The Secret Princess (8 page)

“And the closer we get to Aachen, the greater our chances of making it the rest of the way on our own. If they
could get us partway there, even if we’re found out along the way, we could run then. We’d at least be out of Grandfather’s reach and that much closer to our destination.”

The hope in Bertie’s eyes grew brighter. “Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, it could work. It’s a better plan than anything I’ve thought of yet.”

“I’ve been praying God would show me his plan. Perhaps this is it.”

“Perhaps.
But I want to get back our treasures before we leave. They’re rightfully ours.”

“Don’t try anything until we have time to plan.” Evelyn didn’t think it likely they’d reclaim their inheritance, but she didn’t want to dim her brother’s hope. Hope was very nearly the only asset they had—that and a promise from a prince, who’d surely kill them the moment he learned who they really were.

When Bertie agreed to hold back in his efforts to reclaim their inheritance, Evelyn explained, “I’m to meet with the prince tonight. If he’s willing to help us, then we can make a plan for getting the jewels. But I must hurry—the sun has set already, and the moon is rising. I don’t want to be late.” She didn’t mention it, but the prince’s absence that morning worried her greatly. Had something happened
to him? She felt the knot in her stomach harden with concern as she turned to leave.

The moment she stepped from the stall where they’d been hiding in the shadow of a horse, Omar strode into the center aisle, his smile so broad it showed off all his rotten teeth. “What’s all that foreign chatter about?”

Evelyn froze where she stood.

Had Omar heard them talking? He couldn’t have
understood any of their words, but King Garren had forbidden them from speaking Frankish. If Omar dragged her off to turn her in, she’d miss her meeting with the prince. She remained frozen, the last bite of roll stuck in her throat. Did Omar realize Bertie had snuck her food? Her little brother could be whipped for defying the king’s orders.

Omar’s eyes narrowed and his smile pinched to
a thin line. “Be careful, Biddy. I’m watching you.” He strode away.

Bertie came to stand beside her. “He’s lucky he didn’t try to hit you, or I’d have been on him.” He ground a fist into one open hand, speaking Frankish in a whisper—cautious yet defiant.

“Don’t go near him. He’ll squash you like a bug.”

“What are you going to do now?” Bertie disregarded her warning.

“I should
have left already. Prince Luke will be waiting.”

“But Omar said he’s watching you.”

“He walked away. This is my chance.”

“What if he tries to follow you?”

Evelyn chewed the inside of her lip thoughtfully, wishing she’d had more to eat. Her stomach had accepted the roll and now growled for more. “He’s full of empty threats. If I let him bully me into staying here, I’ll miss
my meeting with Prince Luke. We need Lydia’s help if we’re going to make it home. I can’t waste this opportunity.”

As she’d hoped, the mention of home blinded her brother to any obstacles.

“I like your plan,” Bertie told her softly.

“God’s plan,” she corrected him.

“I like God’s plan. If God’s behind it, Omar can’t really hurt you, can he?”

Evelyn wasn’t sure, but she
nodded anyway. “That’s right. And I must make haste. The moon has already risen. I’d hate to miss him.”

“I’ll come with you partway in case Omar tries anything.” Bertie flexed his young muscles protectively.

Rather than let him think she would laugh at his earnest offer, Evelyn turned her face so he wouldn’t see her smile. “Let’s hurry.”

* * *

Luke reached the rocks when the
moon was rising and wondered if he’d missed Evelyn. Obviously he’d missed their meeting that morning—another group of horsemen had passed by as he’d made his way to their rendezvous. With six men of his own at his side, he’d finally been in a position to track them without fear of being outnumbered and endangering himself.

They’d followed the band along the same route they had taken before.
This time he’d tracked them all the way to their destination, a camp frighteningly close to Sardis, where a dozen or more Illyrian soldiers hid among the caves of the forest.

Luke and his men had watched them from a distance for the entire afternoon. Unfortunately, the trees were thinner there and the Illyrians were spread out, so Luke’s men had been forced to keep their distance beyond the
range of hearing. Luke still had little idea what the men were doing there other than cutting down trees, stripping them of their branches and stacking the trunks in a great pile near one of the cave openings.

Surely the Illyrians hadn’t traveled so far, grossly breaching the terms of the peace treaty, just to cut lumber. Trees grew thick at the foot of the Illyrian mountains. They didn’t
need to risk injury amidst the pitted soils of the cavelands.

