The men had carried the wounded outside into the daylight, where the warm sun provided illumination for her task. Bertie and the prince had taken pallets inside, and Evelyn had been promised rest once she finished her work. They’d fed her, at least—raisin cakes and smoked fish. The food helped revive her, though every so often she had to stop and rub her eyes to keep from nodding off.
Removing the arrowheads was delicate work, though she was familiar enough with the Illyrian barbed points and had removed them before when Garren’s men had suffered training accidents. After many hours of work, she finished stitching the men shut. It was late afternoon when she left them in the care of the guard and found her way inside the hut, where she closed her eyes and fell asleep on a pallet beside her brother.
Urgency filled Bertie’s voice as he shook her awake, whispering, “Evelyn, come on, there are men outside. Wake up. Let me tell you what I’ve learned.”
“What is it?” She opened one groggy eye and found the inside of the hut almost completely dark, save the low glow of coals in the fireplace. There wasn’t even so much as a crack of light under the door. “Is it night?”
“It’s been night. Soon it will be morning again.” Bertie pressed his face near hers as he whispered, though he spoke in Frankish, so even if they were overheard, it didn’t seem likely anyone would understand what they spoke of. “They’re loading the wounded men onto litters to carry them back to their city.”
“Do they need my help?”
“No, you helped already. Aren’t you awake yet? Pay attention, now. They’re talking about something and they’re quite excited about it, but I don’t know Lydian and I can’t make any sense of it.”
“I don’t know any more Lydian than you do.”
“No, but the prince will talk to you. Can you get out there now and find out what’s going on? You know our lives might depend on it.”
With that warning, Evelyn hurried to her feet and stepped outside and found the sun had tinged the eastern sky with its dull predawn glow. So she’d slept through the evening and most of the night. Prince Luke stepped back from the litters as the men made their final preparations to travel.
Evelyn mustered up her courage and approached him, first asking the prince how her patients were doing. To her relief, he seemed pleased with what her efforts had accomplished.
“The fresh bandages show no sign of bleeding through. Your stitches have served their purpose well. The men are stable enough to travel, so we’re moving them now, before the Illyrians return,” Prince Luke explained. “The men who brought the litters from Sardis passed Illyrians along the way.”
“Soldiers?”
“One was a page headed to the city with a message for Warrick. He wouldn’t say what it was, but I suspect King Garren is calling Warrick home or hatching a plan right under our noses.”
“That can’t be good.” Evelyn recoiled at the thought of her father’s brother, who’d killed her father in battle. Warrick knew she and Bertie were Rab the Raider’s children. Garren’s heir could easily give away their secret—in fact, if Warrick was with Luke’s brother King John, and if the prince had indeed mentioned her and her brother to the king, Warrick might have given away their identities to the king already, and Luke would learn the whole truth as soon as they arrived. They might be riding to their deaths. The thought silenced her.
Fortunately, the prince kept talking, though he watched her face carefully as he spoke. “The other Illyrians were a group of horsemen dressed as woodsmen, headed toward some caves near Sardis. They’ve been gathering there by the dozens of late. Do you know anything about what they are doing there?” As he finished speaking, he looked behind her, and Evelyn turned back to find that Bertie had approached them in silence, no doubt intent on hearing for himself what the prince had to say.
“Caves?” Bertie repeated, joining them.
“It’s a dangerous area. Not only are there caves but underground tunnels, as well. The ground is very unstable. We Lydians avoid the place because of incidents in the past when the ground has collapsed and swallowed up livestock, even people.”
Bertie’s expression grew earnest. “Are they cutting trees for support beams?”
Prince Luke raised an eyebrow as he nodded. “I saw many trees that had been chopped down and stripped of their limbs, lying in great piles. Do you know what they’re for?”
“I’ve heard the king giving orders to his men. They’re support beams for the mines, to keep the caverns from collapsing.”
“Mines?” Evelyn repeated, then recalled something her grandfather had said to Omar. “And they’re in the Lydian borderlands? Are they looking for gold?”
“Gold,” Bertie said, growing more animated. “Do you know where it is?”
“Where what is?” Prince Luke clarified.
Bertie explained. “The gold. The mines. The king has been plotting for many months. During the siege on Sardis last fall, some of his men retreated that way and found the caves when they were looking for a place to hide. They brought back gold, and now the king wants to mine it. He’s furious because he lost the land in the peace treaty.”
“Is that what the gold talk is about?” Evelyn pieced together bits of things her grandfather had said in previous months, which she’d ignored because the greedy king was always scheming and talking of gold, but none of it had ever concerned her before.
The prince’s eyes narrowed. “Legend says there is gold in those hills, but anyone who’s ever tried to reach it has died an early death. Wise men are content with what they have and do not risk the lives of their loved ones in an effort to grow rich.”
“I agree, Your Highness.” Evelyn met his eyes. “King Garren is crafty, but I would never call him wise. He is also insatiably acquisitive.”
