by Sandra Lake
There were ten paces between each wall sconce, which created deep, cavernous shadows that crept in around her. Her arms were loaded with empty platters and she did not want to miss a step, so she walked close to the whitewashed stone walls. Black, greasy finger marks were smeared on the surface. She flinched her shoulder away. Disgusting! In her years spent traveling throughout the Swedish empire, she had come to realize that not all castles or palaces could be as carefully designed and cared for as her father’s.
The kitchen smoke funneled through the side passageways that led directly into the main hall. It created a layer of soot that settled on all available surfaces within a few hours of cleaning them. After several meal services, Katia’s eyes had become accustomed to the smoke and stench of the kitchen and hall. However, she had not yet become accustomed to the molesting hands of the servicemen. Never in her life had she thought men-at–arms so ill-mannered. Norrland had a reputation for the most savage warriors in any realm, but she had never seen one serving wench mauled and harassed in her father’s keeps. Not one female would ever be treated as degradingly as she and Tosha had been since arriving in Rus territory a week ago.
On the outside, the pristine white palace of Prince Andrei Bogolyubsky had appeared to be a civilized, holy structure. The domelike construction had been built in opulent Byzantine style. Prince Andrei, who professed to be God’s earthly arm of righteous justice, clearly had his heart set on competing with King Frederick of Germany to be the seat of the Holy Roman Empire. Yet the interior of the palace, or more specifically, the occupants inside, reduced the palace to nothing more than a hunting lodge full of unwashed, foul-breathed men.
The kitchens served stew days past its prime—tasteless the first few days, sour by the end of the week. The buttery maids were ordered to water down the ale, sending the men to seek out more potent drink earlier on in the evening. The more intoxicating grain wine would then quickly send the men into loud, violent revelry. The fact that this was tolerated behavior by a monarch was telling of Prince Andrei’s character. He must feel at home among the undisciplined crowd of infrequently bathed men.
“Stay away from the fat ogre on the end.” Tosha had appeared out of a dark hallway and now whispered into her ear, “He is already drunk and clawing more than usual.” A strong note of fear carried in her tone.
Katia nodded.
As the feasting progressed, Katia stuck closer to Tosha’s side. For the last few days, Katia had seriously questioned the merits of her plan. Her original intentions had been good, but she was beginning to feel that the execution of her plan may be lacking.
While summering in Finland with her grandmother, Katia had received a terrifying report from Otso, a trusted family friend. Prince Andrei was amassing a great army to invade Sweden while the country was divided over the two rival houses that were once again hurdling Sweden into chaos.
Overnight, she had formed a plan with Tosha to seek passage aboard a fishing boat destined for Rus lands in order to spy on Sweden’s threat, gather vital information, and seize the opportunity to truly make something of her life. With great luck and fair weather, they had arrived in Kiev territory less than a month later.
Spies had been delivering reports to her father over the evening meal for years and Katia had always paid the utmost attention. However, the amount of labor that a serving wench was required to perform each day, on top of having little sleep and shattered nerves, had not been the conditions Katia had imagined when she decided to set out on this adventure. Serious doubts had begun to undermine her confidence. Tosha was a smart girl, familiar with the discreet dance needed to keep out of grubby hands, but if one time she couldn’t, if someone hurt her . . . Katia would never forgive herself if something happened to Tosh.
“I think we should speed up the plan,” Katia whispered to Tosh as they returned to the kitchen, arms full of empty pitchers. “I will take a tray of refreshments up to Andrei’s chamber tonight. His guard will think I am coming up to . . . you know.” She gestured, sticking her finger down her throat, and made a vomiting expression. “And then I will get the chart and map I saw a few days ago. I will have all the proof I need.” Katia had memorized long lists of names and troop positions, as well as inventories of weaponry and supplies that Andrei was compiling for his invasion. Yet to truly have a report that would be taken seriously at the Swedish court, she needed hard evidence. Prince Andrei held too much power with the Holy Church in Rome. His false claims of peace had to be exposed.
