“Don’t stop!” Colin yelled. He seemed intent on riding straight through them.
Margaretha calculated where to steer her mare so she wouldn’t trample anyone or hurt her horse. Colin burst through the middle, between two men, who grabbed at his reins but missed. Margaretha tried to do the same, but one of the men seized her by the arm and yanked her off the horse, wrenching her shoulder.
Margaretha screamed and so did her horse, which reared and pawed the air.
She slid out of the saddle and fell on her hip in the dirt. Someone hauled her up roughly by her arm.
At least Colin had gotten away. But then she saw him coming back, driving his horse toward them, a look of intense fury in his face. When he drew near, one of the men threw a stick of wood aimed at his head.
Colin partially blocked the blow with his arm. Margaretha screamed again. Two more men joined in the attack on Colin. One grabbed the horse’s bridle and the other grabbed him and dragged him off his horse.
Chapter
22
The men swarmed around Colin. They struck and kicked him.
Margaretha yelled, “Stop it! In the name of Duke Wilhelm of Hagenheim, stop it! Or I will have you all beheaded!” She was so desperate to stop them, she said the first thing that came to her mind.
They did stop beating him and lifted him off the ground. It took three of them to hold him, as he kept fighting to get loose. His lip was bleeding again, and it looked as if they had reopened the half-healed cut above his hairline, because a trickle of blood ran down his forehead.
They hurt him. A dry sob escaped her and tears stung her eyes.
A fourth man seemed to be searching his clothes and soon found the dagger the Hagenheim gaoler had given him. The man, who had dirty blond hair and several days of stubble on his face, grinned as he held up the weapon. He walked toward Margaretha. “And who might you be, invoking the name and authority of Duke Wilhelm of Hagenheim?”
“Don’t tell him anything!” Colin shouted, but of course, he said the words in English and the dirty brigand didn’t understand him.
Margaretha glared defiantly at the ugly, gap-toothed man. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in her face.
He looked her up and down, no doubt taking in her dress, which, though stained and wrinkled and even a bit torn, was of fine materials and obviously not the clothing of a poor peasant. “I said . . . who might you be?”
He leaned closer, his face only inches from hers as he pointed the dagger at her throat.
“I am from the town of Hagenheim. And Duke Wilhelm does not allow brigands to mistreat his people. He punishes them.”
“Is that so?” He didn’t look — or smell — as if he had ever taken a bath or washed his clothes. “I don’t think Duke Wilhelm can punish someone he can’t catch. Can he?”
The other men laughed, a spiteful, malicious sound. Colin finally stopped struggling. Blood ran down his temple, almost into the corner of his eye, and down his cheek. He was breathing hard and there was a tense look of pain in his eyes.
The sight of his injury sent heat rising to her head.
Margaretha’s captor held her by one arm, his fingers biting into her muscle. But her other arm was free. While their apparent leader, the one holding Colin’s dagger, glanced back over his shoulder at his comrades, Margaretha stomped the arch of her captor’s foot as hard as she could. He loosened his hold on her arm and howled. Almost simultaneously, she struck the leader’s hand with her fist and knocked the dagger to the ground. She snatched it up, as her captor had released her and yelped in pain.
She held the dagger out in front of her, pointed at the leader’s chest. “Now let go of my friend and get out of here, you despicable excuse for a human.”
The five men stared at her, open-mouthed and silent.
The leader whistled, then grinned. “A feisty one. We underestimated you.”
Margaretha’s fury drained away her energy, and her hands began to shake. “That’s right. Now let go of my friend and we will allow you to leave.”
He laughed, the hateful sound growing louder and louder. The other men joined in. “You underestimate me as well.” He drew a dagger of his own from his belt, a dagger that was longer, and noticeably sharper, than hers. “Now throw your knife down or I will cut your friend into little bits.” He stepped toward Colin.
“No, stop!” Her chest clenched painfully at the thought of him cutting Colin.
“Then put down your knife.”
“How do I know you won’t hurt him, or me?”
“You don’t know, but if you don’t throw down the knife, you can be sure that I will.”
“You’re evil.” Margaretha threw down the dagger.
He stepped forward and picked it up. “Not as evil as some. All I want is your money, your horses, and all your possessions. I will let you keep your lives.” His grin once more revealed the gap between his teeth.