Margaretha brushed the dead leaves and dirt from her hair. Dust clogged her throat, making her cough. Colin held the door for Anne and Britta as they climbed out of the tunnel, then let it down slowly so it wouldn’t slam. As she kicked the leaves and grasses back over the wooden door to disguise it, she noticed Colin staring tensely into the trees.
Anne started to speak in her whiniest voice.
“Quiet!” Colin whispered, and motioned with his hand, violently striking the air in a downward motion. Then he squatted.
They all followed his example and sank down where they stood.
Rustlings, like someone brushing against tree limbs, came from the forest. Several feet away, three men emerged, stepping into the meadow. They were walking away from them and didn’t seem to notice Margaretha and her companions.
Two of the men wore the red and gold livery of Claybrook’s guards, while the third one, in the middle, walked between them with his head down. Even just seeing him from behind, Margaretha recognized Bezilo, her father’s guard.
Was that blood running down Bezilo’s jaw and neck? It seemed to be coming from his ear. Margaretha’s stomach churned. He was holding his arm with his other hand, bloody and obviously injured.
Should they cower there in the meadow, hoping not to be seen? Shouldn’t they rather try to save Bezilo?
Colin was pulling out the dagger that the gaoler had given him as he looked her way. He gave a small nod and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was.
He motioned to Anne and Britta to stay, then to Margaretha to come. Her heart leapt; Colin trusted her to help him in a fight.
Colin slowly stood, and Margaretha did the same. He stepped toward the three men, who were walking away, and Margaretha followed close behind Colin, who angled toward the trees, making himself less conspicuous. They followed the men for a short way before Colin began to close in.
One of the men turned. “Who’s there?”
Colin froze. Margaretha held her breath. “Guten Tag,” she said, forcing a smile and dropping a quick curtsy. Hopefully, in her disheveled state, they wouldn’t know who she was. “We were on our way to Hagenheim, to market. Can you point us to the nearest town gate?”
“Who are you?” The guard on the left looked suspicious. “Are you Lady Margaretha, Duke Wilhelm’s daughter?”
“Who, me?” Margaretha laughed, a rather hysterical sound, even to her ears. “This is my best dress, but not fine enough for Lady Margaretha, surely. I’m only the chandler’s assistant, and I work in the Marktplatz.”
Both guards, though still holding on to their prisoner between them, were now fully attentive to Margaretha and Colin. Poor Bezilo hadn’t even lifted his head. His face was bloody, his lips and eyes swollen. What had they done to him? Her stomach twisted but she had to focus, had to play her part and behave naturally.
“Does that man need some help?”
She pointed to Bezilo, but the two guards were looking back and forth between her and Colin. Leering grins broke out on both their faces. Margaretha’s cheeks began to burn as she realized what they were thinking — what she and Colin must look like, with leaves and grass clinging to their hair and clothing.
Colin’s eyes narrowed, and she noticed he was holding the dagger against his thigh to conceal it. No doubt he had seen their suggestive looks as well.
“Who did you say you were?” The guard looked suspicious again. This time he was staring at Colin. But of course, Colin probably understood very little.
Margaretha had been inching closer to the men, and now she passed Colin and walked toward them. “May I help tend this man’s wounds? He seems badly injured. Did he fall off his horse? I’ve never seen so much blood coming from someone’s ear.” She continued talking to try to distract the men. She even smiled flirtatiously at the leering guard on the right. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you men around here.” As she talked, she slipped her hand into her sleeve, her fingers closing around the candlestick. Her heart sped up as she calculated exactly how close she needed to be.
Hearing Colin behind her, she snatched out the candlestick, stepped forward, and slammed it against the nearest guard’s temple.
The guard sank to his knees, his eyes closed, and he fell to the ground face first.
The guard on the left was just able to draw his sword from his scabbard when Colin leapt forward and kicked the weapon from his hand. He thrust the dagger point to the guard’s throat.