“Do you think he’s lost his mind because of his injuries?” Margaretha whispered, keeping out of the young man’s line of vision.
“It seems likely,” Frau Lena whispered back.
Margaretha glanced toward the open door. If she needed to, she could run fetch help and be back within a few moments. She didn’t want the young madman hurting Frau Lena.
Colin felt something hot burning the cracked places on his lips, and opened his eyes, ready to fight. But it was only a woman before him, holding a cup.
“What is this place? Where am I?” He stopped speaking, realizing from the look on the woman’s face that she didn’t mean him any harm — and that she didn’t understand a word he was saying.
His head throbbed and his thoughts were hazy, like clouds he couldn’t grab hold of. His face felt hot . . . so hot . . . but his feet were cold. The pain in his head made him want to go back to sleep. He heard himself moan.
The red-haired woman turned and began whispering to someone behind her. By the voice that whispered back, it became evident there was another woman in the room.
The redhead turned back to him and held the cup of hot liquid to his lips again. Her words were foreign. He concentrated, trying to make them out.
“Trink.”
He hoped she wasn’t trying to scald him. She looked kind, so he let her pour a bit of the hot liquid into his mouth. It burned not only his lips, but his parched throat as well, yet he drank another gulp, then another. Suddenly, the liquid seemed to go down the wrong way and he started coughing, which made his head throb even more.
He finally stopped coughing and sank back onto the bed.
The red-haired woman spoke again. The first word sounded like “Trink,” but the rest was gibberish to him. She held the cup to his lips and he drank some more. The liquid — whatever it was — was starting to feel good going down his throat. He reached up and took the cup in his own hand.
“Trink langsamer,” she said, wrinkling her freckled forehead, concern in her voice.
Colin drank the rest of what was in the cup in two big swallows. He handed the cup back to the woman. He didn’t understand a word she was saying, but if she didn’t just poison him, she probably saved his life.
He lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes. The woman began to whisper again to her friend.
God, why didn’t I listen to my mother and learn to speak German? He hoped someone here spoke English, the only language he was fluent in. He knew a bit of Latin, but not enough to communicate what he needed to say.
He opened his eyes again. The redhead who had given him the drink was staring at him. At her left shoulder stood a beautiful young lady dressed in a gown of purple silk. Her eyes were also fastened on him.
The beautiful girl moved toward him. “Do you speak English?”
Praise God! “Yes! Do you?”
“Where do you come from? Are you from England?” she asked in English. Her brown eyes sparked with intelligence, and her full, perfect lips turned up at the corners. She spoke with a heavy accent, but she enunciated clearly. As she moved in front of the window, the light streaming in created a warm glow around her fair face, setting the rich brown of her hair on fire.
“Thank God.” Truly, God was watching out for him after all.
Chapter
3
Margaretha concentrated on bringing forth the correct words. “What is your name and how came you here?” It had been several months since she’d practiced her English, as that was when her tutor had left.
The stranger’s face was pale and he seemed barely able to focus his eyes — those dark blue eyes with their wild intensity.
“I do not believe I should tell you.” His voice was still weak and hoarse. “I do not want to endanger you, and my name must remain a secret until . . . but I must not reveal that either.”
His head lolled to one side and his eyes fell closed, as if he’d lost consciousness again. He seemed almost to be talking to himself as he ended his mumbled speech. She still feared his mind was seriously addled.
“What does he say, my lady?” Frau Lena asked.
“He says he doesn’t want to tell me his name, that he is in danger, and I believe he said that I would be too if he told me.” Margaretha shook her head and frowned. “He was mumbling a lot, almost as if he was not conscious of what he was saying.”
“He is certainly agitated. Ask him to tell us where his injuries are. And if he’s able to talk, ask him who beat him.”
Margaretha touched his shoulder and he opened his eyes again. She wasn’t sure of the English word for injury, so she asked, “Where do you hurt?”
He turned his head slightly and winced. “I am not seriously hurt. I need only justice . . .” His voice trailed off, but then he finished by saying, “And I shall be perfectly well.”
Margaretha translated for Frau Lena, who frowned. “What he needs is food and rest. I shall get him something to eat. Ask him about his head.”