The Secret Princess (4 page)

“Thank you,” Luke whispered hurriedly as the boy retreated down the stairs. “And tell your sister not to worry about me.”

He didn’t hear any response but listened carefully, breathing freely only after some time had passed without any sound that might indicate the youth
had gotten caught.

Luke was glad for that. The boy had brought him a useful tool as well as valuable information about the guard below. It was sure to increase his chances of escaping.

And just as certainly, Luke intended to do all he could to make good on his promise to help the slaves escape. The woman they called Biddy had saved his life. He owed them both.

Rather than pick the
lock now and risk discovery, Luke decided to wait until closer to sunset to make his bid for freedom. For now he leaned on the windowsill and looked out over the stunning vista. King Garren might have only used the view as bait to lure him to the tower, but indeed, the vista provided an unparalleled picture of the lands between Fier and Lydia. In the distance Luke could see a charred spot amidst
the woods—the tiny village of Bern, where he’d lain injured. The very spot where the pale-haired woman had saved his life.

At the thought of her, Luke felt his stomach lurch, and he mulled the reason for his response. Granted, the woman was kind and lovely, gracious and gentle—all things a man might appreciate in a female. But she was also a slave. Any affection he felt toward her was mere
gratitude for the sacrifices she’d made on his behalf—first in saving his life and then in rightfully trying to warn him from this place.

Gratitude. That was all he felt, that and reciprocal generosity—an urge to fulfill his promise to the boy that he would somehow help the siblings return to their homeland. Certainly the lurching in his stomach could be no more than that. Luke had no interest
in romance. Never had. Someday he’d perform his duty and marry a bride befitting a prince, a noblewoman whose connections could solidify peace in Lydia.

Until then he ought to put thoughts of other women far from his mind...except that the pale-haired woman had already proven to be unforgettable.

* * *

When Garren returned alone, Evelyn guessed what he’d done. He had the key to
the tower door in the bag at his waistband. She could see the distinctive bulge of it. She knew it well. He’d locked her in the tower a few times when she’d tried to run away. More recently, he’d threatened to marry her to Omar, the middle-aged chief of the night guard, who liked to grab at her whenever she passed near him.

Omar was a far greater threat than the tower. She’d learned never
to walk close to him, to step quickly away when clearing the table near his place. She hadn’t run away in over a year, not with the threat of marriage to Omar looming over her.

Bertie confirmed it when she finally found him in the stables, mucking out the stalls as he was supposed to. He’d seen their grandfather pass by with the prince, had followed out of curiosity and had gone back in secret
later to see the prisoner.

“He asked about you,” her brother said, leaning on the handle of his pitchfork. He was nearly as tall as she already in spite of the eight years’ difference in age between them. Bertie was twelve and looked more like their father every day.

“About me?” Evelyn couldn’t imagine it. “He doesn’t know my name.”

“‘The one they call
Biddy
,’ he said, ‘with hair
pale as moonlight and healing in her hands.’”

Evelyn froze. “He didn’t say that.” Her brother had quite the sense of humor. She wouldn’t put it past him to tease unless he knew her feelings were tender on a subject. And he couldn’t know how tender her feelings already were for Prince Luke.

“In truth, he said it in Illyrian,” her brother admitted, and repeated the message in that tongue.
The two of them spoke Frankish when they were alone—partly to keep private whatever passed between them, partly to remind themselves of who they were and partly on her brother’s insistence, because he’d vowed to return there one day and wanted to remember how to talk to their relatives.

“He asked me to bring you a message.”

“What?” Evelyn hadn’t yet absorbed the fact that the prince
had spoken of her at all. No prince had ever sent her a message.

“He said not to worry about him.”

“Not to worry?”

“That’s what he said.”

“What does that mean?” Had her suspicions been correct? Was the prince up to something? Evelyn hated to think the Christian would be capable of the same deceitfulness as her grandfather, but she chided herself for hoping otherwise. He was
royal. Of course he was a liar. She’d be wise to be on her guard around him, lest his handsome smile and winsome ways distract her from his dishonesty.

“I wonder the same thing,” Bertie watched her carefully, his blue eyes dancing, his pale hair the same color as the straw in the stables. “I wanted to ask, but I heard voices below and had to sneak away before I was caught.”

“I should
try to visit him myself.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“He said not to worry.”

But Evelyn worried, all through that afternoon and evening, especially when King Garren failed to order a plate sent up to the tower. It was one thing for him to starve her out—she was his granddaughter. But Prince Luke could retaliate for the poor treatment, assuming he survived. And she hated to think of
him going hungry—unless he was plotting against them, in which case he didn’t deserve their hospitality.

