The Princess Spy

by Melanie Dickerson

  “What should we do?” Margaretha whispered.

  “I think we should go now before things get too quiet.” In the darkness, Colin took her hand in his, his heart pounding hard against the wall of his chest. He placed his lips against her hair and whispered, “Take your horse’s reins and we’ll lead them back, farther into the trees. Follow me.”

  Margaretha nodded and did as he said. They led the horses away from Claybrook’s men. He tried to let go of Margaretha’s hand, but she clung to him.

  Once they were far enough away that they could barely hear the men’s voices, Colin changed course, crossed the road, and walked into the cover of the trees.

  “What should we do?” Margaretha asked.

  “Are you too tired to ride?”

  “No. I can ride.”

  “I think we should put some distance between us and Claybrook’s men. We can stay in the trees until we’re past them, then ride for an hour or two. Then we’ll try to get a few hours’ sleep, get up, and be off again at dawn so they won’t catch up to us.”

  “It is a good plan.”

  She was standing very close and looking up at him. Her eyes were big and round, but it was so dark he could barely see anything. So why was he so aware of how near her lips were to his? Why did the thought of kissing her seem burned into his brain like a mandate from both the king of England and the Holy Roman Emperor?

  What would happen if he leaned down, just a bit closer? Would she close her eyes? Would she stand on tip-toe to reach him? Would she put her arms around his neck?

  He was an addlepated lack-wit. She would never want him to kiss her, because even if she cared for him, she would never want to leave her family. She loved them, and rightfully so. As far as he could tell, they were wonderful, loving people. And now they were dependent on them, Margaretha and Colin, to help save them.

  Remember why you’re here.

  Colin stepped back, then turned away from her and continued walking. He had told her the plan. There was no other reason for them to speak to each other.

  “Colin, were you frightened?” Margaretha whispered as she grabbed onto his arm and walked close beside him. “I was so scared they would see us, I was afraid to breathe!”

  She had no idea he had just been thinking about kissing her. She prattled on, obviously not feeling what he was feeling. That was as it should be. She was blameless and naïve, a sweet girl who was incapable of scheming about making the most advantageous marriage for herself, unlike her cousin Anne, who would sell her own cousin and marry a heartless lout to gain wealth and position for herself.

  And he was nearly as wicked, thinking about stealing a kiss from an innocent girl who was alone with him in the dark, far away from her family, when he knew he could never marry her.

  He was worse than an addlepated lack-wit.

  “Did you hear what they said about Anne?” she whispered. “I can’t believe she would agree to marry Claybrook’s captain! What a fiend he must be! She must know he is not a good man. Perhaps he threatened her and she had no choice. I know she has always desired to make a good match for herself, but even she couldn’t want to marry a brute like that Sir Reginald. And she told them the color of our horses, but you told her to tell them where we were going. But to tell them the color of our horses . . . She may have been afraid of them, but if she had wanted to help us escape, she could have lied about the horses. You may have already guessed this, but Anne has never been a very kind or loving cousin.”

  They were getting closer to the place where Claybrook’s men were preparing to sleep. “I had better stop talking now,” she whispered.

  The close proximity of danger certainly helped when one was trying to not think about the beautiful girl who was clinging to one’s arm.

  They walked carefully, and Colin prayed neither of the horses would neigh and alert Claybrook’s men.

  When they had walked far enough beyond the men that he didn’t think they could hear or see them, he turned toward Margaretha and she let go of his arm. “Now we can ride. I’ll boost you into the saddle.” But his palms started to sweat at the thought of grabbing her leg and tossing her up. Ridiculous. He had thought nothing of taking hold of her and tossing her into the saddle numerous times before. What was wrong with him?

  She held on to the pommel of her saddle and stood waiting for the help he always gave her.

  He bent and grasped her foot with one hand and her lower leg, through the fabric of her skirts, with the other and boosted her up. But he boosted her harder than he meant to — much harder than he needed to. She soared right over the saddle and cried out — a sharp little cry of alarm — and disappeared on the other side of the horse.

