Neither he nor Radek had planned to join the Hussites. They had not even wanted to take a side. So much for that.
They had been thrust into this movement when they joined the Hussites to defend Prague from Wenceslas’s widowed queen’s mercenaries. Why would the queen send mercenaries to attack her own people? It was unimaginable.
Angered by the atrocities he had seen, Zdenek had become an all too willing volunteer to defend his countrymen from those that would oppress them. Radek had come along with him, but there had been reluctance in him. And so they found themselves with Commander Zizka’s group in Plzen.
Closing his eyes again, images from the earlier battle flashed before him. Opening his eyes, he hoped to erase them. They were replaced by the dim traces of the camp surrounding him. Turning and wrapping his body around the sheathed sword, he tried to gain some comfort from the protection it offered. But what refuge was there for his mind? Was there anywhere safe to turn his thoughts?
An image of the girl from the ball at the viscount’s chateau appeared—Eva. Her deep brown eyes called to him. His whole being sighed and relaxed into the joy those eyes offered. He pictured Eva as she had been when he called on her after the ball. Why? It had been a difficult visit.
Zdenek found her only to discover she was the daughter of one of the merchants in Hradek Kralove. Not a poor merchant, but not well off enough to be an enticing offer to his family. Though saddened, Zdenek would not be discouraged. This girl had captured his attentions.
Perhaps there would be something he could say, some way to convince his father. Wartime affected people. It made things that were impossible possible. Maybe there was a way for he and Eva.
He allowed his thoughts to dwell on her face and the smile that had graced her lips when he came to her home. The glittering of those dark eyes still made him sigh. Only then did he find peaceful rest.
* * *
Stepan steered his horse into the chateau’s stables. But there was no one to greet him upon arrival. The stables were empty save the other horses. There was not even a stable boy in sight to take his reins. Where were all the stable hands? What could be so important they were not prepared to wait on incoming travelers? Even one of the masters of the house?
At last a lone man appeared from the direction of the house. Spotting Stepan, he rushed forward, grabbing for the reins as Stepan shifted his weight.
“Sorry, my lord,” the man said. The young man opened his mouth again. Was he preparing to continue with his excuse?
Stepan dismounted and grunted, glaring at the man through slitted eyes.
The stableman closed his mouth, dropped his head, and led the horse in the direction of the stalls.
Looking after him, Stepan shook his head. At least the man did not add insubordination to his transgressions. Stepan took off his gloves and headed toward the chateau.
The distance to the large home was not lengthy, but it was sufficient for Stepan’s anger to grow. Was no one to receive his return? Would he simply walk into the house as if he were a common servant?
He stepped into the shoe room. Almost all of the shoes were missing. What had happened? Stepan glanced around for some sign of a servant. None appeared. Thankfully, Stepan found a pair of his inside shoes. Sliding off his boots, he slipped into the waiting shoes.
Now moving farther into the chateau, confusion clouding his anger, he sought any sign of life. And soon found it.
Trunks surrounded him. Maidservants and manservants moved about this way and that, carrying and crating things.
Stepan spotted a young man barreling toward him with an armful of books. Shoving his arms forth, Stepan stopped the servant from knocking him over. It did, however, cause the man to lose his balance.
Books littered the floor and in the center sat the young servant, eyes wide, staring up at Stepan. “Sorry, my lord!”
Stepan raised a hand and the young man flinched. Did he fear Stepan would strike him? “I would have you tell me what all this is.” He waved an arm over the scene.
“I know naught but that we have been told to gather anything of value and prepare it for removal.”
Stepan released the man, who then gathered the strewn books and scurried off down the hall.
Why would his father have the servants do this? And without a word to Stepan? Brows furrowed, he stormed off toward his father’s study.
When at last he neared the massive chamber, he was rewarded with the sound of his father’s booming voice from within. Even with the door closed, his father’s robust vocalizations carried down the hall.
“I want to be ready to depart in two days’ time. I don’t care how long it takes. Keep them working through the night if need be.”
Stepan did not bother knocking. Work through the night? What could be the reason for all this haste? He reached for the knob and swung the door open.
The viscount and the butler eyed Stepan as he entered.
Vlastik’s stone-faced stare soon broke into a smile. “My boy, you are here at last. And not a moment too soon.” He shuffled papers on his desk, waving the butler off.
The servant nodded to Stepan as he passed out of the study.
Stepan watched as the man pulled the door closed. Not that it was necessary—anyone who wanted to know what they were talking about need only stand within ten feet.
“What has happened, Father?” Stepan’s words rushed out once they were alone.
Vlastik did not bother to look up. “We are quitting the chateau. It is time for us to remove ourselves from Bohemia.”
“Leave Bohemia? We cannot abandon our people. Not now. And what about Mother?” Would they not stay and fight?
The viscount peered up from his papers, and Stepan realized his folly all too late.
Vlastik’s stony eyes met his son’s. “There is nothing we can do for her. She has chosen her path. Now she must walk it.”
Abandon Mother? Stepan had never heard his father speak this way. Certainly not about Mother. Not even since the happenings of the last few months. While it was true his mother was a murderess, and that she was imprisoned for her crimes, his father had never spoken such.