It had been years since Luke had visited that part of the kingdom, close though it was to the city of Sardis. Travel there was far too dangerous. In addition to the cave openings visible in the woods, the earth was hollowed out belowground in places. Tunnels ran beneath the earth, natural fissures cut through the rocks in centuries
long past that could collapse under the weight of a man or a horse and open up to rocky chasms below.

The Lydians gave the area wide berth for their own safety.

Clearly the Illyrians had no such qualms.

As the day had grown long, Luke had realized he would likely learn no more of what the Illyrians were up to once darkness fell. His men were too few to risk open conflict with those
encamped among the caverns. And he’d promised himself he’d keep danger far from King John, his queen and their unborn child. The Illyrians in the cavelands were far too close to Sardis, the last outpost of protection that shielded Castlehead from an attack by land.

Now Luke watched from the shelter of the rocky outcropping in the shadow of Fier as the moon rose ever higher in the sky, praying
over his fears.

Would Evelyn come tonight? Was she safe? He’d told himself dozens of times not to worry about her. He didn’t even know if he could trust her. She was a member of Garren’s household. She refused to accept his offer of safe dwelling in Lydia and still hadn’t stated why. Those were reasons enough to be on his guard around her at all times.

And yet he couldn’t stay away any
more than he could change the way he felt about her. His heart warmed every time he pictured her lovely face. The thought of never seeing her again made his pulse race. By rights, he knew this should be their last meeting. He’d devised no alternate plan to keep her from slavery in a pagan household, not if she wasn’t willing to come to Lydia with him. Still, he couldn’t help hoping he might convince
her to meet with him again.

Assuming she arrived.

“Sir?” Farris, one of his most trusted men, who’d helped to rescue him from Bern the previous fall, now whispered from behind the outcropping. “Men approach.”

“Men?”

“From the direction of Fier. They are slow in their stealth—I circled round and came ahead of them. They’ll be here posthaste. Please hide.”

Luke trusted Farris,
and so he jumped up, darting behind the cover of the rocks mere moments before Evelyn stepped into the clearing.

His heart pounded at the sight of her, her pale hair turned silver by the moonlight, her face flushed with exertion, her mouth open slightly as she gasped for breath, having obviously run some distance to meet with him. As she looked around the clearing and did not see him, the
eagerness on her face turned to disappointment, and she hung her head.

Rather than risk acting on the urge to leap out and embrace her, Luke stared at his white knuckles as he gripped the rock in front of him. Farris had said men were approaching. Did Evelyn know Illyrians had followed her? Had she brought them here on purpose? Was this meeting a trap?

If he showed himself to her, he’d
be vulnerable to the men who followed her. But he’d brought six men of his own. He gestured to Farris, who bent his ear.

Luke whispered in a voice more silent than the breeze, “How many men?”

“Six.”

They were evenly matched, then. If Luke jumped out and whisked Evelyn away, his men would be equal with the Illyrians. But he couldn’t risk a skirmish that might lead to open war, especially
when he wasn’t even sure if Evelyn was innocent of Garren’s intrigues. Had the Illyrian king heard rumors that the Lydian prince was asking around after a pale-haired woman? Had he surmised Luke would be drawn to Evelyn for her beauty and healing touch and sent her to this spot all these times to entice and distract him?

Had he walked into a deliberate trap?

Luke glanced up to see Evelyn
on her knees again near the rocks, her face bathed in the soft light of the moon as she looked heavenward imploringly. Truly he’d never seen any sight so lovely. He began to rise upright almost against his will.

Farris grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

Chastened, Luke thought quickly. He didn’t want Evelyn to go away disappointed, not if she’d come to meet with him in innocence.
She might be punished by the Illyrians—they surely knew she’d escaped this far if the men had followed her.

Or had they followed her? Luke had seen enough Illyrian activity, bands of six passing in silence through the forest, to know their proximal arrival might well be a coincidence of time. If the men were only passing by on their way to the caves near Sardis, Luke could still meet with
Evelyn as planned.

He gestured to Farris and silently mouthed the words “Lead me to the men.”

Farris nodded, and the two of them picked their way around the outcrop, their stealthy movements well practiced after many clandestine missions on these borders. They circled a quarter of the way around the clearing when they met up with Dan, another of Luke’s faithful men, headed in their direction.

