Page 93 of The Beautiful Pretender

“I don’t suppose it matters. It is not as if she can tell her father to send his guards to save you since, as Fronicka learned, her father is only a former servant and a cripple.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “No wonder the girl likes you. You are just like her father.”

Reinhart would not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Why don’t you kill me? Why keep me alive?”

“It amuses me to know you are here in the dungeon.” He fingered the hilt of his sword strapped to his hip. “And when it no longer amuses me, perhaps I will kill you and end your misery.”

Geitbart looked hard at Reinhart, as if waiting for him to reply. But Reinhart refused to speak.

“Or perhaps I will give you someone to keep you company here in your cell—it is the largest one. Are you impressed with my generosity? I could give you . . .ach, ja!That servant girl, the one you chose over my daughter and all the other noblemen’s daughters. You and your brother seem to have an affinity for servant girls. Must be a family trait. Shall I have my guards escort her here?”

Heat boiled in his veins and roared in his ears.One blow. Just one.Reinhart lunged at Geitbart. His fist found its mark as it crunched into Geitbart’s nose. The look of surprise on his face made it even more rewarding.

Something slammed into the back of Reinhart’s head. He fell to the floor.

“Shall I kill him, Your Grace?” Something sharp pressed against Reinhart’s throat. He assumed it was a sword point. His vision was still spinning too much for him to see anything.

Dear Jesus and Lord God, forgive my sins and receive my spirit.It was the quick prayer he had taught himself to pray in case he should be about to die in battle.

“No. I want to show the king how gracious I am to let this murderer live.”

The guard removed his sword from Reinhart’s throat as his vision started to clear. With both hands Geitbart was wiping his nose, which was dripping blood.

“Shall I break his legs, Your Grace?”

Geitbart took a cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands and nose. “Later. Later we may break both his legs and his arms. But if the king wants us to bring him to Prague to be tried in the royal court . . . We had better wait.”

They turned and left the small cell, then slammed and locked the door after them.

Reinhart touched the back of his head. His hand came away red and sticky with blood.

There was no window in the rather large cell. He felt around on the wall, searching for a loose stone, anything he could use as a weapon, but all the stones were tightly mortared and he found nothing. Then he went over to the bars that made up the door of his cell. He shook them. But every bar seemed solid.

What would Geitbart do if Reinhart escaped? He would kill his knights and guards.

He lay down on the wooden bench, remembering what Geitbart had said about Avelina. Would he truly throw her intothe dungeon with him? To what purpose? Simply to torture Reinhart with the fact that she was being made to suffer because he had chosen her.

He closed his eyes.God, don’t let Avelina suffer because of me.Already she had suffered from being chosen by him, becoming the object of Fronicka and her father’s wrath, nearly killed twice. None of it was her fault. She had simply done what her lord had told her to do—forced her to do by threatening her.

God, protect her, please. She does not deserve to be punished any more. And if I die and I’m never able to protect her again, take care of her and her family. Don’t let her ever be mistreated . . . by anyone.His heart clenched.

What if his brother had never died? What if Reinhart had still been just a knight, a captain of his brother’s guard? He could have married Avelina. What would it have been like to love her? He could have fulfilled her dreams of being loved and cherished and valued.

Now that he was possibly about to die—Geitbart could not take the risk of sending him to Prague to be heard by the king—Reinhart couldn’t think of very many things he regretted in his life. But he should not have kissed Avelina. It was rather like making a promise that he could not keep. It had been unutterably sweet, but it had made him long for her even more.

His head ached. There seemed nothing left to do, so he kept his eyes closed. Lying on his side on the wooden bench, his head pillowed on his arm, he fell asleep.

Avelina stood just outside the back door of the castle on the cobblestone walkway between the castle and kitchen. Two of Geitbart’sguards emerged from the kitchen. Avelina ducked her head and walked toward them. They were carrying several loaves of bread in their arms.

Please don’t let them notice me.She was wearing the clothing brought to her after the wolf attack, so she looked like all the other servants at the castle.

The guards were talking to each other, their heads close together. They looked at her but passed right by. As soon as they went inside, she turned around and followed them back into the castle and down the stone stairs that led to the dairy-buttery where she and Gerhaws had churned butter. The dungeon, Gerhaws had told her, lay at the bottom of those same stairs.

Avelina crept down the steps behind the guards and ducked into the dairy as they continued down to the next level.

She stood in the doorway. The sound of metal grating on metal rose to her ears, as well as muted voices. Harsh, muttered curses also rose, then a shout of, “Quiet!”

The footsteps were coming back up the stairs. She hid herself in the dark dairy room as the guards passed by her, then quietly followed them back up to the ground level.

Avelina hurried to the chapel to find the priest. She looked all around the beautiful chapel, lighted by the sun shining through the colored glass. Finally, she opened a door to the right of the chancel. Inside was a room with white robes for the choir boys who sang the plainsong hymns every Sunday. There was also a priest’s black robe hanging on a hook by the door.