Fairy Tale Romance Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  At the moment, he was lying perfectly still on the sick bed. One would never know he was insanely jealous of Margaretha’s suitor.

  “Perhaps you should go, so as not to disturb him again.” Frau Lena patted Margaretha’s arm.

  “Let me just say good-bye to him and see if he remembers the words I taught him.”

  “Very well. I shall be upstairs if you need me.” Frau Lena gave him one last long look and left.

  Margaretha righted her stool and sat down next to him. “Gawain? Are you feeling well?”

  “Who? What?”

  Already he had forgotten. “Remember? You didn’t want to tell me your name, so we agreed I would call you Gawain.”

  He frowned. His hands still covered his eyes.

  When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Do you remember our German lesson? What will you say if I find you some clothes?”

  “Danke für die Kleidung.”

  “That is very good.”

  “Das ist sehr gut.”

  “Excellent!” She hadn’t taught him that sentence, although he must have put the words together from other sentences she taught him. Was he only pretending not to know German?

  Gawain was half sitting, propped up on one elbow. He’d moved so fast, she hadn’t even noticed. He grabbed her arm.

  “Listen to me,” he said, returning to English. “You must not mention me to Lord Claybrook. Promise you won’t say a word. If he knows I’m here, all will be lost.”

  What was he talking about? Should she call for Frau Lena? “Hush now, Gawain. All will be well. You are distressed at the moment, but — ”

  “You must promise me.” He tightened his grip as his eyes bore into hers. “Your life could be in danger, especially if he thinks you know about me.”

  “Lord Claybrook? He would never harm me. You only need to rest — ”

  “No, it is you who do not understand.” Gawain pulled her closer, and she almost lost her balance and fell off the stool. “The man is evil. He has killed before, and he will do it again.”

  The gleam in his eyes frightened her, as well as the fact that she couldn’t pull loose from his grip on her arm. “Frau Lena!”

  He leaned even closer and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “You must listen. Please, Lady Margaretha. All our lives depend upon it.”

  He was clearly delirious again. His words and the intensity in his eyes were frightening, but he obviously believed what he was saying.

  “Are you sure it is the same Lord Claybrook? That he killed someone?” What if he was right? Could Lord Claybrook be a killer? It seemed impossible, but now that she thought about it . . . there was a coldness in his eyes sometimes. And when he talked about hunting, there was a bloodthirstiness in his voice. Shouldn’t she at least consider it a possibility?

  “Yes, I am sure! Lady Margaretha, you must not trust him.”

  Frau Lena came hurrying into the room again. Her eyes went wide with horror.

  Gawain glanced down at his hand gripping Margaretha’s arm and let go, as if dropping a burning ember. He must have realized how it would look to Frau Lena.

  Frau Lena hurried to her. “Did he hurt you? Are you all right?”

  “I am not hurt.” Margaretha’s arm tingled where his fingers had pressed into her flesh. “He is only dismayed about Lord Claybrook, I think.”

  She couldn’t break away from his gaze, as he stared at her with those intense blue eyes.

  “Please,” he begged her as if her life depended on her believing him. “Please.”

  Her heart tripped strangely. “How do you know Lord Claybrook?”

  He stared into her eyes for a moment, then sighed. “You need to know, since he is here.” He frowned, but the intensity never left his face. “We are from the same part of England. He murdered my sister’s friend, a young woman, the daughter of a wealthy landowner, because she was pregnant with his child and he didn’t want to marry her. He came here to escape justice, and for who knows what other evil intentions. He has been amassing an army of knights for the past several years and has brought them with him.” His lips parted as he stared at her. “You don’t know what he is capable of. Please believe me.”

  “What is he saying?” Frau Lena’s voice was tense by her side.

  “Don’t tell her what I’m saying,” Gawain said. “Don’t tell her any of it. Please.”

  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.

&
nbsp; 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 fellow 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 a
s 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.