The Princess Spy

by Melanie Dickerson

  24

  Colin did not complain about the pain in his head or how dizzy he felt. And Margaretha did not complain either. Even when the soles of her shoes wore out, she simply wrapped strips of her underdress around her feet.

  After a few hours, they came to a village and she was able to do what she had proposed to Colin; she exchanged her green silk cotehardie for a brown woolen kirtle and a pair of thicker soled shoes. She also managed to talk the woman into giving them some bread and two bowls of pea and oat pottage, which tasted terrible but filled them up.

  They walked a few more hours before it became too dark for them to see, then found a place to sleep. The stream never wandered far from the road, which was more important than ever, now that they had no water flasks.

  Margaretha had been unusually quiet. As they lay down near the fire, she on one side and he on the other, she asked, “How does your head feel? Is it still hurting?”

  “A little.” It was throbbing, and he was still dizzy, but that was to be expected after being kicked in the head. “I remember everything about this morning, the robbers and their attack. And I think I said some very addlepated things just after it happened. I hope I did not off end you, Lady Margaretha.”

  “No, of course not.” She didn’t say anything else. The light from the fire was creating shadows on her face, and she looked sad. And why wouldn’t she be? They had been only two days away from Marienberg, but now it would take them at least four more days to walk there. And that was only if they weren’t attacked again by bandits.

  She turned to her other side. “Ouch!”

  “What is it?” He sat up.

  She sat up too and held her hand toward the light of the fire. “I got a thorn in my finger.” She just stared at her hand, and a tear slid down her cheek.

  After all she had suffered today, she was crying about a thorn in her finger?

  He went and sat down beside her. It was an impulsive thing to do, since he’d promised himself he’d stay away from her, especially after dark.

  “Let me see it.” Colin took her hand and plucked the thorn out of her finger. “It isn’t so bad. No bleeding.”

  She slowly collapsed into him, pressing her forehead against his chest, and started to sob. “I miss my mother.”

  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He had to listen carefully to understand her words through the crying.

  “What if they are all afraid? What if they are wondering about me, whether I am safe, or whether I was able to get help for them? I know my mother must be worried. What if my father and Valten walked into Claybrook’s trap and he . . . he . . . he killed them?” She was sobbing too hard to speak anymore.

  He pulled her closer, cradling her in his arms and rubbing her shoulder.

  “I’m dirty and tired and hungry, but we have to keep walking. And I’m so sorry those men hurt you. Twice in one day I thought you might be dead.” She clung to his shoulder with one hand, her face still buried in his tunic. “It was horrible.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” He brushed her hair back away from her face. “I have had much worse beatings.” Well, only one.

  “I’m so foolish to be crying. You must think me a lack-wit.”

  “No, of course not. I think you are brave and sweet and . . .” His heart contracted painfully in his chest. “If you want to cry, it’s all right. I don’t mind.” He leaned his cheek against her hair.

  “I just miss my mother and my family. I love them, and it hurts so much to know they’re in danger.”

  “I know,” he said, wanting to soothe her. “I understand.” He didn’t like hearing and seeing her cry, but she was so warm in his arms. She was pouring her heart out to him, and it felt good to know she trusted him enough to tell him exactly what she was thinking. Although her words confirmed she could never marry him. She obviously would miss her mother and father, sisters and brothers too much.

  His heart sank, but he tightened his arms around her, raising her head up to his shoulder. He couldn’t marry her, but if he could keep her safe until they reached Marienberg, and if he could save her family from Claybrook, he could go home knowing he had done something good, that he had made a difference in the life of the most beautiful, worthy, gentle creature in the world.

  “What if we don’t make it to Marienberg in time? What if we can’t get back to Hagenheim in time to save everyone?”

  “We will make it. With God’s strength, we will get there in time.”

  “But you are not well. You should be resting, not walking for miles and miles in the hot sun.”

  “God can do anything.” The words were like a revelation, and he drew strength from them. “God likes using the weak to defeat the strong.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “And God will use us to defeat Claybrook. Besides, my memory has returned, and I am well enough to walk. I think you need to sleep now. You will feel better about everything in the morning.”

  She sniffed, then took a deep breath and let it out, but she did not make any effort to pull away from him. “No doubt that is also true.” She relaxed against him, her head tucked against his neck. He closed his eyes to better memorize the way she felt in his arms, since he must never hold her like this again.

  “Will you say a prayer for us before we go to sleep?” She sat up straight and looked at him, her eyes wet and luminous in the starlight.

  “Of course.” He closed his eyes again and felt her slip her hand inside his.

  “Father God, You have graciously kept us alive, and we believe that You have a purpose for us.” He had to make this sound confident and positive, for Margaretha’s sake. “You will not let us die, and You will be with us on this journey to Marienberg. You will send Your mighty angels with their flaming swords to protect not only us, but also Margaretha’s family in Hagenheim, and all the Hagenheim people. We beseech You to not let the wicked prosper, but to uphold the cause of the righteous, as You have promised. Bless us with safety and peace tonight, in the name of Jesus the Savior.” And he did feel peace, after that prayer.

