Margaretha stared at him. Then she looked at Frau Lena. “He . . . he is only ranting.” She shrugged and shook her head. “I am not sure.”
Frau Lena’s forehead was still creased. “You should go. He may be dangerous. I don’t think you should visit him anymore.”
Gawain leaned toward her again, that intense look in his eyes. “Please promise me you will come back. I must talk with you again.”
“Did you understand Frau Lena?” Was he only pretending not to understand the healer? Or had he simply anticipated what she would say?
“No. What did she say?” He looked as if he sincerely wanted to know.
Again she wondered if he was only pretending not to know German. But she thought she’d better play along with him — for now. “That I must leave.”
“Please, Lady Margaretha. Promise me you will come back. Promise me you will remember what I said, and go and tell your father. Yes.” He frowned again. “I’m afraid you must go and tell Duke Wilhelm. But you must not let Lord Claybrook hear you or know you are suspicious of him in the least. You must be extremely careful with what I have told you and not tell anyone except your father. Promise me.”
Margaretha’s mind was spinning. She wasn’t sure what to believe. She had thought him mad, until he’d told her the story about Lord Claybrook murdering his sister’s friend because she was pregnant with Claybrook’s child. Had his unbalanced mind invented the story? The details, including the fact that he claimed they were both from the same part of England, made his story seem more authentic.
If his story was true, then he was indeed in danger, and so was she, simply because he had told her. Now she understood why he hadn’t wanted to tell her his name.
Still, it was all so difficult to believe. Lord Claybrook a murderer? It hardly seemed possible. A man who cared as much as he did about the fashion of his garments didn’t seem likely to murder anyone, did he? But it wasn’t as if she knew any murderers or their clothing preferences.
His deep blue eyes pleaded with her, even as Frau Lena stood next to her, urging her to leave the room.
“Very well, I promise,” she told him.
“Please be careful.” The expression on his face made her feel as if they shared a secret, as if he trusted her.
No one had ever trusted her with a secret, not since she had revealed to her mother that her older brother, Gabehart, was sneaking out at night. And there was the time her sister had accidentally broken her mother’s looking glass. Once pressured to tell what she knew about it, Margaretha had spilled the entire truth. Her sister didn’t speak to her for two days.
Frau Lena nudged her toward the open doorway. “Go on. Let him get some rest.”
Margaretha looked over her shoulder at him as she walked out of the healer’s chamber. He watched her go, as sane and solemn as the priest during Holy Eucharist.
It was only too sad that he likely was not sane at all.
“My name is Colin,” he said softly.
She stared back at him, then nodded. “Colin. It suits you.”
“Please be careful,” he said, as Frau Lena nudged her out the door.
Chapter
7
As Margaretha went to look for her father, she couldn’t stop thinking about Gawain — or Colin, if that was his actual name. In a certain manner, she felt responsible for his welfare, perhaps because she had been there when he was brought in, nearly dead, by the potter’s apprentice. Or perhaps it was because she was the only one who could speak his language. He couldn’t even communicate with Frau Lena. Margaretha was nearly the only person in Hagenheim who spoke English.
Being needed was a good feeling.
Her father was not in the solar, and neither was anyone else. She came down the stone steps to the first floor. Hearing voices in the Great Hall, she went in.
Margaretha’s mother and sisters, Adela and Kirstyn, were sitting at a trestle table with a chessboard and chess pieces.
“Come play with us,” Kirstyn called. “I’m playing chess with Mother, and you can play something with Adela.”
“Yes, Margaretha. Play with me!” Adela jumped up and ran toward her. “I don’t like chess and there’s no one to play backgammon with me.” Her blue eyes sparkled and her little hands grasped Margaretha’s arm.
“In a minute, Adela. Don’t pull my arm off.” Margaretha’s mother was staring down at the chessboard. “Mother, where is Father?”
She smiled and patted Margaretha’s cheek. “He and Valten have gone to the training field with the knights to show Lord Claybrook their drills.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No, but I don’t expect them until late in the afternoon. They took food with them. Why do you ask?”
“I wanted to talk to him . . .”
Her brothers, Steffan and Wolfgang, burst into the room. They made so much noise, shouting and fighting over a sheathed sword, that her voice was drowned out.
When the two boys stopped fighting long enough to look over at their mother, she was giving them her stern look.
“Boys, why are you fighting over that sword?”
Steffan and Wolfgang looked at each other, then turned back to their mother. “It’s a secret,” Wolfgang said.
“Yeah,” Steffan chimed in, “and we can’t tell secrets in front of Margaretha, because she talks too much.”
Margaretha’s chest tightened. “Well, you fight too much. Why don’t you go annoy someone else.” She had a secret at this very moment, and she wouldn’t tell anyone but her father. It was a shame she couldn’t tell her brothers how wrong they were about her.
Steffan shrugged. “Everyone says you talk too much.”
“That is unkind, Steffan.” Mother’s look had changed from stern to shocked. “Apologize to your sister.”
Her mother didn’t say it was untrue, only that it was unkind.
“But, Mother, everyone says it.”
