Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for ChristmasThe Secret PrincessTaming the Texas RancherAn Unlikely Union
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But the man she’d tried to save had been similarly dressed, and they’d told her he was a soldier—and an important one. They’d wanted him to live so they could use him as a tool for bargaining.
She had studied his face in the firelight as she’d prayed for God’s mercy on his life and wondered then what made the man so important that they’d threaten her, a life for a life. If she failed to save him, they’d promised to kill her. When she learned the fire had killed him, she’d half expected to die then, but it hadn’t been her fault, so they’d let her live.
Besides, with her knowledge of healing, she was useful to her grandfather, even if he purposely gave her the hardest, most demeaning jobs at the fortress as she worked to pay off the infinite debt her father owed him.
Fingers brushed her hand again. She froze and pinched her eyes more tightly shut.
He cupped his hand over hers and drew her arm toward him, settling her fingers over the scar. “Do you recognize your handiwork?”
She opened her eyes cautiously, looked at the scar, blinked and inspected it more closely.
He’d been cut from just above his navel to his ribs, saved only by the thick wall of muscle that had kept his organs from being spilled. The scar followed the exact line, etched with feathered strokes marking each neat stitch.
Yes, she recognized her handiwork. She’d prayed over each stitch, over each carefully chosen herb she’d pressed to the wound to ward away infection and speed his healing.
The man had survived.
Did the Illyrians know? Did her grandfather know? Either they truly believed the man had died, or they’d lied to her about his death. But why lie?
No, they must not have realized he’d escaped before the hut burned.
She pulled her hand away from the scar, though he still held her fingers in his. For the first time she examined his face in the full light of day. How could she ever have thought that any other man looked like this man? His clean-shaven jawline was strong with a slight cleft in the middle in his chin. His nose was straight, his brow line high, intelligent, his complexion healthy, cheeks slightly flushed. And his lips...
No, she’d best not look too long at his lips.
The concern on his face slowly spread to a smile. “You recognize me?”
“Yes.” Cautious joy rose inside her as she spoke.
“I owe you for my life. Tell me, how can I repay you?”
Evelyn thought quickly, her happiness at finding him alive tempered by fear for his continued safety. Her grandfather, King Garren, had wanted this man alive so he could barter his life for political gain. He thought the man was dead. If the king learned that the man had lived, he’d only try to capture him again to keep him prisoner or, worse yet, to exact his vengeance for the lands Illyria had lost to the kingdom of Lydia.
She couldn’t let that happen. And yet, this close to the fortress of Fier, he could easily be spotted, recognized and reported to her grandfather. Her mind made up, she met his eyes as she made her request. She’d lost him once before, and it had grieved her in ways she still didn’t understand. She couldn’t risk harm coming to him again.
“You must leave this area immediately and never return.”
ISBN: 9781460320518
A FAMILY FOR CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2013 by Winnie Griggs
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Her Royal Deception
When Evelyn tended Prince Luke of Lydia’s battle wounds, she had no idea whose life she was saving. Yet now the handsome warrior is determined to rescue her from King Garren’s fortress. Evelyn may be Garren’s granddaughter and a princess by right, but the vindictive king has forced her to pay off her father’s debts as a servant. A shared faith deepens her bond with Luke, but revealing her true identity could tear them apart and bring war to two kingdoms. Only courage and trust will help them forge a royal union where two hearts reign as one..
The man had survived.
Did the Illyrians know? Did her grandfather know? Either they truly believed the man had died, or they’d lied to her about his death. But why lie?
No, they must not have realized he’d escaped before the hut burned.
Evelyn pulled her hand away from the scar, though he still held her fingers in his. For the first time she examined his face in the full light of day. How could she ever have thought that any other man looked like this man? His clean-shaven jawline was strong, with a slight cleft in the middle of his chin. His nose was straight, his brow line high, intelligent, his complexion healthy, cheeks slightly flushed. And his lips…
No, she’d best not look too long at his lips.
The concern on his face slowly spread to a smile. “You recognize me?”
“Yes.” Cautious joy rose inside her as she spoke.
“I owe you for my life. Tell me, how can I repay you?”
