The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(66)

One of the youngest servants brought Avelina a stool so she could prop up her injured foot. “Tell us about the margrave. Was he very chivalrous and romantic?”

So while they ate, Avelina told them stories about her time with the margrave. The things she held closest to her heart—certain things he had said and certain looks—she did not reveal, but she told them endearing stories that illustrated his kindness and bravery—how he gave money to the orphans in the street, and how he had pulled her up as she clung to the broken railing on the balcony. The maidservants hung on her every word.

But it was Gerhaws she needed to get close to. Gerhaws who might know what Geitbart’s next move would be.

Finally, after the meal, Cook said, “Gerhaws, you and Avelina go to the dairy and churn the butter. When you’ve finished, bring it to the kitchen.”

So Avelina found herself alone with Gerhaws in the cool of the stone-walled dairy.

As soon as they sat down to the two butter churns, Gerhaws took a small flask out of a pocket in her apron and brought it to her lips. “It’s very good strong spirits. I can show you where it’s kept if you want some.”

“Thank you. Maybe tonight. I only imbibe strong drink after the sun goes down.” Avelina started working the wooden staff up and down in the tall churn.

Gerhaws worked with one hand while she held the flask in the other and frequently took a drink. The work was dull and monotonous, and Avelina did her best to get Gerhaws to talk, asking her about her life, how long she had been at Thornbeck Castle, and what she knew about the other inhabitants.

“I’ve been at Thornbeck Castle two years now. Most people don’t know that I came here from a little village in the Geitbart region.” She took another drink. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but it won’t matter soon.”

“It won’t?” Avelina’s heart beat faster. “Why won’t it matter?”

Gerhaws chuckled and shook her head, moving the staff up and down in her churn. She took another drink and stared at the floor, as if she had forgotten Avelina’s question.

Avelina kept churning. It had been a very long time since she had churned butter, since she was a girl of nine or ten years, so her arms were already getting tired from the unaccustomed motion.

“Lady Fronicka is taking me back to my home,” Gerhaws said, her words slow and labored.

“Why is Lady Fronicka taking you back to your home?”

“I don’t know why Cook sent you here to work with me. I always work alone.”

“Why do you always work alone?” Avelina kept her eyes on her.

“Is it warm in here?” Gerhaws blew out a breath, then touched the back of her hand to her forehead.

“Why is Lady Fronicka taking you back to your home, Gerhaws? Gerhaws, can you hear me?”

“Of course I hear . . . She’s taking me back . . .”

The woman’s face was flushed. Avelina had seen Lord Plimmwald when he had overindulged in strong drink, and this was how he looked—red nose and cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, and slow movements and speech.

“Why is she taking you back, Gerhaws?” Avelina asked the question again very calmly, as if it was the first and not the third time she’d asked.

“She wanted me to do it one more time, but I told her I . . . I don’t want to do it again.”

“To do what again, Gerhaws?”

“To . . .” Gerhaws took a deep breath and let it out—and let out a loud belch. Then she leaned forward, holding on to the butter churn as if to keep from falling face forward.

“What does Lady Fronicka want you to do one more time, Gerhaws?”

“I killed the margrave.”

Avelina’s heart shot to her throat and nearly choked her. “Wha-what?”

Without warning, a tear tracked down Gerhaws’s cheek. “I killed the margrave. I killed his lover. I killed them, and she was with child.”

Avelina’s face tingled as all the blood drained away. She waited for Gerhaws to go on, and after several seconds, her patience was rewarded.

“The duke told me to do it. He told me to. I was just like you.” She paused to wipe her large nose on the back of her wrist while she sniffed. “Your lord told you to come here and pretend to be Lady Dorothea. My lord told me to kill the margrave. I had no choice. I had to do it.”

“What did you do, Gerhaws?” She asked the question softly.

“I set the fire. I hid in their room, and when they went to sleep, I set their bed curtains on fire.” She started sobbing, a deep-throated sound. “I didn’t think I would feel guilty about it. I thought if my lord told me to do it, God would not hold me to account for it. It would be on my lord’s head and not mine.” She rubbed her nose on both wrists now, making a high-pitched mewling sound before going on. “The priest told me it was a sin to disobey my lord, so I did it. I killed the margrave.”

Avelina alternately felt pity for the woman, horror at what she had done, and anger that she could be so stupid. But she was right. Avelina had also done something wrong because her lord told her to.

“What was Lady Fronicka saying to you this morning?”

“Lady Fronicka?”

“Yes. She was talking to you. What was she saying?”

More tears ran down Gerhaws’s red cheeks, and she wiped her face on her sleeves. She put her flask to her lips and turned it upside down. She held it up and the last drop dripped onto her lip. She licked it off. “She said . . . she was taking me home because I could not do this one last thing for her.”