“Your words precisely describe my experience of the man.” The prince raised a gloved finger as he stepped toward his men, who’d finished loading the wounded and now looked to him for their leave. “Wait here. We shall discuss this further in a moment.”
While the prince consulted with his men in Lydian, Evelyn switched to Frankish to assess the matter with her brother.
“Bertie, are you quite sure that’s what Grandfather is up to?”
“It’s got to be.” Bertie’s eyes continued to sparkle in a manner Evelyn found unsettling. It reminded her, almost, of their grandfather—and not in a good way. “We must go find it, Evelyn. With enough gold, we could buy our way—”
“What?” She stopped him. “Didn’t you hear the prince? The land is unstable. The ground swallows up greedy men. It’s just gold, Bertie. You can’t eat it.”
“But we could go home, Evelyn. We could buy safe passage.”
“We could be killed.”
“Your prince is going to have us killed anyway, just as soon as he realizes who we are. We can’t expect to keep our identities a secret much longer. I heard him mention Warrick. Our uncle has never tried to hurt us before, but he killed our father and there’s nothing to keep him from telling everyone who we are. We’re dead either way, but if we could get the gold first—”
Prince Luke had given leave to his men and now returned to Evelyn and Bertie as the litters bearing the wounded were carried off through the woods.
“I spoke to them of these mines. They agree your theory is consistent with everything else we’ve learned, but we must consult with my brother King John before we decide what to do about it. You must tell me everything you know of King Garren’s plans.”
While Evelyn tried to recall if there was anything else she could tell the prince, her brother spoke boldly.
“Can you take us to the place? I may be able to interpret a great deal more if I can see what King Garren’s men are doing.”
Evelyn watched the prince’s face as he considered her brother’s request. She knew exactly why Be
rtie had asked—because he wanted to find the gold himself. But Prince Luke did not seem suspicious of the boy’s motives.
“We must first make our way toward Sardis. We can regroup there. I can send a message to my brother and select a party to travel toward the caves. But for now we must make preparations to get under way. I’ve spoken with my men.” Prince Luke crossed his arms and took a step back, looking Evelyn and Bertie up and down before nodding.
“As King Garren’s slaves, you are his property. Our rescue, necessary as it was, could nonetheless be interpreted as a breach of the terms of the peace treaty. No matter that Garren himself has breached that treaty many times. He may well use this incident as an excuse to attack, especially if he catches up to our party while you’re still with us. We have a long journey ahead of us, and Garren’s men travel these lands far too freely.”
Evelyn listened with mounting fear. “What are you suggesting?”
“We’ve clothing here—woodsman garments. We’ll disguise you and cover your hair with hoods. Anything to keep your identities hidden. You’ll be safer this way. We’ll all be safer this way.” He walked toward the hut. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Hurrying to follow, Evelyn and Bertie soon found themselves left alone with a trunk of clothing, from which they picked the smallest items they could find among the garments sized for burly men. They found heavy cloaks with oversized hoods that would cover their pale hair and most of their faces, as well.
“I’m glad for this.” Evelyn examined her brother once he’d donned the disguise. “And not just because of King Garren. If Warrick recognizes us, he could give away everything with one casual remark. From what the prince told me earlier, we’re sure to meet up with him at some point. The best we can do is keep our faces covered and try to stay out of sight.”
“I’ll keep well out of Warrick’s way.” Bertie tightened the rope belt that struggled to keep his clothes in place around his narrow hips. “As far out of his way as I can be.”
Evelyn watched her brother trot back outside. She knew Bertie was concerned about keeping their belongings safe from discovery. Important as that might be, Evelyn found herself troubled by what her brother had said. How far from Warrick did Bertie intend to be?
As far away as the gold-mine caves? She’d tried to warn him against the plan, but she knew her younger brother far too well. He was every bit as cunning as their grandfather but without years of experience to guide him. Bertie got into trouble enough within the confines of the fortress of Fier. Out here in the borderlands, her little brother might do anything.
There was only so much she could do to protect him.
* * *
Luke spent the rest of the morning in preparations, securing the site and scouting the trails to Fier for any sign of a mounting attack, before he was satisfied they were safe to leave, and they emptied the outpost camp. With so many men leaving on foot, transporting the litters, and two of his soldiers being carried out wounded, there were horses enough for Luke and the Illyrian slaves to ride, along with Dan and Sacha, who’d stayed behind to accompany them.
Luke wasn’t surprised to observe that Evelyn and her brother rode with ease and skill. Nor was he particularly shocked to discover that Evelyn looked strangely stunning as she gazed, sharp-eyed, out from under her hood. He’d never seen any woman like her and had to remind himself more and more that no matter how impressed he was with her, no matter how her tears had moved him, he could not love her. He shouldn’t, anyway. He’d become increasingly concerned that his heart may have crossed that line already.
He rode alongside her as the path became wider and they traveled deeper into Lydian territory. He determined to attempt to resolve the many questions that still permeated his thoughts. Since his direct approach had met with only resistance, he wondered if he might find more success through casual discussion.
