Margaretha thanked the maids — Britta was not among them — who brought up the hot water for her bath. They didn’t answer, but looked frightened and scurried away. No doubt Claybrook had told them not to speak to her.
When she was safely alone in her room, she sank into the warm water and closed her eyes. Never had a bath felt so good, or been so needed! She scrubbed her skin as well as her hair and scalp with the floral-scented soap. If she hadn’t been afraid someone might invade her privacy, she would have stayed longer. But she quickly dried herself off and began to braid her wet hair.
But even the welcome refreshment of the bath could not chase away her worries about her family’s safety, the safety of the Hagenheim people, and her questions about Colin.
How long had he searched for her? Did he realize Claybrook’s men had taken her back to Hagenheim? Had he and Toby arrived in Marienberg? Did the Duke of Marienberg believe him? Was he able to find someone who spoke English who could help him convince her cousin to raise an army and come to Hagenheim?
For the tenth time that morning, Margaretha’s breath caught in her throat. There were hundreds of things that could have gone wrong. And for the tenth time, she told her fears, “Nothing is too hard for God.”
She let her braid hang over her shoulder and finished getting dressed.
Yes, there were hundreds of things that could have gone wrong. But Colin was brave. He was the most intensely determined person she had ever met. But more than anything else, she knew God was on their side. God was ever on the side of the righteous.
When she was young, the priest had made her memorize certain psalms. She still remembered Psalm 1.
Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
or sit in the company of mockers,
but whose delight is in the law of the LORD,
and who meditates on his law day and night.
That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither —
whatever they do prospers.
Not so the wicked!
They are like chaff
that the wind blows away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.
For the LORD watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked leads to destruction.
“You watch over us, God. You watch over Colin, and you watch over my family, and the way of Lord Claybrook leads to destruction. I believe, God. Take away my unbelief. I have peace because my trust is in you.”
She must not allow Claybrook to take away her peace. She must not allow her fears to overwhelm her trust that God would make a way of escape for them.
The door opened and Claybrook strode in.
For a moment, she was speechless. When she found her voice again, she raged, “How dare you come in here when I have not given you my leave? You will request my permission before coming into my private chamber.” She stood and glared into Claybrook’s vacant, black eyes.
“I will not ask your permission,” he hissed back, his face deadly calm as he leaned so close to her she could count his eyelashes and see his nostrils flare. “You are to be my wife in but a few short hours, and then you shall ask my permission . . . to breathe.”
Margaretha shuddered inwardly. “I do not wish to become your wife — yet. As loyal subjects of the king, we must first send a missive to the king requesting his approval of the union.”
“Oh, we shall do that.” Claybrook smiled and nodded. “But first, we shall wed in secret, here in the castle chapel, with your family members as witnesses. In the event of any fighting, I want everyone to know that we were married . . . especially if you should meet your untimely death in the melee.”
Margaretha refused to show any horror. She merely stared at him.
“However, if you cooperate with me” — he smirked and toyed with the liripipe dangling from his hat — “and if you prove to be a good wife, I shall make arrangements so that you do not meet your death at the hands of my overzealous guards.”
You will never possess me. She did not speak the words aloud. She would let him, for the moment, think he had won.
“But the reason I am paying you this visit is to present you with your wedding dress. It is finer than anything you own, I would wager.” He snapped his fingers, and a maid brought in an elaborate gold-and-silver-trimmed dress. She laid it on Margaretha’s bed and left the room.
Should she defy him? Or should she pretend to be defeated and go along with him?
“It seems I have no choice in the matter,” she said softly, her gaze never wavering from his face.