They couldn’t know that, at the moment, Duke Wilhelm’s own life was in danger from Lord Claybrook.
The leader shouted something, and the other men seemed to be arguing with him. The leader shouted again. The others mumbled discontentedly and looked downcast. Then he shouted, “La?t uns gehen!” at them, and they turned to go. They had already tied his gelding and Margaretha’s mare to their horses, and soon they were galloping off down the road with all Margaretha’s money, their horses — Lord Rupert’s horses he and Margaretha had stolen from him — and their food and few possessions they had purchased.
Margaretha stood there, looking bereft but unharmed.
Thank you, God. Colin felt himself leaning precariously to the right. The sun was finally coming up — but unfortunately, the world for him was quickly going dark.
Chapter
23
Margaretha ran to where Colin had slumped to the ground and fell to her knees beside him. “Colin! Can you hear me? Please wake up!” She pushed him onto his back. His head was still bleeding, the blood matting up in his thick hair, and his skin was pale.
A sob burst from her. Tears dripped onto Colin’s chest as she clutched his arms. “Don’t leave me, please!” She sobbed even harder.
She had to stop this. She couldn’t cry, not now when Colin needed her to think and to be strong and help him.
Wiping her face on her sleeve, she blinked the useless tears away. She leaned down and placed her ear against his chest. After a moment, “I hear it! His heart is beating.” She touched his face. “You will not die, Colin. God will not let you die.” She wasn’t sure what prompted her to say that, but it felt good.
She needed to get some water to revive him and to wash the blood from his face. But she had no cloth and no water flask, as the thieves had taken everything.
The stream was not too far off, just beyond the road. She scrambled to her feet and headed toward it. As she ran across the packed dirt of the rutted road, the sun, which was just coming up, glinted off something lying on the road. She stopped to look at it. Colin’s dagger. The pale light from the east was glinting off the blade. The men must have dropped it when they’d left.
She bent and snatched it up, then ran to the stream.
The dagger had given her an idea. She washed it off, then used it to cut a large piece of fabric from her white chemise. She dunked it in the cold water, then ran back to Colin carrying the dripping cloth.
She sank to her knees beside him and dabbed the wet cloth on the inside of Colin’s wrists, as she had once seen Frau Lena do to someone who had fainted. Next, she held the cloth over the cut on Colin’s head and squeezed out the water into his hair. Then she wiped his forehead and his face, where the blood was already starting to dry. She dabbed at the blood on his poor swollen lip as well.
He turned his head slightly and moaned.
He was alive. She continued touching the cold wet cloth to his face, which seemed to be reviving him. “Colin? Can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes only a crack. “Lady Margaretha. You aren’t hurt.”
“No, of course not. But you are. Where is your pain?”
“Everywhere. Mostly my head.” She touched the cold cloth to his forehead, and he put his hand over hers, holding the cloth there. “That feels good.” His eyes were closed again. “What happened? I can’t remember.”
Oh no. After thinking he was mad before, would he have gone mad this time, from all the blows to the head? He had said her name, so he at least remembered her. Perhaps if she explained it to him, he would remember.
“We were on our way to Marienberg to get help. Some evil men were blocking the road. They beat and kicked you and reopened the wound on your head. And I am so angry at them.” Margaretha couldn’t talk anymore, as tears choked off her voice. How dare those men hurt Colin?
She had to block those thoughts or she would succumb to the angry tears that were damming up her eyes.
“Thank God they didn’t kill you.” But that was no good, either. Tears flooded her eyes again at how grateful she was that he was still alive.
“Don’t cry,” he said, and lifted his hand to her cheek. He brushed his fingers over her face.
His touch seemed to startle the tears away. “I’m sorry. I won’t.” She stared down into his eyes. What was this strange feeling that squeezed her heart and made it hard to breathe, frightening and exhilarating at the same time? But she must think logically. This was no time for foolishness. She went back to work wiping the blood from his face.