He took the seat, his hands itching to touch her, but he forced them to remain at his side. Not an easy task.
Karin continued to search his eyes as if she sought the answer to some question.
He silently begged her to ask it. If that’s what she needed to close this gap, he was prepared to answer anything.
Then she reached for his hands. The contact of her slender hands on his was not nearly enough to quench his thirsty soul. But it caused heat to shoot through his arms.
Did he flinch? She gave him an odd look and said, “I’m sorry. Did I hurt your arm?”
“No, not at all.” He squeezed her smaller hands.
She shifted her gaze down to their hands and intertwined their fingers. As she leaned forward, her hair was so close. How he longed to plunge his hands into those red waves!
Everything about her intoxicated him anew. He was lost to her. Completely.
“Pavel,” she started.
He worked to focus on what she said. It was difficult amid the myriad of sensations and emotions coursing through him.
“There is something I need to tell you.”
She lifted her face so that her eyes met his. Those green orbs were glassed over, but she held back her tears.
His heart was moved for her struggle. With boldness, he lifted one of his hands to cup the side of her face. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”
She nodded, closing her eyes and leaning into his hand. “This . . . this is not going to be easy.”
His heart was so full of love. There was nothing she could say that would be harder than what they had already faced. He thanked God they seemed to be on the mend. “Just say it, my love. I promise, I’ll catch you if you fall.”
Her eyes held his. Then she began to speak. “Pavel, we were blessed with a miracle. A child. But—”
“A child?” His thoughts raced. They had been so careful. But it was not a sure way to avoid pregnancy. This was not what they had planned . . . but a baby . . . his and Karin’s baby. His heart swelled. “Karin, that’s wonderful, I know we were not quite ready—”
Tears welled in her eyes and she gripped his hands a little too tightly. “Pavel, that’s not all.”
“What?” A feeling of dread settled in his stomach.
“That day . . . that horrible day when I . . . ” Her mouth clamped tight and tears escaped. “It was because I lost the baby.”
The words that poured from her mouth were not real. How could he be taken to such heights only to be dropped down to earth again? Not even to the mountaintops where he had been, but in some deep dark pit. His heart, having just swelled to epic proportions, exploded. And it was as if he bled all over the place.
Karin’s mouth moved, but he couldn’t make out her words. He shook his head. And all of a sudden, he needed to talk. But how to get her to stop talking?
Placing a finger on her lips brought her to silence. He closed his eyes against the pain that now coursed through him. “Why . . . why did you not tell me?”
She was crying now. “I don’t know. My reasons made sense at the time. But they all seem so weak now. It wasn’t part of our plan. I didn’t want to put an extra burden on you. What can I say to help you understand? I was scared. For you. For what it would mean for you.”
So, she hadn’t trusted him. That was the whole of it.
He extricated his hand and stood, moving away from the chaise. Pausing, he turned. “And you? You are healing well?”
“I . . . yes.” Was there something confusing about his question?
Pavel nodded. Silence fell again, and he was left to deal with the emotions she had just handed him. He moved toward the door.
“Please, Pavel, do not do this,” she whimpered.
He refocused his gaze on her.
“Do not shut me out. Listen to me. I built a wall around my heart and all it did was bring more hurt, more pain. It did not bring healing. We are stronger together than we are apart.”
Her words began to penetrate the emotional fog around his brain.
“We need to work through this together,” she said through her tears. “Trust me, I know. This will pull us apart or strengthen us. That decision is in your hands.”
Her words trailed off as she shook with sobs. And he watched her cry. Helpless. Reaching out to him.
Lord, I am not strong enough.
But God was strong enough for the both of them.
He closed the distance between them once again and gathered her in his arms as they mourned the loss of their child together.
* * *
Zdenek pushed his horse harder. The army did not lag, but his horse had slowed its steps. Perhaps a clump of grass caught her eye. Admonishing the animal with a tug on the reins and a squeeze with his legs, he felt the mare move ahead.
The general mood around him proved to be somewhat somber. Why would today be any different? They faced many enemy combatants by this time. And no matter the odds, they had prevailed. Was it the skill of their commander? The passion of their cause? Or did God truly fight with them? Zdenek did not know. But he would continue to follow this great man and support his brothers in their struggle for freedom. These questions about God would wait.
Marching out of the heart of Prague, the unit of misfits-turned-soldiers approached their destination. The Hradcany loomed before them, high above the city. Turrets and spires were visible above the castle’s walls. The structure had always been beautiful to him, striking in its architecture and lines.
Radek grunted beside him and Zdenek wondered after him. His friend had become increasingly more vocal these last weeks.
Zdenek’s gaze leveled on Radek’s features.
Radek’s brows furrowed and his mouth formed a thin line.
“Something troubles you?” Though why Zdenek asked, he did not know.
Radek maintained his displeasure at the conflict within the Bohemian lands and at their continued participation in the fighting.
“Never. I never could have imagined in all my life I would march on the great Hradcany, the jewel of Prague.” His voice was gruff, his words coming out in harsh tones.
