Denying the pounding of her heart, Evelyn returned to the spot where Bertie had tied his horse. She tugged downward on the slack lead rope and patted the animal’s haunch. The pale horse lowered himself down onto the earth, disappearing from view behind the thick bushes. Evelyn crouched down beside the animal in the place of greatest cover. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and wrapped the rest about her, grateful for the animal’s warmth against the coolness of the night.
She was exhausted. No doubt her unsteady emotions could be attributed in part to her lack of sleep. She would stay by the horse and wait for her brother.
And pray.
* * *
Luke stopped in his tracks and looked to his men, but the wariness in their expressions told him what he’d already guessed in one glance at the party assembled before them.
They didn’t have any chance trying to fight their way through Garren and his men. Not when they were so vastly outnumbered.
“Tie them up,” King Garren commanded. “Take their weapons. Check for hidden knives. I won’t have him slipping away from me this time.”
Garren’s men tugged Luke’s men away from him, looting them of their weapons before binding them tightly.
“Now—” King Garren moved close to Luke only once the prince had been tightly bound “—where is my son?”
Luke stared at the man for a long moment, wondering what Garren was up to. Surely the king knew where Warrick was if he was in on the trap with him. And yet Luke had expected the Illyrians to kill him, not simply tie him up. Perhaps Garren didn’t know of Warrick’s plans...but, then, what was the king doing here?
“He sent a messenger to you not many hours ago, after nightfall.”
“We met the messenger on the road and changed our route to catch up to Warrick. My men and I were headed to Sardis to retrieve the items you stole from me.”
Luke could only assume the king referred to Bertie and Evelyn, who were his property as slaves. “I did not steal them. They came willfully.”
“Came willfully?” the King bellowed, his laughter hot in Luke’s face and tainted with the heavy odor of drink. “Came willfully? Since when do a crown and signet ring do anything of their own will?”
“A crown and signet ring?” Luke repeated under his breath, taken aback. What was Garren up to this time? Another ruse? But surely, judging from the intensity of the odor of wine pouring from him, King Garren wasn’t fit to plot anything at the moment. Both his anger and his words seemed sincere.
“My crown.” Garren raised his voice, gesturing with his sword. “And my signet ring. They were stolen from me two nights ago and I will have them back.”
Luke wanted to deny any involvement, but then he recalled the pack Bertie had brought forth from Fier, the bulging bag whose contents Luke had never seen. Had Bertie stolen the king’s crown? If so, Garren would have more than enough grounds for retaliation in accordance with the peace treaty.
If he brought war down on Lydia now, Byzantium would back him. There would be war between Rome and Constantinople, and Lydia would be trampled.
Omar approached the king and murmured something Luke couldn’t quite catch, but the king nodded.
“Sleep,” Garren bellowed, and Luke guessed Omar had instructed the king to sleep off some of his lingering drunkenness. “Sleep now, and we’ll sort this out in the morning. I’ll get my crown back—if I have to go through you to get it.” He held out his sword, pressing the tip against Luke’s chest, then wavering unsteadily, so that Luke feared the blade might stab through his leather armor at any moment.
But Omar tugged the king back, and he shuffled away, muttering something about untrustworthy neighbors.
Luke watched them go, grateful they’d let him live this much longer, at least. Of course, King Garren saw Luke as the key to getting Warrick back alive. As long as Luke remained useful, he could hope to live. But Warrick was nearby and might happen upon Garren at any moment.
How much longer would Luke and his men be allowed to live then?
* * *
Evelyn awoke in darkness with a horrible sense of dread pounding inside her chest. She blinked up at the dark, cloudless sky. The moon had sunk below the horizon, but there was yet no sign of the sun. It was the darkest hour of night, then, the deep darkness before morning. The stars twinkled distantly, their light too meager to do much more than highlight the blackest shadows.
Her throat dry, Evelyn reached for Bertie’s pack and found his flask. She drank, reserving enough for her brother should he return, her hands trembling as she realized he wouldn’t have left the precious water behind if he’d expected to be gone this long. Where was he? What detained him? Had he entered the mines in search of gold? Or had the Illyrians discovered him among them?
Her stomach, taunted by the lack of sustenance in the liquid, growled, and she dug through Bertie’s pack for food, producing three bread rolls such as had been served at dinner in Sardis. Had Bertie taken them from the table?
It didn’t matter, only that it told her he’d been plotting to leave during the meal and had taken the rolls deliberately in preparation, sneaking them when she wasn’t looking so he wouldn’t have to confess his plans. She chewed one, hoping to silence her stomach before it awoke anyone else. Where were Warrick and his men, anyway? She might have expected them to return to the horse, but she saw no sign of them or anyone else.
She swallowed the last of the roll. Though it quieted her stomach, she found the dread between her ribs only grew stronger. Something was amiss. “Dear God,” she prayed in a silent breath, “guide me. Help me. Help Bertie. Protect us, by Your mercy.”
