The Princess Spy (27 page)

“It looks like there’s a village up ahead,” Colin said, and he cupped her elbow and pulled her forward.

The rain soaked through the layers of her clothing. Her linen undergown and her woolen kirtle clung heavily against her legs, making it harder to move. Her teeth began to chatter, and Colin put his arm around her shoulders as they trudged on through the wet undergrowth.

They emerged from the trees and into the edge of a small village. In front of them were plots of land, sectioned off, with small green plants growing in rows. They did their best to walk around the edges of the plots, as the rain was coming down hard now. Colin led her toward the small, thatch-roofed houses at the other end of the fields, and headed toward the door of the first house.

Colin knocked on the door of the small wattle-and-daub structure as the rain pelted the back of her head. A little girl with bedraggled blonde hair opened the door and stared at them.

“We are looking for shelter from the storm,” Margaretha said.

“No room!” A man’s voice shouted from somewhere inside the dark, dirt-floor house. “Close the door, Joan! You’re letting in the rain!”

The little girl lowered her gaze to the floor and shut the door.

Chapter
25

Margaretha and Colin hurried down the
street of the village as the cold rain continued pelting them. A young woman stood in the open doorway of another low, thatched-roof hut. She motioned to them to come inside.

They ran to the doorway. A wooden sign hung above the door with a crude painting of a loaf of bread.

As they ducked inside, the smell of freshly baked bread made Margaretha’s mouth water. The room was pleasantly warm.

The young woman motioned toward two stools. “You’re strangers here. Where are you from?”

Margaretha and Colin sat down. “We’re from — ” Margaretha stopped. Claybrook’s men might come and ask the villagers if they had seen them. “North of here. We’re on our way to visit relatives.” Her relatives, not his. The less she revealed, the better.

“Is he your husband?” the woman asked.

“No. Um, he’s my . . . brother.”
God
,
forgive me.

But instead of smiling at him the way Anne had when she discovered he was the son of a wealthy earl from England, the woman simply nodded.

Margaretha was well aware that she and Colin were dripping water everywhere. “I’m so sorry. We are making a terrible mess.”

“It’s only water. Are you hungry? Because I have some fresh bread my husband took out of the oven a few minutes ago. He’s angry because he knows no one will come buy it now that it’s raining.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have any money,” Margaretha said, the words coming out slowly and regretfully.

“Here.” The woman turned and took a loaf off the rough wooden shelf behind her. “Take it.”

It was fresh oat bread. Margaretha immediately tore it and gave half to Colin. They both broke off a piece and ate it.

It was still warm. Tears came to Margaretha’s eyes in gratitude for the woman’s kindness.

“Maud!” a man’s voice boomed from beyond the open doorway at the back of the tiny room.

“You’d better go.” The woman’s eyes flew wide. “That’s my husband and he will be angry if he knows I gave away the bread.”

“Thank you,” Margaretha said, squeezing the woman’s hand and turning to go. She stuffed the bread inside her kirtle, between the woolen dress and her undergown, and she and Colin ran back out into the cold rain.

They ran down the street and soon saw another house almost hidden by trees, as it was set off the road and away from the village and the fields. It was much larger and was made of stone instead of the wattle-and-daub construction of the rest of the houses and chicken coops. They tromped through the mud and undergrowth toward it, but instead of heading toward the front door, Colin led her around the side of the house toward what looked like a barn.

At the back of the barn there was a smaller door. He opened it and they went inside.

The smell of hay and dung assaulted her nostrils, but the barn was relatively warm and dry. The only light came from the door. He left it open a crack, and they sat down on the hay.

They each took out their half of the loaf of bread and resumed eating.

The horses snuffled restlessly in their stalls. But another sound came from the other side of the barn, away from the horses’ stalls, and it seemed to be coming closer. Colin hid his bread behind his back and moved in front of Margaretha, as though to protect her.

A small boy emerged from the shadows, staring at them with wide eyes. But it wasn’t them he was staring at. It was the bread in Margaretha’s hand.

His cheeks were thin and he wore a long ragged tunic with no sleeves. His bare arms were bent, and he squatted in the straw. Bare toes peeked out at her.

Margaretha’s heart clenched. “Are you hungry?” She broke off a large portion of her bread and held it out to him.

Like a little bird, he crept forward two steps at a time, then reached and took the bread from her hand, looking into her eyes for the first time.

“You need that food, Margaretha.”

The sound of Colin’s voice sent the little boy running back the way he had come. The foreign language probably startled him as well.

“We have a long way to walk, and you need your strength.”

“He’s only a little child and obviously hungry. How could I not share my bread with him?”

Colin tore off an equally large piece of his bread and handed it to Margaretha.

“No, I can’t take your bread. You need it as much as I do.”

The little boy shuffled back toward them, now looking at Colin’s bread. Judging by the huge lump in his cheek, he had already stuffed all the bread Margaretha had given him into his mouth. He held out his hand to Colin.

Colin sighed, but held out the bread. The boy snatched it and backed away.

Margaretha caught Colin smiling. “What are you thinking?”

“I was remembering something John taught me a long time ago. There is more than one way to get food.” He put another bite of his bread in his mouth, then got up.

His movement caused the little boy to dart away into the darkest part of the stable.

“I need to find a long piece of twine and some sticks.”

“Whatever for?”

He looked around until he found a ball of twine. “To make a snare.”

“Oh.”

He started to go back out the door.

“Wait!” Margaretha stood and touched his arm. “Are you sure you should go into the rain? It is so cold. And if you snare some game, couldn’t the landowner do something bad to you?”