Zdenek remained silent. In truth, the reality of their attack today became more and more difficult to absorb. Even more so as they approached the castle. His memory echoed with stories of the great Czech kings who had called this their home. Were their actions treacherous?
A tingle ran down the back of his neck. Shifting his eyes, he found Radek staring at him.
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
Zdenek wanted to shrug him off. What could he say to stop these questions within himself? He had a job to do. They had committed to fight, and they couldn’t stop now because of some nostalgia for a fairytale.
But he couldn’t hide from Radek. So, he nodded, letting his gaze fix on the castle before them.
“Then what are we doing?” Radek lowered his voice to a whisper, his words still rough as he leaned toward his friend.
Zdenek lingered in his thoughts for only a moment more. “Everything has changed.”
Radek raised an eyebrow and regained his upright posture.
“And we cannot act as though it hasn’t.” He met Radek’s wide eyes. “Look around you. Our brothers fight for their freedom, for their God. And yet we debate the value of a building. Are not their lives more valuable?”
Radek’s gaze dropped. And Zdenek thought Radek’s hands tightened on the reins. Were his knuckles turning white?
“Radek?” he prodded.
“So be it,” Radek ground out. He did not turn toward Zdenek, did not look up. Digging his heels into his horse’s side, he pushed ahead of Zdenek.
“Radek . . . ” Zdenek called.
But Radek did not stop.
Eleven
Regrets
Karin knelt next to Pavel. Wasn’t she cried out? Surely there were no more tears. But in the solemnness of the moment, her heart stilled.
Pavel reached for her hand closest to hi
m and intertwined their fingers.
She peered at him, next to her at the altar.
His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed. Did he seek the Lord so fervently? Perhaps he could pray for the both of them. She wanted to pray. But the words would not come. Not even in the silence of her thoughts. Was there too much sadness?
Turning back to the altar, she examined her fingers, intermixed with Pavel’s, and studied the wood grain of the surface in front of her. She gazed up at the stained glass windows depicting scenes from Christ’s life.
Her eyes caught on the Nativity. And the loss of her child slammed into her heart anew. Still, no tears came, only the hurt.
But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.
She glanced at the artist’s depiction of Mary. What had it been like for her? To know that her baby would taste death in her lifetime? To hold the Christ child and know He would be sacrificed? Could she comprehend that?
But it had been part of a plan. A bigger plan. A plan Mary couldn’t see. She just had to trust. And if Mary could trust God in the midst of that, perhaps Karin could trust God now. That He would hold her and sustain her, and then see her through it.
Then Karin found words for prayer. And fresh tears.
* * *
The attack on the Hradcany continued. Radek oscillated between taking a post among the Hussite revolutionaries and watching, stricken, as their hand cannons inflicted serious damage on the structure he had almost prized above their lives. How long could it last? How long could the Royalists in the castle withstand it?
Their food stores certainly dwindled. How their fears must rise as well. The Hussites had such fervor about themselves. They behaved as if possessed. Madness had overtaken them. Would they allow any of the soldiers in the castle to live?
Studying the faces of the men around him, he found cause to doubt.
Swallowing hard, he shifted his attention back toward the stone walls. What was that? There was movement off to the far south side of the structure. Yes, men crept around the exterior. Narrowing his eyes to hone his vision, he searched for any sign of weapons. He saw none. In fact, the men came with their hands stretched out and away from their bodies. As if they prepared to capitulate.
In that moment, others began to notice. A loud cry erupted from behind him—someone called for the Hussites to attack the small band of defenseless Royalists.
“No!” Radek pushed his horse into motion, placing himself in front of the exposed men. Raising his voice to the most extremes it would stretch, he shouted. “These men are unarmed. Would you strike at those who wish to surrender?”
Radek’s eyes widened as he took in the scene. Hand cannons aimed at him, arrows pointed at his heart. Never had he been so anxious. But he would not leave these men vulnerable.
Zizka appeared from the midst of the menacing weapons, urging his own horse to Radek’s position. “What is this?”
Radek swallowed hard. Would Zizka be his salvation or his end? The commander proved to be every bit as intimidating as the mass of weapons combined.
By some miracle, Radek found his voice. “These men are not attacking us. They are giving themselves up.”
Zizka’s hard gaze drifted from Radek’s face to the soldiers behind him. “What say you?”
The men glanced at one another and some paled, clearly terrified.
One stepped forward. His voice trembled when he spoke, “It is true. We are defecting.”
Zizka’s eye bore into the man. Could he see through to his heart? From the intensity of his stare, Radek began to believe so.
At long last, Zizka jerked his head in the direction of the Hussite army.
Radek let out a breath, yet he resisted the urge to relax his shoulders. He retained the most rigid stance he could manage.
The Royalist soldiers still did not move.
Radek nodded at them, hoping to assure them all was well.
Watching Radek, but cutting eyes back to Zizka, the men moved past the two looming figures on horseback and toward the Hussite soldiers, who had lowered their weapons.