Saving the two remaining rolls, she decided to check the other side pack, the one that counterbalanced the food pack, on the other side of the pale horse’s withers. Slipping her fingers into the bag, she encountered something solid and sharp and pulled it out.
Jewels sparkled in the dim light of the stars.
King Garren’s crown!
Evelyn’s heart sank. She knew instantly why Bertie had taken it—the temptation had been too much when he’d gone for the signet rings and items that were rightfully theirs. And her father had long said he was Garren’s true heir, the crown rightfully his, and Bertie’s after him. Rabertus had been born of King Garren’s first marriage, which had never been dissolved. So, then, Garren’s marriage to his brother’s widow was unlawful and Warrick illegitimate, ineligible to rule.
Not that her father had ever had any success making his argument heard. How much less, then, would her brother be able to stake his claim? And yet the stubborn boy hadn’t been able to resist taking the crown he believed ought someday to belong to him.
Replacing the crown inside the pouch, Evelyn dug about, identifying some items by feel with her fingers until she hit upon a dagger in its sheath and paused long enough to pull it out.
She recognized the inlaid scabbard, the work of her mother’s father. This treasure was rightfully hers, and she quickly undid the leather knots, retying it around her waist. With trepidation pounding through her, she crept away from the horse to see what she could learn.
Warrick and his men lay resting a stone’s throw ahead of her in a line parallel to the Illyrian encampment near the caves. Rather than risk awakening either party, she turned and followed the path Luke had taken with his men. Perhaps she could circle around a bit and come at the caves from another direction. Perchance her brother had come back for his horse but missed the animal in the darkness, hidden as it was by thick bushes.
She hadn’t gone far when she glimpsed odd shadows in front of her and stopped. What was there? With slow steps, she crept forward until she recognized human forms slumped about.
Were they dead?
No, just resting. In a few more silent steps she drew close enough to recognize the Illyrians. With a start, s
he saw Omar among them, and not far from him her grandfather.
What were they doing here?
No sooner did the question race through her head than she realized the answer. Her grandfather had returned to Fier in a rage after the encounter with the Lydians and the bear. He’d called for drink and gone to bed too bleary-eyed to see anything, but when he’d awakened the next morning, he’d noticed his crown was gone.
And when he’d called for her and Bertie and found them gone, as well, even he could have guessed the rest. He’d come after them to get back his crown and punish them for taking it. No doubt he’d rebuke all those who’d helped them escape, as well.
She’d brought violence upon Lydia. The realization hit her conscience with searing pain. After all Prince Luke had done to help her, she’d brought Garren and his men here in a fit of bloodthirsty rage. She had to do something. But how could she make everything right again?
Blinking at the sleeping soldiers, she tried to count them. If she rode to Sardis, could she explain the situation to Luke’s men, tell them the number of Garren’s forces and bring a defense party back?
Luke.
She saw him the moment she wondered where he’d gone, and her heart sank.
He was propped in a heap along with Sacha and Dan.
Dead?
She prayed not, though she’d never known her grandfather to extend mercy for a single moment. Moving cautiously closer, she saw to her relief that Prince Luke’s chest rose and fell. He was not dead, then. Only asleep.
Relief washed over her along with a flood of feelings she’d tried for so long to deny. No matter the circumstances between her and Prince Luke, she felt great affection for him. She’d cared for him since the moment they’d laid him injured before her and told her to save his life. And since that time, all she’d learned about the stubborn, willful prince had only increased her affection for him.
For so long she’d wondered if she could trust him, holding his royal status against him because of the way her grandfather had treated her. But Prince Luke had risked much for her. He’d been captured and bound for her. Too late she realized she could trust his good intentions. Somehow she had to help him.
But what could she possibly do? If she crept any closer, the Illyrians might hear her movements and awaken. And yet she couldn’t leave him there. The Illyrians would stir eventually. If she had any chance of freeing Luke and his men, it was now, under the cover of darkness.
Her mind made up, she made her way silently toward the sleeping Lydians, alert lest the Illyrians spot her. But even if Garren had posted a guard, all his men slept now, the darkness too deep and the woods too silent for any man to keep awake for long.
She reached the prince and for one moment simply gazed at him as the soft starlight illuminated his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. She recalled with bittersweet affection the kisses he’d given her—sweet treasures she’d hold always in her heart, no matter what else might pass between them.
He was such a noble man—far more noble than mere rank implied. His actions, his convictions—all were far nobler than those of the royals she’d lived among for the past five years. Though she’d initially distrusted him because of his station, he’d proven himself honorable. She longed for an instant to kiss him again but then realized the foolishness of that impulse. If she didn’t act quickly, she might lose him yet.
Pressing her lips near his ear to warn him so he wouldn’t startle at her touch, she whispered, “Shh, I’m going to cut you free.” At the same moment, she found the knots that bound him and worked silently, carefully, to cut through the ropes without hurting him with her sharp blade.
A moment later the ropes fell free, and she got to work on the others while Luke untied the bindings on his legs.
“I’ll get the weapons,” Sacha mouthed to them silently, and crept away before Evelyn had quite realized what he was saying.
