Chapter 25
The only thing that got Sophie through the funeral was constantly reminding herself that Anne would get another chance. They all would. She waffled between going to her chamber and trying to speak to Leo again before he left. He hadn’t said he’d be going, but she knew by the hunted look in his eyes at the service that he’d go now that his duty was done. Thinking about that hunted look made her decide on her room. She’d do better next time. For one thing, she wouldn’t tell him the truth. That was too much pressure for anyone to bear. She’d let him think he was merely marrying Sir Walter’s daughter.
Fay stopped her before she could reach the stairs and dragged her to a nook with a bench. Tristan already sat there, looking tired, sad, and more than ready to leave behind the mess he’d inadvertently gotten dragged into by loving Fay. Sophie tried not to blame him. It was good that he and Fay would be safe. Even if she felt abandoned, she wasn’t going to dwell on those feelings.
“You can still come with us,” Fay said.
“I don’t think I can,” she answered. “And how can you? The day after we bury Anne? Think of Sir Wal—Father.”
Fay recoiled as if the words had been a slap. Surprisingly, she didn’t have anything to say. Tristan did, however.
“Your father will be fine,” he said harshly. “There’s no guarantee that Fay will be if she stays.”
Was he speaking of the curse or was he still worried about the people who’d been attacking his land? With the barrier between them, it was too difficult to ask. Instead, she turned to Fay.
“I won’t go. I’m going to wait for Leo. He’s the one I love. If the curse resets, I’ll just do it all over again.”
Fay shuddered and Sophie could see how terrified she was of the curse. How terrorized she’d been. “How can you go through it again? And what if it resets and then our marriage is null? What about that? You’d risk Tristan and me having to start all over again?”
“I don’t think that will happen,” Sophie said. “Because I’m here. It’s on me now. The curse is probably done with you and Tristan.”
Fay looked hopeful, then shook her head. The fear returned to her eyes. “You should come with us. It should have been months before Anne died. Everything’s going way too fast. You’re in danger. Real danger.”
“It’s not just this place that’s cursed,” Sophie said. Fay gave her a wide-eyed glare. “It’s not just Grancourt, but Tristan’s land, Leo’s land—who knows how far and wide it goes? You think running a day’s ride away will save me? I’m going to break the damned thing or die trying.” She thought she sounded brave and self-sacrificing and wished someone else was around to hear it. Someone other than Fay, who looked at her like she’d suggested swimming in the sewage pit, or Tristan, who strained to understand what she was really saying.
“The curse doesn’t want to be broken, don’t you see that?” Fay hissed, clutching Sophie’s wrist. “It should be broken now that we’re married, but we can’t know for sure if that’s the case. If it’s not, you really will die and someone else will show up. I don’t want either of those things to happen. So yes, I think we should run away. If Dernier isn’t safe, we’ll go to France.”
“You’ve got backup plan after backup plan, don’t you?” Sophie asked, more tired than contemptuous. “Take the curse to another continent. Sounds good to me.”
Fay stood up. “We’re leaving tomorrow at daybreak. I hope you’ll come.”
“I won’t. I’m seeing it through.”
“Then God help you, Sophie. I really mean that.” Fay took Tristan’s hand and dragged him away.
*
Sophie stormed toward the kitchens, meaning to sneak out the back and run until she collapsed, no matter how frozen the ground was. The moment she thought she had clarity and had reached a decision, it was all infected by Fay’s fear. She wasn’t angry with Fay, she didn’t really think Fay should stay either. Fay had done everything she could, so why shouldn’t she seek freedom and safety? It was up to Sophie now. She’d been calm. Resigned. Now she was all worked up again.
She slammed out into the back courtyard, gasping as the frigid wind snuck through her multiple woolen cloaks like they were nothing more than tissue paper. Now her resolve to get some exercise faltered and she looked around for something to hit, someone to yell at. If only Leo wasn’t so stubborn. She pulled up short. She couldn’t blame Leo for not loving her as fully as she loved him. She knew there were feelings there that would grow. It was the curse’s fault for rushing him. She tilted her head up at the sky and growled, feeling as if she’d lost it at last.
