The Secret Princess

by Rachelle Mccalla

  A stick cracked, its sound echoing sharply through the silent night.

  Luke froze and looked at Gurn, who stared back at him, eyes wide. Luke wasn’t sure which of them had made the noise, but it mattered precious little where the sound had come from. All that mattered was whether the siblings had heard it.

  Time stretched long and tense as Luke stood completely still. He raised one hand toward Renwick, who was still some way off, cautioning the messenger to stop lest he add any noise that might disturb the siblings further.

  No sooner had Luke begun to breathe again than he thought he heard a faint whispering behind him. Had Evelyn and Bertie awakened, and were they even now discussing their plans in muffled voices? Slowly, cautiously, Luke turned around, but the lip of the ridge blocked them from sight.

  He glanced back at Gurn, who stood frozen as he had from the moment the stick had cracked. The solider shrugged.

  Luke stepped toward the ridge.

  The slaves bolted.

  Bertie clung to the horse’s back, but Evelyn, who’d looked poised to climb on silently at the moment Luke appeared in sight, had instead slapped the animal in the haunch, sending it forward in flight and running quickly after it.

  “After them!” Luke cried as he leaped over the ledge, landing on his feet.

  Gurn leaped down beside him and explained his intentions as they ran. “I’ll keep the horse in sight. Renwick’s mounting to ride—I’ll send him after the boy. Can you catch the girl?”

  “Yes,” Luke told him, though he wasn’t so sure.

  Ahead of them, the horse jumped off another, slightly higher ledge, but instead of making the leap, Evelyn turned toward the river.

  “No!” he shouted after her, hoping to appeal to her good sense, knowing full well how determined she could be. “Not the river! It’s full and frigid this time of year. It would swallow a grown man. You’ve no hope against it.”

  Still she ran at full speed but turned slightly, running alongside the high banks instead of plunging into the river itself. She was far enough ahead of him, Luke feared she might lose him in the darkness and the trees. He could hear Bertie’s mount crashing through the woods and Renwick shouting as he pursued him, something about stopping in the name of King John, though Renwick had chosen to deliver his threats in Latin, which Luke doubted Bertie would understand.

  Still, the messenger’s words gave Luke an idea. Somewhere ahead of him Evelyn had disappeared in the darkness, and the sound of her flight evaporated, replaced by the distant noises of Renwick and Gurn chasing Bertie.

  She’d hidden, then, in hopes of losing him. Smart girl. He’d been gaining on her and would have caught up to her soon. But now he stood still in the shadowed woods and blinked at the dark shapes all around him, any one of which might harbor Evelyn. And if he looked too closely in one direction, she might sneak off in the other.

  “Evelyn, please!” he cried in Illyrian. “Make it easy on us both and come out. I—” He panted, trying to think of what he could possibly say that would be completely true and at the same time convince her to give away her hiding place. “I intend to send you back to Aachen. There’s a ship in port at Castlehead even now that can take you. You’ll go home. Isn’t that what you want?”

  He thought he heard breathing or possibly a muffled sob behind a distant tree and crept in that direction slowly, alert to any sound lest the woman try to dart away when he wasn’t looking.

  “Please, Evelyn?” He spoke in a softer voice, mindful that the woman might use his own words to camouflage the sounds of her flight. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Slowly he moved toward the tree, a thick oak that might hide anyone behind its wide trunk. A light breeze blew, and Luke spotted something fluttering from the far side of the tree. Something pale, almost silver in the moonlight.

  Her hair.

  * * *

  Evelyn braced herself against the solid tree behind her. How many times along their journey from Aachen to Illyria had her father shot rabbits for their supper? She’d been amazed by the fleet-footed animals who could hide so well, freezing so still they seemed to disappear completely. She’d lost sight of them time and time again, only to spot them when they gave in to their fear and bolted.

  If the rabbits had remained still and stayed hidden, she and her brother would have gone hungry, but the furry creatures had trusted in their speed to save them. Against wolves and foxes they were evenly matched and could surely outrun their enemies with a small head start. But against her father’s arrows, not even the fastest hare was fast enough.

  Fear. That was all it took—enough fear to make them bolt.

  Evelyn rehearsed that fact silently in her head as she braced herself against the tree and waited. True, Luke was somewhere behind her, but the darkness hid her well enough. If she bolted, she’d not only give herself away, but she’d endanger Bertie, as well. Once they had her, they might lure her little brother back out of hiding. And if they captured them both, there would be nothing she could do to free him.

  “Evelyn, please.” Luke’s voice sounded plaintive and far too close, and he stepped through the woods toward her. “I won’t hurt you.”

  What did those words mean? How could he promise not to hurt her? Didn’t he understand that everything about their situation already hurt, almost more than she could bear? And what good were his promises to her for her safety when she desired her brother’s safety even more than her own?

  The thought sparked a tiny hope in the midst of her sorrow. Could she trade her safety for her brother’s? Prince Luke came ever nearer. In a moment he might be upon her. What choice would she have then but to fight or beg? Surely he would overpower her no matter how hard she fought, but the man was a Christian. He’d been kind to her.