“Kat.” Tosha refilled her pitcher with ale and then handed the jug to her. “I’m scared. What if—”
“We have come too far to turn back now. I’ll get the charts and tonight we can hide in the wagons that are to return to Tallinn tomorrow. We will be in Tronscar by next month, I promise. This will all work.” Katia smiled at her friend and instantly felt sick to her stomach. She had really done it this time. Deciding to come here to spy on “Andrei the God-Loving” was the right decision, but bringing Tosha had been a big, big mistake. She could get her best friend in serious trouble, or worse: violated and killed. Until this very moment, Katia had been in denial of the truth, but now it hit her hard in the center of her gut.
Katia was in over her head and sinking fast. Regret and fear poured into her. She was learning to recognize her limits at last, but the realization had come too late.
A fight broke out at the end of the table, and two men were beating each other into a bloody pulp. The overflowing hall of Slavic and Rus soldiers shouted with a bloodthirsty glee. Many had just returned after spending the week ransacking village after village around Kiev, and Prince Andrei Bogolyubsky seemed happy to reward his mercenaries tonight.
Katia worked close at Tosha’s side, watching her back as best she could. She turned and twisted away from each groping hand that strayed her way. Tosha had perfected the art of shrugging and smiling and then mumbling shyly in Finnish, pretending she didn’t understand the lewd remarks and offers. Katia just needed to keep Tosha safe and out of harm’s way for one more night.
As the evening dragged on, Katia found herself increasingly jumpy. The men became louder, more demanding, and more out of control. Katia watched her friend’s back as she shuffled down the long aisle of men, making her escape to the kitchen.
“Where do you think you are going, my zaika?” A newly arrived soldier grabbed Katia around the waist, pulling her down hard into his lap. She plastered her friendly, shy smile on her face, while at the same time digging her elbows into the table to leverage herself off the filthy dog. He was less drunk than the rest but slightly larger than the average man in the hall. Andrei clearly had a profile in selecting his mercenaries. They had to be young, large, fit, and stupid.
Katia mumbled in Finnish that she did not speak Slavic.
“I do not want you for speaking, lapushka,” he said, switching the endearment from bunny to darling. He dug his fingers into her ribs, bruising her to the bone, and pulled her braid, yanking her head back. He laughed into her ear, his five companions joining in.
Hell’s bells! This was bad. Not only was he ten times her size and strength, but he apparently was their leader—officers didn’t take “no” as well as the average foot soldier, who was used to being told what to do.
“I must work,” Katia said in a broken Slavic dialect. “My mistress say I must work.” Still hoping to disarm the situation, she continued to smile while at the same time struggling to push up off the bastard’s lap. His arm locked around her tighter, overpowering her with no real effort on his part.
“You will work,” he said, laughing harder, turning to friends. “You will work on your back and your hands and your knees.” He smacked her bottom to fully get across his point.
Swallow your fear. Fear will kill you quicker than any blade.
The laughter of the men scorched her ears, and the loud, encouraging pounding of fists on the table matched the beat of he
r heart.
“I am wife.” Katia smiled innocently at the men. “No work for you, I wife.” She would first appeal to the dog’s territorial instincts, though she very well knew that wives of serfs and soldiers were frequently shared among the upper-ranking officers. Under the table, her finger traced the outline of the blade strapped to the inside of her thigh.
No need to panic. She darted her eyes around the hall, counting the paces it would take to make it to each exit point. The men were too large and strong for her to attack outright, but as drunk as they all were, she still had a chance to break free and run for it.
All eyes around the table were on her—they were well entertained by their senior commander. A greasy tongue flicked at her ear. Oh, that is foul. Snapping her head to her shoulder, dislodging his tongue from her ear.
“Don’t worry, zaika, I like wives as much as I like whores.” His hand released her waist, making aim for her chest. As he was about to claw at her breast, she twisted off his lap and backed away from the filthy beast. The soldiers jeered, their laughter growing even louder.
