Her stomach churned at the sight. She leaned close to Boldheart’s neck and urged him forward.
Wolfgang again caught sight of, out of the corner of his eye, the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. The sharp, aching pain was distracting, but it wouldn’t kill him, not in the next hour, anyway. So he reached for another arrow, nocked it, and shot. He had to keep up the pressure on the archers or they would kill every rider who came through the gap in the fire.
The pounding of a horse’s hooves broke into his thoughts. Mikolai pulled his big gelding to a halt behind him. A moment later, he was kneeling beside Wolfgang with his longbow in his hands and a quiver of arrows.
Men and horses were still pouring through the gap. A few others had positioned themselves farther away from the gap to shoot back at the Teutonic Knights and their men, but Mikolai was the only one brave enough to join him so close to the gap.
Mikolai shot at a reckless pace, exposing himself more often than not. Any moment he might be fatally shot.
Wolfgang shot another arrow and started to think that no one was shooting back. Had they left? He stared hard at the rocky outcropping from whence the arrows had come. Mikolai was still shooting, so he set his hand on his arm.
Mikolai paused and stared at Wolfgang’s shoulder, which was starting to seize up as the muscles convulsed around the foreign object.
They both waited and listened. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the occasional sound of another horse and rider escaping through the gap, probably unaware of the enemy lying in wait nearby. But now Wolfgang was fairly certain they had withdrawn, as no more arrows came.
He sat back and gasped, the pain in his shoulder taking his breath away. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t pass out. He took in a breath and let it out. Then another.
“Are you all right?” Mikolai’s eyes were wide as they stared at his shoulder.
“Ach, ja. I’ll live, whether I want to or not.” He didn’t want to sound weak. “Only a shoulder wound.” But his vision was not terribly clear. If he fell over, he hoped he’d fall on the other side and not on the arrow.
“Someone should see to that. Can I fetch a healer for you?”
“We don’t travel with a healer. If you could break off the point and pull it out, I’d be grateful. And hand me some bandages from my saddlebag.” He pointed to the bag that lay beside him on the ground.
Mikolai’s mouth fell open.
“Or you can go get someone else to do it.”
People were beginning to examine the men who lay on the ground, ascertaining who was seriously injured and who was dead.
Mikolai stood and hoisted his bag. He eventually pulled out a roll of bandages. His poor mother had prayed over those bandages, hoping he’d never have to use them.
Andrei ran toward them.
“Are Aksoma and Boldheart well?” Mikolai’s voice sounded quite feminine. Could it be? Surely not. Something about him reminded Wolfgang of his sisters.
Ridiculous. What woman would pretend to be a soldier?
Mikolai turned back to Wolfgang and, without warning, grabbed the arrow sticking out of his back and broke it.
Searing pain shot through his body, radiating from his left shoulder. He cried out, then fell over onto his right side. If only he could lose his senses, but no. He heard Andrei say, “Let me do it.” Then the arrow shaft was ripped out from the front.
Were a thousand splinters tearing through his flesh in that moment? Surely it only seemed that way. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out again, coughing and grinding his teeth instead.
Someone was pressing hard against the front and back of the wound. He closed his eyes again. It’s only a shoulder wound. Wolfgang forced himself to sit up. He leaned his back against the dead horse he’d been taking shelter behind. While Mikolai pressed the bandages to his wounds, Andrei tied them in place.
Sweat beaded on Wolfgang’s face, and the cool night breeze sent a chill down his spine. Mikolai’s grim face was near to his, so near he could see the smoothness of his cheeks. Either he was much younger than he claimed or . . . Well, he must be very young.
Thinking about Mikolai and Andrei, trying to remember everything he knew about them, helped distract Wolfgang from the pain.
“Should we get some moss to stanch the blood flow?” Mikolai said to Andrei, this time in a gruffer voice. Was it his imagination that Mikolai was forcing the gruffness?
“I think he’ll be fine.” Andrei shook his head. “It’s not bleeding that much.”
