The Princess Spy Page 10

  “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 her
e, 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.

  There was nothing for Colin to do but wait — and pray the gaoler intended to bring the priest back with him.

  Margaretha wandered about the room, peeking at the guard every so often out of the corner of her eye. Gradually, she made her way to the silver candlesticks stored on a small shelf near the windows facing the courtyard. With her back to the guard, and Anne still clinging to her arm, she fingered a small but heavy candlestick just before lifting it and stuffing it into her voluminous sleeve, where she had a hidden pocket.

  Anne’s eyes widened. She let go of Margaretha’s arm. In a burst of familial loyalty and generosity, Margaretha whispered, “If you wish to get out of here, you’d better stay close to me.”

  Her eyes still enormous and round, Anne took hold of Margaretha’s arm again — her left arm, thankfully, since she needed her right hand free.

  Margaretha wandered back toward the guard, who only occasionally turned his eyes on Margaretha and Anne. He even yawned just before he perceived her coming toward him.

  “You look like an understanding person,” she began. “As you can see, my cousin and I are not dangerous. If you could only allow us a few minutes in the garderobe, we would be so grateful.” She smiled up at him.

  “I am not to allow you out of my sight.” His eyes and voice were hard. He was obviously unmoved by her smile.

  She switched tactics. “If you do not allow us a few minutes in the garderobe, I’m afraid you will have a mess on your hands that you will not enjoy explaining to the other soldiers in your ranks, nor the servants who will be forced to clean it up.” Margaretha placed her hand on her hip, raised her brows, and frowned up at him.

  Anne’s face turned slightly green and she put her hand over her mouth. Was she really about to heave her stomach’s contents onto the floor? Whether she was or only looked like she might, it was the perfect complement to Margaretha’s insinuations.

  “Come, then,” the guard ordered, his voice louder than necessary as he glared down at them.

  Margaretha scurried through the door, Anne sticking close to her side, with a second guard following behind. Margaretha headed straight for the garderobe and glanced behind her as she and Anne dashed into the dim, small space designed to allow the ladies of the castle to relieve themselves.

  Margaretha whispered to Anne, “You aren’t sick, are you?”

  “Only terrified.” Anne looked at Margaretha as if she was a lunatic
. “What are you planning to do? These guards mean to kill us. It’s just like what happened at Witten Schloss to my mother’s cousins. Their castle was taken over by the Earl of Hildesbaden and they were murdered, run through before they even knew they were in danger.”

  Anne’s voice grew shrill. “I don’t want to die.” Her eyes filled with tears as she clung all the harder to Margaretha’s arm.

  “Stop it, Anne,” Margaretha whispered. “You must listen to me. We shall get through this and nothing bad shall happen to us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know how I know, I just know.” Margaretha grabbed Anne by her elbows. “Now do as I say and everything will come out right. We will use the garderobe. When we leave, I will hit the guards over the head with this candlestick. I know of a secret escape route out of the castle. We can go for help.” She didn’t tell Anne that they would have to go through the dungeon to fetch Colin. Anne wouldn’t like that at all.

  Anne let go of Margaretha’s arm, and they both took care of their needs rather quickly. Even so, the guard called, “Hurry up in there or I’ll come in after you.”

  “No need,” Margaretha called back. Anne had caught hold of her left arm again as Margaretha slipped the heavy candlestick out of her sleeve and held it behind her back while they emerged out into the corridor. The guard looked them over. He seemed satisfied with their appearance and turned toward the Great Hall. The second guard waited a little farther down the corridor. He was distracted by a pretty maid walking by — Britta, who was probably on her way to the kitchen. Margaretha stepped forward, every nerve under her skin leaping, and raised the silver candlestick. With all the force she could muster, she struck the back of the guard’s head.

  Britta happened to glance in her direction just as the guard fell. The shock on her face would no doubt alert the second guard, so Margaretha ran forward just as the second guard was turning toward her.

  He grabbed the hilt of his sword and began drawing it from its scabbard. Margaretha struck him across the side of his head before he could get the tip of his sword free. He fell to the stone floor, his sword clattering down beside him, and didn’t move.