Fairy Tale Romance Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  Colin tried to focus his thoughts in spite of his blurred vision and ringing ears. “The lady knows nothing. I’m just a raving lunatic to everyone in Hagenheim. No one here speaks English.” He could only hope Lady Margaretha would pretend not to understand them.

  “If everyone believes you a lunatic, why did the duke’s guard come into the library to speak to you?”

  “I don’t know what he was doing in the library. He couldn’t have been coming to speak to me. I don’t speak German.” Colin licked his lip and tasted blood.

  “I thought I killed you already. Why didn’t you die?” Claybrook stared at him. Then he motioned to his two guards. “Take him into the woods and kill him. And make sure he’s dead this time. I don’t want to have to deal with him again.”

  The guard began dragging him, wrenching his shoulders.

  “Wait!” Lady Margaretha’s voice was shrill. “What will you do to him?”

  Claybrook turned his attention on Margaretha.

  Without divine intervention, Colin would soon die, and if Margaretha wasn’t careful, Claybrook would kill her too.

  Claybrook smiled like the serpent he was. “Do not worry, Lady Margaretha. My guards will take him back to his stable master.”

  Lady Margaretha looked panic-stricken. Would she give away the fact that she did know who he was and that she did speak English? That she knew Claybrook was lying and was sending Colin to be killed?

  “If he was in the library, then — then he should be punished. No stable boy should be lurking in the library. Obviously he was up to something wicked. You — you must throw him in the dungeon. Yes, right away. Throw him in the dungeon until my father returns home. He will be able to decide a proper punishment for him.”

  Claybrook narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps you are right.”

  “Of course I am right.” Lady Margaretha stood tall. “Take him to the dungeon. But by all that’s holy, stop dragging him. I’m sure he can walk.”

  The guards obeyed her and allowed him to walk out between them. But he could tell by the suspicion on Claybrook’s face that Lady Margaretha, as well as her plan to get her family to safety, was in danger.

  God, no, not Margaretha. Please don’t let her get killed.

  Chapter

  13

  Margaretha lifted her chin and looked down her nose at Claybrook, mimicking Anne’s imperious expression. She followed the guards and Colin out into the corridor. God, please have them take him to the dungeon and not into the woods to kill him. She held her breath, watching to see which way they went. Just as they disappeared through the doorway that led down to the bleak, cold dungeon, another of Claybrook’s guards came from the other direction. When Claybrook saw him, he excused himself and stood in the corridor, then stared at Margaretha, as if waiting for her to go back inside the Great Hall to join Anne.

  Margaretha stopped in the doorway and tried to listen to what his guard was saying, but he spoke in such hushed tones that she didn’t catch a word.

  Someone grabbed Margaretha’s arm. She jerked away.

  It was only Anne. Her cousin didn’t seem to notice her reaction, but whispered, “Lord Claybrook is quite handsome. I think he fancies me. Did you see the way he smiled at me?”

  “Anne . . .” What could Margaretha say? She couldn’t tell her the truth about Claybrook, not here with Claybrook so close. However, as annoyingly self-centered as her cousin was, she was still her cousin and Margaretha wouldn’t want to see her come to harm. So she warned, “He isn’t everything he seems, Anne. Be careful of this one.”

  “I should be careful, eh?” Anne’s sly half smile set Margaretha’s teeth on edge. “I think you only want him for yourself.”

  She didn’t have time for this. “Do as you please. I hardly care.” She had to allay Lord Claybrook’s suspicions and still save poor Colin from Claybrook’s men and the dungeon. One false move, one wrong word, and Claybrook would kill Colin, and maybe even Margaretha and her family.

  Lord Claybrook walked over to her, a challenge in his upraised brow. “You haven’t forgotten our chess game, have you, Lady Margaretha?” But his eyes were flinty, and she was certain he had more on his mind than a chess game.

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten. Shall we play?”

