Page 33 of Heart of Snow
“Margaretha, you’re hopeless. If only you’d managed to use your folly for good!”
I hadn’t told Belinda the truth of what had passed, of Friedrich avoiding my gaze, his hands shaking with restraint or fear. I wasn’t certain of the exact emotion, only the source of it, and to think on it made my stomach ache.
I pressed my arm against it. “True. I’ve made no gains with Friedrich,” I lied.
“How can that be?” Belinda scoffed. “I’ve seen the two of you together. Your skills are much improved, and you’re certainly too beautiful to be ignored. Perhaps your naivete is making you blind to his attraction.”
The assertion rankled me. “Is it possible you don’t understand men as well as you think?”
Her eyes flashed, and I instantly regretted my remark. “You in your protected castle. I grew up much faster than you could ever imagine. I know men and their desires.”
My silence spoke my contrition, and once she’d slipped a fresh chemise over my head, I wrapped her in a hug. “I am sorry, Belinda. You are right. I could never understand.”
She sank into my hug, but only for a moment before she straightened her shoulders and turned toward the window.When she spoke, her voice was calm, as if nothing had passed. “I will admit Friedrich puzzles me.”
She had shut me out again, refusing to open up about her life from before she’d arrived. Never an explanation for why she used to sneak food from the kitchens, hiding it in our room as if she didn’t trust there would be another meal. Or why she’d clung to Samuel, following him around the castle. He’d said he didn’t mind it, that it helped her feel safe, but why she should need Samuel to feel safe, she had never confided in me.
“I thought him an easy target with his sullen temperament and low birth.” Belinda’s words crowded into my thoughts as I sat on the mattress.
“Who?”
“Margaretha, do try to keep up. I was speaking of Friedrich. What peasant man wouldn’t want a countess as his conquest?”
“Belinda!”
“Tut.” She waved her hand dismissively. “’Tis just an expression.”
Flopping onto the coverlet, I rested an arm over my eyes. “It’s useless with Friedrich. I’m done.”
“Not quite.” Belinda pulled at the used clothes beneath me until I lifted my backside off the torn gown. “You owe him at least a few more French lessons, else he’ll think himself ill-used.”
“No. I’m finished with the scheme altogether. Send me to Brussels to earn the trust of the queen, or you ask too much of me.” I pressed a pillow against my aching belly, waiting for Belinda’s protest, but she went on silently folding my torn chemise as if she hadn’t heard. Laying it over a chair, she sat on the bed beside me, looking toward the fireplace.
“Do you know how I came to be here, acting as your lady-in-waiting?”
I leaned on my elbow, my attention riveted on her.
“Your father and his men stopped to stay with Uncle during their travels. Samuel was among them.” She took a long breath, fidgeting with her ring. “The men did the same as all of Uncle’s friends, laughing and drinking and hunting their game, none of them paying me any mind. Those were my favorite times, when I was forgotten and alone. Loneliness was best.” She stood and paced across the room, her back turned to me as she rested her hands on the writing desk. The shudder coursing her spine betrayed her struggle to speak of it, even after all these years.
I stayed silent. I would not rush her.
“But Samuel didn’t forget me.” Her voice held emotion. She cleared her throat. “He found me in the library and coaxed me to speak. We said nothing of importance, but he listened to me. Then he showed me a fox den with cubs, got me out in the garden to take walks. He picked a yellow flower for me, making me smile when... when I hadn’t even wanted to live. And...” Another pause. More silence. “He alerted your father... when he saw.” Her voice was quiet. “Saw the marks on my wrists.” Her last words ended in a whisper. She finally turned to face me. “Thatis a man worth saving.”
My heart ached for what Belinda had suffered. It ached with longing for my brother. I sniffed back the sting of tears. “I intend to save him, Belinda. I do! Only let me do it as I will, winning the queen’s favor instead of scheming for a man’s heart. It isn’t right.”
“Margaretha!” Belinda’s voice was sharp, and I reared my head back, surprised by her tone. We watched each other, neither blinking until she spat, “Do what you will, Countess.” She bent to pick up my muddied shoes. “If you’re willing to risk your brother’s life, then so be it, but it’s a wonder you’re willing to risk our eternal souls. Samuel’s suffering could be brief, but ours will be endless.” Her shoes clipped over the stone floor, and she left the room.
I buried my face in my pillow. What had I done? I’d upset Belinda the moment she had confided in me. I’d dismissed her pain, her need to save Samuel, and her need to atone for the healer’s death. She had suffered so much.Wehad suffered so much together, having no one but each other to confide our shared shame and grief, yet our guilt alone could never make amends. And now I was putting it all at risk.
Flopping onto my back, I looked up at the canopy, the same red velvet filling my view as when I’d first met the healer. I ran a finger over the rough scab on my palm, remembering that night.
I am so cold despite the layers of blankets piled atop me. A woman bends over me, her wiry black ringlets escaping the confines of herwulsthaubeheaddress as she dabs my head with a wet rag reeking of urine. I raise my arm, weakly pushing her hand away, but she nods at someone, and Belinda’s face appears above me.
“It will make you well, Countess.” Belinda settles my arms down to my sides but wrinkles her nose, turning her face from the rag.
“You must keep the fire burning,” the woman instructs Belinda, “and douse the rag in fresh pig urine every two hours. Wipe her brow and wrists with it, then squeeze three drops onto her tongue. I will return as soon as I’m able.” She stands from the bed, and Belinda stands too, releasing my arms as she nods dutifully.
The woman tucks her loose curls back into herwulsthaube, then takes a pinch of powder from a jar and drops it over my left shoulder. “May the shedding of Saint Nikolaus’s blood give health to the sick.” She takes another pinch and drops it over my right shoulder. “May his cures be upon thee.” The last pinch she smears from the top of my forehead to the tip of my nose,then rests her finger in the hollow of my neck. “O, how the cures of diseases reveal the sanctity of that holy leader.”
