A woman was coming toward her. Her hair was covered by a cloth tied at the back of her neck. She carried something in her apron as she clutched the corners to her bosom.
“Guten Tag,” Margaretha said with a shy smile.
The woman stared hard at her. Finally, she answered, “Ja, Fraulein. Guten Tag.” But she still looked suspicious and almost frightened. Perhaps she was only surprised to see someone, especially a young woman alone, come strolling into her village, someone she had never seen before. The woman undoubtedly had lived in the village her whole life. Villagers of the Holy Roman Empire didn’t travel much, and they rarely left their village to go live elsewhere, except perhaps to marry someone from another village.
Besides that, Margaretha’s lustrous pale-green silk cotehardie and dark emerald undergown, made of fine linen, would cause her to stand out. As she encountered more people in the village’s street, she saw that the women were dressed in woolen kirtles of nondescript brown and gray and dull green. Their underdresses were of gray linen, and they kept their hair covered with opaque cloths instead of the light veils that Margaretha and her sisters wore. Only Margaretha wasn’t wearing anything on her head. In the chaos of the day, she hadn’t even braided it, and it was tied at the base of her neck with a red ribbon. Several strands had escaped, and Margaretha had tucked them behind her ears.
Her dress was not her best or fanciest, but now she felt almost embarrassed to be wearing such luxurious clothing. She would not go unnoticed, walking across Saxony wearing such a dress. She had to find something less conspicuous. How glad she was that she had not put on her grandmother’s bracelet that morning. She hoped it was still safe at home. However, she did wish she had the ring Claybrook had given her. She could have traded it for several dresses, as well as for something to cover her voluminous hair, which was as wavy and unruly as her mother’s similar chestnut hair.
But first, she had to feed the growling monster in her stomach.
There were only a few shops in this village. Besides the blacksmith, there was also a butcher shop, a brewery, and a tannery. But somewhere ahead, Margaretha smelled bread.
Finally, she found the baker’s shop. She walked in and asked for a loaf of his finest bread.
The baker stared at her much like the woman in the street had. He was slathering melting butter on a slice of bread as he sat on a stool. No doubt he was having his midday meal. Margaretha’s mouth watered so much she was afraid to say anything else. Instead, she waited for him to speak.
“Half a mark,” he finally said, getting up and grabbing a loaf from a shelf just behind him.
Oh yes. She’d almost forgotten she had to give him money. Margaretha lifted her purse from where it hung from her belt. She opened it and poured some of the coins into her hand, but she couldn’t find anything of less value than a mark.
“Two loaves?” She laid the coin in his open hand. He raised his eyebrows and studied the coin, then he gave her two loaves of bread. Margaretha tucked the bread under her arm and asked, “Do you have any cheese?”
He looked askance at her. “No cheese here.”
Margaretha nodded to him and left the tiny shop. As she walked, she encountered a woman with a basket of eggs. “May I buy some eggs from you?”
“What will you give me?” the woman asked. She had the most enormous brown mole on her chin that Margaretha had ever seen, and it had several hairs growing out of it.
“One mark?”
“Let me see it.”
Margaretha lifted out her purse again, took out a coin, and showed it to the woman.
She didn’t take her eyes off the coin, but said, “How many eggs do you want?” as if she was talking to the money.
How many could she carry without breaking them? “May I have five?”
The woman reached into her basket and drew out five eggs, which Margaretha carefully placed in her purse. She gave the woman the coin, then gently closed her purse and let it dangle from her belt.
“Thank you.” As Margaretha walked, hoping she didn’t break the eggs, she realized she wasn’t hungry enough to eat them raw. But if she wanted to cook the eggs, she would need something to put them in. She had seen the cook at the castle put eggs into a pot of boiling water.
Margaretha noticed a child’s face peeking out an open window at her. As she looked at the houses and shops lining the dirt street, she noticed several more men, women, and children gaping at her.
A little girl was walking toward her carrying an armload of wood. “You’re pretty,” the little girl said.
“Thank you.” Margaretha’s stomach growled again and she pinched a piece of bread off one of the loaves and put it in her mouth. It was barley bread, coarse and rather tasteless, but it made Margaretha’s stomach feel better, so she ate another piece.
She didn’t know where she was going and needed to get back to Colin and Anne, so she approached an older, gray-haired man standing in the doorway of a crude house. “Excuse me. Can you tell me where I might find a pot for cooking? A small one, preferably.”
There was a shrewd look in his wrinkly eyes. Abruptly, Margaretha was very aware that she was alone, that she didn’t have the safety of her name and her family to hide behind, and that it might have been better to ask a woman.
“Come inside and you can have what you want.” He motioned with his hand, a too-eager expression on his saggy face.
“No, I will wait here. I can pay you for the cooking pot.”
He grunted, then turned and went inside. He came back holding a black iron pot. A young man stood just behind him in the shadows.
Margaretha lifted her purse without untying it and opened it, offering the man two silver coins.
“More,” the man said.