“Er, begging your pardon, Lady Sophie?”
She whirled around to find one of the pages looking at her with troubled eyes. Well, who cared? She could whip off all her clothes and run around chanting modern day rap lyrics and no one would remember when the curse reset. She wished the bloody thing would hurry up already. Everything was so far beyond fixing that she only wanted another chance.
“What?” she snapped, feeling instantly contrite when the boy shriveled away from her. “Sorry, Clive, what is it?”
“Your father wants you,” he said.
He ran before she could ask why or where and she trudged toward Sir Walter’s private chambers, trying not to feel put upon. Only the day before she’d been vowing to be a better daughter and here was her chance. She managed to hide her crazy and stuff down most of her bad attitude by the time she reached the heavy double doors. One of them was open several inches and she peered around. Sir Walter was slumped in his giant throne-like chair. He glanced up as if sensing her, not looking at all happy to see her.
“Come in, dear child.”
She entered the room and curtsied. “Are you well, Father? Can I do anything for you?” She had the unshakable feeling she was in trouble.
He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and shook his head wearily. “Only have a seat and listen to what I’m about to say.” She sat and nodded, the feeling worsening as he looked her over with a raised brow. “Sir Harold has just been in here. He’s asked for your hand in marriage.”
Sophie stood up so fast the heavy chair went back on two legs, making a loud scraping noise before she could right it. “He did what?” she exclaimed.
He nodded, seeming gratified by her reaction. “Then this isn’t something you’ve been waiting for?” he asked.
“Goodness, no. No. I’ve barely spoken ten words to the man since he’s been here. And how could he ask you at a time like this?”
Sir Walter smiled faintly and looked beyond her. “I suppose he wants to be aligned with the house of Grancourt. Now that you’ve told me it isn’t a great love.”
“No,” she reiterated, wishing she could use some powerful addendums but not wanting to swear in front of this venerable man who believed he was her father. Who, for all intents and purposes, had control over her life. “It most certainly isn’t. It’s not any kind of love. I’d rather be an old maid than marry him.”
“And why is that, my dear?” he asked blandly. Sophie sputtered and Sir Walter continued. “It’s unexpected, yes. Perhaps unseemly. But it would be a good enough match. What is your dispute with Sir Harold?”
Sophie felt panic rising. “I don’t have a dispute. I—I don’t have anything with him. I love someone else. I couldn’t, Father, I really couldn’t marry him.”
Sir Walter leaned forward. “Who is the one you love? Though I may be able to guess. Shall I?”
“It’s Sir Leo,” she blurted before she could be embarrassed more than she was. “I want to wait for him.”
“But he hasn’t asked, nor has he shown any signs that he wants you,” Sir Walter said bluntly.
Sophie held her stomach to keep her guts from spilling out at that stab. “You said yourself it’s unseemly to ask so soon after… I think Sir Leo will ask eventually.”
“You’d risk this certainty? Sir Harold has more land, though who knows what Leo’s been hoarding all these years. He could have a veritable cache of gold and gems somewhere. Still, Harold is closer to the king.”
“I’d rather be closer to you than the king,” she said, feeling like she was slowly sinking into a pit she’d never see the top of again.
He laughed. “I didn’t only mean geographically, child.”
How could she say she didn’t give a fig about the king, any king? She stayed silent, too dizzy to speak. Finally, she dropped to her knees and rested her forehead on the ground at the foot of his throne. “If you won’t say no, please don’t say yes yet. Please give Sir Leo some time. I beg of you, Father.” She wrapped her arms around her head, wishing, praying she’d wake up. “I can’t marry someone I don’t love,” she sobbed.
Sir Walter scrambled out of his huge chair and pulled her up, wrapping her in his arms. “My dear, don’t fret so. I know you’re distraught over Anne. We all are. Your heart feels like it’s breaking now, but give Sir Harold time, just as you ask me to give Sir Leo time. Do you agree to this? To try?”