Vlastik came around the desk and put a meaty hand on Stepan’s shoulder. “Listen, Stepan, it is not safe for us to remain in Hradek Kralove. This country . . . it has gone mad.”
“All the more reason we should stay and try to talk reason to the people. They are swept up in a radical movement. And they need some reality.”
“I could not agree more.” Vlastik’s eyes were serious, but there was sadness there too. “But we must fight from a position of safety, not vulnerability. Come now, we will depart in two days.” The viscount went back to his desk and sat, picking up some papers and studying them.
Stepan sighed. There was no convincing his father. Still, he vowed he would return and fight. But he needed to see his father to safety first. “What do you require of me?”
“I am glad you asked.” Vlastik’s eyes lit up. “There is a small matter we need to see to before we depart.” He held out the papers in Stepan’s direction.
Stepping forward, Stepan took them in hand. As he glanced over them, the breath rushed from his body. It was his and Karin’s wedding contract. “What farce is this?” Stepan burned as he sought his father’s eyes.
“It is no game. We have a binding contract, and I intend to exercise it to the full extent of the law.” Vlastik’s eyes gleamed.
He was angry. But Stepan knew that. Not to say Stepan was not angry, he was; there was a great deal of hurt in him, too. But he wanted to move past it, not dwell on it. Looking at his father, he saw what was akin to a dog hanging onto a bone—vicious, intent on keeping what ground he could.
“What can we do? Karin has married Pavel. She cannot undo that.” Would his father not see reason?
“Nor can she simply undo this contract. You will see. This is not over.” The viscount’s eyes narrowed into slits and his mouth slid into a crooked grin.
Stepan did not see his father like this often, but when he did, he knew it was time to move out of the way and anticipate damage.
* * *
Countess Lenka Bornekova worried after her daughter. She worried after her husband. To put it simply, she filled her days with concentrated concern. It was not like her and it did not suit her. But in a war-torn country, was this what life was to look like?
Even now, she awaited her husband’s return. He had been away for far too long on his errand of peace. She had reason to fear something would happen to the party of negotiators in the midst of this war mongering. When had she become such the worrier?
Sitting by the fire, she awaited her handmaiden’s coming to warn her of the coach’s appearance on the horizon. She had long since given up her sewing. Her nerves had rendered her hands too unsteady. So she read. Or attempted to read. How many times had she read this paragraph? A half dozen?
A sound in the hall broke her concentration. Lenka glanced up. Would it be good news? Her faithful maidservant, Sharka, stepped into view.
“What news do you bring?” Lenka put her book to the side.
“None, my lady, I wondered if you would care for something to drink.” Sharka remained at the doorway, not advancing into the space.
She appreciated this about Sharka. Unlike the servant girl, Mary, who took it upon herself to be a busybody in every room she entered, Sharka was a calming presence. Lenka didn’t care to watch a servant move about the room, rushing here and there, cleaning this and that, fluffing pillows and cushions. It made Lenka all the more nervous.
Wasn’t that kind of thing more appropriate when the mistress of the house wasn’t in the room? But Mary was loyal. Perhaps they should have sent her with Karin. But it would not have been safe. So Lenka was stuck with her.
“Thank you, no.” Lenka reached for her book, sighing. “Just let me know when Lord Bornekov has been spotted.”
Sharka curtsied and turned to leave. She almost bumped into another servant entering. Lenka watched as Mary stepped around Sharka.
Here we go. Opening her mouth, Lenka wanted to dismiss both women for the sake of her privacy, but Mary interrupted her.
“My lady, Lord Bornekov’s coach approaches.”
Lenka was on her feet in a heartbeat. “How soon?”
“Perhaps twenty minutes.” Mary seemed uncertain.
Lenka would have to be ready to meet him in fifteen. “Thank you, Mary. That will be all. Sharka, if you will remain.”
Mary nodded, curtsied, and exited.
Sharka shut the door behind Mary and stepped toward her. Without direction, she re-pinned a section of Lenka’s hair and readjusted her headdress. Then she took a step back and nodded.
Lenka smiled at her handmaiden. Yes, Sharka was invaluable to her. Standing, Lenka moved away from the warmth of the fire, making her way toward the main entrance of the grand house. There she waited as the minutes passed slowly.
How long had she waited until the large door creaked? She did not know. But her eyes were on the split between the wood and stone, her heart thundering in her ears. And then her husband appeared.
Her gaze flew to his face. Was he just as relieved as she? As his eyes caught hers he opened his arms to welcome her into his embrace.
“Let us away to your cabinet,” he whispered.
This did not surprise her. He had come to enjoy their time spent in her private drawing room. Those times had become frequent of late, as things between them became more relaxed.
As they parted, he signaled the butler as he shrugged off his warm outer coverings. They would be having tea then.
The man nodded, relieving his master of his extra layers.
Then Petr directed his wife upstairs toward the room she had just vacated. Her skin tingled where his hand grasped her arm. Would there be a more intimate reunion to come? Once inside the confines of the small drawing room with the door securely closed, Petr pulled her into his arms.
