Jumping down into the room and into the moonlight, the man became clearer to Stepan. And he became afraid. It was not his nose or his mouth that struck Stepan but his horrified dark brown eyes.
And they were coming for him.
The man lurched toward Stepan, his movements gross and hunkering.
Stepan dodged the man’s swing but stumbled back, losing his footing and falling.
Clomping forward, the ghostly figure continued its pursuit while Stepan scooted rearward, filled with terror, trying to escape his own doom at the hands of his victim.
Stepan bumped into the stand holding the basin. It came crashing down, preventing him from any further movement backward. He was trapped.
The figure pulled Stepan’s sword from his own body, his dark red blood glinting in the moonlight when he held the weapon over his head.
Raising the pitcher helplessly in front of himself, Stepan could do nothing more as the man thrust the sword toward his heart.
Stepan startled awake, his limbs twisted in the sheets and his nightclothes soaked with sweat. He gasped for air, unable for several moments to take a full breath.
It was a dream. A bad dream, but a dream nonetheless. Was this a dream? He looked at the window—closed. Glancing next to the bed, he spotted his sword, sitting just where he had left it. Taking a deep breath, he untangled himself from the bed linens. Lying back down, he tried to shake himself free from the images of the terrible nightmare.
But when he closed his eyes, all he saw were those deep brown horrified eyes staring into his soul.
* * *
Pavel readied his things. There was sadness in his heart and slowness to his movements. He did not relish leaving Karin. It was too soon.
Having found one another again, they still mourned. But he had no choice. His arm had healed, and he had no real reason to stay other than his desire to be with Karin. And so he found himself once again torn between his wife and his duty to his country.
A small hand pressed against his shoulder and he let out a sigh. He knew it was Karin.
“All will be well, Pavel.”
He twisted to face her, gathering her in his embrace.
They remained for some time in silence while he drew strength from her.
Then she pulled back only enough to look up at him. Her eyes were glassy, but no tears came forth. Did she hold them back for his sake?
Cupping her face, he grazed the side of it with his lips before pressing them to her mouth.
She accepted his kiss, tilting her head to deepen the contact, her arms wrapping around his waist.
As they broke apart, he laid his forehead on hers. “I do not wish to be parted from you.”
Karin made a soft sound. “I know, but you must. It is time.”
He nodded, reluctantly pulling away. It stabbed at his heart the way she hugged her arms to herself as he did so.
Slinging his parcel around his shoulder, he turned to her once again. Reaching a hand for hers, he whispered, “Will you see me out?”
She hesitated, then nodded, slipping her hand into his.
They walked out to the stables where Pavel’s horse had already been saddled. His parents waited there as well.
Pavel released Karin’s hand only long enough to bid his parents farewell, embracing each one in turn. His mother held on to him a bit longer than necessary.
Patting her shoulder, he attempted to reassure her all would be well. But could he truly offer such assurances?
His father took his mother’s arm, drawing her from the embrace, and stepped to the side. Pavel caught his eyes and nodded. Not only was he grateful for his father’s careful consideration, he placed the well-being of his precious wife in his father’s hands.
Turning his attention to his beloved, Pavel drew Karin to the horse. He traced a finger down the side of her face as if he could memorize her features more vividly than he already had.
“Your visage will be my constant companion until I return to you.”
Karin’s mouth tugged upward. “Your smile will be mine.”
He leaned in to kiss her once more. This was not the most fevered, passionate kiss they had shared. Not with his parents looking on. Rather it was sweet, tender, filled with hope and promise.
When he pulled back this time, Pavel allowed his fingers to linger on her face but a handful of seconds before he broke all contact with her and mounted his steed. But as she stepped away, he sought her face. It would be for naught—merely serving to delay him further. Still, he could not stop himself.
But she would not turn. Even as she reached his mother, Karin would not face him.
And he understood. She had met the limits of her strength.
So he urged the horse onward, keeping his eyes on the horizon.
* * *
Petr sat at his massive desk, hunkered over a few papers. He had ordered the summerhouse be vacated and surrendered to Vlastik. Now, there was the matter of the money. Where was he to pull that from?
Running a hand across his forehead, he attempted to soothe the soreness. It ached from hours of concentration. He did not see an easy answer. Closing his eyes, he steepled his fingers and took a deep breath. No good could come from working himself into complete frustration.
The door creaked. He opened his eyes and diverted his attention in that direction.
A manservant came toward him bearing a letter.
Petr leaned forward to receive it. As the servant approached, he saw two letters—one addressed to him and one for Lenka. And they were in Karin’s hand. Lenka would be relieved. She had been in quite an unsettled state these last couple of weeks.
Nodding to the manservant, Petr dismissed him.
The younger man stepped into the hall and Petr settled back into his chair, opening his letter.
Scanning, he noted Karin’s handwriting appeared rushed. What could have caused that? As he continued to look over the letter, one word stood out among the others and gave him pause: baby. He focused on the sentences around the word.
. . . I have lost the baby. And I am . . .
Lost the baby? Was Karin pregnant?
At that moment, Lenka burst into the room, breaths heaving. Had she been running?