She nodded, grabbing at the slim chance he offered her. “And you’ll wait for Sir Leo?”
“For a time,” he said, putting her at arm’s length. “For a short time. Now go and wash your face and remember what I said.”
She hurried away, stumbling in the hall due to her tears. She leaned against the wall, regaining her composure. She had to find Sir Harold and put a stop to whatever damned fool notion made him want to marry her. She snorted with disbelief as she hunted him down. It was too dangerous to wait for Leo, also too dangerous to wait and see if the curse reset. If she was forced to marry Sir Harold, it was game over. She wouldn’t just suffer from a broken heart, she’d quite literally die if she married someone she didn’t love.
“You better be wearing your armor,” she muttered as she burst into the great hall, fists clenched and ready to use them. “There you are, you red-haired weasel.” She curtsied stiffly and asked if she could have a moment of his time. His lousy buddies must have known what he’d done since they hurried to another bench with secretive smiles on their faces. This enraged her further. Had they forgotten where she had been that morning?
“My lady,” Sir Weasel said with a bow.
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, not bothering to keep her voice down. “Don’t you ever call me your anything, do you understand? How dare you speak to my father about me.”
He looked shocked at her outburst, then perplexed at her outrage. But, of course, why would any woman of this time bother having an opinion about her own life?
“Lady Sophie, I beg your pardon. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. I only wanted your father to know my feelings.”
“Feelings, my Aunt Gertrude,” she said, getting up on her toes and in his face. How could such a kind, handsome face belong to such a wriggling worm? To think he’d reminded her of her brother. “And as for what you’ve done wrong? Besides asking to marry someone who doesn’t want you but, my God, on the day of my sister’s funeral?”
His eyes had the audacity to fill with tears. “I think she would have wanted me to be happy. I sought to comfort your father by letting him know his remaining daughter would be well cared for.”
She turned in a circle to keep from punching him. Then she thought of her mother to keep from spitting. His words and false tears actually made her retch. “Did you ever really love her, you clod? How can you entertain the notion of marrying me when you were trying to get her to run off with you less than a week ago?”
He gaped at her in shock. “Did Anne say something to you?” He honestly looked hurt, and Sophie wished he would rot from the inside.
“Don’t you say her name. And no, she didn’t. But there’s only six women in this entire castle.” She paused, choking to think now there were five, tomorrow there would be three and in two weeks, Catherine would be gone as well. She’d never felt so alone. “You think we don’t know everything? Every little thing you slithery snakes get your slime on? Go to my father and take it back. I’ll never marry you. Never.”
She turned to stalk off, pleased she hadn’t committed violence or burst into tears, but he grabbed her arm. She looked down at his hand and then up at his face, hoping the force of her loathing would make him burst into flames.
“I’m sorry you’re upset, Lady Sophie,” he said calmly. “But I do hope you’ll come to understand my sincerity.”
He dropped her wrist and bowed before joining his men. She felt her jaw hanging loose and clamped her mouth shut. She walked as smoothly as possible out of the great hall then took off at a wild run. She had to find Leo. This atrocious news was probably already spreading through the castle like the plague. She imagined every page and kitchen boy she passed nodded their congratulations to her. Was Sir Harold really going to continue his blighted enterprise to become her husband? If so, was she prepared to commit murder? She was positive it would be considered self-defense. It was him or her and she’d told him in no uncertain terms how she felt.
Her mind raced faster than her feet and she had to pause to figure out where she was. She’d floundered past the stairs to her room, down a few different hallways, and ended up outside near the stables. Snow billowed down all around her and she took in the piles of it growing all along the wall. She stood and let the sloshy flakes splat onto her cheeks, cooling the helpless rage. Sir Walter had promised to give it a little time. She’d pray it was enough. And she’d get one of those old medical books from Fay and start looking up poisons.