Even at twelve, Andrei had a more masculine look about his brows and mouth than Mikolai.
It was unkind and unjust of him to think such things about his fellow soldier. Mikolai had proven himself a worthy fighter, had been wildly brave more than once. Surely no woman would be so brave in battle. Women were squeamish and skittish. Few women could break off an arrow shaft sticking out of a man’s body as Mikolai had.
How disrespectful of Wolfgang to speculate about him this way.
Mikolai had proven himself a friend. After all that they had been through already, Wolfgang now trusted him almost as much as any other soldier he had met.
He steeled himself against the pain that movement would cause and made an effort to stand. Mikolai immediately grabbed Wolfgang’s right arm, then placed himself under it, serving as a crutch.
Wolfgang leaned on Mikolai and took a step as Gerke ran over to him, pulling his horse behind him. “I was afraid you were killed!”
“I am far from killed.” He kept moving toward his horse, and when he reached it, Mikolai backed away and let Gerke help him into the saddle.
Mikolai looked as if he wanted to say something but then pressed his lips together and gave him a quick nod.
The back of Wolfgang’s neck prickled, but the pain in his shoulder soon drove away all thoughts beyond the agony in his body.
CHAPTER 8
Mulan stared down at the sticky red blood drying on her hands and shuddered. As she walked back to Andrei, who was holding their horses, she couldn’t help remembering Wolfgang’s face contorting, the guttural sounds of pain coming from his throat.
She had to do as he asked and break the arrow sticking out the back of his shoulder, so she’d turned around and done it without warning him first, before she had time to really think about what she was doing. But when she tried to prepare herself to pull out the arrow . . . Thankfully Andrei was there so she didn’t have to.
Her knees wobbled when she thought about it.
But it was over. Wolfgang would live, God willing.
She examined Aksoma’s legs and hooves the best she could in the waning light. Men were beating at the fire with blankets, and most of it appeared to be extinguished. Both horses had come through the ordeal seemingly unscathed.
A body was carried past her. But as sad and horrific as the sight of the bloodied face was, the image she saw when she closed her eyes was the pain on Wolfgang’s face as she broke off the arrow that impaled his body.
Wolfgang groaned as he turned over on the hard ground, waking himself up. The medicinal herbs the town healer had given him were burned up in the fire, along with his tent and blankets. Gerke had only been able to save his clothes and weapons. And now he’d trade all his clothing—well, most of it—for something to ease the pain in his shoulder.
But he shouldn’t complain. So many men had worse injuries. And at least he wasn’t dead.
The light of dawn was beginning to illuminate the scene around him. His fellow soldiers were bedding down among the trees now, where there was less grass and dry brush to burn. Some had escaped with their tents, but many, like him, were sleeping without any shelter.
“Wolfgang? Is that you?” someone called out in a whisper.
He rolled over, groaning again. Mikolai crouched beside him.
“I brought something that will hasten the healing of your wounds.” Mikolai held out a leather pouch. “It’s a paste my mother makes. But it works, I can as
sure you, and will certainly not harm you in any way.”
Wolfgang took it from his hand and sniffed. “It smells foul.” Like garlic and old cheese.
“My mother used it on a boy in our village whose leg had turned putrid with disease after a broken bone punched through the skin. After several applications of this, his leg healed and mended as good as new. She always used it on my father’s cuts and injuries. Even if the injuries were many days old, this always cured them.”
“You don’t have to convince me. I’ll try anything.”
Mikolai glanced around. Wolfgang turned to look for Gerke, but the boy must have gone to relieve himself. His place was vacant.
Wolfgang sat up and pulled his shirt up and over his head, then wrapped it around his middle to keep warm. Mikolai squatted beside him. His eyes were wide but focused on the bandage, and he started unrolling the cloth.
Mikolai dipped his small hand in the foul-smelling ointment and smeared it into the bloody hole in his shoulder. Wolfgang clenched his teeth to keep from crying out and embarrassing himself.
