Margaretha reached out, palm up, to receive it. “I am not at all sure you should be giving me so many gifts.” She almost said, since I have not accepted you, but she was sure he understood she hadn’t agreed to marry him yet. At least he was making the effort to woo her. And what girl could resist gifts?
Lord Claybrook took her hand in his, then pulled his other hand from behind his back and deposited a small purple velvet pouch in her palm.
“What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
Margaretha pulled open the mouth of the tiny drawstring bag and upended it into her hand. A ring tumbled out. It held a large ruby in the center, encircled by sapphires and diamonds.
“Oh my! It is much too extravagant a gift. I mustn’t accept it.” But Margaretha held it up and let it catch the rays of the late afternoon sun that were streaming in the windows. The precious stones seemed to wink at her and spark with inward flames. “It is beautiful.”
The ring would perfectly match the beautiful ruby, diamond, and sapphire bracelet her grandmother, the Duchess of Marienberg, had given her as the oldest girl in the family. Perhaps it was a sign from God; Claybrook had given her a ring that matched the bracelet that was a family heirloom.
Before she knew what he planned to do, Lord Claybrook took the ring from her and slipped it on her finger. It fit perfectly.
“It is yours, my dear,” he said in a deep, low voice. “You have only to accept my suit for you as my wife.” He stared into her eyes, leaning close.
“Oh. I don’t know if I am ready yet.” Margaretha laughed nervously, pulling her hand out of his grasp and taking a step back. She slipped the ring off her finger.
He grabbed her hand to stop her. “Please. It is a gift and I do not want it back, even if you choose not to marry me.” He looked into her eyes again.
“I should not accept the ring.”
“But I insist. For putting up with my clumsy attempts to woo you.” He smiled, as if he didn’t believe his wooing was actually clumsy at all. There was something almost feline in the curve of his lips. She began to feel uncomfortable, and looked over his shoulder in hopes that someone else might be entering the room.
“Very well. I will keep it for now.”
“And wear it?”
“I suppose. For now.”
He kissed her hand again. Apparently, he thought it was attractive to stare into her eyes as if he couldn’t look away, for he was doing it again. Margaretha had a nearly uncontrollable urge to giggle.
“Excuse me, but I must go and see what my sister needs.”
“Is she calling for you? I didn’t hear anything.”
“Oh, no, but if I don’t go to her, she may start.” Margaretha’s excuse was awkward, but it was enough to break away from him.
“Don’t you want to take your flowers with you?”
“I like them here, in the Great Hall,” she called over her shoulder. Once in the corridor, she ran all the way to her sister’s chamber.
Margaretha awoke at dawn the next morning, hearing faint sounds outside her window of the hunting dogs and their trainer, as well as the voices of her father, brother, and Lord Claybrook, all assembling and getting ready for the hunt.
She threw the covers back and leapt out of bed. By the time she was able to dress, the men would be long gone and on the trail of some wild animal. No one would be around to see her enter the healer’s tower to check on the English stranger.
Why was she so interested? Perhaps she hoped he would be more lucid today, that he would tell her his name and more about himself and where he came from. He was so passionate about wanting to speak with her father, and about the necessity of secrecy. Would he have calmed down, his senses restored now that he was safe and well fed? Perhaps he would tell her how he’d left his native England and come to be in Hagenheim and the Holy Roman Empire.
Margaretha dressed quickly and hurried down the stairs to the Great Hall, where she exited into the courtyard. Several maids were gathered around the well, taking their time as they filled their buckets and gossiped. They stood straighter when they noticed Margaretha, but she only smiled and waved as she sped past them on her way to Frau Lena’s southwest tower.
She peeked inside the door, which was ajar on this warm, late spring morning. The bed appeared empty. She pushed the door farther open and stepped inside.
A movement to her left caught her eye. The stranger was standing up, combing his hair. He stared back at her with intense, suspicious, startling blue eyes.
“How well you are looking!” Margaretha burst out, then realized she’d said it in her native German, so she restated it in English.
Truly, he was still gaunt, and his cheeks were pale, but at least he was able to stand.
His hand shook as he stopped combing. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it again. He put out his hand, leaned against the wall, and swayed. “Don’t try to stop me.”
“Stop you from what?”
“I’m going to see Duke Wilhelm.” He pushed himself off the wall, then wobbled again.