Margaretha liked her face, so she smiled back and gave her the coin. After the woman looked it over, she handed Margaretha the pot. It was heavier than she had expected and she almost dropped it.
The man in the doorway growled, then mumbled something under his breath that Margaretha did not understand. She did not look back again, but walked through the little village the way she had come, toward the hiding place in the forest where she had left Anne and Colin. She put the loaves of bread into the pot while she walked and held it against her hip, keeping it away from her purse, dangling against her thigh, and the fragile eggs inside.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled, as if someone was watching her. She quickened her pace, wishing she had not insisted she could go into the village alone and buy food. She had assumed this small village was like Hagenheim’s Marktplatz, a safe and friendly place to buy and sell.
Perhaps she was only imagining that eyes were still watching her. She was almost out of sight of the little wattle-and-daub buildings. As she rounded a bend in the road, she slowed her pace, hitching the pot a little higher on her hip. Her fears were foolish and imaginary.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned her head to look, and someone shoved her in the back. She fell to her knees, dropping the pot in the dust of the road.
Chapter
19
Colin stepped out onto the road and walked in the direction he had seen Margaretha go. Perhaps he should not have let her go by herself. After all, how many times had she gone to market to buy food? Probably none.
He had been walking for less than a minute when he heard a startled cry and a hollow, metallic sound, like something heavy hitting the ground.
He began to run, and rounded a bend in the road. Several feet ahead, a man was standing over Lady Margaretha. With one hand he held her by the throat, and with his other hand he was grabbing at her purse.
A roar left Colin’s throat as he charged forward. The man looked up just as Colin leapt through the air. He let go of Margaretha’s throat. Colin tackled him, knocking him backward into the ground. Without waiting for the man to recover, Colin drew his fist back and slammed his knuckles into his nose.
“How dare you touch this lady!” Colin ground out between clenched teeth.
The scrawny man cowered beneath Colin, holding his hands up over his face. When Colin lifted himself off him, he saw that Margaretha’s attacker was little more than a skinny, raggedly dressed youth, not even as old as Margaretha. He scrabbled backward, dragging himself away surprisingly fast on his hands and feet.
Several villagers were coming their way, no doubt to see what the commotion was. Colin allowed the man to get up and run back toward them.
Margaretha. Colin turned and ran back to her. She was on her knees, staring down into her leather purse. He knelt beside her and gently placed his hand on her arm. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head and touched her neck.
“Let me see.” He pulled her hand away. There were slight red marks on her skin, but no bruises that he could see. An image of Philippa’s bruised neck leapt to the fore of his mind.
“I am well,” she whispered, and lowered her head so he couldn’t look into her eyes. Her hands were shaking as she pulled a cracked egg out from among her coins. Her voice trembled as she said, “He tried to take my purse.”
The air rushed from his chest at how forlorn she sounded. What was he thinking, allowing her to go alone? “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.” His words coincided with a stabbing pain, like a knife between his ribs, and once again he saw Philippa as she was dragged from the river, her neck covered in bruises . . . then John’s unseeing eyes staring up at the sky.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He wanted to see her face, but he didn’t want to force her to look at him. “Let me do that.” Colin took the broken egg from her hand and tossed it away. Four more eggs lay inside, but they all seemed to be intact. He drew the drawstring closed and gave it back to her.
He helped her stand, and she wiped her face with the back of her hand. She bent and picked up a black pot sitting on the ground with two loaves of bread inside. “At least our bread didn’t get dirty.”
Her voice was quiet, and when she looked up at him, she wasn’t crying. “I’m grateful you came when you did, or we would have lost the money we need to buy horses.” She seemed to make an attempt at a smile.
Should he put his arm around her? He wanted to comfort her but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “Forgive me for not getting here sooner.” His stomach clenched at the thought of that man hurting her. “If you want me to, I will go find that little pond scum and make him sorry he ever thought about stealing from you.”
“No, no, I don’t want . . .” She shook her head. “Please, let us get back to Anne.”