“Men,” Dan mouthed as he pointed behind him.

“How far?” Luke looked past the man into the filtered moonlight.

Dan opened his mouth to reply just as Luke caught sight of an ominous movement.

“Down!” He dared to speak above a whisper, shoving Dan down with one hand while he pulled Farris by the sleeve with the other.

An instant later an arrow sunk deep into a tree just beyond
them. Luke met the eyes of his men for half a second before pulling out his sword and raising the battle cry. “To arms, men! For Lydia!”

Chapter Eight

D
eep in prayer, Evelyn heard a cry from the woods beyond her and swung her head around, unable to see much more than the glint of metal through the thick trees. Was that Luke’s voice, or were her thoughts so centered on the man she only assumed it to be his?

It didn’t matter. The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the trees, and Evelyn scurried to a
cleft between the rocks where the outcropping would shield her from sight unless someone stood nearly on top of that spot. She was just able to peek out over a crag, but the darkness hid the details of what was going on around her. She heard shuffling, grunts, cries and clanging metal and continued her prayers more urgently.

Had Omar followed her after all? Perhaps she’d been foolish to come,
but it was past time to change that.

Suddenly a man’s figure broke from the trees, darting to the spot where she’d knelt praying moments before. He looked this way and that, searching, and the moonlight illuminated his face enough for her to recognize him.

“Luke!” she called out in a voice hardly more than a whisper.

He turned around. The anxiety fled from his features as he spotted
her. “Come away with me. My men have the upper hand.”

Evelyn hesitated.

“Quickly, now, before someone gets killed.” Luke extended one hand toward her.

Unsure precisely what he meant, nonetheless, Evelyn didn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s death. She reached for his hand and clambered out of her hiding spot just as a burly figure stepped into the small clearing, his sword
drawn.

King Garren.

His eyes narrowed as he recognized Evelyn, her hand clasped with that of the Lydian prince. “Biddy,” he shrieked. “You will return to your place immediately.”

Instantly fearful Garren might harm the Lydian kingdom for her transgression, she began to pull her hand away from Prince Luke’s grasp, but he held her fingers with a strengthened grip and positioned himself
between her and the king.

“Her place,” Luke said as he lifted his sword to a defensive angle, “is not in servitude. She is a learned and talented woman and deserves to be treated as such.”

Even as the prince’s words warmed her heart, they sent a cold spiral of fear into the pit of her stomach. King Garren’s face grew so red even the darkness failed to hide his anger.

“She is my
slave!” The king took one step toward Evelyn, and Prince Luke raised the tip of his sword an inch higher.

“Omar!”

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Omar’s voice carried through the woods ahead of him, the din of swordplay having stilled as the king and the prince faced off.

“Take Biddy back to her place.”

“With pleasure, Your Majesty.”

The underbrush rustled and snapped as Omar entered
the small clearing, but as quickly as he advanced toward them, more noises among the trees indicated he wasn’t the only soldier on the move. In an instant, the tiny clearing was filled with men, swords drawn, each trying to counter the others as they shuffled for placement in an awkward dance.

Evelyn watched Luke’s face from the corner of one eye, unwilling to turn away from her grandfather
and his advancing night guard for fear they might pounce. The prince kept his sword trained on the king as he slid one arm protectively around Evelyn’s shoulder. She could feel his pounding heart, its beat nearly as rapid as her frantic pulse.

What would he do? His men looked to him as if for some signal. Evelyn felt certain Garren’s men would strike at any moment, and the Lydians would be
injured or worse.

But the Illyrian king only laughed the bombastic laugh he usually reserved for bluffing. “If you are fond of this girl, why didn’t you say so, Your Highness? I have many slaves in my household and little need for this miserable creature. If she pleases you, I would be willing to make a trade.”

The prince’s eyes narrowed slightly, calculating. Evelyn knew well the fine
bearskin he’d given the king as a gift the week before was worth far more than the average female slave. Even if her skills were taken into account, she’d hardly fetch as high a price as the pelt. He’d more than paid for her already.

True to his previous claim to be a man of peace, the prince didn’t extend their dispute by arguing further. Instead, his teeth glinted white in the moonlight
as he smiled graciously. “What would you ask in return for this woman?”