  They sat facing each other, the game board between them, with Anne hovering over Margaretha’s shoulder first, then Claybrook’s. Margaretha had always been a good player, but in her distraction she made a blunder, allowing Claybrook to capture her knight.

  “You aren’t letting me win, are you?” Claybrook waggled his eyebrows at her.

  It rankled that he would accuse her of doing what Anne had done earlier. “Of course not. You simply must be the better player.” Better to let him think she was unskilled rather than that she was purposely losing.

  The footsteps of several people sounded from the corridor, drawing closer. Margaretha heard her mother say, “This is outrageous. You may tell Lord Claybrook that I am angry and disappointed . . .”

  Oh no! Mother and the others! They should have been halfway to the manse in the forest by now.

  Claybrook’s foxlike eyes were trained on her. She had to choose her words carefully. “What is my mother saying? She sounds vexed.”

  “Does she?” Claybrook’s artificially innocent tone grated on Margaretha like a poke in the ribs.

  With as much indifference as she could muster, Margaretha said, “I’m sure there is nothing amiss. She is probably scolding my little brothers about something.” She fixed her eyes on her chess pieces, but her mind was racing. Lord Claybrook knew what her mother was vexed about. His guard was probably reporting only moments earlier that they stopped her mother and family members from their outing and brought them back to the castle to hold them hostage.

  She moved her king forward to show she was not worried as her mother’s voice grew more distant and indistinct. But her face was burning and her stomach sinking. How would any of them escape now?

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Claybrook studied her.

  “Of course.” How could she possibly care about the chess game?

  Claybrook immediately captured her king with his knight.

  “Chess is a silly game. I’ve never been very good.” Margaretha tried to smile but failed. Her lips felt frozen, her insides trembling.

  “You know who that stable boy is, don’t you?” Claybrook’s voice was raspy and cold, sending a chill down her back. “He came here and warned you about me, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking of.”

  Lord Claybrook propped his elbows on the table, bringing his long, slender fingers together in a point in front of his lips. “You speak English fairly well. You told me so the first day I met you. I wonder, did you know where your mother and sisters were going this morning?”

  “They were going on a picnic. Why do you care?” She tried her best imperious look again, but her lips trembled.

  “That young Englishman my men took to the dungeon shall be your undoing, Lady Margaretha. Now I think you had best tell me the truth.”

  “The truth about what?” Her heart beat haltingly inside her chest. She couldn’t pretend much longer. He already knew she knew. Still, if there was a chance that he might believe her ignorant of his plans . . .

  “Yield yourself to my will, for I will have my way. The strongest always prevails, and I am the strongest.” He leaned toward her.

  “What are you talking of? That stable boy? What does he have to do with you preventing my mother from going on a picnic?”

  “Spare me the feigned innocence. If you cooperate with me, I shall still marry you, and I might even spare that English boy, who thought he could stop me and has once again failed. But if you do not cooperate with me . . .” He looked down at his hand, as though examining his nails. He started clicking his tongue against his teeth and slowly shaking his head. “Who is to say what might happen to the English lad and his noble ideas of justice, not to mention
Lady Rose and your sisters?”

  “Are you evil enough to threaten my mother and sisters? How dare you.”

  Anne’s eyes were round, her mouth hanging open in a look of disbelief. But Margaretha had to keep her mind focused.

  “I wouldn’t marry you, not ever. You must be mad if you think you can intimidate me that much. And if you harm my family members, I will see you delivered to the king’s royal judges and hanged.”

  Lord Claybrook’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. She couldn’t believe she had ever thought him handsome. “You will be begging me to marry you before I’m finished with this family and this town.” His voice was like the hiss of an adder.

  What should she do? What sort of tactic could she employ? She had to escape, to go get help. She feared Claybrook had stopped Bezilo from going to warn her father — might even have killed him. She had no doubt he was capable of killing Colin or a guard, but would he dare harm her mother — a duchess — and her other family members? He had already promised to kill the Duke of Hagenheim and his heir.