Lenka stepped toward his desk, holding her letter out to him. “Karin mislabeled the letters. This is yours.”
Petr met her eyes, brows furrowed.
Lenka waved the letter in her hand, holding out her other hand to collect her misdirected letter. She peered down at his hands, bearing the opened letter. Her eyes widened.
Had Karin and Lenka been keeping something from him? He glanced at the paper and then at Lenka. There was no mistaking the look of guilt in her eyes.
She leaned over, stretching across the desk to remove the letter from his hands.
He pulled it out of her reach and rose. “What is this?”
Lenka pulled her arm back as if stung. “I do not know what you mean, my lord.”
“No? Karin speaks of a baby. Did you know she was pregnant?”
He watched his wife’s face closely as her lips became a thin line. Was she choosing her words even then? Another story?
“I want the truth. What are you hiding?”
Lenka’s features softened and she opened her mouth, then closed it, her brow wrinkling. “Did you say ‘was pregnant’?”
Petr glanced down at the paper. And his heart was sad as he realized what he had read. “Yes,” he said gently. “She lost the baby.”
The letter fell from her grasp as Lenka’s hands flew to her chest. When she did speak, her words came out in spurts. “Is she . . . Karin . . . is she . . . all right? I mean, she must be, she wrote to us.” One of Lenka’s hands searched behind for a chair.
Coming around the desk, Petr helped his wife sit.
Her breath came in gasps, but it was becoming more even.
“I did not read the entirety of the letter.” Petr spoke as he moved a hand along Lenka’s arm. “Only enough.”
/> Lenka nodded, her eyes forward, focused on the wall. “H-how did it happen?”
Petr opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t know, but she spoke again.
“Was there an accident?” Her eyes were on his.
“I think we had better read the letter.”
She stared into his eyes for several moments before nodding. It was a slight, jerking movement, but an ascent all the same.
Petr pulled another chair closer to Lenka and sat, gathering the letter from his desk and preparing to read. But something stopped him.
“What?” Lenka all but cried out, her hand on her mouth. “What do you see?”
“No.” His hand was on her arm then, attempting to calm her. “It’s not that.”
There was a question in her eyes.
Petr retracted his arm and let out a deep sigh before meeting her eyes again. “I cannot overlook that you hid this pregnancy from me. Did you not think I deserved to know? To celebrate with you?”
Lenka’s eyes watered. “Yes, my lord. But it was at Karin’s request. She pled with me to keep her secret.”
“Why? Why the secrecy?” Karin and her secrets.
“She did not tell Pavel. He was not ready for a family. And so, she did not wish him to know.”
A familiar sensation sprang to life within him. A fire. The burn of anger. “Karin and her headstrong ideals,” he grumbled. “And you continue to give into her diversions.”
Lenka’s face fell.
“Will she never grow up?”
He eyed his wife.
She recoiled from his scrutiny.
Throwing his arms up, he surrendered. “Here is your letter. I will continue to play along as you see fit.” He thrust the paper toward her as he stood. “If you decide I need to know more details about the well-being of my daughter, I trust you will inform me.”
Lenka opened her mouth, but he turned and walked out of the room.
* * *
Karin moved the paper closer to her face. The years had not been many, still they had worn away some of the lines from the writings. How sad. And this had been one of her favorites.
Laying the papers in her lap, she gazed over the garden. It didn’t matter how many times she read Hus’s teachings, there was always something new to glean. Especially when she and Pavel were able to discuss them. How she missed him!
“Mind if I join you?”
She didn’t need to twist around to discern that the owner of the voice was her mother-in-law. But turn she did and offered Marketa a smile. “Please.”
The baroness joined Karin on the bench, giving her arm a squeeze as she did so. “How are you today?”
“I am well.” Karin let out a long breath. “As well as I can be.”
“We shall pray for a safe return. And soon.”
Karin nodded, looking down at her lap.
Marketa put a hand on the papers. “What is this?”
“Some of the early teachings of Jan Hus. My favorites, I must admit.”
The baroness’s face betrayed a small smile. “He was a good man.”
Karin nodded.
Marketa cricked her neck to look more closely at the writings. “These must have been while you were but a girl!”
“Yes, they were. I didn’t read them until much later.”
“I imagine so.” Marketa met her eyes.
“Even then, I had to hide them.” Karin tucked an errant hair behind her ear, squinting in the ever-brightening sunlight. Mid-morning was approaching.
“How did you come by them?” Marketa’s voice was calm, level, not pushing or probing, but curious.
Karin had not spoken of these things in quite some time. The years her parents feared the Hussite movement and forbade their daughter have any involvement in it.
“I had a friend. Her brother had become a follower of Jan Hus. And he supplied us with the teachings. There were others that became influenced because of him as well. We would pass the writings to one another in secret. Until my father found out. He tried to put a stop to it. Only . . . ”
Marketa waited, watching Karin with kind eyes.
“Only I wouldn’t give it up. You know the rest. He sent me to the chateau. I met Pavel, and our story had a happy ending.” Karin gazed at the horizon. If only everyone’s story had been so happy.
“What happened to your friends?”
Karin dropped her head. “My friend and her brother were found by a patrol. They were taken. I do not know what became of them. The others, I cannot say.”
