The Princess Spy

  Anne poked his shoulder, hard. Then she conveyed, through a mixture of crude hand signals and a little broken English, that she wanted his torch, so he passed it back to her. Now he followed close behind Lady Margaretha as they entered the tunnel.

  He only hoped Anne didn’t set his hair or clothing on fire.

  A loamy smell of damp earth met his nose, but it was better than the stink of the dungeon. He put his hand on the wall. Apparently it was made of packed earth, except that, a few feet farther on, a wooden pillar held up some wooden fortifications of the ceiling.

  Lady Margaretha was explaining, “The tunnel is not long, but we should hurry so that our torches don’t choke us with their smoke, since there’s nowhere for the smoke to go.”

  He glanced behind to make sure both young women were still there. They wore looks of relative horror, but they were staying close. Margaretha glanced back at him, and her expression was the opposite — smiling, with a glint of triumph in her eye.

  They continued on. A soft rustling sound seemed to be coming from just ahead. Margaretha stopped abruptly, and Colin nearly bumped into her back. A rat ran across their path, squeaking in apparent alarm, its eyes glowing in the torchlight. It skittered past, along the wall behind them. Anne screamed, then Britta joined her.

  “Shh!” Margaretha warned them.

  “You shh! I’ve never been subjected to such filth or ill treatment.” Anne huffed. Her voice turned whiney as she said, “Can this day get any worse? Why did I ever think coming to visit you was a good idea?”

  They had walked but a few more steps when he heard what he thought was a tiny chirping sound, so faint he might be imagining it. Then he caught a glimpse of something as it darted silently by his head. Colin ducked.

  “A bat!” Anne screamed again.

  Margaretha suddenly plastered herself against his chest, burying her face in his shoulder and clinging to him with one hand, while she held the torch in her other hand away from them.

  He wrapped his arm around her, to protect her.

  The bat hovered above them, and Colin felt a tiny breath of air on his face from the creature’s wings. Then it flew away.

  “Is it gone?” Margaretha asked, and he felt her shudder. “I’m sorry.” She pulled away from him, but he let his hand linger on her back. “Rats don’t bother me, but I’m frightened to death of bats.” She turned away from him and started forward again. “I think he’s gone. Let us go.”

  He almost wished the bat would come back. He liked the way she had felt against his chest. Had it only been his protective instinct that had caused his arm to tighten around her?

  Anne made a sound that was a cross between a groan and a sob, but she continued walking behind them. She probably had not witnessed Margaretha’s momentary panic at seeing the bat, it was so dark and narrow in the tunnel, and Colin had been blocking her view.

  They went around a bend in the tunnel, and Margaretha seemed to slow and pick her way carefully. He soon saw why. A snake skeleton lay in the middle of the path. “Watch your step,” she said.

  He stepped over it, then heard behind him, “Ach! I hate this place. What next?”

  It seemed as if they had walked quite a long way when he saw a tiny glimmer of light ahead and some wooden steps leading up to . . . the ceiling?

  “We are here.” Cheerfulness pulsed through Margaretha’s voice. “There is a door at the top of these steps. We will have to push hard to get it open.”

  Colin took her torch from her and handed it back to Britta. He and Margaretha climbed the steps. Standing with their shoulders braced against the door, they stood so close that he could feel her breath against his cheek. But he tried not to dwell on it and joined Margaretha in pushing with their shoulders. The wooden door above them began to move, causing dirt and debris to rain down around them. They continued pushing, and soon the midday sun flooded the dark tunnel. When there was a half-foot crack, Colin said, “Wait a moment,” and looked out.

  They were surrounded by grass, and straight ahead was a beech tree forest. To the left and right it appeared that they were at the edge of the meadow that bordered the wall around the south side of the castle, and just beyond the meadow was the forest. But most importantly, he didn’t see any of Claybrook’s soldiers.

  He nodded at Margaretha and the two of them continued to push the heavy door the rest of the way open. In doing so, they displaced what seemed to be hundreds of leaves, dead grass, and a few insects.

