At the back of the barn there was a smaller door. He opened it and they went inside.
The smell of hay and dung assaulted her nostrils, but the barn was relatively warm and dry. The only light came from the door. He left it open a crack, and they sat down on the hay.
They each took out their half of the loaf of bread and resumed eating.
The horses snuffled restlessly in their stalls. But another sound came from the other side of the barn, away from the horses’ stalls, and it seemed to be coming closer. Colin hid his bread behind his back and moved in front of Margaretha, as though to protect her.
A small boy emerged from the shadows, staring at them with wide eyes. But it wasn’t them he was staring at. It was the bread in Margaretha’s hand.
His cheeks were thin and he wore a long ragged tunic with no sleeves. His bare arms were bent, and he squatted in the straw. Bare toes peeked out at her.
Margaretha’s heart clenched. “Are you hungry?” She broke off a large portion of her bread and held it out to him.
Like a little bird, he crept forward two steps at a time, then reached and took the bread from her hand, looking into her eyes for the first time.
“You need that food, Margaretha.”
The sound of Colin’s voice sent the little boy running back the way he had come. The foreign language probably startled him as well.
“We have a long way to walk, and you need your strength.”
“He’s only a little child and obviously hungry. How could I not share my bread with him?”
Colin tore off an equally large piece of his bread and handed it to Margaretha.
“No, I can’t take your bread. You need it as much as I do.”
The little boy shuffled back toward them, now looking at Colin’s bread. Judging by the huge lump in his cheek, he had already stuffed all the bread Margaretha had given him into his mouth. He held out his hand to Colin.
Colin sighed, but held out the bread. The boy snatched it and backed away.
Margaretha caught Colin smiling. “What are you thinking?”
“I was remembering something John taught me a long time ago. There is more than one way to get food.” He put another bite of his bread in his mouth, then got up.
His movement caused the little boy to dart away into the darkest part of the stable.
“I need to find a long piece of twine and some sticks.”
“Whatever for?”
He looked around until he found a ball of twine. “To make a snare.”
“Oh.”
He started to go back out the door.
“Wait!” Margaretha stood and touched his arm. “Are you sure you should go into the rain? It is so cold. And if you snare some game, couldn’t the landowner do something bad to you?”
“Only if he catches me.” He smiled at her and went out the door.
The cold wind swept in, chilling her wet clothes and hair. Margaretha shivered and sank back down on the floor. “O God,” she whispered, “I’m so miserably cold and wet. Please keep Colin safe and don’t let him get caught snaring game. But let him catch something, because we’re very hungry, and so is this little boy.” She could barely see him, as he still hung back in the shadows. She buried her face in her hands so the little boy couldn’t hear her whisper, “And please let me stop thinking about that dream when Colin kissed me. Help me remember it was only a dream.” Her stomach immediately twisted — whether more from guilt or hunger, she wasn’t sure. She shouldn’t even think about Colin kissing her, since they weren’t likely to ever marry.
Was it possible that he might want to marry her? Could he ever love her in the way she wanted to be loved? He had never said anything about love or marriage, the way her suitors had.
She would do well to remember that Colin lived in England. He had a life there, a family and responsibilities and duties — an inheritance. He was the oldest son of an earl and should marry someone else of noble English birth, someone with ties to England’s king.
Colin surely never imagined marrying her — although he had mentioned it in his addled state after getting kicked in the head. But a suitor kissed a girl on the hand or cheek, and married people kissed on the lips, but Colin had never kissed her, even on the forehead, like a brother or friend might.
It was foolish to be thinking about such things when there were much more serious things to be decided, particularly, how they would reach Marienberg before they starved or froze to death.
Margaretha could not control the chattering of her teeth. If only she could take off these wet clothes. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs, put her head down, and went back to praying.
The little boy was moving around. His little feet came pattering toward her. She lifted her head and he was standing before her with a blanket. The gray blanket engulfed his outstretched arms, and he peered over it, his eyes barely visible.
Margaretha took it. “Thank you.” She wrapped herself in it, surrounded now by the smell of horses. She was still wet and cold, but his thoughtfulness made her smile.
“Do you know where I could get some dry clothes?” She hesitated to ask. After all, if he knew where to get clothes, he wouldn’t be wearing the ragged, insufficient clothing he was wearing.
He stared at her with large brown eyes. Then he motioned with his hand. He turned and hurried away.
Margaretha stood up and followed, still clutching the blanket around her wet shoulders. The little boy scrambled up a ladder and disappeared above her.
She tested the ladder. It looked sturdy enough. She started climbing with one hand, holding the blanket with her other hand, and soon reached the top of the ladder. Her eyes adjusted to the bit of light that was shining through the cracks in the walls, and a loft, piled high with hay, loomed before her. The little boy was at one end, brushing the hay off a trunk.
Margaretha climbed the rest of the way up, stepping onto the wooden boards covered with stray bits of hay and straw. The little boy held out a bundle of blue cloth.
