No, if she was honest—and she had to be, having been caught in prayer—she owed her happiness solely to the joy of seeing him again, his eyes twinkling in the starlight, his smile broad and sincere. He gripped her hand warmly, and she felt a shiver of delight run straight to her toes.
“I’ve brought you something.” Prince Luke pulled out his pack and carefully removed a slim parcel. “It may be too dark for you to see.” He opened the small leather-bound volume and held it to catch the broadest beam of moonlight.
Evelyn bent close. To her joy, the silvery light of the moon illuminated clearly the black pen strokes, each letter formed with precision and care. “Our Father, who art in heaven.” She read the words in Frankish, then explained in Illyrian, “It’s the Lord’s Prayer.” She pulled the book closer, studying the words, ready to weep with happiness that she now held in her hands something she’d so longed for these many years.
She glanced up at the prince, a word of thanks ready on her lips, but the expression on his face silenced her. She stared at him a moment, the nighttime shadows making it impossible for her to guess what he was thinking, though he looked taken aback and almost—could it be?—betrayed.
His brow furrowed. “You can read?”
In an instant, Evelyn realized her mistake. Of course slaves weren’t supposed to be able to read. She’d been taught by her mother and grandmothers. In Aachen she’d lived between a convent, where the nuns eagerly taught anyone who cared to learn, and the palace, where Charlemagne, then merely king of the Franks, had imported the greatest teachers and intellectuals to be found anywhere in the world. Literacy was highly valued in Charlemagne’s kingdom, and now that he was emperor, that influence spread throughout the Holy Roman Empire.
The Illyrian world was much different.
“I can read,” she admitted in a whisper, anxiously awaiting his response.
“You’re a slave. Does King Garren know you can read?”
“He does.”
“And yet he has you feed the pigs?”
“Reading isn’t often necessary in his household. The pigs always need to be fed. I’ve read for him when he’s asked me to, and written for him, and sewed shut his injured hostages.” She glanced to the place where the prince’s scar lay hidden under his habergeon.
“King Garren is a fool.”
“Indeed.” She wasn’t about to argue.
Prince Luke’s furrowed brow relaxed and the corners of his eyes bent upward with a hint of a smile. “You do not belong in his household. Please, let me bring you with me to Lydia. From there we can arrange for you to travel north.”
Evelyn bent her head. How could she explain to the prince all the reasons why she had to refuse his generous offer? She couldn’t—not without confessing the truth about her brother’s determination to reclaim the signet ring and other jewels their grandfather had stolen from them. And as King Garren had insisted so many times, no one would believe a slave who claimed to own the king’s signet ring. If she told her story, she’d only be labeled a liar.
She couldn’t give the prince any reason to doubt her honesty. Rather than make him suspect her a liar, she resolved to keep the full truth to herself. Nonetheless, she couldn’t turn him down without any explanation.
“My brother—” she began.
But the prince cut her off. “He is more than welcome at Castlehead. King John has personally invited him.”
“How does the king know of my brother?”
“I spoke to him of both of you.”
Evelyn’s thoughts swirled. She couldn’t seem to grasp the enormity of it. The prince had spoken to the king about the predicament she and her brother shared. And he’d brought her a book with prayers in her native tongue. She didn’t deserve his consideration. “I am not worthy to be spoken of to your king.”
“I believe you are.” The prince still held his hand over hers and now used that grasp to rise and pull her to standing. “Come, now, you weren’t always a slave. You must tell me where you come from and your rank in that place.”
Unable to refuse the prince’s order, Evelyn thought quickly. She couldn’t prove who she was—not without the jewels that her grandfather had stolen. It was a crime for a slave to claim to be a noblewoman. Her grandfather had reminded her of that often enough in whispered threats. True, everyone in Garren’s household knew she was his granddaughter, but none of them knew who her mother or grandmothers were or their standing in the kingdom where she’d been born.
“I come from the city of Aachen.”
“Aachen! The Emperor Charlemagne’s capital in the north, the seat of the Frankish kingdom?”
“It is a large, populous city,” Evelyn explained. “Many hail from there.”
“Rab the Raider came from that region, as well.” A cool undercurrent ran through the prince’s words, a tiny note of warning that struck Evelyn’s ears and gave her pause.
“What do you know of Rab the Raider?” She might have revealed that the man was her father, save for that cold foreboding in Prince Luke’s tone.
“He killed my father.”
The words fell like an axe between them. Stunned, Evelyn could only grapple with the facts. “Your father?” she repeated in a whisper. She knew King Garren had sent his son—her father—on many dangerous and bloody missions. Indeed, it was for her father’s many acts of war and the lives he’d ended that she and her brother were enslaved. She’d never seen her father kill anyone, but she took seriously his guilt, which she and her brother bore, for which she hoped to someday atone through acts of good service.
“My father, King Theodoric of Lydia. He and my brother had traveled to the village of Bern on his annual tour of his holdings. They were ambushed by the Raider, greatly outnumbered. When the Raider saw that my father and his men were valiant fighters who might yet defeat him, he convinced my father he wanted to discuss the terms of peace. But the moment my father lowered his sword, Rab the Raider killed him, treacherously, like a coward.”
