The Princess Spy (5 page)

“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 — ”

“Please. Frau Lena says you must lie still and not excite yourself. You will bring on another fever.” Margaretha pushed gently on his shoulder, trying to get him to lie back down. “This is not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed, as though he was clenching his teeth. But he lay back and closed his eyes. “I am not so weak I can’t speak. Won’t anyone listen to me?” He lifted his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes, scraping his hands down his stubbly cheeks and chin.

“
Sei still.
” What was that English phrase she’d used before to try to comfort him? “Hush now. Everything will be well. Why don’t you tell me what you want to tell Duke Wilhelm? I can write it down for you and give it to him myself.”

“No, it is too dangerous to write it down.” A growling sound came from his throat.

“Then just tell me. Why don’t you start with your name?”

“You don’t understand.” He covered his face with his hands again. His voice was muffled as he said, “I probably shouldn’t tell even Duke Wilhelm, but I have no choice. We should find out what he plans to do, why he’s here. You could all be in danger.”

“Who? Why who is here?”

He lay still and quiet, and she thought perhaps he had fallen asleep. He finally let his hands fall away and looked at her. “I want you to teach me to speak some German.”

So he wanted to change the subject. He was so adamant. “I shall try. But it would be helpful if you would tell me your name.”

“Very well. I will tell you my given name if you will promise not to tell it to anyone.”

“Oh.” She hesitated before saying, “I do tend to talk a lot, but when it is important to keep something a secret, I certainly will not babble on about it. My brothers tease me about talking too much, and I do sometimes say things before I think.”

“Is there anyone else in Hagenheim who speaks English?” He fixed her with those dark blue eyes.

“Oh. Well, no, no one who speaks it as well as I. My younger sisters studied it, but they do not like languages as much as I do. My brothers say it is because I like to talk so much, but little brothers always tease their sisters, my father says. It’s the way of siblings, and they were jealous when they often heard me speaking English with my tutor. Even my tutor said my English was very good for someone who had never been to England. But languages are so interesting, and I like to know the origins of words.”

He was staring at her with narrowed eyes. She was annoying him.

She cleared her throat. “I promise not to say anything you don’t want me to say, and if you only tell me your given name, I don’t see how that could put anyone in danger, especially if it is a common name.”

“That is the problem. It is not a common name here. Perhaps you could call me . . . Otto.”

“Oh, no. That name doesn’t suit you. You don’t look at all like an Otto. You are much too tall and handsome to be an Otto.”

“Then you pick a name for me.” His voice sounded tired, or perhaps frustrated. At least he had ceased glaring at her.

“Very well. It shall be as you wish. I shall call you . . .” What an odd thing — to name an adult. “Gawain.”

“Gawain?” His upper lip curled on one side while one brow went up.

“Yes. With your thick, wavy, dark hair and blue eyes, you look like a Gawain.” Very handsome, like a knight. Her heart skipped a little as she pictured him in her father’s armor.

He sighed. “Very well. I am Gawain.”