Rescuing Rapunzel (15 page)

Not like me. I was merely a girl in a tower, a girl he had spoken to a handful of times.

“I see,” I said, glancing down. “And such a betrothal cannot be broken.” My heart ached, my voice cracking with the words.

“An honorable man would not,” he replied.

“And you are such a man?”

“I try to be,” he replied. He put his hand on the table, as though he wished to reach for me, but stopped.

I was thankful. As much as I wanted his touch, I knew if I touched him, I would not be able to control myself. It was taking every ounce of strength to keep from throwing myself into his arms and begging him to break the betrothal.

In that moment, I hated his betrothed. I hated the girl, because she was allowed to love him and I was not.

“Is she pretty?”

“I know not.” Nick’s eyes were dark and sad and he stroked the edge of the table with his finger. “I have never met her.”
 

“I do not understand. You said the betrothal was made when you were a child. How would you not know her?”

“Because, Rapunzel, she was stolen from her family when she was only a few weeks old.”

I gasped. “Stolen? How? Who would do such a thing?”

“A witch,” Nick replied. “The witch who helped the child be born.”

My heart thundered at the very thought. I imagined the baby–small and soft, and sleeping snugly in its cradle–snatched away into the night. Taken from her mother for some unknown end. Perhaps hurt, scared, or perhaps even…dead.

“Why?” I could not shake the idea of the lost child and sorrow ran through me, unbidden. “Why would she do that?”

“Can I tell you their story? As it was told to me?”

I nodded.

“The lands of Duke and Duchess von Stroebel were failing. Some said it was because they could not bear children, a lack that had long been a great sorrow to them.” He shifted in his chair, crossing his legs. He seemed lost in the words, hardly registering my presence at all. “When the witch came and promised a cure, the von Stroebels welcomed her with open arms. The witch prepared potions for the duchess to drink, and soon she was with child. The province celebrated, and the witch was given jewels and gratitude in abundance. She stayed with them until the child was born and for a few weeks after that. Then the witch took the girl in the middle of the night and vanished.”

Goosebumps broke over my arms, and my throat tightened. The poor child. “And she has never been found.”

“Never, in all the years of searching,” Nick replied. “It was assumed for quite a while that the witch had fled the White Mountains with the baby. We followed many leads but all to no avail. They had just disappeared.”

“What a terrible story,” I said. I forced myself to look him in the eye as I took his hand. “Nick, I…I understand why you could not break this betrothal.”

“It would destroy the family,” he said, softly. “It would be the same as saying there was no reason to hope. It would be tantamount to admitting her death.”

I nodded–I had thought the same thing–but my eyes were full of tears. I knew now there was no chance for me, no possibility Nick might abandon his duty. The stones he had given me lay on the table. I found myself stroking the middle one, the one for hope, though it offered me none.

“Rapunzel,” Nick said, and something in his tone made me look up. “The girl was stolen eighteen years ago.”

“I do not understand.”

“It will be exactly eighteen years in three days time.”

“Three days? But…that is my birthday.” A strange knot formed in my stomach.

“Yes.” Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick letter. He laid it gently on the table. The letter had been opened and I could make out lines of neat script in a soft, pretty hand.

“Read it if you choose,” Nick said, pushing it toward me.

I glanced at the words. “I am not sure–” Then my attention snagged on something familiar. I snatched the letter off the table. That could not be.

In answer to your most immediate question, Lord Nicolas, the name of the witch–a name I shall never forget as long as I breathe–is Madame Vevika Gothel.

My vision blurred, but I read the words again. And again.

Madame Vevika Gothel.

Vevika Gothel.

My mother.

My lip quivered, my stomach roiled. “Mother?” I whispered. “My mother?” I glanced at Nick. “No. No, she is wrong. It was not my mother. She would never do such a thing. It is a lie!” I shoved the pile of parchment back to him.
 

“Rapunzel, please.”

I leapt out of my chair, the dagger hitting the floor with a clatter. “No! No, you listen! My mother would never do that. She would never steal someone’s baby!”

“No one ever wishes to believe someone they love capable of something so dreadful.”

I shook my head. “Mother would never! Why would she? She had me!”

Nick closed his eyes, and let out a long breath. “Rapunzel, did you not consider that you are the missing baby?”

I froze and opened my mouth to speak, but found I could not. How could this be true? Me? The stolen baby? It was not possible. “But Mother told me. She had me on the side of a road. It was raining.” My hands shook as I sat down.

“It rained the night the baby was stolen. That is part of the reason they were not found–the rains washed away any footprints for soldiers to track.” He pushed the papers toward me again. “It is all there. Every single detail about the stolen baby.” He met my gaze, and his eyes held a determined fire. “About you. That is why I brought it, Rapunzel. I wanted to prove to you I was not spouting nonsense.”

“No, it cannot be possible,” I repeated. “You must be mistaken. The von Stroebels must be mistaken. It cannot be so!” I got up and paced the room, flicking my hair out of my way with a thud that punctuated my steps.
 

“It is highly unusual that the date you celebrate your birthday is the day the baby was stolen.”

“A coincidence. Or…or perhaps they are wrong about the date. The month. Even the year. Mistakes can happen. It was almost twenty years ago. Time clouds memories.” I continued to pace, stroking my braid as I walked. “Besides, what proof is there beyond the letter? The dates are a strange coincidence, to be sure, but you must have something more before you can brand my mother a kidnapper.” Mother was… she was my
mother
. She had told me often enough about my birth–about the rain, and the side of the road, and…and…

“There is one way to prove, beyond any doubt, that you are–”

“I am not!”

