The Secret Princess

by Rachelle Mccalla

  Evelyn shuddered at the thought. “We’ve only one hope—to see to it that he never learns that Rab the Raider is our father. If the truth slips out, your life—” Her voice cracked.

  “He’ll never get his hands on me.” Her brother pulled himself up to his full height, almost as tall as Evelyn, though she was many years’ growth ahead of him. “If it comes to that, I’ll take our treasures back from Grandfather and make my way back to Aachen, and I’ll take you with me to keep you safe.”

  “Don’t go near Grandfather’s chambers. Do you know what he’d do if he knew what you were after?”

  “Nothing worse than what your prince would do if he found out who we really are.” As his height had caught up with hers, Bertie had started treating her as though he were the older sibling. “We’re in trouble here and always have been, but you and I have come a long way together, and we’ll make it through this. Every day I learn something new. Shooting rabbits for our suppers, building fires, using the stars to guide our path. I’m training myself to get us home. Soon I’ll be strong enough to face any danger that lies between here and our homeland. You’ll see. I’ll take you home someday, where Grandfather and Omar can’t touch us.”

  Evelyn wanted to tell her brother that she was proud of him, but her throat swelled with emotion, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure of her words. In all the years they’d been at Fier, especially since their father’s death, she’d wanted so much to return to her homeland. But her memories of the perilous journey were still too stark. There had been rivers to cross, wild animals to avoid, and strangers in the villages and the countryside who’d spoken in foreign tongues she didn’t understand. They’d been hungry and cold in spite of all their father had done to provide for them.

  They’d made it safely to Illyria only because their father had protected them the whole way, and she now realized he may well have committed any number of crimes to do so. Without him and without any funds, she didn’t see how they could make it. During the long winter, travel was impossible, especially over the mountains. But Bertie was getting older, growing stronger. With summer approaching, now would be the best time to attempt the trek, though she feared they wouldn’t make it far before her grandfather’s men caught up to them.

  “What’s the worst that can befall us?” Bertie asked softly. Before she could respond, he answered his own question. “Surely there are no dangers between here and our homeland worse than the risk of death at the hands of the Lydians or marriage to Omar.”

  She nodded along reluctantly, not liking any of the options before them but nearly desperate enough to try anything. “Perchance we can, Bertie, but we’ll have to make preparations. We’ll need food for the journey, warm clothing, a horse—”

  “Two horses,” her brother insisted.

  “We don’t even have one,” she reminded him.

  “Grandfather owes us. We work hard every day, and for what? We can take what we need.”

  “He’ll only come after us,” Evelyn responded. “Just wait. We’ll have to be very careful.”

  “But you’d come with me?” Bertie’s face glowed with hope.

  Evelyn couldn’t refuse her little brother. “I certainly wouldn’t want you to make the journey all alone.”

  * * *

  Luke wanted to scream with the injustice of it all. It wasn’t fair that Evelyn should have to work in such harsh circumstances, doing the most dangerous and difficult jobs in King Garren’s fortress, when the woman was learned and intelligent, worthy of a much better life than what she’d been given. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t see her, even to ensure her safety and provide her with food and clothing and security for her family.

  And it wasn’t fair the way the Illyrians disregarded the terms of the peace settlement. When Luke left his rendezvous with Evelyn, he made his way back to the stream and found the path the six mounted riders had taken during the night. He followed the hoofprints well into Lydian territory before he lost them in the thick leaves and undergrowth, far closer to Sardis than any Illyrians should ever have been.

  They’d followed the path to where he’d lost the others and then veered east toward Sardis. He didn’t want them in his lands. Judging by their numbers, they boldly defied the terms of the peace treaty. Why?

  Luke headed back to Castlehead on horseback at a full gallop, surprising John with his swift return. The brothers met in the king’s private council room, and Luke reported all he’d discovered.

  “What do you believe we should do?” King John asked once he’d heard Luke’s full story, minus the details of his encounter with Evelyn. Luke held those back in light of the more pressing situation with the horsemen.

  Luke had mulled the question thoroughly on his ride. A year before, he’d have asked for a band of men to sweep in, find the Illyrians and put a swift end to their plans. But much had changed since then. He wished to avoid fighting if he possibly could—even more so since Evelyn still lay beyond his reach and might be punished if King Garren was angered.

  Luke knew his brother was concerned about Queen Gisela’s pregnancy. He wouldn’t upset either of them if he could help it.

  “For now I think we should watch and wait. If I could find where the Illyrian trail picks up, I might be able to catch up to them and discover what they’re up to.”

  King John nodded, his countenance indicating he approved of Luke’s plans. “I’ll assign you double the manpower at Millbridge. We won’t have a repeat of what happened last fall. Use your discretion in their assignments. I trust your judgment.”

  It was a far greater stamp of approval than any King John had given him before, and Luke could only pray he was worthy of it. Were his thoughts clear, or had he let his concern for Evelyn sway his decision? “I pray I am worthy of your trust, Your Highness.” Luke bowed to his brother.

