The Secret Princess

by Rachelle Mccalla

  It was empty.

  Chapter Four

  Luke found the narrow pathway between the stables and the rear wall. The pale-haired woman—he cringed to think of her as Biddy—had led him that way when she’d tried to help him escape that morning. If he’d known what he’d soon be up against, he’d have learned more about her intended route then, but he’d misjudged King Garren’s animosity.

  The pale-haired woman had been right about Garren’s intentions. Given her warning, Luke had suspected he was walking into a trap when Garren had offered to show him the view from the tower. He’d gone along, partly out of curiosity to see if the king would really imprison him and partly because, assuming the king was bold enough to imprison him, the aggression against his person would constitute a violation of the terms of the peace accord.

  By allowing himself to be locked away, Luke had achieved an advantage for Lydia.

  Now he needed to pass along word of what he’d discovered to his brother King John of Lydia. Thus far they’d assumed Garren was willing to abide by the peace treaty. They’d clearly overestimated Garren’s wisdom on those matters.

  Horses nickered in the stables behind him, and Luke froze. Someone was in the stables. The pale-haired boy, Biddy’s brother, who’d visited him in the tower? If he could find the boy, Luke could leave a message for her with him.

  It was dangerous to tarry. Luke needed to report what he’d learned to his brother. And yet at the thought of the woman, he found his feet turning back a few steps toward the nearest stable door. He’d been intrigued by her since she’d saved his life. Finding her here in such a low position increased his curiosity. What was she doing in this place? Her skill with the needle and knowledge of healing meant she’d obviously had specialized training in far finer arts than rumor told him were practiced in Garren’s household. Her brother claimed to be from the Holy Roman Empire. So how, then, had they come here?

  What could he do to keep his promise to free her and her brother? Could he buy their freedom? He couldn’t leave them behind, not when he was this close already, not without trying to repay the woman for the gift of life she’d given him. He had to try to see her again. He still didn’t know her real name.

  Luke reached the stable door and peered into the darkness inside. The heavy walls blocked much of the moonlight. Horses shifted on their feet, their shadows looming dark against the walls, each one large enough to hide a man.

  Was he foolish to come here? Luke slipped into the nearest stall and quieted the sleeping mare that startled at his appearance. The horse went back to its slumber.

  Perhaps he was a fool for visiting Fier in the first place, but he’d learned enough to justify the trouble it had caused him.

  And what of the woman? She’d tried to warn him away from this place, then tried to help him escape. But surely she could get in trouble for helping him. Why would she take such a risk on his account, especially when she was of such lowly status already? Slaves could be brutally punished, even killed, without their masters ever being called into question. Most were unerringly devoted to their masters out of fear.

  The pale-haired woman didn’t seem devoted to King Garren. Whom did she really serve? Could she be trusted?

  Movement near the far door caught his eye, and Luke spotted a flash of silver. Human. The boy? No, he realized with a pounding heart, it was the woman they called Biddy.

  Moonlight splashed in patches across her as she stole down the center aisle. She’d pulled her loose hair back in a tight braid and changed her dress. This garment was a more tattered rag, perhaps a bit too small, even, though it showed more of her slender curves. Luke’s breath caught as he watched her moving cautiously and gracefully in the moonlight.

  She stopped in front of a stall and slipped through the door before Luke realized what she was doing. The horse seemed to know her and followed without hesitation as she led him from the stall.

  Where was she going with the horse? The woman had risen early that morning to find valerian roots on foot. She’d worked hard all day and ought to be exhausted by this hour. Surely she didn’t make a habit of going riding at night. With a pang, Luke wondered if perhaps she was going to look for him.

  No one had stopped her. From what Luke could tell, they were the only two people in the stable. With a prayer for safety, he stepped carefully toward her, not wanting to startle her or the horse. If either of them cried out, he might easily be caught again. And King Garren was unlikely to leave him where he could escape with so little trouble this time.

  The woman led the gelding to the corner where the tack was stacked, and she prepared the horse to ride. Luke followed quietly, debating how best to make his presence known.

  He reached a patch of moonlight when a horse nickered. The woman turned. Her eyes widened when she saw him, but she made no sound.

  Luke rushed to her side.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered, then raised her hands with an offering. “I brought you these.”

  Luke recognized the bread but reached eagerly for the flask, parched after a day in the tower. The woman pulled out the stopper and lifted it for him. As he quenched his thirst, Luke wondered again at this female who went out of her way to help him. Why?

  “You must tell me your name,” he nearly begged once he’d drained the flask.

  “Only if you promise to leave. Why are you still here?”

  “I had to see you again.” He reached for the bread just as she held it out to him. His left hand met the rolls. His right hand touched her arm, held her sleeve and was about to pull her closer to him when he stopped himself, unsure why he felt so drawn to her. Granted, she looked much better now than she had earlier, and smelled far better, as well. Along with washing her hair and changing her dress, she’d replaced the stench of pigs with the clean scent of crushed lavender.