She took it from him and held it up. It was a blue cutaway surcoat with lacing down the front that was made to be worn over an undergown of some type of finer, softer material. The surcoat was of finer wool than the kirtle that she had traded her silk dress for. But since she didn’t want to put her wet undergown back on, she went and lifted the lid of the trunk. She found a pale gray cotehardie, of lighter material.
The boy motioned for her to stay there, in the loft, then he scrambled back down the ladder and out of sight.
Margaretha looked around. There were no windows where someone might see her from outside, and no way up to the loft except by the ladder. So she quickly dropped the blanket and stripped off her heavy-with-rain kirtle, then her clinging undergown. Her teeth chattered as the air touched her bare, wet skin, and she pulled the enormous gray cotehardie over her head as fast as she could. The dress was made for a larger woman, but at least it was dry. She then pulled on the sleeveless blue surcoat. The sides were open all the way to her hips on both sides, exposing the gray cotehardie beneath. It smelled slightly musty and was not the warmest garment, but it would do. She then wrapped the horse blanket around her. She would smell like horses and musty hay, but at least she wouldn’t freeze to death.
Margaretha wrung as much water as she could from her kirtle and undergown, and spread them out to dry. Then she went to rummage through the trunk again. Colin would be terribly cold and wet when he returned.
God, please let there be some men’s garments in here.
She found a fitted, thigh-length tunic of fine linen — a summer garment and not very warm — and a pair of woolen hose. There were no other blankets or clothing, only some rough bags made of hemp for gathering and storing grain.
She tucked the clothes under her arm and went back down the ladder.
The little boy was still staring at her. He was a handsome child. Though he was too thin, his eyes were bright and intelligent. “What is your name?” she asked hi
m.
He simply stared.
“How old are you? Five years old?”
Slowly he opened his mouth, as if his mouth was not used to moving. “My name is Toby.”
“That is a fine name, Toby. And how old are you?”
He stared at her with those big eyes. Finally he shook his head.
“You don’t know?”
He shook his head.
“Do you have a mother? Or father?”
“My mother and father are dead and buried in the church yard.”
The poor thing. How Mother would adore him and take care of him and fatten him up. If only she could take him home. “Who do you belong to?”
His lip seemed to tremble a moment before he said, “Master Steinbek.”
“Are these his horses?”
He nodded.
“And where do you sleep? Here?”
“Sometimes.” He seemed to relax a little, and they sat down together against the wall. “Sometimes I sleep in the kitchen on a bench. I must keep putting wood in the stove all night. If I let the fire go out, Cook will be angry.”
Such a small child for that task! “Do you not have any relatives who would take you in?”
“I have an aunt, but she does not want me. She says she has too many mouths to feed. She has a lot of children.” Without pausing to take a breath, he said, “Will you tell me a story?”
“Of course. I know lots of stories.” Her mother had often made up stories and wrote them down for her and her brothers and sisters. But Margaretha would tell him one of her own. “Once upon a time, there was a boy who hated injustice.”
“What is injustice?”
“Injustice is something unfair or cruel. So when the boy discovered that a wealthy man had unjustly and cruelly killed his sister’s friend, a girl the same age as his sister, the boy chased after that man to capture him and bring him back to his homeland to be punished.”
Toby stretched out on the floor and lay his head on her leg.
Margaretha laid part of her blanket over Toby, covering his bare arm and bare feet, and went on. “He caught up to the murderer, but his men beat the boy and left him for dead on the road, where he was picked up by a potter and his apprentice. The potter and his apprentice brought the boy to the great and beautiful Hagenheim Castle, where lived a wise healer who tended his wounds and gave him hot drinks made with healing herbs. Soon he was well again, but none of the people of Hagenheim Castle could understand his foreign language, as he was from a country far away.”
“What did he do then?” Toby’s sleepy voice asked.
“He got a job working in the stables of the castle when he found out that the murderer was there. There was also a beautiful princess living at the castle, and she was the only person, besides the priest, who could understand the language of the boy, since the princess was well-educated, and studious besides.” Margaretha smiled at this bit of vanity. “She and the boy found out that the murderer was plotting to take over Hagenheim and kill the excellent Duke Wilhelm who ruled over the land.”
Toby yawned noisily. “What happened then?”
“Then the noble boy and princess defeated the evil murderer.”
“Did they chop off his head?”
“Yes, and the boy and all of Hagenheim lived happily ever after.”
“Didn’t the boy marry the princess?”
Margaretha hesitated. How should she answer? She must pretend his question didn’t make her heart flutter. It was only a story, after all. “The boy and the princess were good friends, almost like brother and sister. Besides, the boy was a foreigner and didn’t want to live in Hagenheim, and the girl didn’t want to leave her family, because they were good and kind to her.” Just saying the words, however, made her heart heavy.
“That man who was here, is he your sweetheart?”
“He is only a friend.”
A movement made her turn her head. Standing in the doorway, which was open a few inches to let in the light, was Colin.
Her heart stopped in panic. How long had he been standing there?
