The Princess Spy

Margaretha’s hair glowed in the morning sun. The rain, mist, and fog had made it thicker and curlier.

 

He had hurriedly set two snares the night before, which yielded two more hares. As he built a small fire and Margaretha washed Toby’s face with a piece of her undergown she had been carrying around, Colin said, “You look beautiful today.”

 

She turned to him with wide eyes and her mouth open. “My hair is a mess and I’ve been living like a traveling minstrel for the last week.” She laughed merrily, then translated for Toby, who was looking mystified at her.

 

Toby didn’t laugh, he only smiled at Colin and nodded.

 

“See? The child agrees with me.”

 

Margaretha shook her head. “He only thinks I’m beautiful because he loves me.” And she hugged him.

 

Colin stared at her. Did he, Colin, only think she was beautiful because he loved her? “No, even if we didn’t love you, we would still think you were beautiful.”

 

He continued working to build the fire, adding sticks, and eventually noticed that Margaretha was quiet.

 

“What did you say?” Her cheeks were pink.

 

“I said you are beautiful.”

 

She was quiet, until Toby grabbed her hand and pulled her away to a patch of pink and blue wildflowers. They picked some and Toby tied the stems to strands of her hair.

 

Colin kept getting distracted and looking over at them until he burned himself. “Ouch.” He blew on his soot-smudged finger.

 

“Let me see.” Margaretha was beside him, reaching for his hand. She held it up to her face. “We have to wash it. Come to the stream.”

 

“Let me finish setting up this spit first,” he said. He worked to get two forked sticks pushed in the ground, then laid the stick with the skewered game in the forks over the fire.

 

He stood and Margaretha and Toby came hurrying up to him with a dripping cloth. She took his hand and gently patted it with the cold, wet cloth. The soot began to wash off.

 

“Where does it hurt?”

 

He pointed to the spot on his finger. “It’s nothing. Just a little burn.”

 

She continued to dab at it with the cloth. “If you keep it cold, it might not blister.”

 

Her touch was sending tingling sensations up his arm.

 

“Come over to the stream and hold your hand in the water.” She pulled him forward, not asking but telling him. Toby ran ahead of them and started splashing with both hands. Margaretha scolded him, or it sounded like scolding, and he splashed less boisterously.

 

She pulled Colin’s arm, forcing him to squat by the edge of the stream, and dunked his hand in the water. “Doesn’t that feel better?” She gazed up at him.

 

One of the flowers in her hair had come untied and was dangling precariously against her cheek. With his hand still in the water, he reached out his other hand and caught the pink flower. He twisted the tiny stem between his fingers, then he brushed the soft petals against her cheek.

 

She stared back at him with those warm brown eyes. Her lips were slightly parted. How he longed for her to lean forward and kiss him and tell him that she was beginning to love him, and that she might someday love him enough to go back to England with him.

 

His heart contracted painfully as he gave her the flower. “It was falling out.” He pulled his hand out of the water and let the water drip off. “I think it’s fine now. Thank you.”

 

Toby squealed in delight, drawing her attention away.

 

Colin turned the meat on the spit. While it cooked, he set more snares, hoping to take some fresh game with them when they started their day’s journey.

 

They ate, preparing to leave. During the past day, Margaretha had been even more cheerful than usual, playing and laughing with Toby. But ever since Colin had told her she was beautiful and touched her cheek with the flower, she had been subdued, less talkative. Perhaps she was realizing that he was falling in love with her, since it must be obvious. Did that make her sad? But it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t stop, now that he had started. Perhaps it would develop into a brotherly kind of love.

 

He gathered the bounty from his snares, wrapped them in the hemp sack, and they started walking again.

 

The road was muddy and slippery after the rain of the previous day. Toby slipped and slid in the ruts. Colin said, “Maybe we can trade our game for some shoes for Toby at the next village.”

 

“That is a good idea,” Margaretha said. “But won’t it be dangerous to do that? If the wrong person finds out you’ve been taking these hares, you could get thrown into the stocks, or much worse.”

 

“True. But I’ll be careful.”

 

She turned and spoke to Toby, then said, “He doesn’t want any shoes. He says he won’t wear them even if you buy some for him.”

 

Colin and Margaretha grinned at each other.

 

“My little brothers would never wear shoes.” Margaretha shook her head.

 

“My little brothers either.”

 

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