  They were out! Now to get out of the open before someone saw them.

  Then he saw something — or someone — moving in the shade of the trees. It might already be too late.

  Chapter

  16

  Margaretha brushed the dead leaves and dirt from her hair. Dust clogged her throat, making her cough. Colin held the door for Anne and Britta as they climbed out of the tunnel, then let it down slowly so it wouldn’t slam. As she kicked the leaves and grasses back over the wooden door to disguise it, she noticed Colin staring tensely into the trees.

  Anne started to speak in her whiniest voice.

  “Quiet!” Colin whispered, and motioned with his hand, violently striking the air in a downward motion. Then he squatted.

  They all followed his example and sank down where they stood.

  Rustlings, like someone brushing against tree limbs, came from the forest. Several feet away, three men emerged, stepping into the meadow. They were walking away from them and didn’t seem to notice Margaretha and her companions.

  Two of the men wore the red and gold livery of Claybrook’s guards, while the third one, in the middle, walked between them with his head down. Even just seeing him from behind, Margaretha recognized Bezilo, her father’s guard.

  Was that blood running down Bezilo’s jaw and neck? It seemed to be coming from his ear. Margaretha’s stomach churned. He was holding his arm with his other hand, bloody and obviously injured.

  Should they cower there in the meadow, hoping not to be seen? Shouldn’t they rather try to save Bezilo?

  Colin was pulling out the dagger that the gaoler had given him as he looked her way. He gave a small nod and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was.

  He motioned to Anne and Britta to stay, then to Margaretha to come. Her heart leapt; Colin trusted her to help him in a fight.

  Colin slowly stood, and Margaretha did the same. He stepped toward the three men, who were walking away, and Margaretha followed close behind Colin, who angled toward the trees, making himself less conspicuous. They followed the men for a short way before Colin began to close in.

  One of the men turned. “Who’s there?”

  Colin froze. Margaretha held her breath. “Guten Tag,” she said, forcing a smile and dropping a quick curtsy. Hopefully, in her disheveled state, they wouldn’t know who she was. “We were on our way to Hagenheim, to market. Can you point us to the nearest town gate?”

  “Who are you?” The guard on the left looked suspicious. “Are you Lady Margaretha, Duke Wilhelm’s daughter?”

  “Who, me?” Margaretha laughed, a rather hysterical sound, even to her ears. “This is my best dress, but not fine enough for Lady Margaretha, surely. I’m only the chandler’s assistant, and I work in the Marktplatz.”

  Both guards, though still holding on to their prisoner between them, were now fully attentive to Margaretha and Colin. Poor Bezilo hadn’t even lifted his head. His face was bloody, his lips and eyes swollen. What had they done to him? Her stomach twisted but she had to focus, had to play her part and behave naturally.

  “Does that man need some help?”

  She pointed to Bezilo, but the two guards were looking back and forth between her and Colin. Leering grins broke out on both their faces. Margaretha’s cheeks began to burn as she realized what they were thinking — what she and Colin must look like, with leaves and grass clinging to their hair and clothing.

  Colin’s eyes narrowed, and she noticed he was holding the dagger against his thigh to conceal it
. No doubt he had seen their suggestive looks as well.

  “Who did you say you were?” The guard looked suspicious again. This time he was staring at Colin. But of course, Colin probably understood very little.

  Margaretha had been inching closer to the men, and now she passed Colin and walked toward them. “May I help tend this man’s wounds? He seems badly injured. Did he fall off his horse? I’ve never seen so much blood coming from someone’s ear.” She continued talking to try to distract the men. She even smiled flirtatiously at the leering guard on the right. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you men around here.” As she talked, she slipped her hand into her sleeve, her fingers closing around the candlestick. Her heart sped up as she calculated exactly how close she needed to be.

  Hearing Colin behind her, she snatched out the candlestick, stepped forward, and slammed it against the nearest guard’s temple.

  The guard sank to his knees, his eyes closed, and he fell to the ground face first.