Rain slid down his face. His hair was as black as night and water dripped off the ends onto his tunic.
But of course, he wouldn’t have understood what she was saying even if he had overheard her story, since he didn’t speak German. She jumped up to get him the dry clothes she had found.
Chapter
26
Colin approached the door of the stable and heard Margaretha’s voice. From the mysterious, slightly playful tone, she seemed to be telling a story. He stopped to listen, but he couldn’t understand any of it.
“Colin.” She seemed to blush uncomfortably at the sight of him. “I didn’t know you were standing there.” She let out a strained chuckle, as if she was relieved.
He pushed the door open while she and the little boy stood up.
“You are dripping wet. You will catch a deadly chill.” She closed the door behind him, leaving it open a bit to let in some light.
“I set some snares, and now we will have to wait to see if they catch anything.”
“That is so clever. I would never know how to do such a thing. But now you must get out of those wet clothes. You’re shaking. Toby helped me find some dry clothes and a blanket. And in the same trunk there were some men’s clothes.” She bent and picked up a bundle and held it out to him. “No, don’t touch it.” She pulled it back. “You will get them wet. Toby will carry them for you. You can go in the corner and put them on. I won’t be able to see you.”
She turned and said something to the boy, who motioned to Colin to follow him, then took the dry clothes and disappeared into the dark corner of the stable.
Colin followed him until it was too dark to see anything, then stood still as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Toby — that was the child’s name, apparently — had led him into an unused horse stall. He shoved the clothes into Colin’s hands and left, closing the door behind him.
Colin shucked his cold, wet clothes and managed, after much fumbling, to figure out what manner of clothes he had been given — a long tunic and hose — and put them on. Finally, when he was sure he was covered from neck to foot, he made his way back to Margaretha and Toby.
“You must be so cold. You were out in the rain for a long time. You take the blanket.” She took the blanket from around her shoulders.
“I don’t need it.”
“Nonsense. You’re shivering.” She wrapped it around him and held the ends together in front of his chest. Her voice was breathy as she said, “And your hair is still wet.” She stared into his eyes.
He took the ends of the blanket in his hand.
She let go, breaking contact with him and stepping back. The little boy was gazing languidly at them, his eyes half closed.
“I’ll help him get to sleep,” she said softly, although the boy would certainly not understand her English. “He’s very tired.”
She called the boy over to the corner, sat against a huge mound of hay, and took him into her lap.
Seeing the boy’s bare arms and feet, Colin said, “There’s no sense in you two being cold.” He sat close beside her, pulling the horse blanket around Margaretha and the child. He also wrapped his arms around them, on top of the blanket, and leaned his shoulder against the wall and his back against the hay.
“Thank you.” She turned to look at him, bringing her face within inches of his.
She immediately turned away. She spoke to the child in German, that strange, guttural language which actually sounded lilting and sweet coming from her. She talked softly for several minutes, until the boy’s eyes closed and his breathing became regular and heavy with sleep.
“Why don’t you go to sleep too,” he whispered against her hair. “I can keep watch. If I hear someone coming, I’ll wake you.” She felt like heaven against his chest, warm and comfortable.
Turning her head to the other side where he couldn’t look into her eyes, she whispered, “Do you think the rain will s
top soon? I don’t like wasting so much time, but it would be difficult to travel in this cold rain.”
“I hope it will stop soon.”
She had been sitting rather tensely, her back against his chest, but now she started to relax a little.
“I found a place in the woods, a rock outcropping, where we can cook the game, if my snares yield some.”
“What is a ‘rock outcropping’?”
“Big rocks creating a natural shelter.”
“Oh. That is good.” She relaxed some more, leaning farther back, the boy still sleeping peacefully with her arms wrapped around him, the same way Colin’s arms were wrapped around her.
She was quiet. He wondered if she was falling asleep. It gave him a warm feeling to think she trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms. Truly, she was the most gentle, compassionate, sincere girl he had ever met.
But dwelling on her character qualities was dangerous.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your friend, John,” she said softly.
That was the last thing they had talked about that morning before it started raining. “John was a good man.”
“I have never had anyone close to me die. I had a sister who drowned, but it happened when I was a baby. I know it must be terrible to lose a friend.”
“Yes. It was even worse because I . . . I was responsible. He would have been home, well and content, if I had not brought him here.”
She whispered, “Perhaps you blame yourself to keep from feeling the grief.”
He wasn’t sure what he thought about that statement. “I was impulsive and overconfident. I thought I could capture a murderer, with only one other person to help me, which also makes me arrogant and careless.” Why was he trying so hard to convince her he was a bad person?
“I don’t see you as any of those things.” Her voice was calm and quiet. “I see you as courageous and caring, noble and generous.”
They sat in silence, listening to the rain drip off the thatched roof and the trees outside, the horses snuffling occasionally in their stalls or munching on hay.
He knew he shouldn’t say what he was about to say, but . . . “And I see you as intelligent, kind, brave, and beautiful.”