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

by Sara R. Turnquist

  What was with him? Something weighed on him. Was it this recent battle? No, it had been lingering long before. Zdenek just could not figure what. And he had not put in the effort to try. His thoughts had been on his own demons . . . and her.

  “Zdenek?” This time Radek’s voice was firm, louder.

  “I apologize, friend. My thoughts are amiss today.” He offered Radek a shrug and an apologetic look, but could do nothing further to assuage his guilt.

  Radek rolled his eyes. “I know where your thoughts are. I only ask that you consider my question.”

  Zdenek thought hard. Radek’s question. What was it? He had just asked. Their plans—he asked about their plans. Should they stay with the camp?

  Meeting Radek’s eyes, Zdenek stood. “I will give my life to defend the freedom of my people.”

  Radek crossed his arms, brows raised.

  Zdenek focused on Radek’s amused features. “And that means I will follow Commander Zizka. He is a sound leader, and I believe in him.”

  Radek’s face fell. Was this not the answer he had expected? “And who are your people?” came his quiet voice. “The Hussites?”

  Zdenek opened his mouth but paused before speaking. He supposed he was fighting on the side of the Hussites, but that’s not how he saw it. His goal was to fight for Bohemia. And, as far as he could discern, Zizka and the Hussites were fighting for Bohemian rights and freedom. “I fight for the Czechs.”

  Radek sighed, glancing down at the ground and then back at Zdenek. Did he want to say more? If so, he held back. What stopped him?

  Looking past Zdenek and into the crowd, he spoke, “I believe I have found what you are looking for.” He nodded his head, indicating something just behind Zdenek.

  Turning on the balls of his feet, Zdenek’s eyes worked their way through the small gathering of people. There she was—Eva.

  She moved from one side of the camp to the other, carrying a bucket of something. Water perhaps, as she was headed from the stream.

  Making eye contact with Radek one more time, Zdenek then moved off in the direction of the girl who had so captivated him.

  Zdenek closed the distance between them easily with his long legs. He was behind her in a matter of moments.

  “Eva,” he said, reaching to touch her arm. It was doubtful she would hear him amongst the crowd.

  She jerked at his touch, sloshing water from her bucket as she spun and soaking him. Her face registered the shock she must have felt, and her hand flew to her open mouth.

  “My lord, I apologize. I did not see you.” She closed her eyes, and her cheeks colored. Was she embarrassed?

  Zdenek stared at his drenched pants and raised his eyes to meet hers, laughing. “Do not worry yourself. I am uninjured. All is well.”

  Upon seeing his laughter, her face relaxed. But she did not smile. Something was amiss.

  “May I walk you to your campsite?” His eyes settled on hers.

  “I fear I now have no water for our meal.” She peeked at him through long lashes. Such a bewitching sight.

  “If I may, I would like to remedy that. After all, it is I who is responsible for your upturned bucket.” Zdenek moved a step closer, indicating the bucket in her hands.

  “As you wish,” she said, nodding and turning back in the direction from which she had come.

  He reached for the handle. As he grasped it, their fingers touched. “May I?”

  She swallowed visibly.

  Was he affecting her the way she affected him?

  After a few brief moments, she nodded, relinquishing her hold on the vessel.

  They walked in the direction of the stream, side by side. Along the way, their shoulders and arms brushed against each other in the thickness of the crowd.

  A tingle traveled up Zdenek’s arm and down his spine at each point of contact. How was he to make conversation with her? What did one say to such a maiden? Then he began to worry. Had they no commonalities?

  Eva sniffled.

  Zdenek turned and saw her wipe an errant tear.

  Pausing, he laid a hand on her arm.

  She halted but would not look at him.

  “What has troubled you so, milady?” Brows furrowed, he watched her features as more tears came, but she remained silent. Stepping in front of her and lowering his head, he attempted to catch her eyes. They were wide and glassy, but they met his.

  After some moments, she glanced around herself, and wiping at her tears, spoke, “My father is missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “He never returned after the battle.” This brought a fresh tear.

  Zdenek took her hand in his. “We must go to Commander Zizka at once.” Tugging at her, he moved toward the center of camp.

  She stood her ground. “Patricie has already talked with one of his captains. Father is counted among the captured men.”

  Halting his movements, Zdenek felt his face fall as well as his heart. He knew all too well what that meant. Hussite prisoners would surely be sent to Kutna Hora to the silver mines. It was said this predominantly Catholic community took full advantage of the old silver mines and would throw the unfortunate captives down the shafts. Any not killed by the fall would die a slow death of hunger, dehydration, shock, and infection. Horrible. He felt sick.

  Turning back to Eva, he wished with everything in him that he could gather her in his arms and comfort her. But that would not help.

  Eva’s eyes were on his as tears streaked down her face.

  He worked to swallow past the lump in his throat. Was she looking to him for words of solace? What could he say? What could he do? Any words would seem hollow, empty in the light of such tragedy.

  Unable to stop himself, he reached out and grazed the side of her face, wiping at the tears there.

  She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand.