“That is enough. You will not speak of your sister that way. Besides, most secrets should not be kept. We don’t keep secrets in this family.”
“I am sorry, Mother.” Steffan gave his mother his best contrite face. When Mother looked away, he shifted his gaze to Margaretha, and the corners of his mouth went up in a smirk.
Margaretha was tempted to give him a quick cuff to the head while Mother was looking away. She decided instead to mollify his teasing by admitting, “I do talk too much sometimes.” Margaretha allowed Adela to take her by the hand and lead her to the backgammon board. She shook her head at Steffan. “But I can’t help it that your mind is too slow to process all my words. It is your fault for not stretching your mind with reading and studying — ”
“There you go again, talking more than a person’s brain can take in. You couldn’t stop talking if you tried.”
“I certainly could.”
Wolfgang laughed, and Steffan joined him. They laughed so hard, the two brothers grabbed each other’s shoulders, holding on as if they would fall down laughing if they didn’t.
“That is enough,” her mother said. “Margaretha is lovely, and therefore her thoughts and her speech are lovely. Anyone with a pure heart may speak as much as they like and their words will always be welcome.”
“Thank you, Mother.” She smiled and pretended her brother’s words didn’t bother her. If only she could be quiet and demure, like her sister Kirstyn, or wise in everything she said, like Mother. Even her sister-in-law, Gisela, seemed to command attention, and what she said always seemed pertinent to the conversation. They did not change the subject abruptly, as Margaretha often did, or forget to ask the other person about themselves.
Margaretha sat down opposite Adela, who was readying the game board. Her brothers moved closer to her, glancing several times at their mother, who was staring down at the chess game between her and Kirstyn.
Steffan made his way to Margaretha’s side, bent down close to her ear, and whispered, “Aren’t you planning to tell Mother about the mad fello
w in the Frau Lena’s chamber? I’ll wager you can’t keep it a secret, even though Mother would disapprove of you visiting him.”
“What do you know of it?” Margaretha caught him by the collar of his tunic.
“I was walking by the healer’s chamber and saw you talking with him. The blacksmith’s apprentice, Frederick, saw when they brought him to Frau Lena. He told me the man took a blow to the head and now he is mad. He raves like a lunatic, and no one can understand what he says.”
“You don’t know anything,” Margaretha whispered, while her mother was talking to Kirstyn. “I can understand him perfectly because he speaks English. You only know German and are ignorant because you neglect your studies.” Oh no. She probably shouldn’t have said anything about him knowing English. Colin would be angry with her if he knew. She hoped she hadn’t put him in danger.
Steffan snorted. “No one around here speaks English.”
“Leave me alone, Steffan.” Margaretha was determined to ignore him as she sat down to begin her game of backgammon with her little sister. Did people laugh at her behind her back? Did they hide things from her? So many times she felt she was the last person to find out what was going on.
It must be true. No one wanted to tell her anything because she would repeat it, even without meaning to.
Her face burned as she went through the motions of the game, rolling the dice and moving her game pieces.
Little brothers were a plague. But Steffan didn’t know how much his words hurt her. Besides, everything he said was true. Talking too much was one of her worst faults, no matter how much her mother tried to make her not feel bad about it.
Did her suitors think she talked too much? Would any of them have wanted to marry her if she was not the daughter of Duke Wilhelm? Could anyone overlook her faults enough to truly love her?
What if she married, but her husband thought she was annoying? What if he stopped loving her because she talked too much?
She couldn’t think of anything worse.
Chapter
8
Margaretha walked toward the stables, hoping a ride on her favorite mare would take her mind off the stranger, Colin.
Six days had gone by since Colin had been brought to Frau Lena’s chamber, speaking English and raving about being in danger. And still Margaretha had not been able to speak to the duke about him. The first night, her father had come home late and she hadn’t wanted to bother him. The next morning, he had left early. He’d been called away to the far side of the region to settle a dispute and track down some robbers who had been terrorizing the roads.
She had not fulfilled her promises to the English foreigner. It hadn’t exactly been her fault that she had not spoken to her father, but she had also not come back to visit him in the last three days, or found him some better clothes in which to meet Duke Wilhelm.
Her mother had remarked about her being so quiet. How could she tell her mother that she felt bad for not fulfilling a promise? Her mother might scold her, and she couldn’t break another promise — the promise not to tell anyone about Colin.
But was it her fault that Frau Lena thought it best she not visit the Englishman anymore? If Lord Claybrook had been there, she might have watched him to try to find out if what Colin said about him was true. But Claybrook had taken some of his men and gone with her father.
Margaretha kicked a weed. She stopped to pull it out of the ground, absently shredding the leaves one by one and continuing on to the stable. She would go and visit him again even if Frau Lena didn’t approve. She would also brave his displeasure at her not having been able to talk to her father yet, just as soon as she’d taken her ride.
A stable boy walked past her carrying water and dumped it into the trough for the horses. He must be new, since she didn’t recognize him. His hair was thick and dark and curled at his ears and neck, and he was tall.
If he was new . . . A smile spread over her face. He wouldn’t know that she was not allowed to ride the black stallion Lord Claybrook had given her father.