  Margaretha landed on her arm and right shoulder in the leaves and sticks on the other side.

  Oh no. She had cried out when she felt herself falling. Had Claybrook and his men heard her? Would they come and find them?

  She scrambled to get up, pulling at her skirts, which were tangled around her legs. The next thing she knew, Colin grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground.

  “Are you hurt?” he whispered.

  “No.”

  His hands still on her waist, he lifted her onto the saddle. Then he mounted his own horse and they started through the trees at a slow trot. They guided the horses onto the road, and after a short canter, they broke into a gallop, the pale moon lighting their way on the deserted road.

  They rode without talking, and when Margaretha began to fear the horses would be harmed by how fast they were going, Colin slowed his horse and she did the same.

  “I’m sorry I fell, and that I cried out,” Margaretha said, “but you threw me over the saddle!”

  “Forgive me. I did not intend to. You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  “No.” Margaretha couldn’t help smiling at the chagrined look on his face. How had he made such a mistake? “What were you thinking?”

  He didn’t answer. Was he angry because she was laughing at him?

  Finally, he said, “It was an unpardonable mistake, especially at such a time. I am sorry.”

  “I wouldn’t say it was unpardonable. I don’t think they even heard us. We were too far away, and they were still talking loudly.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  They rode on for what seemed like a long time. Margaretha was hungry and could barely keep her eyes open. Finally, Colin said, “We can stop here.”

  They guided their horses off the road and into a thickly wooded area. While they tied their horses and prepared for sleep, Colin said, “Please forgive me for throwing you so hard. I suppose I was . . . nervous.”

  “Of course I forgive you. I was not hurt. When I’m nervous, I talk too much and too fast. I also talk too much when I’m joyful, and when I’m angry — all the time, except when I’m sad. Besides, you were only trying to help me get on my horse. You mistook your own strength. But just now I am too tired to talk. And also a little sad, because I’ve started to think how much I miss my mother and my sisters, and that makes me want to sleep so I can’t think about it.” Margaretha had just lain down on her blanket, near where Colin had spread his own blanket. She closed her eyes and immediately felt herself drifting to sleep. “I didn’t let you say much, did I? It is a terrible fault of mine . . .” Her words were getting softer and becoming slurred, so she gave up on her apology and immediately fell asleep.

  “You must get up, Lady Margaretha.”

  She opened her eyes and saw . . . nothing. It was still dark. Then she made out a form standing near her.

  “I’m sorry, but we need to go.” It was Colin. “We don’t want to risk Claybrook’s guards catching up to us today.”

  Margaretha sat up, but her eyes didn’t want to open all the way. She shook out her blanket and folded it up. Colin took it from her and pressed something into her hand.

  “Here is your breakfast. Some bread and cheese. I dare not start a fire, even though the bread is stale and would taste better
toasted.”

  “Oh, that is all right. Did you have some? Good. I am ravenous so I don’t mind the staleness.” Margaretha chewed the dry food while Colin finished packing away her blanket, then he handed her the water flask.

  “It should be daylight in less than an hour,” Colin said.

  In a few minutes, after Margaretha had finished her bread, they were on their horses and heading south again.

  They rode at a fast pace only long enough for Margaretha to remember what she had been saying when she fell asleep the night before. And then they rounded a bend in the road and were confronted with five men and their horses blocking the road.

  “Don’t stop!” Colin yelled. He seemed intent on riding straight through them.

  Margaretha calculated where to steer her mare so she wouldn’t trample anyone or hurt her horse. Colin burst through the middle, between two men, who grabbed at his reins but missed. Margaretha tried to do the same, but one of the men seized her by the arm and yanked her off the horse, wrenching her shoulder.

  Margaretha screamed and so did her horse, which reared and pawed the air.

  She slid out of the saddle and fell on her hip in the dirt. Someone hauled her up roughly by her arm.

