Swept Away (19 page)

Dear God. What if it had been Axel? Would he have recognized her?

By the time she reappeared in the first stall in the stable, the stable master had just begun to orchestrate the roundup of the castle's horses. He gave her an unsure look as if surprised to see her again, and then bruskly ordered her to help.

L
ater that evening
, Ella limped back to the convent. She was filthy, aching, and covered with blisters. She still wasn't sure her finger wasn't broken. Nonetheless, by the time she saw Rowan standing at the foot of the garden watching for her, she was smiling.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, sugar,” he said as she hobbled up to him.

“Best not touch me yet. The street has eyes. The retarded gardener and the mute stable boy would be some pretty hot gossip.” She walked past him though the gate

“I can wait. Just tell me it wasn't all for nothing.”

“I planted it,” she said as he shut the gate behind them. As soon as she heard the gate shut, she stumbled and fell to her knees. Rowan lifted her easily and carried her into the convent.

Greta had prepared a hot bath for her. She held a stack of thin but clean towels in her arms. She began to usher Ella into the bathing room but Rowan took the towels from her.

“I'll take over, Greta,” he said, his hand on the small of Ella's back, nudging her forward into the room. “A large glass of brandy would be good, though.”

Greta gave Ella a reassuring smile and left to get the brandy.

Within minutes, Rowan had Ella stripped and into the tub of hot water. She groaned as she went in. He could see she was covered in bruises and cuts.

He gently poured water on her shoulders. “What the hell are they doing to you there?”

She closed her eyes. “The other boys play kinda rough,” she said. “Don't let me fall asleep, Rowan.”

“I won't, babe,” he murmured, soaping her neck. “God, the water's turning black. Did they have you cleaning the stalls with your hands again?”

She smiled, her eyes still closed, and shook her head.

He soaped her arms and hands. At one point, she cried out and pulled her hand back. He examined her finger but didn't think it was broken.

God knows what her typical day is like,
he thought
. And she isn't going to worry the shit out of me by telling me about it either
.

The door opened and Greta entered with two glasses of brandy, cheese and freshly baked bread.

“That looks great, Greta,” Rowan said.

“Has she said anything?”

Ella opened her eyes. “I'm just about to,” she said. She reached a wet hand to Rowan. “
Two
explosions,” she said.

He laughed. “Yeah, kind of a surprise for both of us.”

“But nobody hurt?”

“No, thank God.”

“Why two?”

“Just thought you might need a little extra boost to the distraction level.”

“It helped,” she said, closing her eyes.

A
n hour later
, her hair washed and her battered body clean and nestled in fresh, dry clothes, Ella sat at the kitchen table between Greta and Rowan. She showed them the photographs she'd taken with her phone.

“We've got both their signatures and a letter from some dude.” She pushed the phone across the table to Greta who squinted at the tiny screen.

“It is a letter from a confederate of theirs, Wilhem Burkmeister,” Greta said. “He does business with Krüger.” She shrugged. “It is not damning in any way. Just a letter from a business associate of Axel's.”

“You never know,” Rowan said. “It might come in handy. Good work.” He frowned at Ella.

She smiled at him. “I'm fine, Rowan. Just tired.” She turned to Greta. “How'd you do today?”

Greta picked up a flat black box that was on the bench beside her. From it she withdrew an ornately written letter on fine paper.

“What's it say, basically?” Rowan asked.

“As we decided,” Greta said, “it is an anonymous letter addressed to the Protestant Magistrate Herr Schwartz informing him that Axel was witnessed creating fire with his fingertips and dancing with Lucifer.”

“And he's likely to believe this?” Ella said.

“Absolutely. People have been executed on far less.”

“Okay,” Ella said, yawning. “What else?”

Greta produced the birth certificate she had requested from the monastery. It was ornately embellished and looked very official. It registered Axel, his birthdate, his birth mother, but instead of Krüger as father, the name
Jorge Klein
was written. A waxy magistrate's seal anchored the bottom corner of the page.