Books by Rachelle McCalla
Love Inspired Historical
*A Royal Marriage
*The Secret Princess
Love Inspired Suspense
Survival Instinct
Troubled Waters
Out on a Limb
Danger on Her Doorstep
Dead Reckoning
†Princess in Peril
†Protecting the Princess
The Detective’s Secret Daughter
†Prince Incognito
†The Missing Monarch
*Defending the Duchess
*Royal Heist
*Protecting the Crown
†Reclaiming the Crown
RACHELLE McCALLA
is a mild-mannered housewife, and the toughest she ever has to get is when she’s trying to keep her four kids quiet in church. Though she often gets in over her head, as her characters do, and has to find a way out, her adventures have more to do with sorting out the car pool and providing food for the potluck. She’s never been arrested, gotten in a fistfight or been shot at. And she’d like to keep it that way! For recipes, fun background notes on the places and characters in this book, and more information on forthcoming titles, visit www.rachellemccalla.com.
The Secret Princess
Rachelle McCalla
The one who sins is the one who will die. The child will not share the guilt of the parent, nor will the parent share the guilt of the child. The righteousness of the righteous will be credited to them, and the wickedness of the wicked will be charged against them.
—Ezekiel 18:20
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapte
r Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Dear Reader
Questions for Discussion
Excerpt
Chapter One
Lydian Borderlands, AD 802, spring
The woods grew thick at the base of the mountains. Even in daylight, the branched canopy blocked out the sun, providing darkness and shadows to hide the predators of the forest: wild boar, black bears and Illyrian war scouts.
Prince Luke of Lydia crept silently through the predawn darkness with only his prayers and his wits to guide him, unable to distinguish deep shadow from deepest shadow. He found the rustle of the undergrowth and the damp scent of the rich earth far more useful navigational tools this far from Lydia. King Garren’s fortress of Fier lay in the mountains ahead, less than an hour’s walk from this valley. It was dangerous territory, but Luke had an important mission.
Spring had left winter behind. The Mursia River churned with the melting mountain snowpack behind him. The sun rose ever earlier, fading distant shadows to light, its faint illumination enough for Luke to discern the outline of the rocky outcropping he sought.
Would she come today?
Luke found a smaller boulder and sat down to wait. He’d seen the mysterious pale-haired woman in these woods the week before, near this same rocky outcropping, but in his eagerness he’d moved toward her too quickly, crackling branches beneath his feet, startling her.
She’d run off, dropping her basket in her haste. Luke had left it where it lay and prayed she’d return for the basket and the early valerian roots she’d been harvesting.
At the thought of the woman, Luke remembered the scar high above his hip, from an injury that ought to have killed him. Even his brother, the renowned healer King John, had marveled that the lengthy gash hadn’t claimed his life.
The woman had saved his life after he’d been injured in battle, sewing his injury closed before he bled to death, keeping vigil through the night to be certain the wound stayed clean and free from infection.
Luke needed to thank her, to learn her name, to see her in the clear light of day. Her features haunted his dreams. She had a beautiful, sweet face. Young. Vibrant. Hair so pale it was nearly silver.
No one else knew anything about her. He’d asked the area villagers and the soldiers who scouted these borderlands with him, but they’d never seen her. Some suggested she wasn’t young or beautiful at all, but an old hag, her hair white with age, her features distorted by the delirium of his injury. Others claimed she didn’t even exist—that his feverish mind had imagined a woman when no one was there.
But Luke knew someone had stitched his wound closed. His memories were too deep to forget, though months had passed as he’d searched in vain to find her again. Driven by his quest, he’d traveled deeper into the forest—past the borders of Lydia—into enemy territory.
The week before, he’d caught a glimpse of her through the trees and had held his breath, watching in amazement, half convinced he’d imagined her.
When she didn’t evaporate with the mist as the sun warmed the day, he’d moved closer, so focused on reaching her he’d paid little attention to the path. She must have heard the sound of his approach. For one long moment she’d lifted her head from her work and studied the woods in his direction, her face in clear view.
Beautiful.
Not an old hag. Not an apparition. She’d run with feet fleet as a deer, disappearing in the direction of Illyria, beyond the Lydian border.
He’d returned every morning since then.
Today he waited. Prayed. Songbirds roused and trilled their morning melodies as the fog lifted, mist rising up the mountain to join the clouds and the pink light of dawn.
Luke sat still, silent. He could wait all day. He’d waited most of each day since the morning he’d seen her. It made no difference. With the treaty between the Roman Empire and Constantinople, peace in the borderlands became even more important. The emperor Charlemagne had pledged to fight for Lydia if the tiny kingdom went to war against the Illyrians again. The Byzantine empress Irene had vowed to counter, supporting her Illyrian territories.