Perhaps Garren had no intention of letting the prince survive this time. It could be he’d learned his lesson after she’d brought the prince back from the brink of death at Bern.

The only good thing to come of the day was a clean dress and a bath. King Garren didn’t believe in bathing—he
feared the water might wash away a person’s soul—but Evelyn had grown up taking baths in the Holy Roman Empire. Here she and the serving girls had worked out a system, guarding each other while they dipped themselves in the warm washing water before they started the laundry. And since Cook had retired to her room exhausted from serving lunch to a prince and still put out by her scare with the
bearskin, Evelyn took the time to wash her hair, then to comb out all the tangles until it shimmered like pale gold in the orange glow of the fire.

Night had fallen by the time she got a moment to herself. She grabbed the two bread rolls she’d set aside earlier and filled a skin flask with tea, the herbal liquid a fortifying mixture that would give Luke strength even if she wasn’t able to
reach him again for some time. Whatever her grandfather’s plans, or the prince’s, she wasn’t about to refuse hospitality to a man who’d brought them a gift. Besides, she hoped to learn more about his intentions.

She made her way stealthily down the halls to the spiraling stairs that led to the highest tower. The guard at the base of the stairs sat slumped against the wall, snoring. Evelyn
crept past him without a sound. When she reached the top, she tried the door and found to her surprise that it swung open easily.

Moonlight poured through the open eaves, illuminating the bare stones of the austere space.

It was empty.

Chapter Four

L
uke found the narrow pathway between the stables and the rear wall. The pale-haired woman—he cringed to think of her as
Biddy—
had led him that way when she’d tried to help him escape that morning. If he’d known what he’d soon be up against, he’d have learned more about her intended route then, but he’d misjudged King Garren’s animosity.

The pale-haired woman
had been right about Garren’s intentions. Given her warning, Luke had suspected he was walking into a trap when Garren had offered to show him the view from the tower. He’d gone along, partly out of curiosity to see if the king would really imprison him and partly because, assuming the king was bold enough to imprison him, the aggression against his person would constitute a violation of the terms
of the peace accord.

By allowing himself to be locked away, Luke had achieved an advantage for Lydia.

Now he needed to pass along word of what he’d discovered to his brother King John of Lydia. Thus far they’d assumed Garren was willing to abide by the peace treaty. They’d clearly overestimated Garren’s wisdom on those matters.

Horses nickered in the stables behind him, and Luke
froze. Someone was in the stables. The pale-haired boy, Biddy’s brother, who’d visited him in the tower? If he could find the boy, Luke could leave a message for her with him.

It was dangerous to tarry. Luke needed to report what he’d learned to his brother. And yet at the thought of the woman, he found his feet turning back a few steps toward the nearest stable door. He’d been intrigued
by her since she’d saved his life. Finding her here in such a low position increased his curiosity. What was she doing in this place? Her skill with the needle and knowledge of healing meant she’d obviously had specialized training in far finer arts than rumor told him were practiced in Garren’s household. Her brother claimed to be from the Holy Roman Empire. So how, then, had they come here?

What could he do to keep his promise to free her and her brother? Could he buy their freedom? He couldn’t leave them behind, not when he was this close already, not without trying to repay the woman for the gift of life she’d given him. He had to try to see her again. He still didn’t know her real name.

Luke reached the stable door and peered into the darkness inside. The heavy walls
blocked much of the moonlight. Horses shifted on their feet, their shadows looming dark against the walls, each one large enough to hide a man.

Was he foolish to come here? Luke slipped into the nearest stall and quieted the sleeping mare that startled at his appearance. The horse went back to its slumber.

Perhaps he was a fool for visiting Fier in the first place, but he’d learned enough
to justify the trouble it had caused him.

And what of the woman? She’d tried to warn him away from this place, then tried to help him escape. But surely she could get in trouble for helping him. Why would she take such a risk on his account, especially when she was of such lowly status already? Slaves could be brutally punished, even killed, without their masters ever being called into question.
Most were unerringly devoted to their masters out of fear.

The pale-haired woman didn’t seem devoted to King Garren. Whom did she really serve? Could she be trusted?

Movement near the far door caught his eye, and Luke spotted a flash of silver. Human. The boy? No, he realized with a pounding heart, it was the woman they called Biddy.