  The guard on the left was just able to draw his sword from his scabbard when Colin leapt forward and kicked the weapon from his hand. He thrust the dagger point to the guard’s throat.

  Without taking even a moment to consider her action, and while the guard was staring at Colin, Margaretha swung her candlestick with both hands and hit the side of the man’s head. He reeled, then fell like a tree to an ax’s blade.

  Bezilo had looked up when Margaretha struck the first guard. He stared as though dumbfounded from beneath eyelids swollen almost shut. But when he saw that Margaretha had knocked out the two guards, he seemed to revive. He walked to where the guard’s sword had fallen to the ground, and, still holding his arm close to his body, picked up the sword. Then he stood over the first of the two guards.

  Colin was staring at Margaretha, his mouth open.

  “Lady Margaretha,” Bezilo said, “please turn aside. I don’t want you to see this.” Bezilo was holding the sword above the guard’s throat.

  With a start, Margaretha realized Bezilo was about to kill the man. “Liebe Gott.” Margaretha immediately turned around.

  Colin turned his head as well as his expression sobered.

  Behind her, Bezilo grunted, and his grunt was followed by a gurgling sound. Margaretha covered her ears and began walking away, as she thought she heard Bezilo walking to the other guard, no doubt to kill him as well. What had seemed like an exhilarating adventure had turned into a stomach-turning moment of the harshest reality life had to offer: death.

  God, forgive us.

  “It was necessary.” It was as if Colin had read her mind, as he appeared beside her, looking at her with those intense blue eyes of his. “He had to kill those men so they wouldn’t go back and tell Claybrook.”

  Margaretha nodded. For once, she had no words. But she had seen what they had done to dear Bezilo, one of her father’s most loyal guards and a kind-hearted bear of a man. He was a trained soldier, but his killing the two guards turned her stomach just the same.

  A wave of dizziness came over her. “I need to sit.” She barely made it into the shade of the trees before she sat down hard, hung her head forward, and concentrated on breathing. She kept her hands over her ears so she wouldn’t hear anything Sir Bezilo was doing.

  She felt something and looked up. It was Colin’s hand resting gently on her shoulder as he bent to look at her face. “You did well, Lady Margaretha. You were incredibly brave, and you saved Bezilo’s life.”

  Margaretha swallowed hard. Yes. She would think about that. They had saved Bezilo from Claybrook’s men. “And you too,” she said, forcing her lips into a wobbly smile. “Thank you.”

  After a moment she reached her hand toward him and let him pull her to her feet. The dizziness was mostly gone, which was good, since she had no time for it. Her people, everyone she loved, were in danger.

  Men had died, and more would die, possibly a lot more.

  Bezilo strode toward them.

  “You need a healer,” Margaretha said to him.

  “I cannot go to Hagenheim Castle looking like this. Those men back there found the note I had written for Duke Wilhelm. I wanted to pass it off to a messenger, someone who could get to him faster than I could, so I could stay here and help you. That plan went amiss, as you can see.”

  There were cuts above both his eyes. His cheekbones were bloody and bruised, and he seemed to have trouble catching his breath.

  “Is your arm broken?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Lady Margaretha, you must go for help. You must go” — he paused as if to catch his breath — “to your mother’s family in Marienberg, to ask the Duke of Marienberg to come with all his fighting men and help your father. I will do my best to get word to your father of the danger.”

  Anne and Britta came toward them, Anne with a look of disgust on her face as she stared at Bezilo. How dare Anne look at the brave and honorable Bezilo that way!

  Lord God, give me patience.

  “We will go to Marienberg. Do not worry. But we must get help for you. I am worried about you.”

  “If you could think of a place . . . where I could rest, I would not . . . refuse it.” His breath was coming in wheezing gasps now.

  “The woman who gathers herbs for Frau Lena! I believe her cottage is near here.” But would Bezilo be able to walk there?

  “Let us go, then. Or simply point me in the right way.”

  “I will show you. But first . . .” Margaretha turned to look at the others.

  “I shall go back into Hagenheim and buy horses for us.” Colin was obviously impatient to be doing something.