Mikolai moved to the back, and Wolfgang leaned forward as he smeared the cold green mess into the hole in the back of his shoulder. Then he cut the bloody end of the bandage off and wrapped the rest over his shoulder and under his arm to keep it in place. The entire time Mikolai was quiet, his eyes wide, darting nervously past his shoulder but never looking him in the eye.
And again, Wolfgang couldn’t help noticing that Mikolai had a very smooth, young-looking face. He seemed to be deliberately smearing dirt on his face to disguise the fact that he had no beard at all.
“Here. I’ll give this to you.” Mikolai thrust the leather pouch at him. “Put it on thrice a day.”
Wolfgang nodded. “I thank you.”
Mikolai averted his gaze. He stood and hurried away.
A strange lad. But it was kind of him to bring Wolfgang his wound remedy.
Mulan bent and entered her leather tent through the small opening.
“Where have you been?” Andrei folded his arms in front of his chest. “Did you just take your mother’s curative to that Wolfgang?”
Mulan stared back at him. “What do you mean? He is wounded, so yes, I took some to him.” Mulan pretended to search for something in her bag.
“What will you do if you get wounded?”
Mulan kept her back to him and pretended not to hear.
“Mulan”—he lowered his voice—“what will you do if you get wounded?” Then he lowered his voice even more to a low whisper. “You must not let them take off your clothes.”
“Do you think I’m daft?” Mulan spun around and pinned him with a glare. “I would never—” She huffed and turned away, rubbing a hand through her cropped-off hair.
She shouldn’t get angry at Andrei, but he’d pointed out her biggest fear.
When they’d had to take baths at Duke Konrad’s castle, she narrowly escaped seeing far more than she wished of Wolfgang. She’d had to keep her eyes carefully averted. But when Wolfgang had taken off his linen shirt and bared his chest so she could rub Mother’s salve on his wound, once again she’d had to avert her eyes. He was the most handsome man she’d ever been around, and it was difficult to stop thinking about that fact—and about how he made her feel. Thankfully, he had no idea. But if she’d been the one to take an arrow to the shoulder . . .
“And what if,” Andrei went on, “you are so badly wounded that you lose your senses?”
“You won’t let anyone take my clothes off.”
“What if I’m not there?”
“I just have to not get injured.” Mulan gave her young friend a smile. One of them had to pretend not to worry.
“And as for this Wolfgang, you need to stay away from him. What will he do when he discovers you’re a woman? As much as you seek him out—”
“I do not seek him out. What do you speak of? And how will he ever discover I’m a woman? He sees me as a soldier. Have I not proven myself?”
Andrei’s skinny shoulders rose with a deep breath, then sank as he blew it out. “You need to be careful around him. I’ve seen something on his face when he looks at you. He is suspicious.”
“Andrei, I never thought of you fretting like an old woman.” She tried to laugh, but he just glared at her and shook his head.
She could tell he was angry with her when he didn’t speak to her for a while as she sat mending some torn hose and he cleaned and polished her sword.
“You want to marry him, don’t you?” Andrei finally broke the silence.
“What? Who?”
“Wolfgang. You wish you could marry him.”
“That’s a foolish thing to say.” Some emotion she didn’t want to name forced a hard edge into her voice. “And I’m no fool. His father is a duke. He would never think about a poor Lithuanian, the illegitimate daughter of a soldier.” But the truth of that statement made her bite her lip. Remember that, when you’re thinking how handsome he is and how kind and noble he seems.
Shouts sounded from outside their tent. Mulan threw down her mending and hastened to see what it was.
Wolfgang shrugged off the pain in his shoulder, which already felt somewhat better, probably due to Mikolai’s salve.
He pulled on his quilted gambeson, readying to take his turn to scout out the area around the castle, when he heard shouting.
He grabbed his sword. Gerke strapped it to his back. Wolfgang took his longbow and quiver of arrows and ran toward the commotion.
