The Princess Spy Read online

  “I do not want to endanger you. I need to speak to your father first.”

  “You are in no condition to have a meeting with the duke.” Margaretha smiled indulgently as she tucked the blanket around him. “If you lie still and answer Frau Lena’s questions, I will try to arrange for you to meet with my father when you are feeling better.” And looking and smelling better. “You did not answer my question about where you hurt.”

  His jaw clenched. He seemed to try to take a deep breath, but he winced, then took several shallow breaths. “I am grateful for your help to me, Lady . . . What did you say your name was?”

  “Though you refuse to tell me yours, I shall tell you mine again. It is Margaretha.”

  “Lady Margaretha. Forgive my lack of manners.” He spoke slowly, as he was obviously in pain. “And please tell your healer I am grateful to her as well. But the man who tried to kill me would come after me again if he knew I was still alive. I must bring him to justice, and I will need Duke Wilhelm’s help.”

  “So you know who tried to kill you?”

  “Yes. But I cannot tell you his name. It is too dangerous.”

  “Very well, very well. We can talk about all that when you are better.” Best to placate him for now, but the idea that she, Duke Wilhelm’s daughter, could be in danger seemed preposterous. “Now you must tell me where you feel pain so Frau Lena can help you.”

  He looked rather sullen, but finally said, “My head throbs, it hurts to breathe, and I feel like I’ve been trampled by a horse. Other than that, I feel very well.”

  Margaretha smiled. “How humorous you are.” She turned to translate to Frau Lena.

  Humorous? There was nothing humorous in his situation. He probably did seem lacking in sense, as he was murmuring to himself and telling a duke’s daughter that he couldn’t tell her his name or she would be in danger. But his head hurt so much, it was hard to think straight. Another moan slipped, unbidden, from his throat.

  After speaking in her language to the healer, she turned back to him with a cup and a small loaf of bread. “You must eat and drink something.”

  He took the cup from her and drank more of the bitter herbal concoction. Then he took the bread and ate a bite. It was the best bread he had ever tasted. He began to feel better instantly. Even his pain seemed dulled.

  He watched the beautiful Lady Margaretha as she took a clean cloth and new bowl of water from the healer. He continued to eat and watch her as she wet the cloth and started dabbing at the cut on his head. He liked the way she smelled as she leaned over him — like flowers and fresh air and feminine warmth.

  “Frau Lena needs to” — she motioned with her hands, mimicking sewing with a needle and thread — “your head closed so it will heal more quickly.”

  He should have known the sweet moment wouldn’t last.

  “Will you promise to stay still and let her close your wound?”

  She spoke to him as if he was slow-witted. “Of course. I’m not a child.”

  “No, of course you aren’t.” She smiled in the exact same way she might smile at a child — a very small child.

  She was hurting his head with the way she was dabbing at it, and he certainly didn’t want her around when Frau Lena sewed up his head. But he felt drowsy . . . so drowsy he almost stopped chewing the bread that was in his mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t been poisoned, but he was too sleepy and warm and full to care.

  Colin awoke to a sharp pain in his head and remembered that Frau Lena had stitched the wound there. She’d sent Lady Margaretha away, for which he was grateful. He didn’t want the beautiful duke’s daughter to witness him in pain. Had he cried out? His memory of it was blurry.

  He seemed to be alone in the room. The light was gray through the window, but he couldn’t tell if it was morning or twilight. The walls around him were of gray stone and curved, as if he were in a round tower. His stomach growled over the faint noises coming from outside. The lady had told him he was at Hagenheim Castle.

  He’d demanded to see Duke Wilhelm, but she’d refused. Lifting his head, he could see why. He surveyed his condition — horribly skinny and in need of a bath. His clothes were dirty, stained, and torn beyond repair.

  Just lifting his head off the pillow made him dizzy, so he sank back.

  It would take him a day or two to get at least a modicum of his strength back before he could confront Duke Wilhelm, not to mention his enemy — that deceitful lump of pond scum whose men had killed John. But he was alive, and he would not give up until he found Claybrook.