  “No. We shall have to buy horses outside the town wall. It is too dangerous for you to be seen inside Hagenheim. Britta.” She turned to the pale-faced maid. “We need you to go back to the castle. Or better yet, send a messenger to the healer, Frau Lena, and ask her to come to the cottage of the herb gatherer who lives near the river. She will know who I’m talking about. Tell her I need her to tend to an injured person there. Let her know it is urgent, but do not mention anything that has happened. Lord Claybrook and his men must not find out that we escaped or what we are doing, and we can only hope they will not stop Frau Lena from leaving the castle grounds. Will you do this for us?”

  “Yes, Lady Margaretha.” The whites of her eyes were visible all the way around her irises.

  “Now, you must stop looking so afraid.”

  “I don’t know how!” she said in a plaintive whisper.

  Margaretha took her hand. “Listen to me. Take a deep breath. Now close your eyes. And when you open them, don’t open them so wide, ja?” Margaretha smiled at her as she opened her eyes a slit. “That’s good. You can do this. You are very brave. We are all brave now. We must be.”

  Britta took another deep breath and did indeed look much calmer.

  “I am sorry, but I do not think you will be able to rejoin us outside the gate once you go back in.”

  “Oh, I do not mind that, my lady. I prefer to die — that is, I prefer to be where my family is, and where Gustaf is.” She burst into tears at the name of her soldier sweetheart.

  And she had been making such progress.

  “There, there,” Margaretha soothed. “You must not cry. We need you. Bezilo needs you if he hopes to recover. Now run to fetch Frau Lena. Quickly.”

  Britta wiped her nose on her apron and nodded. “Yes, Lady Margaretha. I shall not fail.”

  “Wait,” Colin said. “Margaretha.” He stepped quite close to her. “I think you and Anne should go with Britta.”

  “With Britta? Why? I must go to Marienberg to get help.”

  “Let me go to Marienberg to get help. You will be much safer here with Britta and her family in the town. They can hide you and Claybrook need never know you’re there. Just disguise yourself before you go in — ”

  “No! You don’t know me at all if you think I will hide here when I could be going for help to save my family.” The very idea made her breathe hard and her face grow warm.
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  Colin’s jawline was firm and his eyes bored into hers. “Traveling to Marienberg is dangerous. We have no guards. We won’t even have horses at first. Thieves roam these roads, attacking and stealing — and worse. It’s not safe for you.”

  “I will not discuss this.” When she saw the woebegone flash of anguish in his eyes, she softened her tone. “I’m sorry, but you cannot persuade me. I would never cower in hiding while my family was in danger.” She glanced at Britta, who was still staring, apparently waiting for her to give her the final order. “Britta, you may go. Remember all that I said.”

  Britta turned and hurried away toward the town gate, glancing at the dead guards on the ground and making a great semi-circle to avoid them.

  “What? Are those men over there . . . dead?” Anne scrunched her face to such distortion that her upper lip was touching her nose and her eyebrows met in the middle — just above the translucent blue vein between her eyes. It was perhaps her only physical flaw, that blue vein that had fascinated Margaretha since she was a child. She’d often stared at it without meaning to.

  “We’re at war, or shortly will be,” Margaretha said, feigning indifference toward the dead guards, “and we cannot be squeamish about such things. Come, we must go before any more of Claybrook’s men find us.”

  Anne looked alarmed at that and hastened to keep up, as Margaretha started through the trees toward the cottage where Bezilo could rest and wait for Frau Lena.

  To think, a week ago her little brothers’ teasing had been her biggest trial in life, along with having to decide whether to reject another suitor or marry him. How quickly life could change and turn her world upside down.

  Chapter

  17

  Colin would never have thought the prattling but sweet Lady Margaretha could be such an asset in a war. First, she had saved herself and two friends from Claybrook’s guards. Then, she had rescued him from the dungeon and led them all through a secret tunnel out of the castle. And when confronted with two more of Claybrook’s guards, she had done exactly what he needed her to do, knocking them out with the candlestick she had hidden inside her sleeve.