“Looks official to me,” Ella said. “If nothing else, it'll put doubt in the old wanker's mind. Keep it some place safe until we're ready. Did I mention I ran into Christof?”

“Did he try to apprehend you?” Greta asked.

“No, he seemed kind of nice,” Ella said. “Not a dick at all.”

“That's my girl,” Rowan said. “Can't wait to bring you home to meet the folks.”

She grinned at him, but her eyes were already closing sleepily. Without any more conversation, Rowan excused them both, scooped her up in his arms and took her to bed.

The next morning, Ella was up before daylight. The other boys already thought she was odd and the fact that she didn't sleep at the stable only intensified their distrust. Getting there before they awoke at least helped to de-emphasize her strangeness. As she ran up the pathway in the dark to the castle, she collided with a young woman dressed in dark rags who was nearly invisible in the dim light. Ella gasped as the two tumbled to the hard paving stones in the castle courtyard. The girl squealed and lashed out with a fist, obviously thinking she was being attacked. Ella dared not speak for fear of revealing her sex and so only covered her head with her arms against the girl's blows.

“Who are you?” the girl whispered when it became clear to her that Ella was no threat. Ella stood up, hoping her attire would be all the answer the girl needed. They recognized each other immediately, even in the gloom. The girl was a kitchen maid that Ella had seen once when she had been sent to the castle kitchen to fetch a basket of rotten apples for the horses.

“Your name?” she said to Ella, as she stood with one hand on her hip and the other holding an empty wicker basket.

Ella shook her head and kept her eyes glued to the ground. The girl waited a moment and then touched her arm.

“Come with me,” she said. “I'll tell Cook to inform the stable master we'll need you in the house this morning.”

Ella hesitated. She knew that this would
not
end up being a good thing for her later with the other boys. On the other hand, spending more time in the castle
was
the whole reason she was doing this very dangerous charade every day. She followed the maid into the castle.

As soon as they entered the kitchen, Ella felt a welcoming blast of heat accompanied by a heady aroma of baked muffins. She had left the convent this morning without her usual breakfast of bread. The little maid, Heike, spoke rapid, incomprehensible German to the glowering fat cook—a mean-faced woman with a wicked wooden spoon in her hand. The cook made a grimace in Ella's direction then said a few words to Heike before turning away.

Heike gestured for Ella to sit by the fire and brought her a plate with two muffins on it. “You'll work here, today,” she said. “
Ja
?”

Ella nodded and stuffed one of the muffins into her mouth—partly to stay in character as the dim-witted stable boy and partly because they smelled amazing. As she ate, she noticed that no one left to inform the stable master of her whereabouts. She supposed it didn't matter. She'd be beaten either way.

The kitchen was cavernous with every available bit of wall space covered with a shelf, étagère, oven or table. A half dozen other women were bustling about the room, their faces relaxed but intent. Ella couldn't help but think these women liked their work. They had the same kind of concentrated expression she, herself, sometimes had when her work was engaging and interesting. One or two of them actually looked in her direction and smiled.

Shit
,
why couldn't Greta have gotten me a position in the kitchen?
she wondered, eating the last bite of her muffin.

After a few minutes, Heike led her to a large cement sink full of dirty water and a tall stack of crockery. She handed Ella a rag and pointed to the sink.
Beats scooping horse
dung, Ella thought. Determined to be a credit to Heike's kindness, Ella plunged her hands into the icy water, a film of oil floating on top, and marveled once more that anyone lived past childhood in this world of dirt and bacteria. As she worked, she noticed that, unlike in the stables, the others in the kitchen ignored her. It gave her the opportunity to examine the kitchen and its workers more closely.

She could see three entrances to the kitchen. The one that she and Heike had used was narrow and came in from the outside. Another larger entrance was at the end of the room where she soon saw the double wooden doors open and a horse and cart standing outside. Deliveries, she decided. The third entrance was at the top of a short stairwell. It had a wide, arched doorway which led into the interior of the castle. As she washed and stacked the dishes—careful not to drop one since she wasn't absolutely sure of the punishment—she watched the cook. If Ella were to slip away, it would be the cook she'd need to evade. Before Ella could put together a plan to find a way into the castle, Heike handed her a towel for her hands and motioned her to a large table where the other women were already seated.

