He shook his head again and pressed his fingers to his eyes.
Mulan gasped and sat straighter. Her eyes popped open and she looked around.
“Careful there.”
“Did something happen?”
“Nie. Go back to sleep. I’m keeping watch.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, but he could tell she was not sleeping. Finally she opened her eyes and pinned him to the spot. “Why are you so guilt ridden?”
“What?”
“You are trying to take responsibility for your brother. Why do you feel guilty for what he did? Have you always tried to take the blame for his deeds?” She certainly didn’t sound weak anymore. The nap must have given her this new sharpness.
“I don’t. You misunderstand.” He shifted away from her.
“How am I misunderstanding?”
“Perhaps I am a bit too quick to feel guilty. I . . .” He’d never told anyone what they had done, except for the priest in confession. “Something happened when Steffan and I were young boys. We . . . we disobeyed our father and a little boy died. That’s why Father never sent us to train as knights.” He didn’t want to talk about this, but his tongue seemed to have loosened and didn’t want to stop.
“We both were horrified. We never thought anything bad would happen. We never told Father the whole truth, and I suppose I do feel guilty about what happened.” Was that why he wanted so much to protect people—Duke Konrad’s people, Kirstyn and his other sisters, and now . . . Mulan?
Mulan’s expression was soft as she leaned slightly toward him. “I’m sorry that the child died, but I’m sure you never meant to hurt anyone, and you and Steffan were only children. God forgives. That’s what my priest always said. ‘God forgives because of Jesus and the cross.’”
Wolfgang’s heart seemed to lose some of its soreness. “Maybe if Steffan could realize this. He’s always blaming the wrong people and getting angry.”
“I think I understand.” Mulan chewed on her lip, looking thoughtful as she stared out into the leaves of the tree. “He doesn’t want to think about what he did, so he blames others, raging inside so he doesn’t feel the pain. Meanwhile, you’re trying to make up for what you did by being the perfect soldier, the perfect son, protecting and rescuing, to feel better about . . .”
Her eye caught his. Her words struck like arrows hitting the center of his heart. As if she saw into his very soul. Did everyone else see through him like this? Or was she some kind of prophetess? Either way, it left him hollow inside.
“I’m sorry. It’s only a guess. Mostly because . . .” She sighed and pulled her knee up to her chest, her other leg—the one on the wounded side—remained stretched out on the giant branch in front of her. She rested her chin on her knee and rubbed her brow. “Because that’s how I feel. Just trying to make up for my illegitimate birth, to make it up to Mother, who raised me and never resented me for the pain she felt at my father’s betrayal, or for the fact that she could never have her own children.”
“Is that why you became a soldier? You were making amends by ensuring she had a home?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “She would have rather I’d married the butcher.”
“The butcher?”
“Algirdas.” Mulan smiled, but only on one side of her mouth. “I tried to resign myself to it, but I just couldn’t.” She shook her head. “Couldn’t do it.”
“You would have had all the meat you wanted.” Why was he teasing her? Probably to distract himself from the way his gut twisted to think of her married.
She grimaced. “Mother would never berate me for not marrying him. She never berates me for anything.” She sighed. “I’m a selfish daughter.”
“You? The one who led the charge on the Teutonic Knights straight up a cliff? The one who ran into enemy arrows to protect your fellow soldiers?” His gut twisted again at the thought that he had not protected her and she could have been killed.
She smiled. “We were the only two who were mad—or daft—enough to position ourselves at the opening in the ring of fire and shoot at the enemy.”
It was true. And though he thought of Steffan as the reckless one, he’d been reckless with his life in these battles. And so had Mulan.
They both had things they wished they could forget, but for Wolfgang, with Steffan sitting back at camp as his captive, forgetting would be impossible.
Mulan couldn’t help staring at Wolfgang’s face. Had she ever tried to think of a man who was both masculine and full of kindness and integrity, he would have been that man. He made her want to hear everything he might tell her about himself. And he made her want to tell him all about herself.
“My father told me stories of battles he had been in. Not very often, but when he did, he made it seem as if it were adventurous and exciting. He told of killing men and winning, but it didn’t seem real or terrible. He made it sound . . . enjoyable.”
“So, you enjoyed being with your father?”
“Oh no. My father was not a person to be enjoyed.” She shook her head at the thought. “Summer and winter, as you know, are the seasons for war, and he was always off fighting. He was only home in the fall or the spring, and then only sometimes. Once he didn’t come home for two and a half years. We knew he wasn’t dead because if he were, Butautas would have come and taken our house. And when he did come home, Mother cried tears of joy at the sight of him, but he only grunted at her, got drunk on some wine he had brought home with him, and went to bed and slept for two days.”
Wolfgang stared at her with his mouth agape. “What did he do on the third day?”
“The third morning he got up, saddled his horse, and left. He didn’t come home until just at sundown. He ate the food that Mother had cooked and went back to bed.”
“Did he not say . . . anything?”
“He said, ‘Mulan has grown. You’ve gotten fatter. I’m going to bed.’” Mulan laughed, but softly, so the enemy wouldn’t hear.