Moonlight splashed in patches across her as she
stole down the center aisle. She’d pulled her loose hair back in a tight braid and changed her dress. This garment was a more tattered rag, perhaps a bit too small, even, though it showed more of her slender curves. Luke’s breath caught as he watched her moving cautiously and gracefully in the moonlight.

She stopped in front of a stall and slipped through the door before Luke realized what
she was doing. The horse seemed to know her and followed without hesitation as she led him from the stall.

Where was she going with the horse? The woman had risen early that morning to find valerian roots on foot. She’d worked hard all day and ought to be exhausted by this hour. Surely she didn’t make a habit of going riding at night. With a pang, Luke wondered if perhaps she was going to
look for him.

No one had stopped her. From what Luke could tell, they were the only two people in the stable. With a prayer for safety, he stepped carefully toward her, not wanting to startle her or the horse. If either of them cried out, he might easily be caught again. And King Garren was unlikely to leave him where he could escape with so little trouble this time.

The woman led the
gelding to the corner where the tack was stacked, and she prepared the horse to ride. Luke followed quietly, debating how best to make his presence known.

He reached a patch of moonlight when a horse nickered. The woman turned. Her eyes widened when she saw him, but she made no sound.

Luke rushed to her side.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, then raised her hands with an
offering. “I brought you these.”

Luke recognized the bread but reached eagerly for the flask, parched after a day in the tower. The woman pulled out the stopper and lifted it for him. As he quenched his thirst, Luke wondered again at this female who went out of her way to help him. Why?

“You must tell me your name,” he nearly begged once he’d drained the flask.

“Only if you promise
to leave. Why are you still here?”

“I had to see you again.” He reached for the bread just as she held it out to him. His left hand met the rolls. His right hand touched her arm, held her sleeve and was about to pull her closer to him when he stopped himself, unsure why he felt so drawn to her. Granted, she looked much better now than she had earlier, and smelled far better, as well. Along
with washing her hair and changing her dress, she’d replaced the stench of pigs with the clean scent of crushed lavender.

Was he foolish to want to know more about this woman? Perhaps somewhat, but he wouldn’t allow himself to fall prey if she was trying to trick him. He’d stay on his guard in case she was as great a deceiver as the man she worked for.

“Please tell me your name. I don’t
believe it’s Biddy.” He took a bite of roll.

“That’s only what my grandfather tells everyone to call me.” The woman looked down as though ashamed.

“Your grandfather?” Luke scowled. “Who?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” He finished the first roll and wished for another flask of tea.

“Why?” She’d stepped back against the dozing horse. Just enough moonlight filtered
through the open eaves to illuminate her face as she looked up at him. “You’re a prince. I’m a slave.”

“You saved my life. Let me buy your freedom.”

The woman’s mouth fell open like a rose in full bloom. Soft, delicate. “It’s not possible.”

“Why not? I have the means to pay any price.”

The woman made a small noise, almost a whimper, and then turned toward the horse, hiding
her face near its mane.

“Please.” Luke reached for her but placed one hand on the horse instead, mindful that the woman might not welcome his touch. “You must tell me your name.”

She seemed distraught. Luke’s throat felt rough, possibly from the dry roll but more likely from his confusion at the woman’s reaction. No doubt she’d be an expensive slave, with her skills at healing and her
obvious ability to work hard for long hours, not to mention her beauty. Many a master would buy her for her looks alone, though they wouldn’t treat her nearly as well as she ought to be treated. At the thought, Luke became that much more determined to free her.

“Your name?” He wanted to grasp her shoulders and turn her to face him, but he resisted. She wasn’t his. “Please?”

She turned
to him, tears glistening like tiny gems on her eyelashes. “Evelyn.”

“Evelyn,” he repeated, smiling. It fit her so much better than Biddy. “Why have you chosen to help me?” He raised the last roll as evidence of her aid, then took a hungry bite.

“You are from Lydia?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are a Christian?”

“Yes.” His heart warmed as she smiled at his admission. “What do you
know of Christians?”

“I was raised in the faith in Charlemagne’s empire.”

Luke instantly recalled the words Evelyn’s brother had spoken in the tower, which Luke still didn’t completely understand. He would never have expected to find Christians enslaved inside the fortress of Fier. From what Luke knew of Garren’s household, they all followed pagan beliefs. As a member of that household,
he would have assumed she’d follow the same. But then, she’d spoken Frankish earlier. Perhaps he should have guessed the woman was more like him than his enemies. Perhaps she could be trusted. Perhaps. “How long have you lived in Illyria?”