“What is in that little bundle your brother protects so fiercely?” Luke tried to sound as though the question hadn’t been burning through him ever since the boy had run back to Fier, risking capture to fetch the items.
“It’s our inheritance—everything of value our father and mother left behind. The items are important to us, but still, I disagree with my brother’s choice to go back for them. Too much could have gone wrong. I’m still surprised he made it out again.”
“God must have been watching over him.”
“Indeed.”
The woman fell silent, and Luke tried desperately to think of what to say next. He wasn’t practiced speaking with females, though this woman was not dressed as such, nor did she tend to behave like the ladies of the Lydian court. The difference intrigued him, and he wondered whether his feelings for her could be attributed to those differences, or if he felt as he did in spite of them.
Or perhaps he felt as he did because of her skills in healing. She’d saved his life, and he’d watched her stitching Vasil’s injury for long minutes before he’d gone into the hut to rest. Indeed, despite his exhaustion, he’d found he could hardly look away from the woman, bent intently over her work, whispered prayers carried from her lips on the breeze, the bright sunlight turning her hair to a halo of palest gold.
“Thank you for your work sewing up my men.” He found his voice again at last.
“I owe them many thanks for their bravery against King Garren. I should not have attempted to meet with you again.”
“And yet if you hadn’t met with me, you’d still be inside his fortress, and I would not be with you now.”
“That is true.” She spoke softly, her eyes on Sacha’s back as he rode ahead of them, far enough in the distance to scout out any problems with time enough to ride back and warn them. For that reason, they rode at a moderate pace.
Luke felt his heart tear at the noncommittal way she spoke the words. Didn’t she care that he’d risked his safety and the lives of his men to meet with her, and now to escort her to safety? Were her feelings for him nothing like those he felt for her? He wrestled with the thought. It shouldn’t matter. They could have no future together. Surely she was wise to feel nothing for him. Still, he longed to know his affections were returned.
He looked back and saw that Dan and Bertie were a goodly distance behind. The boy and the guard were conversing together—Luke caught the occasional Illyrian word—but the distance between them and Luke was great enough he couldn’t overhear their conversation.
Nor would they be able to inadvertently eavesdrop on what he had to say to Evelyn.
“Your father and mother,” he prompted slowly, referencing them from her words about the valuables her brother guarded. “Were they noble?”
“Were they members of the Frankish nobility?” Evelyn repeated slowly, clarifying his question.
“Yes.”
When she remained silent, he explained further, leaving out the wild hope that she might somehow, in spite of her current state as a slave, be noble. “You read and write. Your stitches are the finest I’ve ever seen. You ride with grace and carry yourself with dignity. You speak well-measured words, and you do not hesitate to assert your opinion. Surely you were raised in a noble household.”
She looked up at him and her mouth fell open, but still she said nothing. He got the sense the answers were there, ready to be spoken, if only he could somehow find a way to encourage her to untie her tongue long enough to speak them.
Luke glanced behind them again and saw that Bertie and Dan were plenty far away still. They wouldn’t overhear. He leaned toward Evelyn and lowered his voice. “You asked me before to promise you no harm would come to your brother. He wishes to return to his family in the north. If I am to make such a promise, I must first know the nature of this family to which I am sending him.”
He met her eyes and held her gaze a full minute or more. “Please, Evelyn. I want to help you, but I cannot risk endangering the safety of my p
eople by making promises without understanding the ramifications. Help me to understand.”
Evelyn’s blue eyes welled with unshed tears, and her mouth twitched a bit before she finally spoke in a shaky voice. “My grandmother is a second cousin to Emperor Charlemagne. His mother was her grandmother’s sister. When she was young and very beautiful, she met a foreign prince on a diplomatic visit. The two of them fell in love and, as he was a younger son of his father and not expected to reign in his home country, he married her and they lived near Aachen for some time. She bore him a son.”
Luke wanted to interrupt Evelyn and beg her to clarify, but he feared, after all the difficulty he’d had getting her to speak at all, she might close her lips tight to any questions and end her tale without finishing. So he remained silent, though his heart leaped about inside him at her words.
“When that son was of age, he and my mother married. By the time my brother, Bertie, was born, my father was often away on military campaigns, so my mother moved with us and our grandparents into the city of Aachen. We lived between Charlemagne’s palace and a convent. Learning is highly valued in that area, as well as stitching, riding and well-measured words.” She glanced at him for the first time and flashed him a cautious smile. “The self-assertion is, I’m afraid, a fault of personality my mother was eager to rid me of, but she died before that could be accomplished, and I’ve yet to make satisfactory progress overcoming it.”
Luke wanted to dance about for joy, but Evelyn’s sober expression gave him pause. “So you are of noble birth, then?”
“Yes,” she admitted in a voice so soft he strained to hear it. Then, much more clearly, she explained, “But I am enslaved for my father’s crimes, which are so great I may never hope to go free.” Emotion welled behind her words.
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