“That’s not how a good man treats his wife and daughter.”
He looked so serious, so concerned, she had an urge to both laugh and cry at the same time.
“How did your father treat your mother and sisters? What did he do when he had been away from home?” Her breath hitched as she waited for his answer, surprised at how hungry she was to know.
“He always went first to find my mother as soon as he dismounted. He would kiss her and they would talk for a few moments, and then he would see my sisters, who were always asking him questions. They would throw their arms around him, and he would hug them and kiss their cheeks and say a few words to each of them. But even if he had business until suppertime, he would always eat supper with us, with Mother at his side, and they always left the table together.”
Tears pricked Mulan’s eyes. Longing surged from deep inside her for that kind of love and attention, for both herself and her mother. Mulan did her best to blink back the tears.
“I’m very sorry, Mulan.”
Wolfgang’s words and tone made the tears tickle her lashes. No. She couldn’t let him see her cry. But she couldn’t manage to get them under control, so she turned away and cleared her throat.
“Was your father cruel in other ways?”
She took a deep breath and let it out, driving the tears away so she could speak. “He would often promise things—he would tell me he would give me an archery lesson—but then he would go off with a man from the village to look at a horse and forget about me, or he would start drinking and fall asleep. And when I was angry, he would laugh at me. He told me anger was for fools and kings.” She blew out a breath, surreptitiously slinging away the tear on her cheek.
“Everyone gets angry. Even Jesus got angry. Anger is an honest emotion, and he shouldn’t have made you feel bad for it.”
“He said anger was for fools because they couldn’t control themselves, and for kings because they had the power to use their anger to hurt their enemies.”
“Did you grie
ve for him at all, after he died?”
Mulan sighed. “I did cry when the priest spoke the homily over his grave. But that may have been because Mother was crying.” She heaved a sigh. “I’ve seen her crying over things he did or said too many times. I would hate anyone who made my mother cry, so why not the man who was rarely around and even more rarely paid attention to me? I know. I know. I shouldn’t hate my own father, and I don’t, not really. I do have one or two good memories of him, after all. But I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She grimaced, peering at him from the corner of her eye.
“Sometimes it’s good to talk about things.”
“Then you should tell me what happened with you and Steffan when that boy died.” Again, she held her breath while waiting for his response.
He started picking pieces of bark off the branch next to him. “My brother and I liked to wander in the fields and forests around Hagenheim. Usually my father would send a guard to accompany us, but many times we would slip away by ourselves. We had befriended a boy, Heinlin, the son of one of our shepherds.”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, as if soothing an ache there.
“The boy was about my age—I was six and Steffan was eight. But Heinlin was small and pale and wore ragged clothes. And one day Steffan said, ‘Let’s chase the sheep across the stream, to see if they will cross it.’ Heinlin said we shouldn’t do it. If his father found out we’d been chasing the sheep, he would beat him. ‘He won’t beat you,’ Steffan said.
“I don’t know where Heinlin’s father was, why he wasn’t watching the sheep. But the three of us started trying to herd the little flock of sheep over the stream. We were only able to get two of them to follow us across the shallow water. I remember we were laughing and running with them. Before I knew it, Steffan screamed, ‘Wait! Stop!’ I didn’t know what he was talking about—until one of the sheep fell over a cliff. The other sheep followed right behind him, and when we got to the edge of the rock cliff, they were both lying at the bottom, not moving.
“We were horrified. Steffan’s face was ashen, but Heinlin was beside himself. He started wailing, ‘Father will kill me,’ over and over again. ‘Father will know we were chasing them.’ We tried to tell him that his father would never know what had happened and that he would never kill him. But the look on his face . . . I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” Wolfgang turned away so she couldn’t see his eyes.
“I told Steffan on the way home that we should tell Father what we’d done, tell him that Heinlin believed his father would kill him for letting the sheep fall off the cliff. But Steffan made me promise not to tell him.” Wolfgang shook his head, an almost imperceptible movement. “I wish we had told him.” He took another breath and huffed it out.
“The next day Father’s men found Heinlin’s body. He’d been beaten to death and his father disappeared. No one in Hagenheim ever saw him again.”
Her stomach sank, especially imagining the pain going through Wolfgang. He kept his head turned slightly away from her.
“What a horrible man he must have been, to do that to his own child. And it must have frightened you and Steffan so much. You were just children.”
“We told Father we had been playing with Heinlin that day, but we never told him about the dead sheep or how we caused them to fall over the cliff. And not long after that, we were practicing jousting and one of the young squires was killed. And before we were born, I had a sister who was thought to have drowned. My parents had been devastated. So those three things together were why Father and Mother never let us be sent away to train to be knights.
“Steffan was never really the same after that. He was angry and defensive, especially with Father and Mother, while I just felt like I had to be good, to make sure I didn’t upset them again.”
His pain seemed to lodge deep in her chest. His brown eyes were close enough she could see the warm gold bits intermingled. She could stare into them forever.
Wolfgang touched her arm, then touched a finger to his lips and pointed down at the ground. Two Teutonic Knights approached the giant oak tree where she and Wolfgang were perched.
