The two men slowly pulled Colin up until his stomach was resting on the top of the wall. He pushed himself up using his elbows, then held out the bracelet to Margaretha.
“Thank you.” Margaretha cupped the bracelet in her hands. It wasn’t even broken — all the jewels were still in place, but it had come unclasped.
She stared up into Colin’s dark blue eyes. “I truly do want to thank you. You risked your life to help me, and then you risked it again to get my bracelet.”
One side of his mouth crooked upward. “My father says I’m reckless and impulsive — like my grandfather.”
“Your grandfather?” she prompted.
“My grandfather once threw himself in front of a wolf that was attacking a servant girl.”
“Oh! Was he killed?”
“No, but he lost an eye and was never able to use his left hand again.”
“I hope nothing like that ever happens to you.”
Colin’s lip curled as he stared down at her. He chuckled, then laughed, throwing his head back and pressing his hand to his chest. It was a pleasant sound.
“What are you laughing about?”
He shook his head. “No, nothing like that has ever happened to me. I flew off in a fury, following after the man who killed my sister’s best friend. I was attacked and left for dead, carted to Hagenheim Castle by a potter and his apprentice, and was saved from death only by the kindness of strangers.”
Margaretha couldn’t help smiling, and marveled again at how much better he looked with clean hair, a shave, and color in his cheeks. “I can see that you are like your grandfather. But I thought English lords were proud people who would never risk their lives for a maidservant, a woman outside their own class — ” With an intake of breath, she covered her mouth. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to off end you.”
“You are quite right. English lords are a proud bunch, and it was a strange thing my grandfather did. But he was not a lord at the time. He was merely the second son, and he is not your average English lord. His nature was passionate and impulsive . . . like mine. My parents were right.” He raised his brows and shook his head. “I’ve always wanted to right wrongs and protect damsels, just like my grandfather.”
The look on his face reminded Margaretha of her father. “Righting wrongs and protecting damsels is good.”
“But not the kind of activities expected of me. My father says I should be pursuing an advantageous marriage, and planning how to expand my holdings and secure the ones I have.”
“Those things do not appeal to you?”
He shrugged. “It is my duty, and when I return, I will not shirk it.” He reached above his head to take down the ladle for the water bucket. He handed it to her, and she used it to take a long drink from the bucket.
“I always love the way water tastes right out of the well. Once it’s been transferred to earthen pots and pitchers, it seems to lose its fresh taste.” She handed the ladle to Colin and he dipped it into the bucket and took a drink as well.
“This water is very good.”
The stable master had reached the stable and turned back to yell, “Get to work!”
“He will be there soon,” she called pleasantly but firmly to the stable master, who gave her a curt nod and disappeared into the stable.
“How is your shoulder? Better, I hope.”
Margaretha tested it, moving her shoulder and arm around. “Only a little sore. I’ve escaped unscathed, it seems.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I should get back to work.”
“Wait.” She touched his arm, which was warm, his muscle reassuringly solid. A shiver traveled through her fingers.
He was giving her his full attention.
“I . . . I want to do something for you, since you helped me so selflessly.” When he didn’t say anything, she went on. “You said you needed me to spy for you, to listen to Lord Claybrook’s conversations with his captain of the guard.”
“No, it’s too dangerous. You’re too much of a . . . flibbertigibbet.” He mumbled the last word, which sounded like gibberish, not English.
“A flibberty what? Is that an English word?”
He frowned and shook his head. “Never mind.”
“No, I want to know what you said. I want to learn it if it’s an English word.”
“It’s not a well-known English word.”
“What does it mean?”
He looked away, not meeting her eyes. “Oh, it means . . . someone who wouldn’t make a very good spy.”
“You have a word in your language that means ‘a person who wouldn’t make a good spy’?”
He frowned again, but his look was pensive.
“But if I spied on him, it would help you to know his plans. My spying on Lord Claybrook would return the favor you did for me, wouldn’t it?”
“You are a courageous girl, Lady Margaretha, but I cannot have you putting yourself in danger. I’ve just witnessed you almost get killed by a horse, and I don’t want to be responsible for something worse happening to you.”
“You helped me and now I will help you.”
“No. Thank you for offering, but I don’t want you to — ”