  Chapter

  4

  Margaretha couldn’t stop thinking about the poor young Englishman who had been brought to Frau Lena’s chamber. He seemed desperate to talk to Father about whoever had tried to kill him. But why couldn’t he simply tell her? Why did he think it would endanger her to know who his attacker was?

  She was sitting in the Great Hall when Lord Claybrook entered carrying a whole armful of flowers after his ride with her father and brother. Lord Claybrook presented them to her with a charming smile.

  “They’re lovely!”

  A kitchen maid scurried to find a vessel to put them in while Margaretha took them from him. The profusion of color from the different types of flowers made her nearly giddy.

  “They are so bright! Are they selling these in the market? I didn’t know the geraniums were blooming already.” Instead of prattling on about the flowers, Margaretha brought herself up short and remembered to ask Lord Claybrook how his ride had been and what he had thought of Hagenheim.

  “It is such a charming place.” Lord Claybrook went on to compliment her father’s leadership skills, as well as the peace and lawful atmosphere of the town. He praised the strength of the walls and the gates and gatehouses around the town. He spoke of the friendliness and cheer of the people, as well as their cleanliness and the beauty and upkeep of the buildings.

  While he talked, Margaretha arranged and rearranged her flowers in the large pottery jar. The pink flowers looked pretty next to the lavender, and the daisies set off the geraniums perfectly. Perhaps she could take a small bunch of them to the healer’s chamber. They would brighten up the room so nicely, and the English boy, whatever his name was, could enjoy them while he was getting well. The poor thing had looked so pale when Frau Lena was about to stitch him up. Her presence in the room seemed to be disturbing him, and Frau Lena asked her to leave, but she wondered if he was feeling better. Maybe she could sneak away later and see if he —

  “Lady Margaretha.”

  “Oh, yes, Lord Claybrook.”

  He smiled at her with narrowed eyes, then he made a “tsk-tsk-tsk” sound with his tongue against his teeth. “You were not listening again.” He shook his finger at her.

  “I was listening. You were telling me all about the town and how much you liked it and the security of the gates and — ”

  “And then I asked you what you would do tomorrow while I am out hunting with Duke Wilhelm.”

  “Oh, well, I shall find something to do, I am sure. I never have trouble keeping myself busy.” Margaretha smiled at him.

  “I have another gift for you.” Lord Claybrook pulled something from a pocket inside his surcoat, and while holding it behind his back with one hand, he held out his other hand to her.

  Margaretha reached out, palm up, to receive it. “I am not at all sure you should be giving me so many gifts.” She almost said, since I have not accepted you, but she was sure he understood she hadn’t agreed to marry him yet. At least he was making the effort to woo her. And what girl could resist gifts?

  Lord Claybrook took her hand in his, then pulled his other hand from behind his back and deposited a small purple velvet pouch in her palm.

  “What is it?”

  “Open it and see.”

  Margaretha pulled open the mouth of the tiny drawstring bag and upended it into her hand. A ring tumbled out. It held a large ruby in the center, encircled by sapphires and diamonds.
/>   “Oh my! It is much too extravagant a gift. I mustn’t accept it.” But Margaretha held it up and let it catch the rays of the late afternoon sun that were streaming in the windows. The precious stones seemed to wink at her and spark with inward flames. “It is beautiful.”

  The ring would perfectly match the beautiful ruby, diamond, and sapphire bracelet her grandmother, the Duchess of Marienberg, had given her as the oldest girl in the family. Perhaps it was a sign from God; Claybrook had given her a ring that matched the bracelet that was a family heirloom.

  Before she knew what he planned to do, Lord Claybrook took the ring from her and slipped it on her finger. It fit perfectly.

  “It is yours, my dear,” he said in a deep, low voice. “You have only to accept my suit for you as my wife.” He stared into her eyes, leaning close.