A smile spread across King Garren’s face, as well. But unlike the prince’s expression, the king’s grin looked unsettlingly greedy. “As a token of your goodwill, I would ask nothing more than what was mine already. The borderlands.”

“Boundary questions are best resolved in the light of day around a table with the
proper maps and documents, not in the forest in the middle of the night.”

“Fine, then. I’ll take her back.” Garren moved toward them. “If you wish to make an offer in the future, you know my terms.”

As King Garren stepped toward Evelyn, Luke angled his sword to bar the king’s way, pulling Evelyn half a shuffling step to the side. “Why are you so interested in the borderlands? You have
no people there. It is a wild and dangerous land, not as pleasant as the rest of Illyria.”

Garren’s greedy grin had narrowed, and now his eyes gleamed as cold as the sword blade between him and the prince. “I want them because they are rightfully mine. What interest have you in my slave?”

Luke edged farther to the side. They were nearly clear of the rocky outcropping that had been at
their backs. A few more steps and they might leap behind it. Luke’s men had Garren’s covered. The prince’s arm tensed around her, the hand that cupped her shoulder communicating his intent to move. “I am indebted to her. She saved my life.”

“An error in judgment that will not be repeated,” King Garren snapped. “You have caused me much trouble since then. Now give me my slave and go on your
way.” He took another step toward them.

Luke stepped back. Evelyn felt sure he was ready to leap away. She waited for his signal, certain they’d move to escape in an instant.

But Omar had been angling away from the Lydians nearest him and now raised his bow, an arrow already fitted to the string. “Stop there,” he bellowed, sighting down the shaft. “If either of you move, I’ll shoot you
both.”

Evelyn froze. Given the power of his bow, the massive brute could send the same arrow straight through her and through Luke, as well—and he stood in precisely the position that would make such a shot work. Indeed, from such close range, Omar could hardly miss.

“Tell your man to lower his arms.” In spite of Prince Luke’s hammering heartbeat, he spoke in a steady, commanding voice.

“I will the moment you give me back my slave.” King Garren’s ugly grin had returned.

Evelyn realized what she had to do. If she didn’t return to her grandfather, he would certainly kill the prince. She started to move toward the king.

“No,” the prince whispered, his lips hardly moving as he spoke near her ear, “he’ll only shoot me the instant you step away. He has no reason not to.”

With a sinking heart, Evelyn realized the prince had truly seen through her grandfather’s lies—she knew King Garren well enough to know he’d shoot. He cared nothing for the prince’s life or the terms of the peace treaty—indeed, he resented both more and more every day. Of course her grandfather was trying to trick them. Hadn’t he already done as much when he locked the prince in his highest
tower?

But Luke had made eye contact with one of his men and tipped his head slightly, raising one eyebrow. A signal of some sort?

The Lydian raised his bow with arrow fitted, aimed at Omar. “Lower your weapon or I’ll shoot.”

Omar only laughed and shouted, “Kill me, and my arrow flies. Kill me, and you kill your prince.”

But as the big brute directed his words at the Lydian
archer, Luke’s arm tensed around Evelyn. “Now—back!” He all but lifted her off her feet as they leaped behind the protective cover of the outcropping.

The twang of bowstrings pierced the silence of the forest behind them as Luke ran with her behind the ridge until the land dipped downward toward the meadow where Luke had shot the bear the first day she’d spoken with him. He pulled her in
that direction now. They ran swiftly side by side.

Evelyn kept pace with him until her hesitation slowed her steps.

“This way,” he urged her.

“It’s too dangerous.”

Prince Luke paused. “Why? There’s a gully that way—it will offer us a place to hide.”

“The yearling bear you shot? The mother had twin cubs over the winter. They’ve been feeding on the spring berries in the
ravine below the meadow. I’m nearly certain their den is in a cave along the ravine. We can’t risk waking them. There’s nothing so fearsome as a mother bear protecting her young.”

Even as she spoke, the crash of footsteps behind them grew louder. Evelyn glanced back, but could see nothing in the darkness and the thick trees. “Are those your men?”

“I cannot tell.”

“What was your
plan?”

“I had none.”

An arrow’s twang sounded behind them, and Luke threw himself over Evelyn, pushing her down. Evelyn heard the arrow fly past just above her, then a solid thwack as it sank deep in a tree. They lifted their heads to see the end still quivering from the impact.