  Was there any way she might convince him to extend that kindness to her brother, to alter the unbreakable laws of vengeance, substituting her for Rab the Raider’s only son? Could she convince Luke to show mercy to her brother?

  In truth, her father had not shown King Theodoric mercy five years before. Perhaps her hope was foolish, but it was all she had. She couldn’t outrun him, nor did her hiding place seem sufficient to protect her.

  Evelyn had never met a man who would trade justice for mercy. But if such a man existed in all the world, surely Prince Luke was that man. He was the kindest, gentlest, most benevolent person she’d ever met. If anyone could overlook the laws of vengeance, he could.

  But the question still remained whether the laws of vengeance could be overlooked at all.

  “Evelyn?” His voice was even closer now, directly on the other side of the tree, it seemed. Surely those were his footsteps she heard over the furious beating of her heart.

  She had no choice. Foolish as a frightened hare, she could stay where she hid no longer.

  * * *

  The pale hair fluttered on the breeze, taunting him, waving almost like a flag of truce or surrender. Luke leaped forward, but at the same moment Evelyn burst away in the other direction, her hair streaming out behind her as she ran from him.

  Gathering all his strength, Luke tore after her. He reached forward and twice felt her hair brush his fingertips as his longer legs and mightier stride swallowed up the distance between them. Finally, when he was near enough he could almost reach her, she hesitated for just a second where a tree blocked the path in front of them.

  He leaped upon her, wrapping his arms tight around her shoulders. Their momentum carried them forward, and they spilled over one another onto the ground. Unwilling to hurt her, he rolled, cushioning her fall with his arms, pinning her beside him on the ground, her back against a mass of flowers that sprang from a decaying log.

  “Evelyn.” He swept the hair back from her face and wiped a smear of mud from her forehead. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “
I don’t care what you do to me. Take your revenge upon me, but spare my brother.” The pain that tore through her voice surprised him. “He’s only a child. Spare him, please! Send him back to Aachen. Take out your vengeance on me.”

  Her chest rose and fell beside him in great heaving sobs, and she clutched at his tunic with trembling fingers.

  The feel of her beneath his hands, so close, so dear, and the pleading in her voice sent his every protective instinct surging. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to tuck her away in the safety of his embrace, to hold her close to him forever. He’d face any enemy who might try to hurt her.

  But she’d kept the truth from him, purposefully, deliberately. She’d kept the most bitter secret and let him believe he could love her. He had spoken to her of his intention to woo her, and still she had not told him.

  “Evelyn,” he whispered as he bent his forehead close to hers, the memory of the kisses they’d shared clashing with the anger and betrayal he felt. “I’m not going to hurt your brother.”

  Much of the fight in her stilled. “You’re not going to hurt him? Truly?”

  “No. I won’t allow anyone else to harm him, either.” He pulled back far enough to see her face.

  A mistake.

  She struggled to catch her breath, her mouth pursed open slightly, her lips as lovely as they’d ever been, and so close to his. He saw relief begin to creep across her features as his promise settled in and took hold. “You won’t let anyone hurt him?” she asked in a disbelieving whisper.

  Luke couldn’t answer. Too many conflicting emotions warred in his heart. How could Evelyn think, even for a moment, that he would want to hurt her brother or stand idly by while someone else harmed the boy? Did she really not know him at all, even after the many hours they’d spent together and the sacrifices he’d made on her behalf? Incredulity surged up inside him.

  At the same time, her closeness addled his thoughts. He realized he’d brushed all the hair back from her face with his fingers and now stroked its smooth silkiness, her scent rising up along with the perfume of the flowers they’d crushed underneath them, all of it swirling together with his thoughts and his sleep-dulled mind.

  What was he doing? He shouldn’t be—couldn’t be—close to this woman. At any moment he might give in to the urge to kiss her, and then how would he explain himself? She’d tricked him before, and he resented her for it. He wouldn’t allow himself to be taken in willfully.

  In the distance he could hear Renwick and Gurn calling for him, announcing they had the boy. “Don’t run again,” he warned her, allowing himself to look her full in the face just long enough to see her nod and then turning away before he gave in to the attraction he still felt for her. There could be nothing more between them, not when she’d deceived him, failed to trust him and run from him the first chance she got. She wasn’t nearly the woman he’d thought she was, and the hopes he’d had for their future were no more real than the dreams he’d had before he’d found her.

  But until his emotions came around to accepting that fact, he’d simply keep his distance. It would be easy enough to do. He’d send her to Aachen and never see her again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Evelyn resented being pinned to the ground, not because it was an uncomfortable spot but because it was far too comfortable. The prince’s stubbled chin hovered just above her, so close that if she leaned up, she could press her face to his. His heart beat with such a steady thrum it seemed to challenge hers to match its pace, to beat as one.

  But they could not be one. They could not be together.