  Was he foolish to want to know more about this woman? Perhaps somewhat, but he wouldn’t allow himself to fall prey if she was trying to trick him. He’d stay on his guard in case she was as great a deceiver as the man she worked for.

  “Please tell me your name. I don’t believe it’s Biddy.” He took a bite of roll.

  “That’s only what my grandfather tells everyone to call me.” The woman looked down as though ashamed.

  “Your grandfather?” Luke scowled. “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.” He finished the first roll and wished for another flask of tea.

  “Why?” She’d stepped back against the dozing horse. Just enough moonlight filtered through the open eaves to illuminate her face as she looked up at him. “You’re a prince. I’m a slave.”

  “You saved my life. Let me buy your freedom.”

  The woman’s mouth fell open like a rose in full bloom. Soft, delicate. “It’s not possible.”

  “Why not? I have the means to pay any price.”

  The woman made a small noise, almost a whimper, and then turned toward the horse, hiding her face near its mane.

  “Please.” Luke reached for her but placed one hand on the horse instead, mindful that the woman might not welcome his touch. “You must tell me your name.”

  She seemed distraught. Luke’s throat felt rough, possibly from the dry roll but more likely from his confusion at the woman’s reaction. No doubt she’d be an expensive slave, with her skills at healing and her obvious ability to work hard for long hours, not to mention her beauty. Many a master would buy her for her looks alone, though they wouldn’t treat her nearly as well as she ought to be treated. At the thought, Luke became that much more determined to free her.

  “Your name?” He wanted to grasp her shoulders and turn her to face him, but he resisted. She wasn’t his. “Please?”

  She turned to him, tears glistening like tiny gems on her eyelashes. “Evelyn.”
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  “Evelyn,” he repeated, smiling. It fit her so much better than Biddy. “Why have you chosen to help me?” He raised the last roll as evidence of her aid, then took a hungry bite.

  “You are from Lydia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you are a Christian?”

  “Yes.” His heart warmed as she smiled at his admission. “What do you know of Christians?”

  “I was raised in the faith in Charlemagne’s empire.”

  Luke instantly recalled the words Evelyn’s brother had spoken in the tower, which Luke still didn’t completely understand. He would never have expected to find Christians enslaved inside the fortress of Fier. From what Luke knew of Garren’s household, they all followed pagan beliefs. As a member of that household, he would have assumed she’d follow the same. But then, she’d spoken Frankish earlier. Perhaps he should have guessed the woman was more like him than his enemies. Perhaps she could be trusted. Perhaps. “How long have you lived in Illyria?”

  “Five years.”

  “What brought you here?”

  “My father. He brought us here after my mother’s death.”

  “Us?” Luke clarified, wondering how many more there were besides Evelyn and her brother.

  “My brother and me.”

  “The pale-haired boy I spoke with in the tower?”

  “Yes. Bertie.”

  “Your mother was Frankish, and your father is Illyrian?”

  “My father was half Frankish and half Illyrian.”

  “Was?”

  “He died last fall.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, her expression thoughtful, but remained silent.

  “And your grandfather?”

  “Would be furious if he knew I was speaking with you.” Her eyes met his with a spark of challenge.

  “Is he a slave, as well?”

  Evelyn’s mouth fell open again. Luke studied it, marveling at her fine matched teeth, a far healthier set than he’d expected to find in the mouth of an Illyrian slave girl. But then, nothing about her was what he’d expected, and everything he learned about her only intrigued him further.

  She didn’t answer his question, but Luke felt the urgency of their situation and realized with certainty what he needed to do. He’d promised her brother he’d help them. Why should he return later when he could fulfill his pledge that very night?

  “I can take you with me.”

  She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes wide.

  “I’m leaving for Lydia tonight. You would be safe there with other Christians.”

  Evelyn shook her head, but the way she glanced at him, he guessed she found the offer tempting. Surely she didn’t want to remain a slave.

  Luke couldn’t let her refuse his offer. “My sister-in-law speaks Frankish. She is a daughter of Charlemagne himself. You might enjoy her company.”

  Evelyn shook her head more fervently. “I cannot leave—”

  “You would not be a slave there.”

  “No.” Evelyn stepped to the side as though to dart away and escape from his words.

  Luke caught her arm. “Please come with me.”

  She met his eyes. “My brother—”

  “I intend to bring him, too, of course. He asked me to help him return to his homeland. Once we reach Lydia, we can arrange further travel plans.”

  A look of yearning passed across her face. He saw it clearly in the moonlight. His heart twisted at the sight.

  “Please, Evelyn. You saved my life. Let me restore yours. You deserve more than a life of slavery.”

  Evelyn closed her eyes. Luke watched as she fought some inner battle, tempted to take him up on his offer. What was holding her back?

  “You have lingered here too long,” Evelyn told him bluntly when she opened her eyes. “Leave now, before King Garren realizes you’ve escaped. If he finds you’re not in the tower, he’ll lock down the gates and you’ll never get out.”

