“Oh, Colin, if it wasn’t for you warning me, I never would have guessed what a devil Claybrook is. I thank God you came.” She squeezed his hand, too overcome for a moment to say anything else.
“You can thank me later. Now we must get word to your family and somehow get you all to safety.”
“Yes. Yes, we must.”
The stable master entered the stable and yelled, “What is this? Boy, get back to work!”
“I am sorry, Dieter, but I have need of him at the castle. You must give him the day off from his duties in the stable and allow him to . . . that is, I need his services. You must excuse him.”
Dieter stared hard at her. Finally, still scowling, he said, “I shall speak with your father about this when he comes back.”
“Of course. I do not blame you, and you are right to confirm with my father that what I am telling you is true. Farewell.” She clung to Colin’s hand as she ran out of the stable toward the castle.
“Wait.” He pulled on her hand when they were halfway across the stable yard. “We mustn’t excite suspicion. Slow down.”
This was life and death. Her whole family was in danger, especially her father and Valten. Never had she faced such a dangerous situation. “I must be brave,” she muttered to herself, but in German, because she didn’t want Colin to know what she was saying. “I must be wise and shrewd and brave. And I’ve never been wise or shrewd or brave in my life.” She took a deep breath and covered her eyes with her hand. “God, help me.”
Claybrook was about to attack Hagenheim and kill Duke Wilhelm, and Colin’s only ally was Lady Margaretha, a sincere but sheltered girl at best, a heedless flibbertigibbet at worst.
And now she was muttering to herself.
“One thing you must not do,” he said, halting her and getting so close to her she was forced to look into his eyes. “You must not call me by my name.”
“Colin?”
“You cannot call me that.”
“Shall I call you Gawain again?”
“That is fine. Or perhaps what the stable master calls me. He calls me Froschjunge.”
She stared back at him with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open. “Colin, that — ”
“Don’t call me that name.”
“I don’t think you want me to call you Froschjunge either. Froschjunge means ‘frog boy.’ ”
Frog boy. He might as well be the court jester. He huff ed and started walking toward the castle. “Just call me Gawain. And don’t walk beside me. It shouldn’t look like we are together. You should walk in front of me. I’m just a lowly stable boy, or so everyone is supposed to think.”
Lady Margaretha must have been remembering what Claybrook had said, because she looked properly frightened. “Of course.”
She hurried to pass in front of him and walked at a reasonable pace all the way to the castle, entering through the door to what turned out to be the Great Hall. He followed at a respectable distance behind her — respectable for a servant, which he was tired of pretending to be. He must have lost his mind, setting off after Claybrook to avenge Philippa’s death. After all, it wasn’t as if she was his sister or even his love, although he had once hoped to marry her. When she had begun to show interest in Claybrook, he had ceased to think her suitable as a wife. And when he’d found out Philippa was pregnant with Claybrook’s child . . .
He’d come after Claybrook in a fit of rage, wanting to avenge Philippa’s death, stirred by outrage at the injustice of it, so sure that he could overcome Claybrook himself. Since then he’d suffered deprivations, danger, had been nearly beaten and starved to death, and now had the humiliation of being thought of as a lowly stable boy, eating in the kitchen with the other servants and sleeping on a pile of straw.
His life was in as much danger as ever, and many more lives were at stake than just his own, including Lady Margaretha’s entire family. And Lady Margaretha was in danger from a fate worse than death — marriage to Claybrook.
He followed Lady Margaretha up the stairs. No one was around to question what he was doing in the castle. She led him up to the solar where a woman he assumed was Lady Rose sat stitching something. Also in the round tower room was a beautiful pregnant woman who looked to be near her time, as well as a girl a little younger than Margaretha who was playing with another girl of about six years.
If the two younger girls were Margaretha’s sisters, and the pretty pregnant woman was the Earl of Hamlin’s wife, along with Lady Rose, they were all about to receive a great shock. And he had to think of a plan to save them. He would rather forfeit his own life than allow them all to die, as he had allowed Philippa and John to die.
Margaretha approached her mother. “I have something I must tell you, but promise me you will not become too alarmed.”