“Or are not,” Nick corrected, “the von Stroebels’ daughter.”

I paused. To prove he was wrong, that they were wrong, I would do anything. They could not be right. Mother would not do such a thing. Would she? My lip quivered at the thought. “And what is that?”

“The infant had a very distinct birthmark–”

A wave of relief washed through me. “There, you see, there is your proof. I have no birthmark.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I am,” I replied. “I think I would know if I had a mark on my body.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not if it was on your back.”

I immediately reached for my back, covering it as best I could. “There is no mark,” I whispered.

“Would you be willing to prove it?”

“There is nothing to prove. I am not this missing girl. Mother would not have stolen me from anyone. I am
her
child.” My voice sounded fairly certain, but even I could hear the slight waiver. I covered my face with my hands. “I cannot be that girl.”

Mother had her faults but she would never do something that horrific.

No one could be so cruel.

Nick gently took my hands and pulled them away from my face. “What if you are?”

“I cannot be.” What I saw in his eyes made me want to hide behind my hands again. He believed I was this missing child with his entire being. It was written all over his face.

“Please, Rapunzel? Will you let me look, just to be certain?”

Again, he weakened me with a “please.” My shoulders slumped. “Where is this birthmark supposed to be?”

“Just below your left shoulder.”

I could not escape the sincerity in his eyes. Before I fully realized what I was doing, I nodded and put my back to him. Nick took a few more steps toward me, his boots echoing in my room and, as each step came closer, I felt as if the air was being sucked out of my body. Nick was wrong. He had to be.

He touched my shoulders for a moment–his hands warm through my chemise–then ran his fingers around the top of the bodice.

“You need to remove this,” Nick said, his voice thick and husky.

“Oh,” I replied, my cheeks growing hot. My fingers would not cooperate and I fumbled with the bodice strings.

“Let me help you,” Nick said, coming around in front of me.

His large hands gently moved mine away, his touch searing my skin. My breath caught in my throat as he focused so intently on the bodice ties. Still I could not help but notice his body one deep breath away from mine. I tried not to breathe.

He looked up at me, and a tiny smile slid over his lips. “I think I have it.” He looked down again and tugged on the string.

The laces loosened, and my breasts were released from the cinching of the bodice. He let out a shaky breath and his fingers stilled, lingering on the laces. The back of his hands grazed the bottom of my breasts, and they were suddenly aching. A moan caught in my throat. I wanted to back away from his touch, from the heat it ignited, but the look in his eyes held me in place.

He slid a finger down into the criss-crossed laces, loosening the next X made by the string, and slowly drew it out. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth as he finished the rest of the laces. His hands were deft on the strings, yet slow enough that I felt each touch as though a branding iron moved over my skin.

“There,” he said, his voice ragged. He placed his hands on the straps, sliding the bodice off my shoulders to my elbows. “You…” He cleared his throat. “You can take it off now.”

Without thinking, I did as he said, sliding it off my arms and letting it drop to the floor. My chemise had pulled open and slipped off my shoulders. I put my arm over my chest to keep the under-dress from falling open any more.

Nick stepped behind me again. He touched the skin of my back, running his fingertips along the line of the chemise, only to be stopped by my braid. I drew it out of his way, holding on to it as if it would anchor me in this unexpected storm.

He dipped his hand lower, pulling the fabric down, and I let out a sigh. His touch was as light as the caress of the air on my naked skin, as soft as the whisper of the chemise as it slipped down my back. He traced the exposed line of my shoulder blade, sliding over the rise of the bone, and I sighed again, helplessly.

So lost in his touch, I did not realize at first where his fingers were, but when he touched the scar I jerked out of my reverie.

I turned to face him, hurriedly pulling the chemise on. “Do not touch that.”

His brow furrowed. “Rapunzel?”

“That scar,” I said, moving away from him. “I should not have shown it to you. It is gruesome and must be kept hidden.”

I knew I should never…I knew it. How could I have forgotten?

Nick took a step forward. “It is not a scar, Rapunzel.”

I reached across my body, feeling the mass of dark flesh that curved unnaturally. “Of course it is. Mother told me.” I stared at him for a moment. “Surely that is not what you are looking for?”

He came closer, now a mere hair’s breadth away. “I believe it might be, if you will let me look again.”

I shook my head. “It is a scar. Mother said I must never show anyone…”
 

Why would Mother tell me that? Why would she have spent so long drumming it into my head as a child?

Look at this scar
, she would say.
Just look at it. It is gruesome, Rapunzel. It must be kept hidden.

Why would she say that? Why bother? Unless it mattered.

I looked into Nick’s eyes and the sympathy in them stunned me. It came to me then in a bolt of lightning that stripped me to the bone. Tears pooled in my eyes. There was a freedom in this emptiness, but the cost… how would I bear it?

Nick held out his arms and this time I dove into them, sobbing. Every word he had said was true. I was the stolen child. Mother had taken me from another family, pretended I was hers. I was not supposed to live here in this tower. I had been born to another life, to a family I had never known because she wanted it so. She kept me locked away, hidden from the world, because she wanted it so. I never had a chance to be anything but what Mother wanted, and I felt sick. My stomach roiled.

I ran to the window, hanging my head outside as the meager contents of my stomach spewed out of me.

Nick was beside me, rubbing my back, whispering words I did not really register, except that they were soothing. When I came in, he brought me a cup of tea and sat on the floor next to me. He let me cry, holding me and stroking my hair.