If the two empires met in war across these rugged mountains, Lydia would be trampled. His people would suffer. When the walled Lydian city of Sardis had been besieged by Illyrian forces the previous fall, Luke had ridden out to battle beside his brother King John. Both of them had been prepared to die protecting their people.
By God’s grace, it hadn’t come to that. Rab the Raider, who’d deceitfully killed Luke’s father, King Theodoric, was himself killed by his own half brother, Warrick. In the wake of the battle, Lydia, backed by Charlemagne, had forged a peace treaty with Irene of Constantinople. By those terms, the Illyrians were required to give back all the borderlands Rab the Raider had taken from Lydia.
Luke would never forget the horrors of war. He’d seen enough of battle. To keep the peace, he and his fellow soldiers roamed these lands, always alert for any activity that would indicate the Illyrians weren’t keeping their side of the treaty.
So sitting on a boulder in the forest of the foothills fit perfectly within the mission his brother had tasked him with. His job was to watch the border. The rocky outcropping was part of that border. And so he sat patiently, waiting.
A tiny wren perched somewhere above him, its song cheerful and long-winded. Suddenly the bird stopped singing.
Luke sat up straight, gripping his bow with one hand, an arrow ready. Something had startled the bird. Wolves, who prowled at night, would have returned to their dens long before this hour, but bears were common in these foothills and active at this time of day. Lynx and wildcats weren’t uncommon, though bears were a bigger threat this close to the mountains.
The wren sounded a few questioning notes, testing the air, uncertain. It fluttered to deeper cover.
Leaves rustled near the boulder. Luke could hear the sound, but whatever stirred the foliage lay on the other side of the rocks, out of sight.
Long minutes crept by as Luke pondered his next move. It could be a wild boar nosing about for mushrooms among the fallen logs. The hefty horned animals had thick hides and could run surprisingly fast. It was dangerous to meet one alone. One arrow was hardly ever enough to bring down a boar. Yet who could string a second arrow before the speedy animal struck?
The wren began to sing again, tentatively at first but gaining confidence as it continued. Luke hadn’t heard any grunting. Boars grunted. Maybe it wasn’t a boar on the other side of the rocks, then. Could it be an Illyrian war scout? Prior to the battle the previous fall, the Illyrians had been active in the area. If Luke saw their men venturing this far into Lydian territory, he’d alert his men and King John and intervene before the Illyrians could strike.
He prayed the Illyrians had better sense than to venture into Lydian territory again.
Slowly, soundlessly, Luke eased to his feet, creeping up the craggy incline where the rocks provided silent footholds. He’d be able to see better from higher ground. Besides, if the woman had returned, Luke realized he ought to try to get in between her and the route by which she’d escaped the week before. That way, if he startled her, she’d run toward him instead of away.
The wren’s song grew more exuberant. Luke smiled at the sound. The song was a happy one, but more than that, it helped to drown out any noise Luke might make as he crept around the outcropping, pausing frequently, listening, waiting.
The rustling sound continued. Rocks overhung the spot from which the sound emanated, blocking the source from Luke’s view. He paused, wishing the creature would back away far enough for him to see it, but other than the constant rustling, it made no move.
Below him the rocks gave way like a cliff. Luke weighed his options. If he dropped to the ground here, he’d almost certainly spook the creature. If it was a boar or a bear, it might charge him. If it was the woman, she might easily run away. He wanted neither of those options.
That left a long trek out of h
is way, following the bluff as it bent back toward the mountain. He’d have to turn his back on whatever was making the rustling sound. He’d venture far from the spot before reaching the lower elevation and making his way slowly back, giving the creature plenty of time to disappear.
He didn’t like either option, but the long trek seemed the most promising.
Cautiously, Luke crept along the rocks, ducking branches, choosing his footing carefully.
He’d nearly reached the forest floor when a solid-looking rock proved to be loose, dislodging under his foot, rattling downward as he slipped and scrambled to stay on his feet.
He grabbed for support, clenched a branch in his hand and steadied himself.
The wren stopped singing. The rustling ceased, as well.
Luke froze, held his breath and waited.
Something bolted from the base of the rocks. Unsure whether it was friend or foe, Luke ran for the path, hoping to intercept it, praying it wasn’t a predator. He reached the path and faced the oncoming sound, its source still hidden by the thick brush that edged the winding route. Fitting an arrow to his bow, he raised the weapon and took aim, ready to shoot the moment the animal appeared.
A woman cleared the bend in the path, her lovely face white with fear, hair mostly hidden by a headscarf that was coming loose, revealing a glimpse of pale hair.