“Five years.”

“What brought you here?”

“My father. He brought us here after my mother’s death.”

“Us?” Luke clarified, wondering how many
more there were besides Evelyn and her brother.

“My brother and me.”

“The pale-haired boy I spoke with in the tower?”

“Yes. Bertie.”

“Your mother was Frankish, and your father is Illyrian?”

“My father was half Frankish and half Illyrian.”

“Was?”

“He died last fall.”

“I’m sorry.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful, but remained silent.

“And your
grandfather?”

“Would be furious if he knew I was speaking with you.” Her eyes met his with a spark of challenge.

“Is he a slave, as well?”

Evelyn’s mouth fell open again. Luke studied it, marveling at her fine matched teeth, a far healthier set than he’d expected to find in the mouth of an Illyrian slave girl. But then, nothing about her was what he’d expected, and everything he
learned about her only intrigued him further.

She didn’t answer his question, but Luke felt the urgency of their situation and realized with certainty what he needed to do. He’d promised her brother he’d help them. Why should he return later when he could fulfill his pledge that very night?

“I can take you with me.”

She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes wide.

“I’m leaving for
Lydia tonight. You would be safe there with other Christians.”

Evelyn shook her head, but the way she glanced at him, he guessed she found the offer tempting. Surely she didn’t want to remain a slave.

Luke couldn’t let her refuse his offer. “My sister-in-law speaks Frankish. She is a daughter of Charlemagne himself. You might enjoy her company.”

Evelyn shook her head more fervently.
“I cannot leave—”

“You would not be a slave there.”

“No.” Evelyn stepped to the side as though to dart away and escape from his words.

Luke caught her arm. “Please come with me.”

She met his eyes. “My brother—”

“I intend to bring him, too, of course. He asked me to help him return to his homeland. Once we reach Lydia, we can arrange further travel plans.”

A look of
yearning passed across her face. He saw it clearly in the moonlight. His heart twisted at the sight.

“Please, Evelyn. You saved my life. Let me restore yours. You deserve more than a life of slavery.”

Evelyn closed her eyes. Luke watched as she fought some inner battle, tempted to take him up on his offer. What was holding her back?

“You have lingered here too long,” Evelyn told
him bluntly when she opened her eyes. “Leave now, before King Garren realizes you’ve escaped. If he finds you’re not in the tower, he’ll lock down the gates and you’ll never get out.”

Luke felt the urgency in her words. She was right, of course. She’d been right about King Garren all along. “You’ll come with me?”

“I cannot.”

He still had hold of her left arm and grasped the other,
as well, all but embracing her in the warmth of the stable. “I have searched for you these many months. Now that I’ve found you, I cannot leave you behind.”

“My life is very complicated, too much so to explain now. You must leave quickly—alone.”

Luke met her eyes and saw her determination. She wouldn’t be going with him, no matter how much yearning had crossed her face when he’d first
made the offer. Knowing she’d been right about King Garren, he trusted she knew well the reasons of which she spoke. “Promise me I may see you again.” He thought quickly. “In the woods where I met you this morning. Meet me there again in one week’s time.”

“I will try.”

“If you’re not there, I will come here looking for you.”

Panic crossed her face. “Don’t endanger yourself for me.”

“You have endangered yourself for me.” Luke still held both her arms and had been drawing closer to her as they spoke. She seemed so frightened. Of him? Of getting caught?

It didn’t matter. He ought to have left long minutes before.

Evelyn pulled free of his arms. “This way.” She led him back through the side door of the stable, along the rear wall to the postern gate. “There’s a
guard through the main gate, but we can sneak through the guard’s passage. When we get through to the other side, stay close to the wall until you’re almost to the first tower, then cut around the bushes heading uphill. There’s a narrow deer path. Follow it—you’ll find your way back to where we met this morning.”

Luke memorized her instructions, knowing well he wouldn’t have happened upon
the path himself, certainly not in the darkness. “You’ll meet me there in one week?” He’d need that long to make the trip back to his brother, tell him what he’d learned, make plans and travel back again.

She nodded solemnly but added, “If I’m delayed, please don’t come here looking for me. I’ll try again the next day and the next.”

“I’ll try again every day until I see you again,” he
promised.

She looked up at him, the moon casting just enough silvery light for him to see her face clearly. “You must move quickly. I will pray for your safety.”

“And I for yours.” He couldn’t help reaching out and trailing one finger softly against her cheek. She was real. After all his searching, all his fears that he’d only imagined her, she was real.