  King John chuckled and shook his head. “Come, now, Luke, enough of this talk of horsemen and borders. My fair queen longs to know more of the Frankish woman you sought. Did you see her again?” The king led him down the hall to where Gisela sat, surrounded by her maids, each of them working with needle and thread on a dress draped over a reed dummy. The waistline of the garment, Luke noted, was greatly enlarged to accommodate the child Queen Gisela carried.

  With fluttering fingers, the Queen shooed the ladies away, and Luke told Their Majesties of his encounter with Evelyn, getting only as far as her delight with the book when the queen stopped him to clarify.

  “She can read?”

  “I heard her. She recognized the Lord’s Prayer before I told her what it was. She had no way of knowing it unless she knew her letters well.” He’d pondered that mystery on his ride back to Castlehead. “She claims to hail from Aachen. Tell me, Queen Gisela, is it common for the women of that city to read?”

  “I’ve been mostly in Rome for many years.” The queen looked puzzled. “Aachen was my childhood home, and we visited there often in summer. Indeed, that is where I learned to read, and my father encouraged many in that instruction. The young pick up the skill more quickly.” She blinked at her husband as if he might be able to contribute to her story.

  King John scooped up his wife’s hand. “You seem perplexed, my darling. Don’t worry yourself. If the girl is literate, that can only be a good thing, yes?”

  “Under most circumstances I would agree.” Queen Gisela hesitated. “But a female slave who can read? In Illyria? Knowing King Garren, I would be on my guard against some trickery.” She pointed the last words at Luke directly.

  “I have considered this possibility strongly,” Luke acknowledged. “There may be some ruse at work.”

  King John agreed. “Certainly Garren is up to something. Warrick is still our guest here. After your last visit, I took the time to ride with him toward Millbridge and discuss our borders. He expresses only regret at Rab the Raider’s activities. Warrick is d
etermined to forge peace between our families.”

  “Peace,” Luke repeated, hearing the longing in his voice.

  “Yes, brother.” King John clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “There’s nothing like a war to make us value peace.”

  Having once begged his brother to let him take up arms, Luke heard the goading behind King John’s sentiment. “Sometimes we must fight for peace.”

  The king scowled, but before he could speak, Queen Gisela gave a tiny yelp.

  “What is it, my darling?” John turned his attention to his wife, who had one hand over her stomach and a look of focus on her face.

  “The babe...” Gisela began, and John’s face went white.

  But the queen continued. “The babe kicked me—I’m almost sure of it.”

  King John’s face relaxed into a broad smile. “Well,” he said, beaming, “that is a lively one you carry. Perhaps you should lie down and rest.”

  Luke watched his brother lead the queen off to her bed, the unborn child’s reminder prickling his heart. Peace was more important now than ever. What were the Illyrians doing on the Lydian side of the border? Who was Evelyn, truly? Could she help him learn more about the Illyrians’ movements? Or was she working for them, distracting him while the soldiers marched through his borders undeterred?

  He had many questions to answer. One thing was certain. He must keep the threat of war far from Castlehead and the queen who carried Lydia’s future heir. Luke never wanted to be king. If anything happened to John before the babe was born, Luke would wear the crown. But the child Gisela carried could change all that, provided Gisela had a peaceful pregnancy, unlike that of King John’s first wife.

  All the more reason why Luke had to keep Lydia safe.

  * * *

  Evelyn visited the rocky outcropping in the borderlands before sunrise on the appointed morning but waited until full daylight without seeing any sign of the prince. When she returned late to Fier, her grandfather flew into a rage and demanded Cook withhold all Evelyn’s meals that day.

  Bertie sneaked a bread roll to her in the stables that evening. “The way Grandfather treats you is unacceptable. We must take off for Frankia while we still have our strength.”

  Her stomach pained from hunger, Evelyn could only nibble the roll. Bertie had been young when their father had brought them south—too young to know or remember the perils of the journey. She had seen more of their father’s struggle and had felt the sharp fear of their vulnerability. “I’ve been reading the prayer book and praying over our situation,” she began, her thoughts clearer now than they’d been in the first few days after her meeting with the prince. “I’ve thought of something.”

  “What is it?” Bertie prompted her when the roll seemed to stick in her tight throat, cutting off her words.

  She forced herself to swallow. “Prince Luke offered to bring us to Lydia.”

  “Yes, and he’ll chop off our heads the moment he learns who our father was.” Bertie shook his head adamantly. “Don’t think we can keep him from finding out. It would only be a matter of time.”

  “Precisely.” Evelyn got another bite of roll down. “He doesn’t know yet. He’s offered to help us, but we don’t dare try to stay in Lydia. He’s a prince. He has resources far beyond what we can imagine. Why not let him help us get back to Aachen? He said his brother’s wife is a daughter of Charlemagne. Surely they have contacts who know the way. They may even know some who have plans to travel there while the weather is fine. We could go with them. We’d be safe.”

  Bertie’s eyes brightened with a wary hope. “Safe as long as they don’t learn who our father is. We lived in Aachen too long for the people of that city not to remember anything about us. The closer we get to Aachen, the greater the danger of being found out.”

  “And the closer we get to Aachen, the greater our chances of making it the rest of the way on our own. If they could get us partway there, even if we’re found out along the way, we could run then. We’d at least be out of Grandfather’s reach and that much closer to our destination.”