Ella took her place at the table and was startled when Heike on one side and a plump, sweet-faced woman on the other each took her hands. Cook, at the head of the table, stood up and recited a brief prayer. She then nodded with satisfaction and a girl of no more than ten years old began ladling out a steaming meaty soup into bowls for everyone. Ella was nearly in shock with the civility of the noon meal. The mean-faced cook even patted the ten-year old on the shoulder and laughed at a comment from one of the workers.

Her bowl of soup sat in front of her. As she reached for her metal spoon, it occurred to Ella that a close examination of her hands would reveal to anyone that she was not a young boy. While not manicured, thank goodness, they were slim and feminine with a white line showing where she normally wore a gold signet ring on her ring finger.

“You are not hungry?” Heike asked, pointing to Ella's bowl.

Great, now I've called attention to myself,
Ella thought, as three heads turned to look at her hesitation to eat. She grabbed up her spoon and took a heaping mouthful, burning her lips and tongue before spitting it out into the bowl.

Everyone laughed, and Heike pushed a small mug of beer toward Ella. Before Ella could pick it up, she heard a shriek at the far end of the table. All the women jumped to their feet. Ella spilled her beer as Heike grabbed her sleeve to make her stand, too. Cook bunched her apron in front of her as she massaged the cloth nervously. The women stood at their places, looking down, their eyes either closed or fixated on the table.

And there, next to Cook, stood Axel. Before Ella tore her eyes away from him to study the table like the others—and pray he didn't notice her—she couldn't help but recognize that he had an electric charisma that thrummed about him. He was handsome, to be sure, but it was the energy that he emanated that announced his presence and made him appear bigger than life.

Sweat trickled down her back under her stable boy clothes. She prayed that if there was anything memorable about her from her two run-ins with him, it was disguised in a concealing patina of grime.

If he recognized her, she was dead.

The other women at the table were stone silent as Axel spoke to Cook in friendly and cordial tones. Twice, Ella had to force herself to remain looking at her soup bowl.

“
Guten morgen, mutti
,” Axel said. “Lunch smells good.”

“Has Herr Krüger eaten yet?” Cook asked meekly, gasping between words.

“No time,” he said. “I am heading into town on a very important mission for my father.”

“May I m-m-make your lordship something?” Cook said, her fear evident to all.

“
Nein
,” he said. “Finish your lunch. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

Was this the asshole Axel excusing himself to a servant?
Ella forced herself not to look to make sure it was really him.

“Nobody makes
broetchen
like you,
mutti
,” Axel said. “May I have one for my journey?”

“Of course,
mein herr
,” Cook said, scurrying to the cupboard. Ella imagined she could feel her own sweat dripping through her clothes to the stone floor below. She could sense he was looking at them now.

“It certainly all looks delicious,” Axel said to the table of women. No one spoke. When Cook returned, Ella heard a sound she never in a million years would have expected.

The sound of a kiss.

Axel took the bag, thanked Cook and left the kitchen as silently as he had come. When Ella looked up, she saw Cook slump into her seat on the bench, then place both hands against the table and look up at the women who were still standing. She motioned them to sit down.

“Well, that doesn't happen very often,” Heike said, picking up her beer cup and frowning at the spot where Ella had spilled hers. “Cook knew him as a small boy, you see,” she said.

“She mothered him when his own mother died, God rest her soul,” a woman next to Ella said.

“I never knew his mother, of course,” Heike said. “But the whole castle knows what an angel she was.”

Ella ate her soup and tried not to register her understanding. She knew enough German to decipher what they were saying but to avoid suspicion she needed to keep her cover tacked firmly in place.

“Herr Krüger was bereft when she died,” said another of the kitchen workers down the table. “He went into mourning that some say he has never recovered from.”

Just then, Cook banged her spoon against the table and waved it at them. “Don't speak of her,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at the hallway where Axel had disappeared. “It upsets him to hear her name.”