The Lady And The Hussites (The Lady Bornekova Book 2)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  But here she stood; unable to do the very thing she had been determined to do—fight. And, finding herself wanting of the courage to attack these helpless men, she had been discovered by the one man whose opinion mattered more than it should.

  She dipped her head, tearing her eyes away and staring at the ground. There were no words forthcoming.

  “Eva.” Zdenek found his voice after some moments.

  Chancing a glance at him, she did not see disapproval in his eyes, but concern.

  “You should not be here.” There was no accusation in him; rather his voice was gentle, kind.

  “The Royalists number is great. I had to do what I could to help.” Would he understand? She hoped so. Her intentions and her follow-through were two different things. And that was laid bare before him. Did she seem foolish?

  He placed a hand on her arm. His touch warmed her even through the thick cotton of the man’s oversized shirt.

  “We need to get you to safety.” His voice was firm, his concern evident.

  Eva nodded, her heart dropping. He must think her silly. She faced camp and allowed him to lead her back into the inner area where the women and children were huddled. But he did not loosen his hold on her arm. Of this, she took note.

  They walked through the camp, dodging men running this way and that. But Eva could not help but feel as if they were the only two. All her attention was focused on the simple contact of his hand on her arm. She wanted to say something, anything. Yet her lips would not move.

  At last, they arrived at the center of the camp.

  “You must help with the women and children,” Zdenek said, turning to face her. “Keep them safe. That is how you can best serve.” His gaze wandered over her form, resting on her eyes. What was he not saying? Without another word, he turned to leave.

  “But . . . ” she started, and then thought better of it. Would she see him again? No, she had shown her true cowardice, and he wanted nothing further to do with her.

  He stopped, turning back toward her. His eyes sought hers.

  She was not used to someone gazing at her so intently.

  Walking to her, he took her hand in his. Gone was the young man who had tripped over himself at the ball. This man was confident and collected. He was sure of himself and what he wanted. “I will find you once victory is ours.”

  From his tone, she knew it was a promise. She wanted to nod, but couldn’t move, not even to breathe. As he released her hand and walked away, she drew in the breath her body was desperate for. Once she lost sight of him in the crowds of people moving about, the sounds of the battle returned. People shouting, hand cannons firing, cries of pain, and children screaming. That’s where her attention went—to the children.

  Turning, she moved into the thick of the women and children and was met with a myriad of facial expressions. Fear. Confusion. Exhaustion. Worn and worried, none of them were too sure about her. Remembering she appeared to them as a young man, she pulled her hat off, letting her hair fall. They may think her strange to be in men’s clothing, but at least she was now clearly a woman.

  What they needed more than anything was food. Had anyone seen to their physical needs this day? Eva searched until she found a cart full of foodstuffs, perhaps rations for the soldiers, but she took some for the huddled innocents.

  As she distributed the much-needed food, Eva attempted to reassure the women and children, many of them huddled together as if fearful of the attacking forces breaking through. She offered them a smile and assurances that the Hussites prevailed.

  Though her efforts were tireless and did not seem to make much of a difference, she continued to try to exude what confidence she could. Her feet tired and her arms ached, but she pushed on, moving between the cart and the crowd until at last everyone was fed. Then she continued to walk in their midst, encouraging them.

  After some time, she felt a gentle hand upon her shoulder. She spun toward it and met the eyes of her sister.

  “Patricie!” She all but collapsed into her arms.

  “Eva, you must rest.” Patricie lowered them to their knees gently, not able to bear the weight of her sister’s body.

  “I must continue to calm the women, the children. They are so frightened.” Eva’s gaze met her sister’s bright eyes.

  “Look at them,” Patricie challenged her. “You cannot assuage them all. Their fear is greater than the words you offer.”

  Eva’s head hung. Her sister was right. She had failed yet again.

  “But you have fed their bellies, for which they are grateful.” Patricie urged Eva to stand and attempted to move her sister to their wagon. “Here,” she said, making a space in the back. “You must rest, sister dear. You look like you need it.”

  Eva shook her head in protest. “There are many still in need.” But she could not deny that her body was exhausted from all her efforts.

  “I shall see to them,” Patricie offered. “You rest. Just for a moment.”

  “Just for a moment,” Eva insisted. She watched as her sister moved back into the crowd of women and children, patting a head here, touching a shoulder there.

  Eventually, she found her eyelids were heavy. Too heavy. So, she allowed them to close. And it was not long until she surrendered to the darkness on the edge of her consciousness.

  * * *

  Stepan’s anger burned. Karin had been unfaithful to him. She lied to him. In the worst way possible. He watched, uncaring, as her body slid down the embankment. Racing after her, he stood over her limp form. Her movements betrayed her efforts to stand, but her body was injured. And he knew he had caught his prey.

  Reaching down, he twisted her onto her back. She would face him in her final moments.

  She blinked in the rain, but her eyes sought his. They were pleading, innocent.

  But he knew the truth – she was not that innocent. No, she was a traitor and an instigator, a liar. So, he raised his sword above his head and with one swift movement, plunged it into her heart.