“Red fletching,” Luke noted. “That’s Illyrian. To the ravine—we’ve no choice.”

“Quietly, then,”
Evelyn whispered as she darted alongside the prince, her hand held securely in his as he used his sword to whack aside any branches that might slow them down. Just as she’d begun to wonder how he could possibly see where he was going in the darkness, the prince dropped away suddenly, sliding along loose stones down the sloping side of the ravine, pulling her after him.

She landed half on
top of him, somehow avoiding the edge of his sword. “Are you hurt?” She couldn’t see the glint of the metal sword blade and feared for the worst.

“I’m fine,” he whispered. “Lie still. Shh.”

He settled one hand atop her back, his touch comforting. The rugged walls of the gorge blocked nearly all light; the canopy of branches arched overhead choked out the rest. No matter how much she
strained her eyes to see, there was nothing but blackness and the sounds of the Illyrians approaching through the woods above.

“Watch your step—there’s a gully around here somewhere.” Omar’s booming voice echoed through the woods.

So he hadn’t been shot by an arrow, then, or at least not badly enough to slow him down. Evelyn pinched her eyes shut and prayed for the darkness to hide her.

“Where’d they go?” a soldier asked in Illyrian. “They couldn’t just vanish.”

“Must be in the gully,” another Illyrian theorized.

“All right, men, we’ll go down and search. You heard your king. Kill them both on sight. Don’t let them get away.”

Evelyn shuddered as she heard the words. She’d slowly bent around until her lips neared Prince Luke’s ear. Now, under the cover of rustling
footsteps above, she whispered in a still voice, “What should we do?”

“Stay still.” The prince’s lips brushed her cheek as he turned to speak to her. She’d have thought the contact accidental, but instead of pulling away, he nuzzled nearer as he spoke. “In this darkness they won’t find us unless they stumble upon us. If we try to run, we’re lost. They’d hear us for certain. All they’d need
do then is shoot in the direction of our stumbling. They’d be sure to hit us. There’s no way out but to climb up, and the sides are too steep to do that quickly in the darkness.”

His words fell away as the shuffling noises quieted above them. The Illyrians had ventured farther inland along the rim of the ravine, but they were still within an arrowshot of where she and the prince huddled.
If they made the slightest sound that gave away their location, the Illyrians could fell them in the time it took to sight an arrow.

“This looks like the best way down. It’s not so steep here.” The Illyrian words carried clearly down the canyon, followed by the crackle and crunch of boots in the underbrush as the soldiers made their way downward.

Evelyn held her breath, grateful for
Prince Luke’s strong arm around her, his presence comforting in spite of the many dangers hidden by the darkness. The ravine was hardly wide enough for five men to walk abreast down its length. She couldn’t be sure how many of the soldiers had made it this far—at least three—but if they headed in her direction, they’d almost certainly stumble upon them. She tensed, listening for any sound that would
indicate which way the men were headed.

“Careful there—the stream is slippery.” A voice warned against the trickle of melted snow that flowed through the gully only in springtime.

“Which way should we go?”

“You two head that direction. I’ll take Kai and head upstream. Give a holler if you see anything,” Omar commanded.

Evelyn let out the breath she’d been holding. If only two
men passed their way, there was the slightest chance the soldiers might walk past the place where they hid in the shadows without seeing them. She redoubled her prayers, tucking her head against Prince Luke’s shoulder as he pulled her more snugly against him. His touch was reassuring and protective.

A moment later a rustling sound farther downstream was followed by two masculine screams.

“What was that?” Omar yelled back.

“I think it was an owl.” A soldier chuckled nervously.

As they spoke, the prince took advantage of the noise cover to pull Evelyn back toward the wall of the ravine, farther out of the way should the men pass by. Grateful for his thoughtfulness and the protective bend of his arm around her, she nonetheless feared for their lives. Omar and his men
were sure to find them any moment. And even if they didn’t, the mother bear who called the ravine her home could hardly be expected to sleep through the noise King Garren’s men were making.

“Quiet!” Omar demanded. The men continued on their way, their approach slow but certain as they swept their swords like scythes along the sides of the valley. Surely if they did the same when they reached
the spot where she and the prince hid, not even their edging back would save them. The blade would hit them or cut through them—in either case, they’d soon be dead.