Page 5 of Heart of Snow
“Our coach is practically resting atop the ale tables. How will we get him there undetected?”
“Why hide him, my lady?” the boy asked.
“If reports prove correct, in a few days our town will be overrun with the kaiser’s soldiers. We don’t need anyone remembering a man in Father’s livery limping through the feast.” She pulled off my cap, tucking it under her arm and ruffling my hair. My eyes went wide at her forwardness, but she was already busysurveying the festival. “Just keep to the outskirts of the crowd, Ulrich. Pull him toward houses or barns whenever you can.”
Ulrich nodded and half-carried me as we shuffled along behind the countess. “Didn’t you say the war is over?” he whispered.
“As good as.” The countess fiddled with her bandage. “But until a treaty is signed, the war continues.”
Which meant I was still a soldier in that fight, subject to either capture or death whenever the Spaniards arrived. The countess seemed to understand this, for she moved with quick, sure steps through whatever shadows she could find. Poor Ulrich was struggling to both keep pace and support me, though I did my best to carry my own weight. Each time we ducked behind a darkened home, he’d lean me against the wall to rest his trembling arms. Still, for as young as he seemed, he had surprising strength.
We were fewer than two rods from the coach when a woman grabbed the countess’s arm and pulled her to a halt.
“Mistress, where have you been? You vanished after the burning.”
“Belinda, we must go. Now.”
The woman’s eyes took in my livery, and she fell into stride beside me, shielding me from view until we arrived at the coach where the count stood, balanced on the step and drumming his fingers against the roof. Though his temples were now streaked with gray, he still wore the familiar fur-lined overgown with rubies along the neck chain. They sparkled in the light of the bonfire as he snapped at Ulrich to hurry up.
Poor Ulrich was wheezing when he deposited me into the coach. I fell into the seat with a groan, resting my head against the window frame and sucking in the stale air until the ache from my gash dampened.
The coach creaked as the count settled in his seat across from me. “Friedrich Rowohlt. I thought you were dead.”
Even after a year, the count’s voice still left my nerves twitching in irritation. “Sorry to disappoint, Your Lordship.” Digging into my doublet pocket, I pulled out Count Samuel’s signet ring and dropped it in the count’s gloved hand.
He looked up at me, anxiety tightening his eyes, until the coach tilted again and the countess set foot inside. Her father moved to block her way.
“You and Mistress Hatzfeld must stay,” he said. “Else who will oversee the feast?”
She kept her foot in the coach, lifting her chin with a determined gaze. “He’s wounded and febrile. I must see to his care.”
I expected Count von Waldeck to hold his ground, but he sank back to his seat with a nod. His daughter climbed in, followed by her lady, and the three of them crowded together on the opposite seat, their eyes fixed on me.
“Rowohlt, tell me what happened to my son.”
The coach lurched forward, and I took a deep breath but regretted it the moment pain shot through my gash. At my grimace, the countess squeezed out from between her two companions and nearly fell into the empty space beside me, quietly rolling back my shirtsleeve to press her fingers against my wrist. Her touch was ice, making me shiver even more.
I clenched my teeth against the chattering. “Count Samuel was taken captive.”
“Captured? When? How?” Mistress Hatzfeld’s questions pulled my attention from the countess and back to the bloody field by the river Elbe. The kaiser’s army bursting through the fog, the deafening crack of bullets mingling with the scent of smoke and soured eggs. The screams of men dying.
“He was injured. Shot in the leg.” I’d done my best to stay by and defend him, but the kaiser’s men were closing in. “When they started collecting prisoners, the count pushed me away andtold me to escape and find Your Lordship to bring word of his capture.”
“And where are they keeping him?” Count von Waldeck asked.
“With the kaiser. He took the Elector of Saxony captive too. I suspect they’re being held together.”
Hatzfeld whipped her head toward the count. “Didn’t Dalwigk say the elector has been—”
“Condemned to die,” the count finished for her.
With such speed I might have imagined it, Hatzfeld rested a gentle hand on the count’s wrist. Was this behavior typical?
I glanced at the countess to see if she’d noticed, but she was rubbing a hand across her nose, blinking so quickly she had to be fighting tears.
“Father, we can’t let that be Samuel’s fate too. What can we do to save him? Is there some way to break him free? How will we see that he gets the care he needs for his wound?” Her voice grew more frantic with each question. “Could you not send me to him?”
“I’m afraid there is little to be done as of yet.” The count clenched his jaw, looking out the window. “The prisoners will be in the company of the kaiser wherever he travels, and with the war on the brink of ending, there’s no one place he’ll settle long enough for us to seek him out.”