Wolfgang strained to hear what the knights were saying to each other.
“. . . all summer here.”
The other grunted. “Have to get it done before the rainy season.”
What did he mean by “get it done”?
“The Hochmeister was expected to arrive today,” the first one said.
Wolfgang glanced at Mulan. The two men were relieving themselves at the base of the tree, but thankfully, because of the thick leaves, they couldn’t see them.
Mulan’s face was scrunched, her lips pursed in a frown. They were speaking German, so she probably only understood some of what they were saying.
“Rusdorf is coming?”
“Probably already here.”
“How many men?”
“Maybe fifty, since the rest are fighting in Livonia. But instead of coming here and being seen by Duke Konrad’s scouts, Rusdorf will disguise himself, sneak into the castle, and get rid of Duke Konrad. He’ll take over the castle from the inside.”
Duke Konrad and his men would be murdered, and so would many of the helpless women and children under his protection. Wolfgang’s thoughts went to Jacyna and her child, who must believe they were safe inside the castle walls.
Wolfgang stayed perfectly still. If they were seen, the knights would surely kill them. He held his breath, focusing every fragment of his attention on the men’s words below them, but the next words were mumbled and he couldn’t make them out. Then . . .
“. . . while we are stuck here . . .”
The man said something vulgar about the local women, and the other man laughed. They started moving away and soon disappeared in the trees, reappearing in the open field of the encampment.
“What did they say?” Mulan’s eyes were wide. “Something about Grand Master Rusdorf murdering Duke Konrad?”
“We have to go.” Wolfgang started climbing down.
Mulan grabbed his arm and said in a harsh whisper, “What did you hear?”
“Rusdorf and some of his men will arrive today. His plan is to go straight to Zachev Castle, sneak inside, and kill the duke.”
They both scrambled down the tree. She was moving slower, and the color had gone out of her cheeks again by the time she reached the ground. He’d have to make her see the necessity of staying at camp and letting him handle this. Not only did he wish to protect her, but he couldn’t let her slow him down. He had to get to the castle and save the duke.
CHAPTER 14
Wolfgang and Mulan ran for camp, but she was lagging behind. Her mouth kept twisting into a grimace. Her face was so pale. Finally he slowed down, and they walked side by side.
“You’re in pain. You need to remain in camp. I can take a few men with me to stop Rusdorf.”
“No, I’m well. Besides, I can get in and go unnoticed much more easily than you.”
He said nothing.
When they reached camp everyone turned to stare at them. The men’s faces were alert and almost angry. Something was amiss.
“Where’s the captain?” Wolfgang shouted.
“He went searching for the escaped prisoners.” Dieter eyed Mulan and then Wolfgang.
“Steffan? Did he escape?”
Dieter’s unhurried answer was, “Your brother is one of the escapees.”
Wolfgang’s stomach sank. But there was something else.
Everyone was staring at Mulan.
Wolfgang grabbed Dieter by the arm and asked quietly, “What is it? Why is everyone gawking?”
“Is it true that Mikolai is a woman?”
Mulan’s mouth fell open, and Wolfgang’s whole body tensed. “Who makes such claims?”
“Steffan said she was a woman and we were all fools for not knowing.”
“Mikolai is a soldier and was honored by the duke for bravery in battle.” Wolfgang’s neck and face heated. What was the wise
st way to handle this to save Mulan? Their fellow soldiers were gathering around, still staring at her with lowered brows and sullen expressions.
“We have no time for such nonsense. The enemy is trying to turn us against each other. We—Mikolai and I—have just discovered that Rusdorf and the Teutonic Knights plan to murder Duke Konrad. There is no time to lose—if it’s not already too late.”
No one moved.
“We heard them in the woods outside their camp.”
“Perhaps it is an ambush,” someone said.
“And you’re helping your brother and the Teutonic Knights,” someone else added. “You’re a betrayer!”
“When has God ever used a woman in battle? That’s Satan’s tactic!” another man shouted.
All the men started muttering.
O God. Help us.
Wolfgang noticed a boulder a few paces away. He ran and jumped up onto it. “Mikolai has acted valiantly, and you all are the witnesses,” Wolfgang shouted over them. “Did you not follow when he climbed the rock face?”
The men quieted down and looked at him.
“With Mikolai leading, did we not drive the Teutonic Knights from Zachev Castle, just when they were about to break through with their battering ram? Who among you has been braver than Mikolai?”
“Is he—she—a woman? Yes or no?”
Everyone was quiet. Then Mulan jumped up on the boulder beside him. “I am a soldier, but I’m also a woman.”
Instead of shouting and calling for her head, Wolfgang was surprised at how the crowd of men became hushed.
Speaking quietly, she said, “I am a woman second and a soldier first. And now Duke Konrad and all the people in his protection are in danger. Shall we stand around doing nothing? Or shall we make a plan to stop Rusdorf, our enemy?”
Wolfgang held his breath. A few murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“It’s a trick,” a gruff voice said. “A woman isn’t made for battle.”
Then an uneasy quiet settled over them.
The Warrior Maiden Page 12