  Stepan awoke with a start, heaving, covered in sweat, lost in the memory that would not release him. It took several minutes for him to realize where he was and to remember what had occurred that terrible day. He was safe, in his family’s home in Cologne. His father had brought them here as a reprieve from the war.

  Taking in more gulps of air, he noted the moonlight creeping in through his open drapes. And he remembered that he had retired early this evening. Begging off dinner due to a headache. Looking down, he saw that his sweat-soaked clothes were not, in fact, his nightclothes.

  His eyes darted around the room as if the images from his dream would appear. Would Karin come through the door to haunt him for the things he had done? Or rather, for what he had attempted to do? He had not, in fact, done the deed. She was alive and whole.

  He let out a long breath. Then he whispered thanks to God that He had stayed Stepan’s hand. Not that Stepan had ever believed God was all that concerned with the goings on in the lives of humans. But, something had sent Pavel at just the right time to prevent Stepan from making the biggest mistake of his life. The near miss of which still plagued him.

  As Stepan sat on the edge of the bed, he began removing his soaked garments. The air was cool against his bare skin. What was he to do? These nightmares were becoming more frequent. How could he convince his own mind that he was not to blame?

  Jerking on his nightshirt, he grumbled to himself. I refuse to take on the guilt for this! He had not done anything wrong. The only thing he was at fault for was letting them go. This is what should torment him. They had wronged him and his father, and they deserved to be punished. Now, they were out there, probably contributing to the war effort. No doubt causing the deaths of Czechs loyal to the crown. Yes, this is where the guilt lay.

  But when he lay back down and closed his eyes, Karin’s face was before him yet again.

  * * *

  The fighting let up as night closed in. A heavy fog descended upon the camp, thick enough to dis
guise fellow soldiers from one another. It drove the enemy into a hasty cease-fire. Likewise, Pavel and his comrades stopped their own firing for lack of targets. Turning to Commander Zizka for further orders, they were met with a decision they did not expect—they would retreat into the cover of the darkness and fog.

  Many grumbled as they wanted to stay and finish off the Royalist army, but Pavel knew that Zizka was leveraging their advantage. They had dealt a sound blow to an army against insurmountable odds already. Best not to tempt fate. Or, as he preferred to see it, lean too heavily on the graces of the Almighty. Yes, retreat was best. This day would forever be remembered by the Hussites as a great day. A battle that should have been a slaughter became a victory.

  As they slipped away into the night, Pavel wondered after his friends. He had seen them but a few times during the battle. What had happened to them? It was not so much concern about their safety that plagued him. The Hussites had far too few casualties for him to be worried about that. No, the Hussites had been the cause of heavy losses this day.

  But Pavel had noticed how the battle in Prague affected his friends. Would this battle forever taint them? Zdenek became frozen when he saw the advancing army. Would another fight break him completely? And what of Radek? He had grown all the more quiet of late. Never much of a talker, he was even less so now. What was happening in his head? It was difficult to say.

  All of these things he used to occupy his mind so his thoughts would not dwell on the thing that made his heart ache: Karin. But as they marched through the foggy darkness, moving, almost creeping into the night, he had nothing more to distract him. How he missed her! Should he have allowed her to join the families that camped with them? No, that would have been selfish. It was dangerous for these women and children. Never had that been more evident than now. He would have a talk with Zizka about their presence in the camp.

  The battlewagon in front of him stopped. What held it? Pavel maneuvered his horse around to the front of the cart. With a quick glance, he spotted what had occurred. One of the wheels was lodged in the muck of the marshy land. A driver had already dropped to the ground and worked to free it.

  Pavel waved over several infantrymen as he dismounted. He instructed the men to assist him in pushing on the cart, leveraging it from its hampered state. They positioned themselves around the cart and pushed on Pavel’s command. After some time of working at the wagon, it began to inch forward, creaking and groaning as it did so.

  “Move, men!” Pavel called out. He shoved men farther away as he dove.

  The cart crashed down.

  Landing in the mud, Pavel barely had time to turn as a loosened flail flew straight toward him.

  Five

  Injured

  Petr had poured over books and papers for the better part of the night. His back and shoulders ached from the effort of holding his upper body in such an unnatural position. With naught but candlelight to illuminate his documents and writings, however, it couldn’t be helped.

  The door to his study creaked. He did not bother to look up. Servants attended to him throughout the night with tea and food as he had need. Perhaps another servant had been charged to bring him fresh tea.

  Rustling fabric of large skirts drew his attention from his current writings on property rights. As he raised his eyes, his gaze was met not with a servant’s weary look but with his wife’s enchanting eyes.

  Had she risen early, at this ungodly hour, and called for her maidservant to dress her for the day? He saw the remnants of sleep in her face. Her eyes drooped underneath heavy lids and her features betrayed her age today—the lines were deeper and her skin seemed to settle on her face. Had she slept at all last night?

  “Lenka,” he said as he straightened in his seat. He regretted the movement. His back protested and his shoulder muscles screamed in pain. Closing his eyes against their collective outcry, he promised himself a hot soak later.

  “You never came to bed,” was all she said.