  She squeezed his hand. “That was beautiful. I feel better already, like we cannot possibly fail.” She flashed a bright smile at him.

  “Good. Now go to sleep. And stay away from thorns.”

  “I will.”

  He put a few more sticks on the fire while she lay back down. He went back to his place but immediately felt cold and far away from her.

  As he lay listening to the fire crackle and hiss, she said, “Colin?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you wish I had stayed behind with Anne?”

  “No. No, I don’t.” Even though his heart would be broken when he finally had to part from her, and he regretted he couldn’t marry her, he wasn’t sorry he had spent these days with her.

  He thought perhaps she had fallen asleep, but then she said softly, “Thank you.”

  Margaretha woke with a start. Dawn was breaking, spreading a gray light over their spot in the woods. Their fire had died, but Colin was still lying on the ground. She sat up. She’d been dreaming that she and Colin were embracing, and she could still feel the wonderful warmth of his chest. And then, in her dream, he kissed her on the lips with great fervency. It had felt wonderfully real, and as she kissed him back, she had thought, He loves me and doesn’t mind that I talk too much! Then Lord Claybrook’s men pulled them apart. Claybrook turned her around and laughed in her face. Then she awoke.

  She could still feel the overpowering emotion of kissing Colin. She blinked, hard, although she wasn’t too sure she wanted to dispel the feeling. “It was only a dream,” she whispered. “Only a dream.” She hugged herself, reliving the security of Colin’s arms last night, as well as in her dream. She only allowed herself a moment of that, then stood up.

  “Colin?” She ran over to him. Would he awaken only to have lost part of his memory again? Her heart beat strangely as she looked down at him. She had not hesitated to press her ear to his chest just yesterday
. In fact, she had cried in his arms last night. The dream, the sensation of kissing him, was nearly overwhelming, making her reluctant to touch him now. If he knew what was going through her mind . . . Her cheeks heated at the thought.

  As she stared down at him, she realized Colin was her friend, but was he more than that? Again remembering their dream kiss, she continued to stare at him.

  But he was so still. “Colin?”

  He didn’t move. Twice the day before she had thought he was dead. Still, she had an almost uncontrollable urge to again fall to her knees and press her ear to his chest.

  Then she noticed he was smiling, his eyes still closed. “Colin?”

  He opened his eyes. “Is it morning?” He yawned. “I must have been dreaming.”

  “Do you remember everything — where we are and what we’re doing?”

  “I think so. We are going to Marienberg to get help from the duke to defeat Claybrook in Hagenheim.”

  “Thank the saints above,” she breathed. “You remember.”

  “Give me a few minutes and I will be ready to go.” He stood up and turned to go into the woods.

  “Colin?”

  “Yes?” He turned to look back at her.

  Unable to think of anything else to say, she said, “I’m sorry I cried . . . on you . . . last night.”

  He seemed to be studying her with those clear blue eyes. With a solemn look, he said, “I didn’t mind.”

  What would he do if she ran to him and embraced him? She was so close to doing just that, she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He walked away.

  They had no things to gather, so after taking a drink of water, they were on their way again. As they walked, they discussed how long it would take Claybrook’s men to get to Marienberg Castle and find out Colin and Margaretha had not made it there yet. Wouldn’t Duke Theodemar get suspicious? How long would it take Claybrook’s men to come back down the road looking for them?

  “Perhaps they won’t recognize us, since I’m wearing a different dress. They won’t expect to see me dressed like a peasant.”

  “I hardly think anyone who has ever seen you could mistake you.” A little half smile lifted one corner of Colin’s mouth. “There’s no disguising how beautiful you are, and your hair is striking.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” Her heart seemed to have expanded and crowded out all the breath in her lungs.

  “Of course. You are beautiful.” He said it matter-of-factly, then looked at her out of the corner of his eye as they walked side by side.

  “My hair is rather unruly, like my mother’s. I should probably try to cover it, or at least braid it.” Her stomach growled, twisting into a knot, it was so empty. She’d heard Colin’s stomach growling earlier. She had no idea how they would acquire food, so she said nothing about the dilemma. A few minutes later, there was a rumble of thunder.

  “I do believe it is getting colder,” Margaretha said. “And it’s about to rain.”

  The sky had grown quite dark. The wind started blowing, chilling her through her clothes.

  Margaretha had heard of desert places near the Holy Land where the sun was always hot and it rarely rained, and of places on the Continent where summers were consistently hot and winters were consistently cold. But in their part of the Holy Roman Empire, the weather was unpredictable, and even in summer they sometimes had cold spells and sleet or hail.

  “What is the weather like in England?” she asked as they trudged on. “Is it hot in the summer?”

  “Sometimes. It’s like your weather here, I think, only with a bit more rain and fog.”

  An extra cold gust of wind swept down the road and into their faces, making Margaretha shiver again. “You haven’t told me much about your family. It will distract me if you tell me about them.”

  Colin said, “I have two sisters and two brothers. I am the oldest. We live with my mother and father in the castle my grandfather built, in the village of Glynval. My sisters are eighteen and ten, and my brothers are sixteen and thirteen. Or, they were when I left. My littlest sister and brother will have had a birthday since then.”

