sank to his knees and covered his face.

Should she go to him? She ventured closer, trying to make out what he was saying.

“Thank you, God, thank you. My Rose…God is good…God is so good.”

He slowly lowered his arms. The look on his face reached out and wrapped her in a warm embrace of love. He got to his feet and held out his hand.

She closed the gap between them and buried her face in his chest. His arms enfolded her.

“Thank God, it’s you.” His voice was ragged, and his chest rose and fell with each breath.

“I love you.” It felt so good to say the words. How warm and comfortable she felt, pressed close to him. She could hardly believe she was standing here, in Duke Wilhelm’s arms.

His hands touched her hair. One of Lady Osanna’s maids had twisted it into a bun on the back of her head. He lifted the wire net off the back of her head, dropping it on the floor with a clatter, which was soon accompanied by the
plink-plink
of metal hair pins hitting the stone tiles. He unwound her hair and sank his fingers in it as it spilled down her back. Gathering the long tresses up to his face, he breathed deeply.

He opened his eyes, and they shimmered in the candlelight. She gazed into them, and a dozen scenes seemed reflected in their depths, especially her last hazy memory of him bending over her and pressing
his lips to hers. His every feature was highlighted by the flickering candles.

“You are the most beautiful sight,” he whispered. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

She leaned into him, her whole body melting.

His lips moved to her temple, then her cheek. Finally, they slipped down and found her mouth. He kissed her slowly, reverently, his hands resting on the sides of her head, his thumbs lightly touching her cheekbones.

His kiss intensified, sending warmth through her whole body. She slipped her arms around his neck and held on as though she were falling. Her legs turned to mush but she didn’t want him to stop. She kissed him back and he responded, taking her breath away.

He finally ended the kiss, pulling her closer. “Oh, Rose. God is so merciful to me.”

His deep voice sent a warm shiver down her back. His lips caressed her temple. Then they traveled across her cheekbone to her mouth again.

Rose’s knees were so weak, she was afraid she would sink to the floor. “I need to sit down.”

With one swift motion, he slipped his arm beneath her knees and picked her up.

Rose giggled. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. He carried her to a cushioned chair as big as a throne in the corner of the room. He sat down, holding her on his lap.

She laid one hand on his chest, over his heart, and sighed.

“Are you tired? You don’t have to do anything but rest for the next week, until we’re wed.”

Until we’re wed.
“That sounds so good.” She closed her eyes, unable to suppress her smile.

“What did you think of your parents, the Duke and Duchess of Marienberg?”

Rose sighed again, but not from contentment this time. “I suppose they are fine, elegant people.”

“Weren’t they kind to you?”

She fingered the velvet mantle at his neck. Leaning her head back to look at him, she noticed the lock of dark hair that always fell

across his forehead. She reached up to touch it, running her fingers through it.

She saw the passionate look in his eyes and pressed her face into his neck, a stab of guilt going through her for the way her body was reacting. “I don’t think we should kiss any more tonight.”

Rose could feel his pulse against her face. She inhaled his scent, masculine and warm, with a hint of cinnamon from the spiced drink he’d had at the feast. Did he notice that she was avoiding his question?

“So when did you find out,” he asked, his voice gruff and deep, “that you were my betrothed?”

“This afternoon. When I woke up I remembered you kissing me—and I started to cry.”

He hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head.

“Then Frau Geruscha told me. She knew I was your betrothed all along and had sworn an oath not to tell me until the day my parents came to reunite with me. I don’t know how she kept such a secret all these years. No wonder she didn’t like Lord Rupert coming around.” She shook her head. “My father, the duke, entrusted Frau Geruscha to come here to Hagenheim and find some unobtrusive family to take care of me and raise me as their own. The two dukes had even arranged to have Geruscha become the town healer so she could watch over me. No one else knew my whereabouts. Only your father was aware that Frau Geruscha knew. If something happened to Geruscha, there was a letter in your father’s strongbox that would have explained about me. Frau Geruscha said it made her very nervous when Duke Nicolaus died. No one else knew about the letter.”