  “Oh. I don’t know if I am ready yet.” Margaretha laughed nervously, pulling her hand out of his grasp and taking a step back. She slipped the ring off her finger.

  He grabbed her hand to stop her. “Please. It is a gift and I do not want it back, even if you choose not to marry me.” He looked into her eyes again.

  “I should not accept the ring.”

  “But I insist. For putting up with my clumsy attempts to woo you.” He smiled, as if he didn’t believe his wooing was actually clumsy at all. There was something almost feline in the curve of his lips. She began to feel uncomfortable, and looked over his shoulder in hopes that someone else might be entering the room.

  “Very well. I will keep it for now.”

  “And wear it?”

  “I suppose. For now.”

  He kissed her hand again. Apparently, he thought it was attractive to stare into her eyes as if he couldn’t look away, for he was doing it again. Margaretha had a nearly uncontrollable urge to giggle.

  “Excuse me, but I must go and see what my sister needs.”

  “Is she calling for you? I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Oh, no, but if I don’t go to her, she may start.” Margaretha’s excuse was awkward, but it was enough to break away from him.

  “Don’t you want to take your flowers with you?”

  “I like them here, in the Great Hall,” she called over her shoulder. Once in the corridor, she ran all the way to her sister’s chamber.

  Margaretha awoke at dawn the next morning, hearing faint sounds outside her window of the hunting dogs and their trainer, as well as the voices of her father, brother, and Lord Claybrook, all assembling and getting ready for the hunt.

  She threw the covers back and leapt out of bed. By the time she was able to dress, the men would be long gone and on the trail of some wild animal. No one would be around to see her enter the healer’s tower to check on the English stranger.

  Why was she so interested? Perhaps she hoped he would be more lucid today, that he would tell her his name and more about himself and where he came from. He was so passionate about wanting to speak with her father, and about the necessity of secrecy. Would he have calmed down, his senses restored now that he was safe and well fed? Perhaps he would tell her how he’d left his native England and come to be in Hagenheim and the Holy Roman Empire.

  Margaretha dressed quickly and hurried down the stairs to the Great Hall, where she exited into the courtyard. Several maids were gathered around the well, taking their time as they filled their buckets and gossiped. They stood straighter when they noticed Margaretha, but she only smiled and waved as she sped past them on her way to Frau Lena’s southwest tower.

  She peeked inside the door, which was ajar on this warm, late spring morning. The bed appeared empty. She pushed the door farther open and stepped inside.

  A movement to her left caught her eye. The stranger was standing up, combing his hair. He stared back at her with intense, suspicious, startling blue eyes.

  “How well you are looking!” Margaretha burst out, then realized she’d said it in her native German, so she restated it in English.

  Truly, he was still gaunt, and his cheeks were pale, but at least he was able to stand.

  His hand shook as he stopped combing. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it again. He put out his hand, leaned against the wall, and swayed. “Don’t try to stop me.”

  “Stop you from what?”

  “I’m going to see Duke Wilhelm.” He pushed himself off the wall, then wobbled again.

  “You will never make it across the courtyard. You should rest a bit longer. You are not well yet.” She stepped forward and caught him by the arm, hoping to keep him from falling.

  “I said, don’t try to stop me.” His tone and his eyes were fierce, but the rest of him looked as weak as a newborn kitten.

  “I am not trying to stop you.” Margaretha hoped her voice sounded soothing. “Stille, ruhig bleiben. Everything is all right.”

  “I am well enough to see him. I shall see him. You will not stop me.”

  “Stille, ruhig bleiben.” It was hard to think in English. She tried to think of some comforting phrase, something appropriate for the situation, and remembered her English tutor teaching her a lullaby with the words, Hush, now. So she said, “Hush, now. All shall be well. No one is trying to stop you.”

  “Then why do you have hold of my arm?” He swayed again and blinked hard. His voice was getting weaker.

  “I didn’t want you to fall. I would take you to Duke Wilhelm myself — he is my father, as you know — but I’m afraid he has gone hunting.” Her memory of the language seemed to be coming back to her, the more she spoke it. “He’ll be away most of the day. So you see, you couldn’t go and see him, even if you were able.”