  At least Colin had gotten away. But then she saw him coming back, driving his horse toward them, a look of intense fury in his face. When he drew near, one of the men threw a stick of wood aimed at his head.

  Colin partially blocked the blow with his arm. Margaretha screamed again. Two more men joined in the attack on Colin. One grabbed the horse’s bridle and the other grabbed him and dragged him off his horse.

  Chapter

  22

  The men swarmed around Colin. They struck and kicked him.

  Margaretha yelled, “Stop it! In the name of Duke Wilhelm of Hagenheim, stop it! Or I will have you all beheaded!” She was so desperate to stop them, she said the first thing that came to her mind.

  They did stop beating him and lifted him off the ground. It took three of them to hold him, as he kept fighting to get loose. His lip was bleeding again, and it looked as if they had reopened the half-healed cut above his hairline, because a trickle of blood ran down his forehead.

  They hurt him. A dry sob escaped her and tears stung her eyes.

  A fourth man seemed to be searching his clothes and soon found the dagger the Hagenheim gaoler had given him. The man, who had dirty blond hair and several days of stubble on his face, grinned as he held up the weapon. He walked toward Margaretha. “And who might you be, invoking the name and authority of Duke Wilhelm of Hagenheim?”

  “Don’t tell him anything!” Colin shouted, but of course, he said the words in English and the dirty brigand didn’t understand him.

  Margaretha glared defiantly at the ugly, gap-toothed man. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in her face.

  He looked her up and down, no doubt taking in her dress, which, though stained and wrinkled and even a bit torn, was of fine materials and obviously not the clothing of a poor peasant. “I said . . . who might you be?”

  He leaned closer, his face only inches from hers as he pointed the dagger at her throat.

  “I am from the town of Hagenheim. And Duke Wilhelm does not allow brigands to mistreat his people. He punishes them.”

  “Is that so?” He didn’t look — or smell — as if he had ever taken a bath or washed his clothes. “I don’t think Duke Wilhelm can punish someone he can’t catch. Can he?”

  The other men laughed, a spiteful, malicious sound. Colin finally stopped struggling. Blood ran down his temple, almost into the corner of his eye, and down his cheek. He was breathing hard and there was a tense look of pain in his eyes.

  The sight of his injury sent heat rising to her head.

  Margaretha’s captor held her by one arm, his fingers biting into her muscle. But her other arm was free. While their apparent leader, the one holding Colin’s dagger, glanced back over his shoulder at his comrades, Margaretha stomped the arch of her captor’s foot as hard as she could. He loosened his hold on her arm and howled. Almost simultaneously, she struck the leader’s hand with her fist and knocked the dagger to the ground. She snatched it up, as her captor had released her and yelped in pain.

  She held the dagger out in front of her, pointed at the leader’s chest. “Now let go of my friend and get out of here, you despicable excuse for a human.”

  The five men stared at her, open-mouthed and silent.

  The leader whistled, then grinned. “A feisty one. We underestimated you.”

  Margaretha’s fury drained away her energy, and her hands began to shake. “That’s right. Now let go of my friend and we will allow you to leave.”

  He laughed, the hateful sound growing louder and louder. The other men joined in. “You underestimate me as well.” He drew a dagger of his own from his belt, a dagger that was longer, and noticeably sharper, than hers. “Now throw your knife down or I will cut your friend into little bits.” He stepped toward Colin.

  “No, stop!” Her chest clenched painfully at the thought of him cutting Colin.

  “Then put down your knife.”

  “How do I know you won’t hurt him, or me?”

  “You don’t know, but if you don’t throw down the knife, you can be sure that I will.”

  “You’re evil.” Margaretha threw down the dagger.

  He stepped forward and picked it up. “Not as evil as some. All I want is your money, your horses, and all your possessions. I will let you keep your lives.” His grin once more revealed the gap between his teeth.

  He motioned to the man who had originally been holding Margaretha, and that man came toward her.