As the prince spoke, his eyes stared through the dark woods in the direction of that village, the same village where Evelyn had stitched closed his wound and kept vigil over him through the night.
Evelyn wished she could deny the truth of the words Prince Luke had spoken, but they fit too well with what small details of the story she’d heard. She hadn’t known her father had killed King Theodoric of Lydia, but perhaps she’d only willfully closed her eyes to what she hadn’t wanted to see. Sorrow welled up inside her deeper than any she’d known since her mother had died.
The prince turned back to her and his expression softened. He reached for her face. “Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He wiped her cheeks with the side of his gloved thumb, his touch gentle, compassionate.
She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve his kindness or his company. She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, to make full confession of who she was and who her father was, but her voice was gone, replaced by welling heartache.
How could her father do such a thing? He was a harsh man, to be sure, but he’d long protected her and her brother, especially on the journey south after her mother had died. She knew, too, that her father had been desperate to prove his worth to King Garren. Had that desperation pushed him to kill King Theodoric? She hated to think her father had committed such an act, and yet Prince Luke’s story aligned all too well with what she knew of the circumstances.
She’d known her father was a criminal. But to kill the king?
The prince bowed his head. “Forgive me. I should not have shared so much. I had meant for our meeting to be a pleasant one, and yet at the smallest reminder, I bring up the bitterness that stains my soul.”
Evelyn could only whisper. “Did you ever have vengeance on him?”
“He was killed in battle by Warrick, his half brother.”
“You had no opportunity for retribution?” Evelyn’s heart pounded so loudly she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear the prince’s answer. By
the laws of vengeance that her grandfather Garren took so seriously, justice required life for life. Many were the tales told of kings who killed all the sons of their enemies in exchange for the crimes against them. Death begat death. It had always been so.
“No.” Prince Luke’s voice was cold. “I have seen too much of war, of battle. I’ve come too near the threshold of death. My only desire now is for peace.”
Evelyn nodded, unable to meet his eyes. He’d not had the opportunity to avenge his father’s death. If she’d been the only child of her father, she might have drawn up the courage to make full confession then. But she’d already told Prince Luke she had a brother. If she confessed their father was Rab the Raider, Luke or his brother King John would kill Bertie. Vengeance always preferred sons to daughters, and whatever Prince Luke said of peace, she knew the laws of retribution too well to deceive herself into thinking the Lydians would pass up an opportunity to avenge their father’s death.
She felt like a coward, but she couldn’t confess that Rab the Raider was her father, not if it meant endangering her brother. “I must leave,” she whispered once she found her voice.
“But the sun is only now rising. I’ve waited a week to see you and have yet to learn any more about you. Please stay a little longer.”
Guilt spurred her as she recalled the message she’d come to deliver. “It is too dangerous for both of us to be here. When King Garren discovered you’d escaped from the tower, he charged Omar, the captain of the night guard, to bring you back, alive or dead.”
Prince Luke’s expression hardened. He shook his head. “Why should I fear this Omar? I have not heard of his exploits before.”
“He is brutal.”
“But why should he care to come after me? Has the king put a price on my head?”
Evelyn froze, unable to tear her eyes away from the prince’s face.
“What price, then? From your expression I gather it is something great. Promotion? Land and title? I am only a prince, not a king. What would my head be worth?”
“The king has promised Omar...” Evelyn swallowed. Could she speak the words? She had held back too much of the truth from Prince Luke already. Surely she was not that much of a coward, nor was she as deceptive as her grandfather. “If he captures or kills you...” She pinched her eyes shut. How could she explain? She was a common slave. If Luke knew she was Garren’s granddaughter, he might guess the truth about her father, and then Bertie’s life would be in danger.
“Yes? What is it?” Prince Luke bent his head close to hers. “Your behavior makes me so curious. What has he promised him?”
“Omar fancies me. Why, I cannot say.”
“For your beauty? Your charm, your grace, your skills, the gift of healing in your hands?” Prince Luke recited many attributes, flattering her. “I can think of many reasons why a man would fancy you.”
Heart pounding, Evelyn wasn’t sure how to respond. Prince Luke spoke so kindly of her. Yet if he knew the truth, how quickly would his attitude change?
The prince still held her hand and now gave it a small squeeze. “Omar fancies you,” he repeated. “How does that relate to the price on my head?”
“If Omar brings you back, alive or dead, King Garren will give me to Omar as his bride.”
* * *
“No.” Luke pulled Evelyn into his arms. He couldn’t help it. True, he’d vowed to guard his heart, but the idea of this kind, sensitive woman being given to a killing brute as his bride—Luke couldn’t stand the thought. He tucked her head against his shoulder and nestled his chin atop her hair, as though he could shield her from sight and from Omar’s grasp. “I will not let him touch you. Return to Lydia with me.”
“I can’t—”
Luke anticipated her protest. “We can bring your brother. The king and queen have already extended their invitation. There is no reason for you to stay in this bitter land any longer.”
But Evelyn only pulled away from him, shaking her head and blinking back tears.