  Nodding, he was careful to make slower movements. “I could not pull myself from my work.” He waved a hand across his desk, indicating the piles of documents that had occupied him these last several hours.

  “Is this not work our legal advisor should be doing?” Her brows knit together close to her eyes. He did not like to see her so concerned.

  “Yes,” he conceded, folding his hands together in front of his chest on the desktop. “But I cannot leave it all to him. I, too, need to be aware of the law.”

  Lenka sighed, nodding her head slowly, lips drawn into a tight line. Was there more she wanted to say? Did he want to hear it? His brain was quite over-taxed with the work it had accomplished. Perhaps too much. There was a throbbing behind his right eye. One of his massive headaches would not serve him well. He simply could not spend the next day or so in bed trying to rid himself of the confounded thing.

  He did not realize he had brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose against the pain until he saw Lenka’s expression. Her raised brow and concerned eyes told him of her suspicions.

  “You cannot deprive yourself of your rest.” Her voice was gentle. Yes, she was rather concerned after his head pains.

  He nodded. She was not wrong. She never was. If he did not love her so that would annoy him. Well, even more than it already did.

  “I need just another hour and I’ll retire.” Then he remembered his promise. “After a hot bath.”

  She tilted her head to the side and gave him a serious look. He was not going to get that extra hour. As she opened her mouth, he prepared himself for a thorough scolding.

  He was saved by a maidservant, come to deliver his fresh tea. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so grateful for a servant’s presence.

  “Lida,” Lenka said as the girl set the tray on a side table.

  “Yes, my lady,” the girl said as she curtsied.

  “Please have a hot bath prepared for the Earl at once and have his valet lay out his night clothes.” Lenka’s tone did not invite dispute or discussion.

  The young girl curtsied again and took her leave.

  Lenka’s gaze landed again on Petr. “Now, you may have ten minutes to tell me what you have learned. Then it’s off to bed with you.”

  That was unexpected. Lenka did not make a habit of ordering him around. That did not change the wisdom of her words. So, he gathered his wits and let out a deep sigh. Leaning forward, he became aware of every muscle in his upper back.

  “It doesn’t seem there is a precedent. Unless our legal adviser can find something I’ve missed, it may be up to the judgment of the authorities.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  “Yes and no. When there are laws to support a case, the judge has to observe them when making his decision. In our situation, however, if there are none to be found, the judge has more . . . discretion. I fear a judge could be swayed by the war or by Vlastik’s money, position, and power. Who knows? Vlastik might even be able to bribe the judge.” Petr watched Lenka’s face.

  As she absorbed what he said, her face fell and her eyes darkened. “That can’t be legal!”

  “It’s not.” He leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders into a more relaxed position, forcing his muscles to release. “But that doesn’t mean it never happens. We are simpletons if we ignore the possibilities.”

  “So we are to count our property and money as lost?”

  “I didn’t say that. We will fight this in every appropriate way we can.”

  Lenka shook her head, lowering her face and putting a hand on her chin. She moved to one of the chairs on the other side of the desk and sat.

  Petr stood, ignoring the tension in his muscles, and moved to her. “What is it?”

  “Fighting. Everywhere there’s fighting. It’s too much. Our country is torn apart by war. Must our home be also?”

  Against his better judgment and the increased throbbing in his head, he knelt on one knee in front of her. And, taking her hands in his, he rubbed
the backs of her fingers.

  “We will do what we must. If you would wish it, you can go to the summerhouse for a couple of months. I will send for you when it’s over.”

  “No!” Lenka put a hand on his chest. “I want to stay with you. I will fight with you. By your side.”

  A warmth spread from his core. He did love this woman. Leaning forward, he pressed a brief kiss to her lips. And then the pounding in his head demanded attention. He pulled back, grimacing.

  “Petr? Did I . . . ?” Lenka’s brows furrowed, her forehead creasing.

  “No, it’s not you. It’s this headache.” He touched his fingers to his right temple.

  “Then let’s get you to your bedchambers.” She stood and assisted him to his feet. And, arm-in-arm, they walked toward their chambers.

  * * *

  Zdenek scanned the camp. Where could she be? The number of women and children among the soldiers surprised him. This would not be in the months to come. It was inevitable. After this last battle, it was not feasible that they would continue with the camp. Zizka would find a safe place for them to remain, and he would insist they stay behind.

  Radek spoke as he put out his bedroll, but Zdenek continued to eye the crowd. He hoped his friend’s words were not important. Still, he heard the droning of his friend’s voice, nagging at the back of his consciousness as he hunted.

  Was she hiding from him? That did not seem likely. But it would reason that in this amount of time, he would have spotted her. Days had he searched. Since the battle’s end.

  “Zdenek!” Radek’s insistent voice broke into his thoughts.

  Only then did Zdenek turn to look at him.

  Radek’s face bore a stern expression. Had he known where Zdenek’s mind was?

  Zdenek shifted his focus to his own bedding. “I’m sorry. I did not hear you.”

  “I’ve been speaking of our plans. Will we stay with the camp?” Radek paced beside Zdenek.