  Luke felt the urgency in her words. She was right, of course. She’d been right about King Garren all along. “You’ll come with me?”

  “I cannot.”

  He still had hold of her left arm and grasped the other, as well, all but embracing her in the warmth of the stable. “I have searched for you these many months. Now that I’ve found you, I cannot leave you behind.”

  “My life is very complicated, too much so to explain now. You must leave quickly—alone.”

  Luke met her eyes and saw her determination. She wouldn’t be going with him, no matter how much yearning had crossed her face when he’d first made the offer. Knowing she’d been right about King Garren, he trusted she knew well the reasons of which she spoke. “Promise me I may see you again.” He thought quickly. “In the woods where I met you this morning. Meet me there again in one week’s time.”

  “I will try.”

  “If you’re not there, I will come here looking for you.”

  Panic crossed her face. “Don’t endanger yourself for me.”

  “You have endangered yourself for me.” Luke still held both her arms and had been drawing closer to her as they spoke. She seemed so frightened. Of him? Of getting caught?

  It didn’t matter. He ought to have left long minutes before.

  Evelyn pulled free of his arms. “This way.” She led him back through the side door of the stable, along the rear wall to the postern gate. “There’s a guard through the main gate, but we can sneak through the guard’s passage. When we get through to the other side, stay close to the wall until you’re almost to the first tower, then cut around the bushes heading uphill. There’s a narrow deer path. Follow it—you’ll find your way back to where we met this morning.”

  Luke memorized her instructions, knowing well he wouldn’t have happened upon the path himself, certainly not in the darkness. “You’ll meet me there in one week?” He’d need that long to make the trip back to his brother, tell him what he’d learned, make plans and travel back again.

  She nodded solemnly but added, “If I’m delayed, please don’t come here looking for me. I’ll try again the next day and the next.”

  “I’ll try again every day until I see you again,” he promised.

  She looked up at him, the moon casting just enough silvery light for him to see her face clearly. “You must move quickly. I will pray for your safety.”

  “And I for yours.” He couldn’t help reaching out and trailing one finger softly against her cheek. She was real. After all his searching, all his fears that he’d only imagined her, she was real.

  * * *

  Evelyn stood still in the darkness near the narrow exit, listening to Prince Luke’s retreating footsteps until the sound disappeared into the distance between them. Then she waited a moment longer, tense, bracing herself to hear the cry of the guards spotting the man in the shadows or checking the tower to find him gone.

  There was only silence.

  Almost against her will she pressed one hand to the place where the prince had brushed her cheek. Though his fingers were calloused from bowstrings, his touch had been gentle, almost reverent. Evelyn closed her eyes, committing to memory every word, every look that had passed between them. No one spoke to her that tenderly. Only her brother called her by her real name, her Christian name.

  Prince Luke had made her feel as though she wasn’t a slave at all.

  It touched a raw part of her wounded heart, rousing it achingly to life as she pictured his face, his strong arms, the feel of his hand on her cheek.

  Evelyn immediately chided herself for letting her emotions grow. Luke was a prince. And not just any prince, but a prince of the neighboring kingdom who her grandfather specifically abhorred. In fact, she realized as fear surged through her conscience, she should not have agreed to
meet him in the woods again. She’d agreed because she wanted to see him again, to learn more about him, to bask in the kindness of his words.

  How could she be so selfish?

  Seeing Prince Luke again would only put him in more danger. If they were caught, her grandfather would surely make good on his threats to force her to marry Omar. What would happen to the prince? Surely King Garren wouldn’t be content to simply lock him away again. No, he’d do something much worse. Torture? War?

  Evelyn’s blood chilled in her veins. Why did the prince want to visit this place, anyway? If he was up to no good, she should convince him not to return. If he was in danger, he ought to stay away for his own safety. Either way, she’d have to make the prince understand the importance of staying far from Fier. For that reason, she would meet with him again as promised. Once. But never again. She couldn’t endanger his safety or his people.

  Her mind made up, Evelyn crept back the way she’d come, skirting the stables this time and heading back into the main hall via the rear kitchen door. She stuck her head into the laundry room where she and the servant girls slept. The girls appeared to be asleep, but then one of them sat up and blinked at her.

  “Evelyn?” the girl whispered softly.

  “Yes.”

  “Omar has Bertie.”

  “What?”

  “He found him sneaking up to the tower. The prisoner is missing. Omar blames your brother for helping him escape.”

  “Where has he got him?”

  “They headed for the dungeon.”

  “Does the king know?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s gone to bed for the night.”

  “Good.” It was a small consolation. Omar might be willing to hurt her brother, but he wouldn’t risk inflicting too much pain on the king’s grandson without Garren’s explicit permission. “You stay here.”

  The little girl grabbed her skirt as she turned to leave. “Be careful. Omar is terribly angry.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Evelyn promised, though her fears increased as she hurried through the hall to the steps that led downward in a steep spiral to the dungeons below. Should she go alone? It wouldn’t be right to risk the girls’ safety by asking them to come with her. And yet, who else did she have on her side?