  “And you are twenty.”

  “Yes. My parents are very good people and loved my brothers and sisters and me. My father warned me not to go after Claybrook, that it would be a difficult journey and that I didn’t need to let my impulsive nature get the best of me.” He frowned, only slightly, but Margaretha saw it, just before he bent down to pick up a stick and proceeded to peel the leaf buds off of it. “He was right, of course, although I didn’t think so at the time.”

  “Why did you go after Claybrook?”

  “I was angry.” He tapped the stick in his palm to the rhythm of their steps. “I wanted to make him sorry for what he had done to Philippa. She was eighteen when he murdered her. But the only thing I’ve accomplished is to get my friend John killed as well.”

  “You’ve spoken of him before. What was he like?”

  He sighed. “John was my father’s steward’s son. We grew up together, and he came with me to England to try to capture Claybrook.” He shook his head. “Stupid, foolish mistake. How arrogant to think the two of us could bring Claybrook to justice. But John was not to blame. He was only following me. I suppose I thought his size and strength and my intelligence would keep anything bad from happening to us.”

  He seemed careful not to look her in the eye, but she could see the pain in the downturn of his face and hear it in his voice.

  “It is a terrible pity what happened to John. I’m so sorry.”

  As she spoke, fat drops of rain began to fall around them. One landed on Margaretha’s head, sending a chill down her spine.

  “We should walk in the trees,” Colin said. “Come.”

  He grabbed her hand and they ran off the road into the relative cover of the forest. They kept walking, dodging the tree trunks as the rain grew steadier. They stayed mostly dry for several more minutes, but the cold rain eventually leaked through the leaves and began to drip on their heads and shoulders. The wind, which had died down just before it started raining, began to blow harder, sending drops into their faces.

  “It looks like there’s a village up ahead,” Colin said, and he cupped her elbow and pulled her forward.

  The rain soaked through the layers of her clothing. Her linen undergown and her woolen kirtle clung heavily against her legs, making it harder to move. Her teeth began to chatter, and Colin put his arm around her shoulders as they trudged on through the wet undergrowth.

  They emerged from the trees and into the edge of a small village. In front of them were plots of land, sectioned off, with small green plants growing in rows. They did their best to walk around the edges of the plots, as the rain was coming down hard now. Colin led her toward the small, thatch-roofed houses at the other end of the fields, and headed toward the door of the first house.

  Colin knocked on the door of the small wattle-and-daub structure as the rain pelted the back of her head. A little girl with bedraggled blonde hair opened the door and stared at them.

  “We are looking for shelter from the storm,” Margaretha said.

  “No room!” A man’s voice shouted from somewhere inside the dark, dirt-floor house. “Close the door, Joan! You’re letting in the rain!”

  The little girl lowered her gaze to the floor and shut the door.

  Chapter

  25

  Margaretha and Colin hurried down the street of the village as the cold rain continued pelting them. A young woman stood in the open doorway of another low, thatched-roof hut. She motioned to them to come inside.

  They ran to the doorway. A wooden sign hung above the door with a crude painting of a loaf of bread.

  As they ducked inside, the smell of freshly baked bread made Margaretha’s mouth water. The room was pleasantly warm.

  The young woman motioned toward two stools. “You’re strangers here. Where are you from?”

&n
bsp; Margaretha and Colin sat down. “We’re from — ” Margaretha stopped. Claybrook’s men might come and ask the villagers if they had seen them. “North of here. We’re on our way to visit relatives.” Her relatives, not his. The less she revealed, the better.

  “Is he your husband?” the woman asked.

  “No. Um, he’s my . . . brother.” God, forgive me.

  But instead of smiling at him the way Anne had when she discovered he was the son of a wealthy earl from England, the woman simply nodded.

  Margaretha was well aware that she and Colin were dripping water everywhere. “I’m so sorry. We are making a terrible mess.”

  “It’s only water. Are you hungry? Because I have some fresh bread my husband took out of the oven a few minutes ago. He’s angry because he knows no one will come buy it now that it’s raining.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have any money,” Margaretha said, the words coming out slowly and regretfully.

  “Here.” The woman turned and took a loaf off the rough wooden shelf behind her. “Take it.”

  It was fresh oat bread. Margaretha immediately tore it and gave half to Colin. They both broke off a piece and ate it.

  It was still warm. Tears came to Margaretha’s eyes in gratitude for the woman’s kindness.

  “Maud!” a man’s voice boomed from beyond the open doorway at the back of the tiny room.

  “You’d better go.” The woman’s eyes flew wide. “That’s my husband and he will be angry if he knows I gave away the bread.”

  “Thank you,” Margaretha said, squeezing the woman’s hand and turning to go. She stuffed the bread inside her kirtle, between the woolen dress and her undergown, and she and Colin ran back out into the cold rain.

  They ran down the street and soon saw another house almost hidden by trees, as it was set off the road and away from the village and the fields. It was much larger and was made of stone instead of the wattle-and-daub construction of the rest of the houses and chicken coops. They tromped through the mud and undergrowth toward it, but instead of heading toward the front door, Colin led her around the side of the house toward what looked like a barn.