Dan started after him, but Evelyn pulled Luke’s sleeve in the other direction.
He met her eyes for just a moment, nodded his understanding and crept silently after her, putting some meager distance between them and the Illyrians before Dan and Sacha caught up to them with their weapons. They rearmed themselves, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid making any noise that might rouse their enemies.
Evelyn wished they’d hurry. The eastern sky bled a sickly yellow-green. Soon enough the sun would rise, and then not even the thickest trees would be enough to hide them from Garren and his men.
And they still hadn’t found Bertie.
“Did you have second thoughts?” Luke whispered close to her ear.
Evelyn blinked up at him, unsure what he meant. His expression was somber, still tinged by sleep, his eyes heavy lidded and slightly sad. Evelyn couldn’t think what he meant, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the mess with Garren’s crown. Somehow she had to make things right. Above all else, she would try to keep war from Lydia, but she could think of only one thing that would do it.
She led Luke and his men back toward the horse, whispering quickly. “Bertie stole Garren’s crown,” she explained.
“He mentioned missing it.”
“I didn’t know until I found it in his pack just now. Please forgive him. He is only a child. He didn’t understand what he was doing.”
“I can forgive him—” Luke met her eyes, and she saw deep sorrow in his weary face “—but that doesn’t appease Garren’s anger any.”
“I know.” She let out a breath and tried to suck in courage but got only a whiff of Luke’s manly scent. It made her want to press her face against him and hold him tight. But there wasn’t nearly time for that. Garren and his men could awaken at any moment. “I can think of only one way to appease Garren.”
“What’s that?”
“Give him someone to blame—somewhere to divert his anger to keep him from taking his revenge on Lydia.”
“And who would we blame? Greece? Rome? Another Illyrian tribe on the far side of the mountains?”
It took all her strength, but Evelyn spoke the word aloud. “Me.”
Luke froze, and something like anger flashed in his eyes. “You?”
She nodded, explaining quickly before she could lose her courage. “Tell him I took it. It’s not a lie, really. I escaped with my brother and the crown. Tell him it was all my fault—”
“But he’ll kill you.” Luke took hold of both her arms and looked her full in the face, his expression incredulous.
She pleaded with him silently, staring into his face as the rising sun lit his features with increasing brightness. How could she make him understand? Better that she die for Lydia than die for her father’s crimes. At least then, Luke might remember her with appreciation instead of anger. “If it would save Lydia and maybe even save my brother—”
Luke’s jaw tightened. “I won’t lose you this way.”
Dan and Sacha, who’d been fidgeting at his side while they spoke, now interrupted. “Your Highness, we must be going,” Dan told him.
Sacha added, “The Illyrians are sure to awaken any moment. We can’t let them find you here. We must get back to Sardis.”
“They’ll follow me to Sardis,” Luke reminded his men.
“The city has walls,” Dan told him.
“We can defend Sardis.” Sacha looked warily about as he spoke, one hand fingering the arrows in the quiver at his back. “We can’t defend these woods, not when our enemies are as thick as the trees.”
Evelyn held tight to Luke’s arms. If he fled to Sardis, war would follow him—unless she could convince King Garren to end his rage by placing all the blame on her. She made up her mind quickly. “Hurry to Sardis. Prepare to face King Garren, but you may not have to. Pray my ruse works.”
Luke stared at her as though she spoke some foreign tongue and not the Illyrian l
anguage they’d been speaking together all along. “No,” he whispered forcibly. “You will not die for me.”
“Not just for you but for all of Lydia.”
“Your death would not protect my people. King Garren would not be satisfied, not if he felt he had an excuse for waging war.” Luke spoke with authority.
With a sinking heart, Evelyn wondered if he wasn’t correct after all. She knew her grandfather quite well—she’d seen his conniving firsthand too many times to trust him for even a moment. And if he killed her, she wouldn’t be able to protect her brother or Lydia...or Luke. “Then what shall we do? What hope is there?”
“Where is the crown?”
“This way.” She led him to the horse and pulled it out. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I have no idea.” Luke took it as she handed it to him. “But I thought I ought to see this thing for which I was tied up half the night and feared I would surely die.”
Dan and Sacha stood on either side of them, their eyes trained back in the direction of Garren and his men. “They’re still asleep,” Dan murmured quietly, “but who knows for how much longer? We must move.”
“Go,” Evelyn urged the prince.
“What will you do?”
“I’ll stay here and try to think of something.”
“I can’t leave you.” Luke looked at her with longing. “Not like this, not with Garren’s men ready to pounce. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” He held the crown in one hand, and with the other he touched her cheek, running his fingers along the line of her temple, then cupping her chin lightly, pulling her close to him.
“I know how to take care of myself,” she reminded him, hoping he’d believe the words better than she did.
“I want to take care of you.” Luke drew closer to her as he whispered.
She realized a moment before his lips touched hers that he was going to kiss her, and she closed the space between them with urgency, telling herself she ought to hasten his journey but knowing in her heart she longed for his touch and could not wait an instant longer.
The Secret Princess Page 17