“That must have been difficult—to go against your parents and to watch others face consequences that could be yours.”
Karin nodded, fingering the edges of the papers. Memories flooded her mind. Her father’s anger born of fear, her mother’s helpless anxiety . . . all because of her choices. Had she done the right thing? But she had. She had followed her faith and her heart. And God had blessed her—with Pavel.
God, please keep him safe. Bring him back to me.
Karin looked toward her mother-in-law. “I apologize. I do not know where my mind has gone.”
“There is no need.” Marketa laid a hand on Karin’s. “Why don’t we pray together for Pavel’s safety?”
Karin sniffed. Were tears close behind? “I would like that.”
* * *
The day was clear and bright. Why shouldn’t it be? It would have been a good day for hunting, Radek mused. A hunter would have been able to see his prey for a great distance. That’s what they should be doing—rising early for a hunting outing. Not dragging themselves from a restless night to meet the emperor and his Royalist troops in battle. Everything was wrong.
Why were Czechs fighting Czechs? And was he on the right side? This question had plagued him from the time he picked up his sword to defend Prague so many months ago. And he still wasn’t certain that had been the right course of action.
Yet here he was, next to Zdenek, marching into another battle. Was he prepared to kill more of his brethren? One thing he did know—Zdenek would follow orders. And he did want to keep his friend safe. But how long would that be enough?
Looking ahead, he spotted the line of Royalist soldiers at the ready. How long had they been there? The scouts had reported to Commander Zizka that morning that they were here, in formation, prepared to do battle. And Zizka had been all too eager to engage the emperor.
Turning to his dear friend, Radek raised his voice to be heard over the many sounds of the people and horses moving around them. “Zdenek!”
His friend’s head turned toward him, eyebrows raised.
“Let us keep toward the rear. Provide reinforcements.” A weak reason, he knew. But he longed to remain out of the fight as long as possible and to keep his friend from involvement if he could.
Zdenek’s brows furrowed. “Reinforcements? Are we not best utilized at the front?”
“Trust me in this.” Radek hoped he would.
Zdenek didn’t seem ready to, but, after some moments, he nodded and pulled back on his horse’s reins. They moved farther back in formation.
Were they cowards? One look at Zdenek’s face and it was clear he thought so. But Radek would have no guilt over it. He focused his mind on their forward momentum.
“Radek,” Zdenek broke into the silence that had befallen them.
Taking in a long breath, Radek steeled himself. Would Zdenek want to move back to the front lines? “Yes?”
Zdenek glanced around them. Did he fear eavesdroppers? The men around them were all in their own conversations. When he spoke again, Zdenek’s voice was lowered to the point Radek had to strain to hear him. “Do you ever wonder about the Hussites?”
Radek’s heart skipped a beat. Did Zdenek struggle as he did? That would change everything! But he had to be careful. He must not be mistaken. Clearing his throat, he kept his eyes forward, but said, “Yes. I do.”
Zdenek’s eyes were on him. He could feel it. But he would offer nothing further. No, his friend would need to do the t
alking.
“I’ve never put much weight on religion,” Zdenek said with a sigh.
Religion? Where was this conversation going? Radek peered at his friend. “I thought your father . . . ”
Zdenek nodded. “I know.” Zdenek’s head jerked from side to side as if his father would appear from the crowd of soldiers or perhaps had spies among them. Then he drew in a long breath. “That is why I have never trusted in religion. Because of my father.”
Radek’s eyes widened.
“And I thought God must be a fabrication just as any other ritual of the church.”
As much as Radek wanted to warn Zdenek that he walked the line of blasphemy, he could not. Dare he? Because Zdenek spoke what he feared to? Did he truly believe in an Almighty God?
“But as I have watched Pavel . . . and the Hussites . . . it has given me reason to wonder.”
Radek could not help but turn curious eyes on his friend. What wonderings did he speak of?
“There is no reason they should prosper. By all counts of reasoning, the Royalist armies should have beaten them back and stomped out the Hussite movement altogether. Unless . . .”
Should he ask? Could he not? “Unless what?”
“Unless God is with them.”
Radek fought to retain a neutral face. Surely he was not hearing this.
“My friend, you cannot deny that what we have witnessed is beyond explanation. The deliverance at Plzen, the progress in Prague, the very fact that the Hussite movement grows in strength each day . . . ”
“Stop,” Radek said, his voice more harsh than he intended. He just needed Zdenek to stop talking.
When he glanced at his friend, Zdenek’s brows were furrowed.
“It’s just . . . a bit much.”
Zdenek nodded. “More than I should have said as we march into battle. Your thoughts are elsewhere. Yes, this is best left for another time.”
Radek relaxed a little as Zdenek shifted his attention to the front of the line. The group came to a halt, and Commander Zizka called to his men. But try as he might, Radek could not see the large man from their position at the back of the group.
From all around him, a thunderous cry rose from the Hussites, and they rushed forward. He did not need to hear the clash of metal to know they had engaged the enemy. But move forward they did as the Taborites engaged the Royalists.
The Lady And The Hussites (The Lady Bornekova Book 2) Page 17