“Only if he catches me.” He smiled at her and went out the door.

The cold wind swept in, chilling her wet clothes and hair. Margaretha shivered and sank back down on the floor. “O God,” she whispered, “I’m so miserably cold and wet. Please keep Colin safe and don’t let him get caught snaring game. But let him catch something, because we’re very hungry, and so is this little boy.” She could barely see him, as he still hung back in the shadows. She buried her face in her hands so the little boy couldn’t hear her whisper, “And please let me stop thinking about that dream when Colin kissed me. Help me remember it was only a dream.” Her stomach immediately twisted — whether more from guilt or hunger, she wasn’t sure. She shouldn’t even think about Colin kissing her, since they weren’t likely to ever marry.

Was it possible that he might want to marry her? Could he ever love her in the way she wanted to be loved? He had never said anything about love or marriage, the way her suitors had.

She would do well to remember that Colin lived in England. He had a life there, a family and responsibilities and duties — an inheritance. He was the oldest son of an earl and should marry someone else of noble English birth, someone with ties to England’s king.

Colin surely never imagined marrying her — although he had mentioned it in his addled state after getting kicked in the head. But a suitor kissed a girl on the hand or cheek, and married people kissed on the lips, but Colin had never kissed her, even on the forehead, like a brother or friend might.

It was foolish to be thinking about such things when there were much more serious things to be decided, particularly, how they would reach Marienberg before they starved or froze to death.

Margaretha could not control the chattering of her teeth. If only she could take off these wet clothes. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs, put her head down, and went back to praying.

The little boy was moving around. His little feet came pattering toward her. She lifted her head and he was standing before her with a blanket. The gray blanket engulfed his outstretched arms, and he peered over it, his eyes barely visible.

Margaretha took it. “Thank you.” She wrapped herself in it, surrounded now by the smell of horses. She was still wet and cold, but his thoughtfulness made her smile.

“Do you know where I could get some dry clothes?” She hesitated to ask. After all, if he knew where to get clothes, he wouldn’t be wearing the ragged, insufficient clothing he was wearing.

He stared at her with large brown eyes. Then he motioned with his hand. He turned and hurried away.

Margaretha stood up and followed, still clutching the blanket around her wet shoulders. The little boy scrambled up a ladder and disappeared above her.

She tested the ladder. It looked sturdy enough. She started climbing with one hand, holding the blanket with her other hand, and soon reached the top of the ladder. Her eyes adjusted to the bit of light that was shining through the cracks in the walls, and a loft, piled high with hay, loomed before her. The little boy was at one end, brushing the hay off a trunk.

Margaretha climbed the rest of the way up, stepping onto the wooden boards covered with stray bits of hay and straw. The little boy held out a bundle of blue cloth.

She took it from him and held it up. It was a blue cutaway surcoat with lacing down the front that was made to be worn over an undergown of some type of finer, softer material. The surcoat was of finer wool than the kirtle that she had traded her silk dress for. But since she didn’t want to put her wet undergown back on, she went and lifted the lid of the trunk. She found a pale gray cotehardie, of lighter material.

The boy motioned for her to stay there, in the loft, then he scrambled back down the ladder and out of sight.

Margaretha looked around. There were no windows where someone might see her from outside, and no way up to the loft except by the ladder. So she quickly dropped the blanket and stripped off her heavy-with-rain kirtle, then her clinging undergown. Her teeth chattered as the air touched her bare, wet skin, and she pulled the enormous gray cotehardie over her head as fast as she could. The dress was made for a larger woman, but at least it was dry. She then pulled on the sleeveless blue surcoat. The sides were open all the way to her hips on both sides, exposing the gray cotehardie beneath. It smelled slightly musty and was not the warmest garment, but it would do. She then wrapped the horse blanket around her. She would smell like horses and musty hay, but at least she wouldn’t freeze to death.

Margaretha wrung as much water as she could from her kirtle and undergown, and spread them out to dry. Then she went to rummage through the trunk again. Colin would be terribly cold and wet when he returned.

God
,
please let there be some men’s garments in here.

She found a fitted, thigh-length tunic of fine linen — a summer garment and not very warm — and a pair of woolen hose. There were no other blankets or clothing, only some rough bags made of hemp for gathering and storing grain.

She tucked the clothes under her arm and went back down the ladder.

The little boy was still staring at her. He was a handsome child. Though he was too thin, his eyes were bright and intelligent. “What is your name?” she asked him.

He simply stared.

“How old are you? Five years old?”

Slowly he opened his mouth, as if his mouth was not used to moving. “My name is Toby.”

“That is a fine name, Toby. And how old are you?”

He stared at her with those big eyes. Finally he shook his head.

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head.

“Do you have a mother? Or father?”

“My mother and father are dead and buried in the church yard.”

The poor thing. How Mother would adore him and take care of him and fatten him up. If only she could take him home. “Who do you belong to?”

His lip seemed to tremble a moment before he said, “Master Steinbek.”

“Are these his horses?”

He nodded.

“And where do you sleep? Here?”

“Sometimes.” He seemed to relax a little, and they sat down together against the wall. “Sometimes I sleep in the kitchen on a bench. I must keep putting wood in the stove all night. If I let the fire go out, Cook will be angry.”

Such a small child for that task! “Do you not have any relatives who would take you in?”

“I have an aunt, but she does not want me. She says she has too many mouths to feed. She has a lot of children.” Without pausing to take a breath, he said, “Will you tell me a story?”