She needed the money to buy horses for the long journey to Marienberg. “No. Two is enough,” she said. She still didn’t like the look on his face.
A woman ran toward her carrying a small iron pot. “Here! You can have mine for one silver coin!” She smiled.
Margaretha liked her face, so she smiled back and gave her the coin. After the woman looked it over, she handed Margaretha the pot. It was heavier than she had expected and she almost dropped it.
The man in the doorway growled, then mumbled something under his breath that Margaretha did not understand. She did not look back again, but walked through the little village the way she had come, toward the hiding place in the forest where she had left Anne and Colin. She put the loaves of bread into the pot while she walked and held it against her hip, keeping it away from her purse, dangling against her thigh, and the fragile eggs inside.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled, as if someone was watching her. She quickened her pace, wishing she had not insisted she could go into the village alone and buy food. She had assumed this small village was like Hagenheim’s Marktplatz, a safe and friendly place to buy and sell.
Perhaps she was only imagining that eyes were still watching her. She was almost out of sight of the little wattle-and-daub buildings. As she rounded a bend in the road, she slowed her pace, hitching the pot a little higher on her hip. Her fears were foolish and imaginary.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned her head to look, and someone shoved her in the back. She fell to her knees, dropping the pot in the dust of the road.
Chapter
19
Colin stepped out onto the road and walked in the direction he had seen Margaretha go. Perhaps he should not have let her go by herself. After all, how many times had she gone to market to buy food? Probably none.
He had been walking for less than a minute when he heard a startled cry and a hollow, metallic sound, like something heavy hitting the ground.
He began to run, and rounded a bend in the road. Several feet ahead, a man was standing over Lady Margaretha. With one hand he held her by the throat, and with his other hand he was grabbing at her purse.
A roar left Colin’s throat as he charged forward. The man looked up just as Coli
n leapt through the air. He let go of Margaretha’s throat. Colin tackled him, knocking him backward into the ground. Without waiting for the man to recover, Colin drew his fist back and slammed his knuckles into his nose.
“How dare you touch this lady!” Colin ground out between clenched teeth.
The scrawny man cowered beneath Colin, holding his hands up over his face. When Colin lifted himself off him, he saw that Margaretha’s attacker was little more than a skinny, raggedly dressed youth, not even as old as Margaretha. He scrabbled backward, dragging himself away surprisingly fast on his hands and feet.
Several villagers were coming their way, no doubt to see what the commotion was. Colin allowed the man to get up and run back toward them.
Margaretha. Colin turned and ran back to her. She was on her knees, staring down into her leather purse. He knelt beside her and gently placed his hand on her arm. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head and touched her neck.
“Let me see.” He pulled her hand away. There were slight red marks on her skin, but no bruises that he could see. An image of Philippa’s bruised neck leapt to the fore of his mind.
“I am well,” she whispered, and lowered her head so he couldn’t look into her eyes. Her hands were shaking as she pulled a cracked egg out from among her coins. Her voice trembled as she said, “He tried to take my purse.”
The air rushed from his chest at how forlorn she sounded. What was he thinking, allowing her to go alone? “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.” His words coincided with a stabbing pain, like a knife between his ribs, and once again he saw Philippa as she was dragged from the river, her neck covered in bruises . . . then John’s unseeing eyes staring up at the sky.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He wanted to see her face, but he didn’t want to force her to look at him. “Let me do that.” Colin took the broken egg from her hand and tossed it away. Four more eggs lay inside, but they all seemed to be intact. He drew the drawstring closed and gave it back to her.
He helped her stand, and she wiped her face with the back of her hand. She bent and picked up a black pot sitting on the ground with two loaves of bread inside. “At least our bread didn’t get dirty.”
Her voice was quiet, and when she looked up at him, she wasn’t crying. “I’m grateful you came when you did, or we would have lost the money we need to buy horses.” She seemed to make an attempt at a smile.
Should he put his arm around her? He wanted to comfort her but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “Forgive me for not getting here sooner.” His stomach clenched at the thought of that man hurting her. “If you want me to, I will go find that little pond scum and make him sorry he ever thought about stealing from you.”
“No, no, I don’t want . . .” She shook her head. “Please, let us get back to Anne.”
Colin walked beside her. She stayed quite close to him, her arm brushing his once, then a second time, as they made their way back to the little cove in the woods.
Once back, they all ate the bread, even Anne, who complained, “This is barley bread! I don’t eat barley bread. It tastes like dirt,” as she tore off another piece.
Colin built a fire and carried water in the pot from a nearby stream to cook the eggs that had not been smashed when she’d fallen to her knees and struggled with her attacker.
While the eggs cooked, Colin asked Margaretha about what happened at the village. At first she was quiet and barely answered him, but soon she began to tell exactly what had happened, the way the people in the village had looked at her, and what they had said to her. Seeing she was her talkative self again, he relaxed against a tree trunk and stretched out his legs. As long as she was quiet and unsmiling, he worried she might have some hidden injury. Her chatter reassured him that, just as she had not suffered damage from getting thrown from the dangerous black stallion, she had survived her attack unscathed.