The relief that washed over Radek could not be denied. But as he watched the men move into the mass of peasants and farmers, his heart sank. Why should it be so? These men, the ones who had joined the Hussite army, they had followed Radek’s lead. Once loyal to the king, now they became lost in this sea of misfits. Was there any sense in it? Yet Radek had assisted them.
Did they belong? How could they? Would he ever truly belong?
Radek knew what he had to do.
* * *
Lenka stilled her shaking leg, clasping her hands in her lap. The Utraquist priest droned on. He did so tend to pontificate. Had he not already made his point? And now he had spent the last hour restating it numerous times. She did not remember being so anxious the other evening when she first attended the meeting. Or was it because she had not so desperately sought vital information at that time?
Closing her eyes, she attempted to pray. Yet her thoughts scattered and darted from her prayerful words to Karin to God to the happenings in Tabor and so on and so forth. How did one manage such a divided mind?
When she opened her eyes, the priest had finished his lengthy oration and was praying. She bowed her head once more, not finding any more concentration.
Lenka did thank God when the man’s supplication was brought to a close and the meeting dismissed. She was on her feet in a moment, moving forward amid the crowd.
The Utraquist priest spoke with a couple of the Hussites nearby who approached him.
Pushing her way through the shifting of bodies, Lenka moved as fast as she could. At last, she shoved between two conversing women and arrived at the front.
But the priest was no longer there. Where had he gone?
She spun, searching for any sign of his red hair.
He was amid the thick of the crowd now. Not far from where she had just come. If she had but stayed where she was, he would have walked by her.
Lenka let out a grumbled sigh and began maneuvering her way back through the gathering of people that had started to disperse.
As she came near the priest, it became apparent he moved toward his carriage.
“Please,” she called out, quite out of breath and out of patience. “Wait!”
The man did not stop, nor did he so much as flinch in response. He advanced on a carriage, speaking to the manservant who opened the door.
“Father!” she spoke out louder than a lady of polite society should dare.
But he turned. And his eyes met hers.
She let out a breath.
The priest’s brow quirked. “Yes, my child?”
Encouraged, she went to him. Much easier now that he remained in one spot.
“Father, I am Countess Lenka Bornekova. I confess, I am new to your gathering.”
He offered her a smile. “It is no matter, child. All must find truth in their own time.”
Lenka nodded and thought of Petr. Had he come to the truth yet? Or was he still seeking? It was no matter. She was here for Karin. “I have come to ask if you know anything of the situation in Tabor.”
His brow creased. “Why do you seek information about Tabor? Are you a Taborite?”
Lenka recoiled at the intensity of his eyes. He glared at her as if he spoke of some sin. Weren’t the Taborites and the Utraquists all Hussites? “No, Father, my daughter is staying just outside of Tabor. I am concerned after her safety.”
The priest’s gaze softened, but only slightly. He reached his hands toward her and she placed her hand on his. “Trust God. He is the only one who can know of her fate.”
Shaking her head, Lenka wondered if she had understood him. Did he not know of the conditions in Tabor? Or would he not disclose them? Lenka opened her mouth but he shook her hand before releasing it. Then he turned and stepped up into his carriage, leaving her standing by the wayside. More confused than ever.
* * *
Stepan tossed and tu
rned. The screams and cries of the Hussite prisoners being thrown down the shafts proved too much. Their horror. So many suffering, falling to their deaths. Those that survived starving, dying, in pain, calling for reprieve.
Eyes open, he felt his limbs twisted in the sheets and his nightclothes drenched in sweat. It was the same night after night. How much more could he take?
Extricating his arms and legs from the bed linens, he sat on the edge of the thin mattress, resting his head in his hands. Why should he care about what happened to these Hussites? These heretics? Didn’t the end justify the means? This was war after all. And they were the enemy.
As much as he tried to convince himself of these things, his body continued to tremble. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand and realized it was a cold sweat. Odd. His body had seemed rather heated. But now he found it chilled.
Then he noticed that the drapes in his room had been opened. A breeze flew through his room, cooling the space. He would close them soon enough. But first he needed some water.
He walked to the basin and poured water into its generous bowl, splashing some on his face. The chill in the air became more biting, but he felt more human.
Moving to the window, he reached forth to close it. But as he neared the opening, he spotted a hand on the windowsill. Was someone climbing in?
Making a quick scan of the room, he searched for his sword. Where could it be? He couldn’t spot it anywhere—not with his clothes or by the bed where he left it. What was this?
Whoever scaled the outer wall pulled himself up until his head was visible. But through the darkness, Stepan could only make out a silhouette. A man for certain, he moved at an odd pace. Slow, almost creeping. Perhaps because he thought Stepan to still be abed, sleeping.
Stepan glanced around the room for anything he might use as a weapon. He grabbed the pitcher beside the basin and held it at the ready, standing a few feet away from the window.
The man cleared the windowsill and now stood in the narrow opening.
Stepan gasped. His sword was stuck through the center of the man’s body. How was this possible?
The Lady And The Hussites (The Lady Bornekova Book 2) Page 16