  The hope in Bertie’s eyes grew brighter. “Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, it could work. It’s a better plan than anything I’ve thought of yet.”

  “I’ve been praying God would show me his plan. Perhaps this is it.”

  “Perhaps. But I want to get back our treasures before we leave. They’re rightfully ours.”

  “Don’t try anything until we have time to plan.” Evelyn didn’t think it likely they’d reclaim their inheritance, but she didn’t want to dim her brother’s hope. Hope was very nearly the only asset they had—that and a promise from a prince, who’d surely kill them the moment he learned who they really were.

  When Bertie agreed to hold back in his efforts to reclaim their inheritance, Evelyn explained, “I’m to meet with the prince tonight. If he’s willing to help us, then we can make a plan for getting the jewels. But I must hurry—the sun has set already, and the moon is rising. I don’t want to be late.” She didn’t mention it, but the prince’s absence that morning worried her greatly. Had something happened to him? She felt the knot in her stomach harden with concern as she turned to leave.

  The moment she stepped from the stall where they’d been hiding in the shadow of a horse, Omar strode into the center aisle, his smile so broad it showed off all his rotten teeth. “What’s all that foreign chatter about?”

  Evelyn froze where she stood.

  Had Omar heard them talking? He couldn’t have understood any of their words, but King Garren had forbidden them from speaking Frankish. If Omar dragged her off to turn her in, she’d miss her meeting with the prince. She remained frozen, the last bite of roll stuck in her throat. Did Omar realize Bertie had snuck her food? Her little brother could be whipped for defying the king’s orders.

  Omar’s eyes narrowed and his smile pinched to a thin line. “Be careful, Biddy. I’m watching you.” He strode away.

  Bertie came to stand beside her. “He’s lucky he didn’t try to hit you, or I’d have been on him.” He ground a fist into one open hand, speaking Frankish in a whisper—cautious yet defiant.

  “Don’t go near him. He’ll squash you like a bug.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Bertie disregarded her warning.

  “I should have left already. Prince Luke will be waiting.”

  “But Omar said he’s watching you.”

  “He walked away. This is my chance.”

  “What if he tries to follow you?”

  Evelyn chewed the inside of her lip thoughtfully, wishing she’d had more to eat. Her stomach had accepted the roll and now growled for more. “He’s full of empty threats. If I let him bully me into staying here, I’ll miss my meeting with Prince Luke. We need Lydia’s help if we’re going to make it home. I can’t waste this opportunity.”

  As she’d hoped, the mention of home blinded her brother to any obstacles.

  “I like your plan,” Bertie told her softly.

  “God’s plan,” she corrected him.

  “I like God’s plan. If God’s behind it, Omar can’t really hurt you, can he?”

  Evelyn wasn’t sure, but she nodded anyway. “That’s right. And I must make haste. The moon has already risen. I’d hate to miss him.”

  “I’ll come with you partway in case Omar tries anything.” Bertie flexed his young muscles protectively.

  Rather than let him think she would laugh at his earnest offer, Evelyn turned her face so he wouldn’t see her smile. “Let’s hurry.”

  * * *

  Luke reached the rocks when the moon was rising and wondered if he’d missed Evelyn. Obviously he’d missed their meeting that morning—another group of horsemen had passed by as he’d made his way to their rendezvous. With six men of his own at his side, he’d finally been in a position to track
them without fear of being outnumbered and endangering himself.

  They’d followed the band along the same route they had taken before. This time he’d tracked them all the way to their destination, a camp frighteningly close to Sardis, where a dozen or more Illyrian soldiers hid among the caves of the forest.

  Luke and his men had watched them from a distance for the entire afternoon. Unfortunately, the trees were thinner there and the Illyrians were spread out, so Luke’s men had been forced to keep their distance beyond the range of hearing. Luke still had little idea what the men were doing there other than cutting down trees, stripping them of their branches and stacking the trunks in a great pile near one of the cave openings.

  Surely the Illyrians hadn’t traveled so far, grossly breaching the terms of the peace treaty, just to cut lumber. Trees grew thick at the foot of the Illyrian mountains. They didn’t need to risk injury amidst the pitted soils of the cavelands.

  It had been years since Luke had visited that part of the kingdom, close though it was to the city of Sardis. Travel there was far too dangerous. In addition to the cave openings visible in the woods, the earth was hollowed out belowground in places. Tunnels ran beneath the earth, natural fissures cut through the rocks in centuries long past that could collapse under the weight of a man or a horse and open up to rocky chasms below.

  The Lydians gave the area wide berth for their own safety.

  Clearly the Illyrians had no such qualms.

  As the day had grown long, Luke had realized he would likely learn no more of what the Illyrians were up to once darkness fell. His men were too few to risk open conflict with those encamped among the caverns. And he’d promised himself he’d keep danger far from King John, his queen and their unborn child. The Illyrians in the cavelands were far too close to Sardis, the last outpost of protection that shielded Castlehead from an attack by land.

  Now Luke watched from the shelter of the rocky outcropping in the shadow of Fier as the moon rose ever higher in the sky, praying over his fears.