She went to him.
He pressed a kiss to the side of her face before his lips met hers. It was a quick kiss, but meaningful all the same. It was not so long ago their greetings were all politeness. Nothing more.
Petr drew back from their brief contact and led her to the settee where her book still sat. Moving it, he bid her sit next to him.
She slid onto the bench closer than she needed to.
“How were your travels?” She was eager to hear everything.
“Uneventful. Except for the cold.”
“I meant how were the negotiations?” How could he mistake her? She cared not about his traveling conditions.
One look at his growing smile told her he had not misunderstood. “We met with success.”
“Truly? The war is over?”
“I would not be so hasty. We eased tensions in Prague for now. Perhaps for certain. There is now an understanding between the people of Prague and the royals. But not everyone was happy about it.” His gaze settled on some point in the distance.
“Who was unhappy?” What was this uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach? She had hoped for better news.
“Jan Zizka. He is a prominent leader of the Hussite movement. So I don’t think they will go quietly.” Petr bit at his lower lip before turning his gaze toward his wife. “But for now, there is peace, though tenuous at best.”
Did this bother Petr more than he betrayed? Lenka did not like it. “What do you think he will do?”
“Zizka has gone to Plzen to join with a preacher in the movement.”
“That’s so close to Karin and Pavel!” Lenka filled anew with worry. “What if . . . ?”
Petr put a hand on Lenka’s. “No good can come from speculation. Pavel and Karin will make their own decisions. All we can do is make ours and hope the best for them.”
* * *
Strapping on his sword, Pavel secured it at his waist. The weapon had belonged to his grandfather. It had served him well. Pavel only hoped it would do the same for him. The weight of the familiar weapon felt good. There had not been cause to wear it since coming to his parents’ home and he had missed it.
Movement behind him warned that he was not alone. But Pavel did not need to look toward the sound to know there was no danger. The gentle footfalls were those of his Karin. Before he could turn, she was behind him, her head pressed to his back and her arms wrapped around his midsection.
Placing his arms over hers, he closed his eyes and reveled in the feel of her presence. She would be missed these next days, perhaps weeks or even months, while he was away.
Karin murmured something against his back he couldn’t make out.
“Hmm?” he mumbled, turning so she was against his chest. He used a finger to tilt her chin up so he could look into her eyes. Half expecting tears, he was surprised to find none. Was she putting on a brave front? For him?
“I am going to miss these moments,” she repeated. Her voice seemed small and timid, as if she had been afraid to speak it.
He slid his hand up to cup her face. “As will I, my love. As will I.” Part of him wanted her to beg him to stay. But she would not. Not after their conversation last night. Pavel had surprised her in their bedchambers. There had been tears in her eyes then. It hurt his heart to remember the scene even now . . .
“Karin, are you hurt?” He fell on his knees in front of her.
“No.” She tried to wave him away and turned her back to him as much as she could in the chair. “I am sorry . . . I just . . . ” She choked back more sobs, unable to finish.
Pavel was silent for several moments. He knew what troubled her. How could he tell her that his heart hurt, too? Instead he reached up and gently, taking her arms in his hands, guided her down into his embrace.
She all but fell onto the floor next to him.
They remained in each other’s arms for some time.
“It is all right, Karin. I understand.”
“I know you have to go. And I support you. I just . . . it’s difficult .
. . ”
He nodded against her shoulder. “I know.”
She leaned back, taking his face in her hands. “Take me with you.”
A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. How he wished it were feasible. But he would not put her in harm’s way. Not for his own selfish reasons. “It is not possible.”
“Then give me a child.”
It was an odd request. What could he say? So he just stared.
“I want something of our love to continue if anything happens to you.” She was being driven by emotion and not reason.
“Karin, you know nothing would make me happier, but we talked of this. Bringing a child into a country torn apart by war . . . into the world as it is now . . . it’s not what either of us wants.”
She nodded, looking down at her lap. It almost seemed as if she was embarrassed by her request, by her emotions.
Pavel lifted her chin again so she could see the sincerity in his eyes. “I love you. And I will be thrilled to mark this world with our legacy. But it is not the right time.”
Taking a deep, ragged breath, she met his gaze fully. “I know you are right. Forgive me.”
“It is not necessary.” He drew her closer to press a kiss to her forehead.
As he pulled back, she grabbed at his collar and jerked him to her for a full kiss. The kind of kiss that caused his heart to beat faster and his blood to race. It was a kiss that asked for more. And that, he was willing to give her.
“Pavel?”
His name on her lips forced him back to the present. Wanting to kick himself for being lost in a memory instead of cherishing this moment with her, he frowned.
“Did I upset you?” There was a meekness in her voice that cut into him.
“No. Not at all.” He gave her his full attention. “I was just lost in a memory.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “Oh?”
“A good memory. Of us.” He offered her a wide grin.
“Ah.” She returned his smile.
“And I will carry these memories with me until I return.” He pressed a hand to his heart.
The Lady And The Hussites (The Lady Bornekova Book 2) Page 3
