When she pulled away, he looked into her eyes. His knuckles grazed her chin and jawline, and he winked. Then he and Valten left.
Margaretha wandered through the castle, trying to imagine herself married with two children, like her brother Gabe’s wife, Sophie. Or pregnant with her first child, like Valten’s wife, Gisela. Her sisters-in-law both seemed content. Gabe and Sophie were perfect for each other, and Valten and Gisela were also well-matched and in love. But Margaretha didn’t think she would be pleased with a man like either of her brothers. She wanted someone extraordinary, a man who was bold, fearless, and impulsive, yet humble, kind, and gentle. He should be intelligent and confident in his ability to love her and make her happy. He had to be passionate about right and wrong, and passionately in love with her, not her father’s title and wealth.
All Lord Claybrook seemed passionate about was hunting . . . and hats.
But after all, she barely knew him. Did she want him to behave unseemly, attacking her in his ardor?
She didn’t know what she wanted.
She wandered through the outside door and into the courtyard, which was surrounded on three sides by the castle walls. To her right was the blacksmith’s stall, which was always busy with people bringing work or retrieving mended tools and horseshoes. Straight ahead, three maids stood at the well, talking as they waited their turn to draw water.
To her left was the open door to the healer’s chambers. Frau Lena left the door open in good weather to let out the bad humors. Margaretha could hear her singing, her clear voice carrying into the courtyard.
The early spring sun was more than halfway up the sky, but it was pleasantly cool, as the weather had turned mild. Only a few white clouds dotted the blue sky, but three vultures, circling lazily overhead, marred the perfection of her view. What were they doing here? Vultures only came around when something was dead — or dying.
A cart, pulled by a gray mule, rolled through the castle gate from the Marktplatz and headed toward Frau Lena’s tower chambers. A long bundle lay on the otherwise empty cart. She stared absentmindedly at it, until she began to notice the angles and bulges of the cloth. Then, as it drew near the healer’s open door, Margaretha realized — those were feet dangling off the end of the cart.
The motionless heap was a person.
Chapter
2
Margaretha crept closer to the cart, trying to look inconspicuous. At any moment Frau Lena might notice her and warn her away.
The boy who had been leading the mule and potter’s cart must be the potter’s apprentice. He peeked into the open doorway of the healer’s chambers in the southwest tower, then called, “Frau Lena? Are you here?”
Margaretha peered over the side at the unconscious body.
A young man, perhaps a little older than her own age of eighteen, lay motionless, his eyes closed. His black hair was plastered to his head above his right eye with what looked like dried blood, and dead leaves were tangled up in his thick, wavy locks. He had been beaten, as there were bruises over his face and on his collarbone, which she could see because his shirt was ripped and lay open, exposing his chest. In spite of the smudges of dust and grime on his face, his bleeding, swollen lips, and the dark circles under his eyes, he had noble features and might be considered handsome if he were cleaned up. His fine linen clothes were dirty and torn, his feet bare. Although he was thin, his chest and shoulders were broad. He must be cold, lying there with nothing warm to cover him.
She stared, trying to tell if he was breathing. Was he dead? Her heart squeezed painfully, as if trying to beat for him.
Frau Lena came out of the tower door and walked to the other side of the cart. She bent her face close to the unconscious man’s.
“My master and I found him on the south road to Hagenheim.” The lad who had brought him followed Frau Lena and stood beside her, staring down at the dark-haired man.
Frau Lena pressed two fingers to the side of his neck. She glanced up and her eyes locked on Margaretha, then widened, as though she was startled to see her.
“Is he alive?”
Frau Lena nodded. “He is breathing. I’ll need help carrying him inside.”
Margaretha turned and hailed one of her father’s knights, who was strolling through the courtyard. “Sir Bezilo! Kommen Sie hier, bitte! Over here, please.”
Sir Bezilo strode forward and slipped his massive arms underneath the body and picked him up.
The unconscious man opened his eyes — they were a stunning dark blue — and began trying to speak, but his voice was so hoarse and cracked that he sounded more as if he was croaking than speaking words. But even in his weak state, he struggled against the larger knight.
“Sei still,” Sir Bezilo told him. “You are safe now.”
But the poor man continued to struggle and try to speak as the knight carried him inside.
She asked the boy who had brought the stranger, “Did he tell you anything?”