Thank you, God.
Margaretha was pleased to see Anne eating one of the eggs. As much as she’d complained about the bread, she hadn’t said anything about the egg — although it would have tasted better with a little salt.
Margaretha felt better now that her stomach was full. It was good to sit in their quiet, secluded spot in the forest and rest her tired feet. Her shoes were not very sturdy and wouldn’t last long if they had to walk much farther. They needed to find horses, and soon. Her family’s lives depended on it.
Margaretha stood. “We should go.”
After Colin covered their fire with dirt and poured the water from the pot over the mound, they set out on the south road toward Marienberg.
Anne, as soon as they started walking, grinned smugly at Colin, “I know you want to protect me from danger, but I am quite certain my father and his servants can keep me safe from Lord Claybrook’s guards. So, since I know the way and don’t need any help, I am going home.”
Colin didn’t acknowledge her words, and Anne’s smile changed to pouting lips and crossed arms.
“You should go home,” he announced. “We will escort you there. And I think Lady Margaretha should stay with you too.”
“We already talked about this.” Margaretha clenched her fists. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. “I am going with you to Marienberg Castle to get men to fight Claybrook. I will not sit like a frightened little girl at my uncle’s house.”
Anne huffed and crossed her arms again.
Colin’s jaw looked like it was cut from stone. She plainly read his meaning.
“Lady Margaretha, you can trust me to go to Marienberg Castle, get help, and save your family.” He glanced sideways at her as they walked. “This journey will be perilous. Look what has already happened, when you were attacked at that village. I don’t want you to be hurt, and you will be safe at Lord Rupert’s manse.”
Heat pricked her face. She knew she had been foolish to show her money and purse to all those people in the village. She had not been on her guard when the man ran up behind her and attacked her, and to Colin she must look like a sheltered, naïve girl who didn’t know the least thing about taking care of herself. The thought of him having to rescue her suddenly made her furious, mostly at herself.
Margaretha couldn’t seem to stop herself from saying, “I will not let anything like that happen again. I will not need you to save me again, and I will not be dropped off like a pile of dirty laundry.”
“It isn’t like that at all.” But Colin’s voice did not sound a bit conciliatory; he was not backing down either. “A young, beautiful lady walking around the countryside, unprotected except by a man like me — untrained in warfare — with only a small dagger as a weapon? It is beyond foolish. What kind of person would I be if I allowed it?”
“You do not have a choice in the matter! I have a will of my own, and I am not married, and I have no master with a right to tell me what to do.”
She had almost allowed his mention of her being “beautiful” to soften her. But she couldn’t allow him to deter her from her purpose. “My family is in danger. I must help them.” She felt the tears well up behind her eyes and was horrified. Now was the absolute worst moment for her to be hit with an urge to cry. She swallowed, forcing the tears back. “You need me to go with you. If we both go, we can help each other, and there is a better chance of getting there. Besides, you simply cannot stop me. I am going, and I will not be deterred.”
They were standing in the road, glaring at each other. Anne looked on, frowning in obvious disgust.
Margaretha started walking again, as if the argument was over and she had won.
“I will not allow you to put yourself in danger.” Colin’s tone was adamant.
“You cannot stop me.” At the risk of sounding boastful, she said, “I took care of myself and Anne in the castle. I saved us all by knocking out the guards and taking us through the secret tunnel. And therefore, I am going.”
“I want you to stay with Lady Anne. Why can’t you understand? This will be a dangerous jo
urney.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, as if he was clenching his teeth.
She truly did not understand why he was so determined to leave her behind. Unless . . . “If I annoy you, why don’t you just be honest and say so.” She blurted this new thought before she could bite it back. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest. Was he trying to get rid of her because she talked too much? Did she annoy him so much? Well, of course she did. She annoyed everyone when she talked too much, which was all the time.
“No.” Colin frowned.
Of course he wouldn’t admit it.
“No, you don’t annoy me. I just don’t want you to get killed.”
They walked on in silence. Margaretha quickened her pace so that she was walking slightly ahead of Anne and Colin, since it seemed she could no longer hold back the tears. She knew she probably sounded ridiculous. Perhaps he did simply want her to be safe. In her anguish and frustration, her family’s faces rose before her — her mother; her sisters, Kirstyn and Adela; her sister-in-law, Gisela, and her unborn baby; her brothers, Wolfgang and Steffan. And what would happen to her father and Valten when they came back to Hagenheim and found it under siege by that evil Claybrook? Would he manage to carry out his plan to kill them?
If she were honest, the tears also sprang from wondering if Colin found her company so tedious and annoying that he wanted to get rid of her. But she pushed that thought away.
Instead she considered poor Bezilo, so badly beaten and wounded. Pictured Claybrook’s guards, whom she herself had bashed in the head with her candlestick, lying dead on the grass after Bezilo finished them off with the sword. O God, what has happened to my life? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Will I be able to make it to Marienberg before something worse happens? Will you keep my family safe until I return? Will I ever be able to return to Hagenheim?