  “A-ha!” he yelled, then sagged forward.

  Margaretha grabbed his shoulders and pushed, to keep him from falling to the floor on his face. Once she had him more upright and balanced than not, she asked, “What is ‘a-ha’?”

  “You think I am not able to go to him . . . to speak to him.” He was huffing, as if it was taking all his strength simply to talk and breathe. “But I am . . . full able.”

  “Ja, klar. Of course, of course.” She pulled his arm over her shoulder, taking much of his weight upon herself, and slowly turned him back toward the bed. He seemed beyond protestations now.

  “What is happening here?” Frau Lena strode toward them. “He shouldn’t be out of bed.” The healer put her arm around him on the other side, and they helped him down onto the bed. Margaretha supported his shoulders as she laid his head on the pillow. Almost instantly, he was unconscious.

  His face was as pale as death. Even his lips were colorless. His eyes were closed, and his unusually long black eyelashes did not even flutter. “Is he very ill? Will he die?”

  “I don’t think so.” Frau Lena was smiling. “He is only weak from blood loss and going so long without food or water. Besides that, he took quite a beating and has a fever.”

  Together they stared down at him, his chest barely rising and falling. Then Margaretha noticed his clothing. “Wherever did he get such clothes?” Over a coarse woolen shirt, he wore a leather jerkin and leather breeches. That wasn’t so unusual, but the color was — bright green and mottled with greenish yellow spots.

  Frau Lena shook her head. “It was the only thing I could find that would fit him. I had to go to the laundress and beg for something, and she gave them to me. Apparently the tanner’s wife was experimenting with new dyes.”

  “The experiment was a failure.” Margaretha frowned at the strikingly ugly garments.

  “These clothes fit the laundress’s son, but he refused to wear them.” She pursed her lips, as though trying not to laugh.

  “Well, it’s cruel to force this poor foreigner to wear them.”

  “I didn’t force him to wear them.” They were whispering, watching him breathe. “He must have awakened this morning and found them by his bed and put them on. His other clothes were beyond mending, I’m afraid.”

  “I shall try to find him something better. He is determined to speak to
the duke no matter if he does look like a . . . a giant frog.” Margaretha shook her head.

  “I imagine he will fill out his clothes better when he is able to eat more. For now, these will do. I don’t want him escaping here before he is completely well, and we can better track him while he’s wearing these . . . green clothes.”

  Margaretha could see the sense in that. Still, it was a shame anyone should have to wear such an outfit. It was almost as bad as Lord Claybrook’s ensembles.

  “Cook is preparing some special soup for him,” Frau Lena went on, “and I plan to feed him more today. Yesterday, he wasn’t able to eat much.”

  “I wish I could do something to help.”

  Frau Lena smiled, her freckles stretching across her cheeks. “Pray for him. He needs to get his strength back and stop being so frantic. I’m afraid his mind is still affected.”

  Margaretha embraced the healer. “That is what I shall do. Thank you for caring for him. Do you think you will need one of the maids to come and help?”

  “If I do, I shall ask them. Don’t worry.”

  Margaretha left her, feeling a strange urgency to pray for the poor young man who seemed so lost.

  Chapter

  5

  Margaretha managed to sneak away again the next day and go to Frau Lena’s chamber.

  She translated Frau Lena’s instructions to the stranger as he lay still on the bed. He may have looked tranquil, lying still and unmoving, but it was plain by the intense, rebellious gleam in his eyes that he was anything but.

  “You must rest, because that is the only way you can fully recover and get your strength back. You must eat what Frau Lena gives you, because it will keep you from getting sick, and you must not be pacing around the room, raving like a madman.” She surprised herself by remembering the English word “raving.”

  “If I do rave like a madman,” he said, sitting up and balling his hands into fists, “it is because there is a murderer out there, probably in this very castle, who is free to kill again. He is evil, and if I do not — ”