The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(19)

Fronicka fixed her cold black eyes on Avelina. There was a long pause, then Fronicka, ignoring what Avelina had said, started talking again about hunting and how good she was at killing things.

Avelina certainly had not endeared herself to Lady Fronicka, but it was worth it to momentarily erase the scowl from Lord Thornbeck’s face. She liked the idea that her opinions surprised him.



Reinhart stood leaning on his walking stick as he faced Jorgen and Odette.

Jorgen cleared his throat. “Do you feel you are discovering what you need to know about the . . . young ladies?”

No doubt his chancellor was also wondering what to call them. Candidates? Choices? Contenders? Perhaps the most polite term was “prospective brides.”

Before they arrived Reinhart had thought of them as young maidens who would line up and try to hide their imperfections during their stay at Thornbeck Castle in order to catch a margrave. But once they arrived and he acquainted himself with each of them, he was faced with the fact that they would have opinions about marrying him.

And after he met Dorothea and heard her irrational ideas about love, she reminded him that these women were all different, and likely their motives for being here were very different. If the woman he chose should turn out like his mother, bitter and hostile . . . He simply could not allow that to happen. His father had been cold and withdrawn from her. They slept in opposite wings of the castle, and Reinhart wondered how two children, himself and his brother, had come out of such cold avoidance and open hostility.

“My lord?” Jorgen looked at him with raised brows, and Odette was also giving him a look of expectation.

He had not answered the question. “I have discovered some things.”

Lady Fronicka was easy to talk to. He did not like to talk very much, and she was more than willing to fill the gaps. But there was something he could not put into words, except to call it a hard edge that he sensed about her. Most of the others were timid, silly, and self-centered. They’d lived comfortable lives of indulgence and ease. Lady Magdalen had a sweetness and intelligence about her that most of the others lacked. But Lady Magdalen was so young, he felt uncomfortable thinking of her as a wife. The only one who drew him, who made him want to get to know her better, was Lady Dorothea.

“You have said you want to know if they are kind or mean-spirited”—Jorgen looked down at his notes—“and you wanted to know their attitude toward the poor. We have a plan in place to find out those things tomorrow when we take them all on a tour of the town. Is there anything else you would like to know about them?”

His chest tightened. He wanted to be certain the woman he married would be conscientious in doing her part to be a good wife. Consequently he would go about this in a very logical, reasonable way. The fact that he was attracted to Lady Dorothea was not important—and very strange, since he did not like opinionated women and did not think they made good wives. But emotion should play no part in his decision.

“I should like the woman I choose to be very honest, generous, and to have a sincere faith in God, rather than mindlessly following rules.” Those seemed the ideal qualities of a wife. He had admired various skills and characteristics of his fellow knights, but he had spent very little time in the presence of women.

Jorgen and his wife, who had their heads together and were talking quietly, looked down at what Jorgen had just written. No doubt they were trying to figure out a test to determine if each girl met his criteria.

“When we take the tour of the town tomorrow,” Jorgen said, “you only need to be on hand to observe. We shall take care of the rest.”

Until a month or two ago, it had never occurred to him to make a list of character traits he would like in a wife. But it seemed the wise and logical thing to do. Emotion made things uncomfortable. Being forced to marry a stranger was uncomfortable. But his reason would help him make the best choice.





7



AVELINA RAN, TRYING to get to Jacob and Brigitta. Plimmwald was burning, the entire village as well as Plimmwald Castle, and it was all her fault. Geitbart had attacked. People were screaming all around her. Geitbart’s soldiers were galloping about with swords drawn, striking down everyone they saw. And Avelina couldn’t find her siblings. She screamed their names.

Suddenly she was surrounded by the villagers, her fellow servants from the castle, and even Lord Plimmwald. They were all glaring at her with rage-filled eyes and smoke-stained faces.

“Forgive me. Please forgive me,” she kept saying. “I did my best. Help me find Jacob and Brigitta!”

But they pointed at her. Some spit at her. Others turned away in disgust.

Avelina sat up. The curtains were open, letting in the light from the fire in the fireplace.

Thornbeck. She was at the margrave’s castle, pretending to be Lady Dorothea. She sank back onto her pillow and squeezed her eyes closed, trying to shut out the awful dream.

“It was just a dream,” she whispered. Plimmwald was not burning. It was not being attacked. Her brother and sister were not in danger. No one blamed her for Geitbart attacking their town.

But it could happen. Perhaps the dream was a specter of the future. What was it the old women used to say? If you dreamed something three times it was bound to come true. Oh, Father God, please don’t let me dream it again.



Avelina and the other nine ladies bundled up in their warmest cloaks and various head coverings, left their maidservants behind, and went to the patch of ground in front of the stables where they were supposed to mount their horses and make their way down the castle mount to the walled town of Thornbeck, a short ride to the west.