  In the next moment, she stepped toward him, and he pulled her into his embrace before he could stop himself. Selfishly, he relished the feel of her. Could she sense that his heart was about to explode? But he remembered her tears and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  “I’m sorry, Eva. I’m so sorry,” he managed.

  And those words seemed to be all that was necessary to release the floodgate.

  She sobbed then, her body wracked and shuddering.

  Still, he held her, wishing he could protect her from the harsh realities of the world and the truth of what her father would endure, and hold her forever.

  * * *

  Stepan gazed out the large window in the house’s massive solar. From this vantage, he couldn’t discern that he was anywhere but home. The landscapes in Cologne were not altogether different from what he was accustomed to in the Czech lands; sweeping lines of greenery created hillsides peaked with treetops. It was true this area was not quite as mountainous. Not only did this grand estate reside in Cologne, it was situated closer to the city as well. But no one would know that from where he stood. All he saw was lush greenery and peaceful nature.

  It was just an illusion. All was in turmoil. Including his heart. He could not shake the images from his dream the previous night. Every time he closed his eyes, he watched in his mind’s eye as he yet again plunged the sword into Karin’s heart. And so, his eyes would open to find his hands sore and knuckles white from gripping whatever object happened to be nearby for him to steady himself.

  Would he have? He had to believe that he would not. But the images coming from his mind were so powerful, so vivid; he began to doubt his own goodness. He began to fear what he was capable of.

  A knock at the door interrupted his reverie. Glad for the distraction, he turned to see a household servant bowing.

  “My lord, Professor Evzen has arrived and wishes to speak with you.”

  The manservant seemed to be working to maintain a veneer of calm. Was he fearful he had angered Stepan by his interruption?

  “Please do send him in.”

  As the servant moved to leave, Stepan stepped away from
the chair he leaned against and rubbed life back into his hands. He did not want the professor to see the effects of his terrifying daydreams.

  Moments later, Professor Evzen was escorted into the parlor.

  “Dobry vecer, Professor.” Stepan tilted his head ever so slightly in the professor’s direction.

  “Dobry vecer.” Evzen stepped further into the space. “It is good to see you.”

  “And you, Professor. I trust your journey was pleasant.” Stepan spoke to the man in front of him, but his mind was still on the fading memory of his dream. Glancing around the room, he sought solace for his eyes, his thoughts. He couldn’t focus.

  “Yes, my lord. I cannot quite express my gratitude for your offer of sanctuary in the midst of all happening in Bohemia.”

  Stepan avoided Evzen’s eyes. He could not see the man’s expression. Nor did he truly care. These were simple pleasantries. And Stepan did so tire of pleasantries.

  There were some moments of silence before the professor spoke again. “Shall we sit?”

  Stepan looked back toward his mentor and, sighing deeply, nodded.

  The men maneuvered around the furniture pieces in the center of the room to find places where they could converse with ease.

  “Something troubles you,” the professor said as they settled into their respective chairs. It was not a question.

  Stepan took another deep breath and let it out through clenched teeth. Dare he share his dream? He had not told anyone of the true happenings between he, Pavel, and Karin that day. No, he had fabricated a tale, with true details woven in, for his father and whoever else needed to know. But no one knew he had almost . . .

  Evzen ran a hand along the rich fabric on the settee. “You do not have to share. But you can trust me.”

  “It is nothing.” Stepan shook his head and waved off the professor. “Nothing more than all this trouble with the Hussites.”

  Evzen nodded, but a quirked eyebrow told Stepan that his mentor knew there was something more behind Stepan’s downcast affect.

  Stepan chose to ignore it and push the conversation in this new direction. “I could never have imagined they would gain such support among the people or make such successes.”

  “Would you call a stalemate success?” Evzen questioned in the way he always did.

  Stepan knew Evzen was pushing him to think harder. “When a weak band of farmers goes up against a king’s army, I would.” Stepan’s reply came out much harsher than he’d intended.

  Evzen’s eyes widened.

  “And let us not forget they are courting Poland.” Stepan dropped this information into Evzen’s lap and shifted his gaze toward the window as if he could see all the way to the Polish border.

  “Poland?” Evzen’s tone was even.

  This was new information he delivered. Stepan knew it. Yet the professor did not seem the least bit surprised. Was he doubtful of the veracity of the news?

  “Yes—Poland.” Stepan now focused on the professor, holding the man’s gaze and leaning forward. “I found the evidence of it myself.”

  Then one of Evzen’s eyebrows rose. There—he had gotten some reaction.

  “So you are going on missions for the crown now?” The professor delivered this statement in that annoying way he had of asking a question without truly asking a question, but rather making a statement.

  “Perhaps. I mean, yes. I mean . . . I am at the disposal of my king if he ever has need of my services. You know that.”

  Evzen nodded. “I do not think anyone could doubt that of you, my lord.”

  Stepan settled back into his seat, but he could not calm his racing heart. What was happening to him? He was loyal to the king. And he would do whatever was asked of him even. Even . . . The image of Karin from his dreams flashed across his consciousness. Yes, he could. He would . . . even kill.