  Margaretha’s words and actions now might mean life or death to many people. She had to think.

  She would intentionally refrain from mentioning Colin in the hopes that she could pretend she didn’t care about him and perhaps make Claybrook forget about him, at least temporarily. There was the tunnel that led underneath the town wall. It was her best chance of escape, or going to get help, if she could reach it. And if Claybrook’s uncle was bringing his guards, she would need to get help from someone who could send an army to take Hagenheim back from the villainous Claybrook and his evil uncle.

  Her mother’s father, the Duke of Marienberg, would be able to send soldiers, and along with her father’s knights who had accompanied him, when they returned, there would be enough men to defeat Claybrook.

  At least, she hoped it was so.

  She only had to escape and make her way to Marienberg.

  “I would never beg to marry you. And if you hurt the people I love, you shall be forced to kill me, because I will never consent to be your wife.”

  He stared at her a long time, then caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, grasping her arm with his other hand. “That would be a pity.”

  She wrenched her face out of his grasp.

  He barked to his guard, “Don’t let these two out of your sight,” pointing to Margaretha and Anne. And Claybrook stomped out of the Great Hall, his footfalls echoing off the flagstone floor.

  “Margaretha!” Anne gasped. “What is this trouble you’ve got me into!”

  “I’m sorry you came when you did, Anne. Not the best time for a visit, but it’s hardly my fault Lord Claybrook is trying to kill my father and take over Hagenheim.”

  “What?” Anne’s incredulous look was not becoming. Her eyes bulged and her cheeks and lips drained of all color. She went so pale, a blue vein was visible above the bridge of her nose. She then made a sound like she was choking. After visibly swallowing and blinking, she said, “He wouldn’t kill me, would he? After all, I’m only a cousin . . . your father’s niece.” The last word came out as a squeak.

  Margaretha didn’t answer. She was staring at the guard Claybrook had ordered to watch them. He was staring back at her with cold, heartless eyes. Another guard stood in the open doorway. One guard might have been possible to trick, but two?

  “I’m afraid I have to go to the garderobe.” Margaretha stepped right up to the nearest guard. “It’s not far and I will be back soon — ”

  Anne scurried across the floor and bumped into Margaretha’s side. “You’re not going without me.” She grasped Margaretha’s arm with both hands.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” the guard said in a heavy English accent. Then, abandoning his German, he said in English, “You are fortunate Lord Claybrook doesn’t tie you up and gag you.”

  Margaretha opened her mouth to reply, then decided she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of speaking to him in his native language. She retorted in German, “How disrespectful, daring to speak a foreign tongue in my presence. I will have you know, I am a duke’s daughter, and I am not accustomed to this sort of treatment. Your Lord Claybrook will be sorry he didn’t stay in England when my father, Duke Wilhelm, is finished with him.”

  The guard said nothing, only stared back.

  Ranting at Claybrook’s guards was not likely to bring about any positive effect. She had to think of a clever plan, some way of escape.

  “What will you do to get me out of here, Margaretha?” Anne’s breath in her ear made her draw away, but not far, as Anne still clutched Margaretha’s arm. “Since he’s your suitor, I’m holding you responsible.”

  “What happened to you thinking he likes you?”

  “I am not amused, Margaretha. I want to go home.”

  If only Anne could go home.

  “You can’t keep us in this room all day,” Margaretha said to the guard, “without allowing us to go to the garderobe. I drank a lot of water this morning and nature waits for no man — or woman.”

  “When Lord Claybrook returns, you may ask him.”

  Margaretha crossed her arms, but with Anne hanging on to her, it was a little difficult. “If he doesn’t return soon, you’ll have to take us with you to look for him.”

  He raised his eyebrows just enough to let her know that he was not agreeing to anything.

  “I am not accustomed to being treated in such a manner.” She was afraid she didn’t sound very intimidating, but she had to try. “And where are my brothers and Gisela?”