  She understood that Luke had pinned her down because he didn’t nearly trust her anymore and feared she’d run away if given half the chance—something she still considered an option, especially if she thought Bertie could get away, as well. After all, it was one thing for Prince Luke to tell her Bertie would be safe, but Luke wasn’t the ultimate authority on the matter.

  Luke’s brother John was king, and John had been present when her father had killed King Theodoric. His sense of vengeance would be stronger than Luke’s. John would feel no sympathy toward her and certainly none toward the son who carried the name of their father’s murderer. Nor could a mere prince defy the king, not when all the laws of justice stood on the sovereign’s side.

  She wasn’t safe, nor was Bertie. She’d be foolish to believe for a moment that they were. But far, far more foolish would she be to give in to the impulse to reach for this man, to lean on him, to remember what his kisses had felt like on her lips.

  Oh, it was a thought she shouldn’t have considered, not even for the briefest moment, and a plaintive sigh escaped her lips as she exhaled.

  “Am I hurting you?” Luke whispered, his face turned away from her, trained on some distant spot beyond, from which she heard foreign voices.

  “Yes,” she confessed, unwilling to elaborate on specifically how his presence, which she might in other circumstances have found perfectly delightful, tore at her heart like a clawed predator. Surely the hare didn’t suffer so when it was caught by a hungry animal. No, a rabbit’s trials would be over quickly, but she lingered on, every passing moment making her realize how much she’d come to care for this man.

  Luke seemed chastened by her confession and shifted above her. He kept hold of her arm as he lifted himself to his feet, pulling her up after him, never once letting her go or loosening his hold enough for her to slip away.

  She felt the cold air rush in between them, as frosty as the ice in his eyes as he glanced at her briefly before turning away again. It pained her the way he refused to look at her, as though he couldn’t stand the sight of her at all. She knew it was for the best—though he seemed to be a kind and patient man, their circumstances were trying, and she didn’t want his anger roused by the sight of her, especially not with Bertie likely captured now, too.

  Luke’s men called to him, and he answered back. She had never been taught the Lydian language, but the words weren’t all that different from Illyrian. She got the impression the men had said they had the boy. She doubted they’d come trudging back so soon if they hadn’t caught him.

  “This way.” He pulled her after him, still not looking at her, his grip on her arm firm but not painfully tight. The prince contained his anger well—how many times had her grandfather shoved her around far more forcefully than Prince Luke did now, and for far lesser crimes?

  She hurried to keep up. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and the woods were by now familiar enough. Still, she wasn’t surprised when her foot hit something solid and sent her tripping forward, careening nearly to the ground.

  Luke’s hand on her arm kept her from going all the way down, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her upright, close to him.

  “Are you all right?” Concern flashed through the anger in his eyes as he looked her full in the face.

  She met his eyes with wonder. How could he treat her so tenderly when he hated her so? And why had her father killed his when surely anyone related to the prince must have been kind, as well? She wished for the thousandth time that things were not as they were between them. If she’d had the chance, she’d have loved Prince Luke with everything that was in her, served him loyally and gladly as a slave, even.

  “I’m unhurt,” she told him when she found her voice, and missed his face immediately as he turned his back to her again, letting his arm drop from her waist as he pulled her after him.

  * * *

  Luke picked his path more carefully as he proceeded on. It wouldn’t do to have the woman trip again—he’d had his arm around her long enough already. Letting her go and turning his back had been far too difficult. He wasn’t entirely certain he could do the same a second time.

  “We’re coming!” he called to his men. “I’ve got the girl.”

  Gurn and Renwick answer
ed back, and Luke followed their voices until he met up with them. Renwick had hold of the boy. Bertie looked chastened and afraid on the back of a Lydian horse. Gurn rode the animal Bertie had fled on.

  “What now?” Gurn asked.

  “We’ve got two horses tied to the bushes back this way.” Luke paused a moment, thinking. He could put Evelyn on the horse with Gurn to spare her from walking again, but something within him recoiled at the thought of asking her to share a horse with another man.

  It shouldn’t matter. It was simple practicality. They’d make much better time if she was on horseback, and he couldn’t trust her to ride alone for fear she might escape again.

  Reluctantly, he turned to her. “Would you rather walk or ride?”

  She glanced up at Gurn, then scowled. “I’ll walk.”

  “Fine. It’s not far.” He led her back toward the spot along the river where they’d left the other two horses, his thoughts full as he puzzled over their next step. He wanted to be rid of the woman as soon as possible. It hurt too much to be near her, to be constantly reminded of all she’d meant to him and every half-truth that had passed between them as she’d struggled to keep buried the secrets of the past.

  But before he could distance himself from her, there were certain considerations to take into account. They were all exhausted—horses and people. And somewhere he had two more teams of men who needed to be informed the targets they pursued had been captured.

  They reached the horses without incident, but then there was the question of who would ride each animal. With the addition of the siblings’ mount, they had four horses between them and five people. Evelyn and Bertie were the smallest—under any other circumstances he’d have paired them together, but they’d be sure to try to escape again if he did.