“Why not?” Luke thought quickly. What could possibly compel the woman to remain in Garren’s pagan household? Then he remembered. “Your grandfather—you spoke of a grandfather. Do you have more family? I’m sure they would all be welcome.”
Evelyn shook her head harder, her chin quivering, the rays of the rising sun glinting off her hair and her face, making each tear on her cheek sparkle.
“Or are they too old and feeble to move?” Luke wished he could understand why the woman felt such devotion to a place that only brought her shame and misery.
“Please,” she said, finding her voice at last, “there will be no threat to me as long as you stay well away from Fier. Omar dares not cross into Lydia. If you remain in your kingdom, he cannot touch you, and I will be safe.”
Luke met her eyes, their pale blue in stark contrast to the redness aroused by her tears, bright and sparkling as she pleaded with him. His heart felt torn asunder. If he never ventured close to Fier and she refused to leave Garren’s household, when would he ever see her again?
And yet, wasn’t it for the best? She couldn’t be his. He knew that. Perhaps it would be less painful for both of them if he never saw her again.
Never saw her again? How could he prevent her from being married to Omar if he never came any closer than the Lydian borderlands?
His heart crushed at the thought, choking off the very air from his lungs. “You saved my life. I owe you everything.” He could only muster up a whisper, his fingertips just clinging to hers as she pulled mostly away, as if to leave that moment and never return.
She held up the book of prayers and scripture. “You have revived my faith. That is a gift more precious than any I have ever been given. I will share this with my brother. He is young and remembers even less of the faith, but he is eager to know more.” Her voice caught, and for a moment they simply gazed at one another in the rosy light of dawn.
When she spoke again, it was in a whisper. “Please don’t return to this place or anywhere in Illyria.”
But at the same time, he’d realized the truth of what he felt. “I cannot leave you. Had I not arrived when I did last week to pull you from the pigs’ trough, what would have happened to you? That King Garren would even think of giving you as a bride to that brute Omar...” He wasn’t certain which man Omar was, but none of the high-ranking guards he’d met in Garren’s household would be anything like a fitting match for Evelyn. “How can I stay away without ever knowing if you are safe and cared for?”
“Please. If you return, your life will be in danger.”
“I don’t care.”
“Then you risk condemning me to marry Omar.”
Luke bowed his head. His hand still clung to hers, but he could feel her pulling away, slipping through his fingers far too soon. He prayed for God to make clear the path they should follow, but he could see nothing beyond the injustice he felt. “I will promise to stay away if you will grant me one request.”
“What is it?” She moved slightly closer as she looked up at him, trust in her eyes.
Long silence stretched between them as Luke contemplated asking her for a kiss. But deep in his heart, he knew that would only make their parting more difficult. Duty bound him to marry a royal. A prince’s bride needed to be a woman raised for the role, someone of exceptional skills, grace and connections. He would not shirk his duty or disrespect his future bride by romancing this slave. And yet he could not abandon the woman who’d saved his life.
Finally he found the clarity to put into words what he was thinking. “Meet with me one time more, here, in secret, in another week’s time. I will discuss the matter with my brother. He is wise. Perhaps he can see a solution where I can find none. My heart is too heavy to think clearly now.”
Evelyn looked up at him, her thoughts as transparent as if she had spoken them aloud. She didn’t want to risk meeting with him again. And yet she hadn’t protested. She hadn’t yet refused his request.
He had to make her
see the wisdom of his offer. “If you will meet with me this one time more, I will stay away from then on. You need never worry about my safety, and I will pray always that you do not meet the fate King Garren has threatened you with.”
“I fear the dangers of letting you venture this close to Fier again.”
“If you will not agree to meet with me, I may be driven to climb the walls of Fier to find you. It would be far more dangerous.”
She stepped closer to him, shaking her head with remorse. “I am a fool if I agree, and yet—” she looked up at him “—I want so much to see you again, as well.”
“Evelyn.” He whispered her name, pulled her close. “You will meet with me then?”
“In one week’s time?” She studied his face as if for confirmation. “At this same place and this same hour? What if one of us is delayed?”
“Then we try again the next morning and the next.”
“It is too dangerous.”
“Then I climb the walls of Fier and find you.”
“No.”
“If I do not come before dawn, then return again at sunset. The darkness will hide us and keep us safe.” As they’d spoken, he’d pulled her tighter against him, memorizing all he could about her, tucking away the memory to warm him when they were apart. Finally he forced himself to take a step away. “Next week at this time.”
“I will do everything in my power to be here,” Evelyn promised. “You will stay far away until then?”
“I will do everything in my power.” He repeated her words, his promise equally sincere. “With prayers for your safety and well-being all the while.”
She pulled away from him then, with promises as well to pray, and whispered thanks again for the prayer book. When she was three steps away, she looked back, and he very nearly thought she might return to his arms or that he would pull her back to him. But he clenched his hands at his sides and resisted, and she moved swiftly away again, stepping silently through the trees, disappearing into the sunrise.
Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for ChristmasThe Secret PrincessTaming the Texas RancherAn Unlikely Union Page 33