  He did not answer her.

  “If you or any of Claybrook’s other henchmen dare to hurt them, Duke Wilhelm will make you all regret you were born, and regret you left your little island across the sea.”

  She walked over to the windows facing the courtyard with Anne still hanging on to her arm. The blacksmith in his courtyard smithy was pounding something with his hammer. A kitchen maid was fetching water from the courtyard well. People were going about their daily tasks, unaware that everything was about to change — that a mad Lord Claybrook, with the help of his uncle, was about to take over the castle and the town and subject everyone to his will.

  God, please let there be no fighting and no one killed. But it was a strange request. After all, when her father came back, of course there would be fighting. The thought of any of the Hagenheim people being killed, whether they be guards, knights, or innocent townspeople, made her knees weak.

  And the first person to die in this conflict would be Colin, if Margaretha couldn’t help him escape.

  Chapter

  14

  The guard shoved Colin roughly toward some steps that he could only assume led down to the dungeon. The guard held his hands behind his back. He stumbled and slipped and nearly fell more than once, only to be yanked up by the guard.

  A voice called in German from below, down the dark stairs in front of them.

  A man came into view, obviously the gaoler, as a ring of keys hung from the leather strap around his wrist. He stood in a pool of light below a torch that was affixed to the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He stared back at them from beneath wiry white eyebrows, his stooped shoulders causing him to crane his neck.

  The guard who was crushing Colin’s wrists said something in a gruff voice.

  The gaoler’s keys rattled. He mentioned Duke Wilhelm amid all the German words. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, as though he didn’t trust what the guards were saying to him. No doubt he wasn’t used to taking orders from foreign guards.

  While Claybrook’s guard and the gaoler were talking, Colin looked around, hoping for a chance to escape. He didn’t see any other prisoners, and a few steps farther down, arm and leg irons were attached to the wall. The floor was bare and a little damp, but there were no loose keys lying around or doorways of escape that he could see.

  The gaoler and the guard appeared to be arguing, but the only thing he could make out was “Duke Wilhelm.”

  How could
he take advantage of this situation? He couldn’t speak their language and the gaoler couldn’t speak his.

  The priest! Hadn’t he translated for him with Frau Lena? Perhaps he could beg for his assistance again and then gain his help in escaping. He suddenly remembered the German word for “priest.”

  “Priester!”

  The gaoler barely glanced in Colin’s direction. He would have to get his attention some other way.

  “Help me!” he cried in English. “I do not belong in this dungeon. Lord Claybrook is trying to — ”

  Claybrook’s guard cuffed his ear, making his head ring and stars dance before his eyes. But at least his use of English, a foreign language to the gaoler, had caught his attention and, Colin hoped, awakened his suspicions even more.

  The gaoler shook his head, then mumbled grumpily and grabbed Colin’s arm. To Colin’s great disappointment, he helped the guards fasten an iron band around each of Colin’s wrists.

  “Priester! Please, I need to speak to the priester!”

  He found himself chained to the wall in the dark, smoky dungeon. The gaoler looked at him curiously but walked away behind Claybrook’s guards, taking the torch and the only source of light with him. Colin was left in darkness.

  Colin pulled hard on his chains, but they held fast. What now? He sank to the floor, his arm chains just long enough to allow him to sit on the cold stone.

  To his surprise, the bob of the flickering torch came into view as the gaoler walked silently back down the steps and came to stand and stare at him.

  Colin jumped to his feet amid the clanging of his chains. “Hilf mir.” Help me was one of the phrases he had learned from the priest. “Priester speaks English. English. You understand?” Would the grizzled old gaoler comprehend and help him?

  He looked sharp. “Sie ein Engländer?”

  “Ja! Engländer. Can you go get the priest? Priester? For the sake of Hagenheim and all that’s holy!” If only he knew a few more words!

  The gaoler unknit his bushy white eyebrows and grunted. “Ja.” He turned and walked away.