The new stable boy seemed to be muttering to himself as he emptied the bucket in the trough, then went to the well to refill it. Margaretha went into the stable, undetected, and found the black stallion in his stall. He allowed her to stroke his neck, and when she offered him a carrot, he took it carefully from her palm.
The new stable boy returned to empty another bucket into the trough. There was something appealing about the confident way he held his head and shoulders. He was almost regal. Perhaps she could find a sweet kitchen maid who would be a good match for him. If only he would look up and let her see his face. But he dumped his water and went back to the well for more.
The stable master, Dieter, was coming toward her, talking with another of the servants. Margaretha slipped quietly into her own mare Blüte’s stall, rubbing the gray horse’s cheek and giving her the last carrot in her pocket to keep her quiet until Dieter and the other stable boy had passed through to the other side of the stable.
Through the open doorway she heard the new stable boy coming back, so she slipped out again, closing Blüte’s stall door quietly, and hurried out to stop him. He poured out the last of the water and set his bucket on the ground.
“Stable boy, I need you to saddle a horse for me.”
The boy froze, then turned on his heel to face her. His flashing blue eyes were unmistakable as they pierced her through.
“Colin! Es ist-du!”
Spirits above, but he did look good. He was shaved, his cuts and bruises were almost healed, and she could see by the way he filled out his brown woolen tunic that he had already gained some weight. She switched to speaking in English, which she had recently refreshed by looking at the texts her English tutor had left her.
“You don’t look at all pitiable anymore.”
He raised one black eyebrow, the side of his mouth twisting downward. “Thank you. A man always prefers not to look pitiable, if possible.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insulting. I only meant that you look . . . good.” It would require a special kitchen maid indeed to be a match for him now.
“Are you healed? And what are you doing working in the stables? Did Frau Lena say you were well enough?” She felt her face turn red. What must he think of her? After she had completely ignored his pleas to come back and visit him, after she had deserted him for three days, he must hate her. And worst of all, he must realize that she had not fulfilled her promise to speak to her father on his behalf.
She fidgeted with her sleeves, shifting from one foot to the other, waiting for him to reproach her.
He started toward her, then walked past, entering the stable and heading for the room where the horses’ saddles and tack were kept. “I was assigned to work in the stables only yesterday because I refused to leave Hagenheim until I had spoken to Duke Wilhelm.”
Was his mind healed? It seemed to be so at the moment.
“I know you must be angry with me for not speaking to the duke as you asked me to. Truly, after the first couple of days, when you were too weak to talk to him yourself, I had no chance to speak to him. He was called away on urgent business. Lord Claybrook has been away as well.” She cringed as she said the name that had elicited such an extreme reaction from him before. But he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he leaned down and lifted a sidesaddle from its place near the wall.
“I am not angry about that.”
His voice sounded deep and strong, not at all weak anymore. Staring at his back, she felt a little shiver race across her shoulders.
He faced her, the heavy saddle in his grip. “Which horse would you like me to saddle?”
“Oh. Yes.” She turned and pointed to the new black stallion’s stall. “That one.”
He looked at the horse, then fastened his dark blue eyes back on her. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I want to ride that horse, the black one with the white patch on his forehead.”
He didn’t move. �
��I do not believe you should be riding that horse. Is he the one your father told you not to ride because he was dangerous?”
“Oh, he isn’t dangerous with me.” Margaretha motioned carelessly with her hand. “He likes me and is always gentle with me. It is nothing to you which horse I ride, although I do appreciate your concern for my safety.” She smiled to soften her words, but she was the duke’s daughter and was not used to the servants speaking to her in such a manner. Perhaps her sitting by his bed when he was so ill and ministering to his wounds had caused this young man to assume a familiarity with her that was not proper.
He snorted, then rolled his eyes toward the ceiling of the stable — actually rolled his eyes at her! — and started toward the stallion. She, Margaretha, was speechless.
He stopped when he got to the stall door. She might have hurried forward to open the door if it had been one of the other stable boys, the ones who treated her with respect and deference, but not this churlish man, who dared to snort and roll his eyes! She let him struggle with the heavy saddle, holding it with one hand and half propping it on his knee while opening the stall door with his other hand.
He lifted the saddle onto the horse’s back. The stallion snuffled angrily and turned his bared teeth toward Colin and tried to nip his shoulder. Colin muttered under his breath, then led the huge black horse out into the sun to finish strapping on the saddle.
Putting on a saddle usually only took a few minutes, but the way he was fumbling around, it might take him all morning. Just when she thought he was getting along better, the saddle slid all the way off and onto the ground.
“Have you ever worked in a stable before?” She might as well talk to him. Perhaps it would cover up his embarrassment at being so unskilled at his job.
He turned to face her with raised brows and a frown. “I am the son of a wealthy landed lord in England.” He picked up the saddle and put it back on again. “Saddling horses and shoveling manure were not among my activities. But I might as well be a penniless beggar here. I have no choice if I want to stay here and stop a murderer from accomplishing whatever plan he is scheming.”
The Princess Spy Page 5
