Belinda covers my eyes with her hand. “Look away,” she whispers in my ear, but it’s too late. I will never unsee the woman’s pain, never unhear her anguished cries.
“Margaretha!” Belinda’s cry brought me back to the present. “What have you done to your hand?”
I furrowed my brow, looking down to see blood oozing from my scabbed burn, my fingers covered in the gore.
“You’ve picked it open again. And there’s blood all over your clean chemise.” Belinda pulled me toward the washstand to run cool water over my hands. The basin turned deep red, the blood and water twisting together like my thoughts. Belinda was right. The stain on our souls had been too black for too long. If therewas any chance that rescuing Samuel would also free us from the weight of our sin, then I could not be casual. I knew I’d never impress the queen with my attempts at hunting, but I could marry a man of power if I applied myself with careful study and practice. Still, I needn’t torture Friedrich in my efforts.
“I concede, Belinda. I’ll abandon my schemes for the queen if they jeopardize my chances to save Samuel.”
She sighed her relief and gave me a towel. “You show wisdom by listening to reason.”
I patted my hands dry. “But it’s time to admit defeat and move on from Friedrich.”
“Don’t give up on Friedrich entirely. You’ve still got French lessons to win him over, but in the meantime”—she shot me a sly grin—“I’ll start the search for our next subject.”
I shook my head. “The poor fool.”
Chapter 15
Margaretha
Pressing my fist against mystomach, I twisted the knob to the library. Friedrich was already seated and studying the set of papers from our first French lessons when I lowered myself into the chair beside him. He didn’t look up, and I didn’t speak, letting him study without interruption. It seemed he was still in his aloof humor, but today I was grateful for it. The less to do with him, the better my stomach fared.
When Friedrich had nearly finished running through the papers I’d composed, I held out a narrow book. “You’re making quick gains. What if we move on to this French reader?”
As he grasped the book, his satisfied smile was replaced with shock when he took in my features. “Margaretha, you’re pale!”
I self-consciously touched my fingers to my temple, trying to laugh off his worry. “Is it as bad as all that?”
“Not at all,” he said, though his brow was still furrowed in concern. “But are you sure you should be out of bed? You seem unwell.”
“I’m well enough to tutor you.” I folded my shaking hands in my lap. “’Tis stomach pains and nothing more.”
“But you’re shivering. Can I move you closer to the fire?”
He stood, but I caught his sleeve to stay him. “Truly, I am well enough.”
“Do you need food? Can I get you anything?”
I pressed my free hand into my belly, feeling all the worse for his transformation from indifference to eager solicitation. “Friedrich, I beg you not to worry over me.”
His voice was nearly a whisper when he answered. “I can’t help it.” His eyes dropped to my fingers still clutching his sleeve, and I realized the familiarity of such a touch. Releasing his shirt from my trembling grip, I felt his gaze studying me.
“Let’s put off our lessons until next week.” He tapped his thumb against the book. “It will give you time to strengthen your stomach before I expose you to any more of my atrocious French.”
I attempted to press back a smile, but it broke free. His cheek tucked with his answering smile.
“Very well,” I agreed. “We can be done for the day.” I stood and held my hand out for the book, but Friedrich secured it against his chest, raising his eyebrows as he nodded toward my palm.
“That wound has taken a long time to heal.”
My cheeks heated, and I hid my burned hand behind me. I reached for the book with my other hand, but Friedrich anticipated me, shifting the book behind his back.
“May I see it?” he asked.
“My burn?” I chuckled to conceal my embarrassment. “Whyever for? Don’t you trust me to tend my own wounds?” I snatched for the book behind him, but he deftly pulled it away, leaving me with my arm nearly wrapped around him, our faces close together.
Our eyes met, and I read his open sincerity when he said, “I trust you. But do you trust me?”