  * * *

  Karin gazed out the window toward the east side of the baron’s property. Yet her mind was not on the lush landscape before her, but on the delicacy of her situation. What was she to do? It was just impossible! If only she could write Pavel. No, that would not be ideal either. She did not wish to worry him. This was not the time to burden him with such a weight.

  Looking down at her abdomen, yet unchanged by the child within, she found her hand already resting over the imagined swell. She closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer in the midst of her confusion and dismay. This should be a happy time. And she was happy about this life growing inside of her.

  But she was also fearful. Fearful of what it would mean for her and Pavel. What would life offer a child in the midst of the trials they faced? War. A country torn apart. A child is a gift to the world. The world should bring nothing but hope and promise to the new life entering it. She feared neither would be true.

  Picking up the book in her lap, she focused on the words and tried not to think on the child. At least for the next half hour. Perhaps that would give her mind some peace. So she opened the book and pored over the words. Five minutes later, she found herself rereading the same paragraph for the fifth time. This would not do!

  There was a sound . . . movement. Someone was in her bedchambers! She peered up to face the intruder and found herself looking at the figure of her husband. Frozen to the spot, she felt the warmth drain from her face. Was she looking at a ghost?

  Her mouth moved, but no words came forth.

  The figure of Pavel moved.

  She shrank back into the chaise lounge, her hands clawing at the chair as if to pull further away from him. Why had she conjured this image of Pavel? Or was it truly a ghost? Had something happened to her beloved?

  “Karin,” he spoke.

  Her heart nearly stopped beating.

  The mirage continued to move toward her.

  There was nowhere to run. No other choice. Karin utilized the only weapon she had at her disposal—the book. She threw it at the apparition.

  It hit him and thudded to the floor.

  He grunted when it struck him.

  Jerking her head to meet his eyes, she read his shock as real as her own. Shouldn’t the book have sailed through the ghostly figure? Now she faced the fact that he might truly be here.

  “Pavel?” Her words came out as a gasp and her heart raced.

  His face continued to betray his questioning concern. Was her behavior so strange?

  Only then did she allow her eyes to take him in. His appearance was more haggard than she remembered. Sandy blond hair was mussed and clothes disheveled. And his arm was wrapped in a sling.

  “Karin?” His voice was firm but his confusion evident.

  With slow movements, she stood and took the steps needed to close the distance between them. Reaching forward with a shaking hand, she felt her fingertips graze his face. Once they made contact, Pavel let out a breath and pulled her into his embrace with his good arm.

  She held to him tightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck. And she allowed her tears to come.

  Pavel nuzzled the hair near her ear and whispered things she could not discern as he held her so tightly that she almost could not breathe.

  But she didn’t care. He was home. He was alive. She lingered for several moments, taking in his presence and relishing the feel of his arms.

  At long last, Pavel loosened his hold and she released him to draw back.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” Her eyes glazed with fresh tears.

  Pavel wiped them with the pad of his thumb as the corners of his mouth angled. Leaning forward, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

  When he pulled back, her knees became weak and her head swam. In the span of a few moments, she had experienced fear, elation, joy, peace, and a rush of love so powerful it overflowed from her eyes.

  “I think I need to sit down.” She gripped Pavel’s good arm.

  He led her to the chaise she had earlier abandoned. As she sat, he took a place beside her, not releasing her hand.

  Karin took several deep bre
aths. Would she ever gather her wits about her? Then she turned back toward her husband. Wanting to lose herself in his eyes, she sought out those blue orbs. The deeper she looked, the heavier the weight of guilt became. One of her hands flew to her midsection. Should she tell him? Her eyes fell. Only then did she truly notice his injured arm.

  “You are hurt.” Her eyes were on his, brows furrowed. “What happened?”

  “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.” He reached forward and cupped her face. “I will heal. That is all you need to know.”

  She pulled away from his hand. “I want to know what happened.”

  He gazed at her for a few moments and sighed. Was he truly thinking of not telling her? At length, he spoke. “It was an accident with some of our weapons. My arm was injured.”

  “How exactly?”

  “Karin, that is not important. I only want you to know that it happened, and I have been sent home to be seen by a doctor, to recover. Commander Zizka did not need me slowing them down and eating up rations when I could not fight.” He laughed a little as if it was some kind of farce.

  Karin did not laugh. “What manner of injury did you sustain?”

  Pavel sighed again and gave her a long look. “It was from a flail.”

  “A flail? Did someone . . . ?”

  “No.” He held a hand up. “It came loose from a falling wagon and I raised my arm to block my face. The flail struck me and wrapped around my arm.”

  “Block your face?” It did not sound good. Pavel seemed quite nonchalant about the whole thing. What would have happened had he not reacted so fast? She twisted away and closed her eyes against the images that came, unbidden, into her mind.

  Pavel lifted his hand to her face again, brushing her hair back. “I am all right, my love. Let us focus on what we do have. I am well. And we are afforded some time together.”

  Karin nodded but did not turn to face him or open her eyes as the ghastly impressions continued to plague her. A tear slipped free.

  Moving closer, Pavel wrapped his free arm around her and drew her toward his body. “No, do not fear. God is with us, remember? It is He who holds our future, our wellbeing. He is the One who has our path laid out.”