Chapter Twelve

“Try not to touch me.”

“Trust me, my lord, I’m trying not to.” Beate used an ell rod to approximate the lengths required to size Lord Wilhelm’s outfit for his brother’s wedding.

“Your friend already measured my breeches and surcoat, so I imagine the tunic will not be much different.”

“It should not, my lord.” Beate recorded the measurements on parchment, trying not to feel Wilhelm staring at her the entire time they were in his bedchamber. His personal servants had layered his bed with an array of lace, silks, velvets and furs.

“Can you stitch the baron’s coat of arms onto the surcoat? In gold lace?”

“I’ve done similar work with less expensive material.” As much as Beate abhorred being so close to Wilhelm, she appreciated the warmth of his chambers, alight with candles on tabletops and hanging lanterns. The castle’s hallways provided no sanctuary from the cold, and she imagined Lord Karl’s chambers offered similar comfort.

She wrote down a few more measurements and said, relieved, “I have everything I need, my lord.”

“You have my mother’s preferences regarding materials, some of which you see in this room. Do not get ideas about swiping any of it, as we have accounted for everything and will compare it with the amount of material you use and the remaining scraps. Your friend did such a splendid job with the baron’s wardrobe that he gave her a fox-fur coat. So generous, the baron.”

That explains that, Beate thought. “If it is all right with you, my lord, may I begin the actual sewing tomorrow after fitting your brother?”

“That’s fine. You may take up in the deceased seamstress’s shack. We’ve cleared out everything. You might be able to sleep in an actual bed this evening and for the foreseeable future. Gisela was destined for that until her mishap.”

Beate stood, her contempt unveiled. “She was murdered, my lord—births of certain people are mishaps.”

Wilhelm backhanded her, and before she could recover, he pushed her against the stone wall and moved his ungloved hand up her dress, caressing her bare thigh. He whispered into Beate’s ear, “It’s my understanding Gisela didn’t object to this treatment. Now leave.”

He backed away and pointed to the door. Flushed, she hastily packed her sewing kit, grabbed the ell rod, and unlatched and pulled open the heavy wooden door. Karl stood in his chamber’s open doorway and took notice of a distraught Beate stumbling out.

“Please, come in.”

She rushed past him, tucked her sewing kit and ell rod under her arm, and covered her face with her hands to cry. He shut the door.

“I think I know what happened.” Karl stood on his bare feet, his chain mail removed, wearing a sleeveless gray linen tunic.

“Your brother.”

“Yes, it’s been known to happen. And I wish it hadn’t.” He stood behind her and gently laid his hand on her bouncing shoulder.

“My lord, I’ll lose memory of it if I work—at least I’ll try. May we please?” She faced him, her red cheeks slicked with tears.

Karl placed his other hand on her, as if holding her steady. “No.”

“I’m sorry?”

He squeezed her shoulders and pushed her backward, forcing her toward his bed. She turned to see it layered with nothing but blankets—no fabrics. Karl lifted and plopped her on the bed, her sewing kit bouncing next to her. He slithered atop her, forcing her legs to splay with his knees.

“I’d have preferred Wilhelm to have behaved, but urges get the better of us more times than not.” He kissed up and down her neck, forced his hand up her dress and cupped her breast. He covered her mouth with his other hand to stifle the expected scream.

In between kisses and licks: “I’m surprised Wilhelm made advances. You’re not really his type. Gisela, though, so innocent the first time—I regret being away for as long as I was, unable to enjoy her one last time. But you, my dear, will suffice. Tell Heinrich of this and you will die, as will he—in the end you’re peasants, disposable and easily replaced.”

Beate’s thoughts varied from knowing why Karl had donned a simple tunic—she could feel his throbbing manhood brush against her as he grew aroused—to realizing one of these two cads likely was the father to Gisela’s dead child. She also knew she would not be raped.

Although his weight effectively pinned her, she felt around with her right hand and skimmed the leather top of Gisela’s sewing kit. She thanked God she hadn’t tied it shut, and snuck her fingers between its folds. She flipped it open as Karl licked her lips. Her fingers danced over what they desired: a long bone needle. She slid it out and clenched it and boosted herself up with her elbows to return Karl’s kiss, surprising him.

He momentarily eased off her, freeing her arms, and smiled. “See? What did I say about urges? You came around quicker than I thought.”

“You won’t like this urge.” She grabbed his erect penis and drove the needle sideways, making a bloody cross.

Karl howled and sprang off the bed. Beate rose and realized her right leg was perfectly aligned. She booted his testicles and dropped him. Karl squealed as Beate yanked open the door and fled. She retraced her steps as best she could, aware that Karl’s anguish likely could be heard in France.

She ran with enough speed to extinguish candles lighting the halls, and looked for a winding stairwell that led from the solar to the adjoining great hall. Spying it, she circled her way down the stairwell and burst into the great hall, where servants were lowering by chain the wooden chandelier to blow out its candles. Mumfred sat one table across from Heinrich, who drank deeply from a beer tankard. The castle steward tapped his foot, eager for the blacksmith to finish so he could be escorted to the former blacksmith’s apartment, not far from the seamstress’s small quarters.

Beate spotted Heinrich, who smiled and raised his mug.

“Lord Karl said we could have anything we wanted—you should try this.”

She lowered his hand to set the mug on the table and spoke softly. “Get up, we must leave. Now.” She grabbed both of his wrists and pulled him to stand, at which point Mumfred rose.

“Something the matter?” He circled from his table to the young couple.

Heinrich’s beer intake hadn’t prevented him from noticing genuine fear in Beate’s eyes.

She kissed his cheek and whispered, “We’re in danger. They will kill us.”

He nodded and they made to leave the hall.

“I find it strange that neither Karl nor Wilhelm escorted you back, young lady.” Mumfred obstructed their path. He looked at her hands clasping Heinrich’s and noticed red stains. “What have you done?”

Wilhelm ran full speed into the hall and stumbled to stop. Out of breath, he pointed and glared at Beate.

“I think not.” Mumfred’s gangly appearance belied his strength, and he seized Beate’s forearm. “Too bad your girl doesn’t know her place.”

Wilhelm regained enough composure to join Mumfred and grabbed Beate’s shoulder from behind, only to be spooked by a deep roar of pain and hate that rattled the castle walls.