“God, how low can I sink?”
He knew the answer to that question. Death. And it was imminent. He could feel it hounding him, pushing him to keep moving.
“Forgive me, John.” No one was around to hear. His mouth was as dry as the dusty road, and his voice was so weak it angered him. John, dying in a foreign country where he didn’t even speak the language, while that fiend, that son of hell, was free to wreak more havoc.
God, let it not be so.
Colin never should have let John come with him. It was his fault John was dead.
Forgive me, God, for not keeping him safe.
His legs were as heavy as boulders, but he forced his feet to move forward. His temples pounded with every beat of his heart. He kept his eyes open a slit to try not to trip or veer off the road.
He was lying facedown on the ground. He didn’t remember falling. How long had he been unconscious? He didn’t have the strength to lift his head. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. How easy it would be to simply lie here and never wake up.
God, if you want me to live, I will live. If not . . . so be it. I surrender to you.
Peace washed over him. He closed his eyes. Just as he was drifting into unconsciousness, he heard the creaking of a cart drawing closer, and men’s voices. But he saw nothing but darkness.
Chapter
1
April, 1413, Hagenheim Castle
Margaretha sat in the Great Hall listening to her newest suitor, Rowland Fortescue, Earl of Claybrook, who had cornered her after the midday meal.
Perhaps it was unkind of her to use the word “cornered.” He was her suitor, after all, and she should be pleased that he wanted to talk to her. Some of her other suitors had barely said two words to her, but this man seemed to enjoy talking to her — in very fluent German for an Englishman, but his mother was from the German regions of the Holy Roman Empire.
Everyone, especially her brothers, accused Margaretha of talking too much, but Lord Claybrook often left her speechless. Could that be a good thing?
This morning, Lord Claybrook had been telling her of his prowess as a hunter, both with his falcons and his oh-so-remarkable hounds, a subject so boring that it wasn’t her fault if she was distracted by his hat.
Truly, it was an astonishing hat. But then, all of his hats were astonishing. Every day since he had come to Hagenheim Castle, Margaretha had found herself staring at the man’s hat.
Today’s hat consisted of a gray fur band as wide as her hand and padded to make it twice as fat as his head, with a large jewel inset in the front, and folds of red cloth protruding from inside, draped over his right temple like the coxcomb of a rooster. A piece of matching cloth hung from the other side of the hat, reaching to his left knee.
While his hat’s liripipe was ridiculously long, his tunic was scandalously short. He wore only tight hose underneath, so she was careful not to let her eyes stray too low.
But she must make allowances for him. He was a foreigner, after all. Perhaps everyone in England dressed that way.
Lord Claybrook described his favorite hunting dog, explaining how the animal had tracked a deer for three days while he and his guests had followed close behind. As he paced the room, his tunic, trimmed in fur at the cuff s of his sleeves, shimmered, as it was embroidered all over with an elaborate design of curly leaves done in shiny gold thread. She hated to admit it, but she was beginning to agree with her brothers — the man was overdressed even for an earl. Her oldest brother, Valten, was an earl, and he never dressed so elaborately. For that matter, her father was a duke and rarely wore velvet and silk except on special occasions.
But perhaps Lord Claybrook was only trying to make a good impression on her. After all, he had been very courteous to her, never complaining that she talked too much. Was he her perfect match?
Margaretha was good at choosing other people’s perfect match. A few weeks ago she had noticed her maidservant, Britta, and one of the guards, Gustaf, eyeing each other. Margaretha inquired about the guard, discovering that Gustaf used his wages to help his sickly mother and two sisters. So Margaretha managed to arrange for the guard to accompany her, her sisters, and Britta on a picnic. Margaretha and her sisters went to pick flowers, leaving Britta and Gustaf alone together to guard the food. Later, she sent the two of them to pick apples. Soon her matchmaking was rewarded with seeing them smiling at each other and talking quietly.