  She stared him in the eye and said as menacingly as possible, “If you touch me again, I shall make you rue it.” Her blood still boiled, especially at the prospect of them finding and taking her money. At least she had left her bracelet at home. And the horses! If they dared to take their horses . . . how would she and Colin ever make it to Marienberg?

  The man halted, uncertainty in his eyes. His leader snarled at him. “Get her. Now.”

  What good would it do to struggle? Colin was still being held by the three men, and the leader held their only weapon. The man grasped her wrists and held them behind her back.

  The leader walked back to Colin and felt all over him. “Your friend doesn’t have any money on him. Where is yours?” He turned to Margaretha.

  The man holding her pushed her forward and forced her to walk toward him.

  “We don’t have any money.” Father God, please forgive me for lying.

  He curled his lip at her, then snapped his fingers. “Dog Face, go check their horses and bags.”

  One of the men, a particularly ugly one, moved toward their horses, which had shied several feet away. He only had a little trouble catching them, then he started untying the bundles behind their saddles.

  Colin was still being held by two men. If Margaretha could read the look in his eyes, he was calculating how to get away from them.

  The leader crossed his arms, still holding the long dagger, and stroked his scraggly beard with his other hand. “If I had to guess, I’d daresay the girl has the money on her person.”

  The men holding Colin called out places where they thought she might hide it, so crude and lewd in their speech that Margaretha’s face went hot.

  “You are all disgusting, vile, and demon possessed to speak that way about me.”

  They chuckled at her protest. No doubt they saw her as weak and helpless. She should again break free from the man holding her, just to show them she could.

  The leader moved quite close to her, until he was only inches away. He wasn’t much taller than she was, and he leaned almost nose to nose with her.

  “Tell me where your money is and I won’t hurt your friend.”

  “You will get nothing from me.”

  “Oh no?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently, causing her head to snap back and fo
rth. The money in her sleeve rattled.

  He stopped shaking her. “I do believe I heard something.” His thin lips curled into a smile.

  He grabbed her left arm. Her captor let go and the leader stuck his hand up her sleeve. His fingers touched her bare skin and made her shudder in disgust. He found her purse and drew it out. He held it up with a shout.

  “What do you think, boys? Shall we go to the inn tonight and feast?”

  They all let out a whoop.

  Margaretha’s chest turned inside out as she stared at her purse, all of their money, in the hands of these dirty thieves.

  They searched the bundles on the backs of their horses and found their food and blankets. Once they had examined everything, their leader told them to pack it all back up.

  “Shouldn’t we take the girl’s dress too?” one of the men asked. “It would fetch a good price at the market.”

  “Why not?” the leader replied with his usual grin. “She won’t be attending any balls at Hagenheim Castle any time soon.”

  They all turned lecherous eyes on her, every one of the men staring at her. Margaretha instinctively raised her fists as she felt all the blood drain from her face.

  The dirty robbers let go of both Margaretha and Colin, but there was nothing he could do. He had no weapon, and the world had been spinning around and around ever since they’d kicked him in the head. Still, he was prepared to die protecting Margaretha.

  His worst nightmare was happening all over again. Someone he cared about was under his protection, but he couldn’t keep her safe.

  The men were all looking at her. They started to step toward her, and Margaretha’s face went white.

  No! He could not let them hurt her. God, no, please. Colin didn’t know much German, but he knew enough to shout, “Nein! Hier ist Lady Margaretha! Herzog Wilhelm’s tochter!”

  The men froze. They muttered and glanced at each other, wondering aloud if she was truly Duke Wilhelm’s daughter. They seemed to be discussing something among themselves. Would they have enough respect for the duke and the fact that this was his daughter, or at least enough fear of what he would do to them, to not harm her? This strategy would backfire if they decided to hold her for ransom. He had sensed the leader at least had a small amount of decency and respect — a very small amount. Besides, they couldn’t hope to escape from Duke Wilhelm’s wrath if they hurt his daughter.