“Teutonic Knights are burning the fields and houses of the villagers.” A soot-covered soldier hurried toward a horse, mounted, and galloped away.
Captain Bogdan strode toward him. “Wolfgang!” He glanced around and pointed at Mikolai, motioning him forward with his hand. “Go to the river road and follow it until you see where they’ve been burning. Climb one of the trees, hide, and strike the Teutonic Knights when they start coming this way.”
Wolfgang locked eyes with Mikolai. They both ran toward the road.
Wolfgang dodged around the tents, leaping over bushes and bedrolls. When he glanced over his shoulder, Mikolai was close behind. He didn’t have his sword, but his longbow and quiver were fastened to his back.
He smelled smoke, bringing back the memories of the night before. He pressed on, and soon the only sound was of his and Mikolai’s footsteps tramping through the brush alongside the road that followed the river. The pain in his shoulder shot down his arm and up his neck like little bolts of lightning, but he refused to give it heed.
They trotted along until they reached a field that was charred and still smoking. A pile of blackened wood and debris sent white smoke snaking up. Near it, a woman was holding a small child and weeping. The child clung tighter to the woman’s arms. His eyes were wide and hollow as they tracked Wolfgang and Mikolai over his mother’s shoulder.
“Hello there,” Wolfgang called out softly. “What has happened here?”
The woman turned around and shifted the child to her hip.
“What has happened?” She stared at him with her mouth agape, her face red and tear streaked. “The Teutonic Knights and their evil soldiers have stolen our food and burned everything. Was it not enough that they killed my husband and my oldest son? Can no one stop them? Is the devil so powerful in this land? It matters not who rules because there is naught left for me.”
“Duke Konrad will welcome you and your child inside Zachev Castle’s walls. There are provisions and protection there.”
She spat on the ground. “And who will protect me from the protectors, now that I have no husband?”
The angry tears in her eyes and the ragged tone in her voice sent a tremor through his gut. His mind raced to think of something he might do. But how could he help them?
Mikolai reached into his leather bag and drew out two bread rolls. He held them out, and the child took one in each little soot-covered hand.
Wolfgang stepped closer to the woman and waited for her to look him in the eye. �
��When you go to the castle, tell them Wolfgang Gerstenberg and Mikolai of Lithuania are your protectors. If anyone lays a hand on you or your child, they’ll answer to us.”
She stared back at him, then lowered her eyes.
Wolfgang dug in his bag and handed her a small round of cheese.
“I thank you,” she said softly.
“What’s your name?”
“Jacyna, widow of Oleszko.”
“I shall come to the castle if I can and check on you and the child.”
“And so shall I,” Mikolai added.
The woman nodded.
CHAPTER 9
A heaviness settled on Wolfgang as he and Mikolai walked away, heading for the forest. He couldn’t help muttering, “We have to stop these invaders before they kill even more innocent people.”
His mother’s face flashed across his mind’s eye. She would be overcome with compassion if she could see the way these people were oppressed by the Teutonic Knights and their soldiers.
Women were much kinder creatures than men. They stayed at home, loving their husbands and children, taking care of orphans—at least, his mother did. She made sure they not only had enough food and a bed to sleep in, but that they also felt loved. And his four sisters were the same. They would never conceive of fighting and warring and killing people to get what they wanted.
But that wasn’t true of all women. Some women were evil, such as his aunt Gothel, who had to remain locked away under guard, and the evil Ermengard, who had tortured his brother Gabe’s wife, Sophie, and tried to kill her when she was a child.
And it was hard to accept what Steffan had done—defending the Teutonic Knights. He might have even done what he’d said he would do—joined up with them.
What was to become of his brother?
“We will stop them.” Mikolai broke into his murky thoughts.
“Who? Oh, yes.”
“I have heard that we will be greatly outnumbered when the Teutonic Knights’ reinforcements arrive.”
“I have heard that as well. But perhaps we have reinforcements coming too.”
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