Katia grabbed a knife from a platter of meat and held it out in front of her. The officer who had threatened her was no longer laughing. His eyes stayed locked on hers as he slowly pushed up from the bench and stepped toward her. She leapt back, waving the blade in front of her, deflecting his pursuit. She was prevented from running for the exit by several large soldiers who had stood up to surround her, eager to see how their entertainment would play out.
The officer’s rage was rapidly sobering him up. This was not good.
“Wife!” The word came from above her, from a male with a deep, dark voice. “Why are you holding a blade to my good friend Vladimir?” Katia craned her head up to find a pair of green eyes staring down at her. She tried to smile but gulped instead. What in the devil?
“Apologies, Vlad, my wife does not understand the Slavic tongue nor your customs. Always finding her way into trouble, this one.” Lothair smiled at the officer and then smacked Katia’s bottom hard, marking his territory. He draped his heavy arm around her shoulder.
“Better to stick with the devil you know than the devil you don’t know,” her grandmother had always said. Katia swallowed her pride, batted her eyelashes, and began to play the part of bewildered, stupid wife. It was not hard to play, since she did feel overwhelmingly dim at the moment.
Vladimir’s eyes squinted, questioning the validity of the statement, not quite ready to let go of his target. “No one informed me that you brought a wife to Bogolyubovo.”
Lothair pushed Katia behind him and stood toe to toe with the man that challenged his claim. “I did not bring a wife.” He stared the man down. “She is disobedient and followed me here from Turku. I will be sending her back tomorrow with the trade convoy.” He growled out his words.
“Leave her above stairs. I will not answer for what my men deem to be fair game,” Vladimir said.
“Understood,” Lothair said. For a long moment, the two men glared at each other. Lothair’s hold on her arm tightened as he backed them toward the side exit. A dozen drunk soldiers watched with interest.
The sounds of the hall began to fade behind them and the dark corridor swallowed them into the shadows. Katia tripped on an uneven stone, her eyes not yet accustomed to the dark. Her blood pulsed with a mixture of fear, relief, and annoyance. What was he doing here? After all these years, to find him among her family’s enemies was gutting.
Lothair pulled her down a dark, secluded passageway and shoved her up against the cold wall. “What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled.
“What am I doing here?” she repeated incredulously. “What are you doing here? How do those soldiers know you? Are you one of them?” She launched her counterattack. If German tribes had begun to join with the Rus and Slavic forces, betraying the peace alliance with Sweden, all hope may have been lost already.
He was breathing hard and for a moment all she could smell was the ale on his breath and the cedar scent of his skin. He was truly her Lothair, her greatest triumph and bitterest defeat. “Answer my question.” He ground out his words between his clenched teeth. “Did your father send you here?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course he did not send me here. He has no idea where I am.” She peeled his fingers from her arms. He had been gripping her so tightly that she was sure to have more bruises.
“You were abducted?”
“My family believes I am summering with my grandmother and aunt in Finland at the moment, if you must know. My grandmother believes I am taking an extended visit to my half brother in Korski. I am to return home with the trade ships and not expected until after the harvest.” She shoved him off and rubbed her arms. “I answered your question, now you answer mine. What are you doing here?”
“You stupid chit, do you have any idea how much danger you are in?” Looking away from her, disgusted, Lothair spat his words into the blackness that surrounded them. “Once they find out you are the daughter of a Swedish jarl, they will take their turns raping you and then slash you into a thousand pieces.” He slammed his fist into the wall over her head.
She swallowed and stared at his heaving chest, which was less than an inch from her nose. He had changed so much, become so much larger than she remembered. At once, all her unchaste feelings for him returned. She was beyond ridiculous to have such a reaction to him. He still was the only man that caused her body to react this way . . . with the dizzying surge of white heat that now pulsed in her veins.
“So I take it you are with them,” she said, trying to sound as disgusted with him as possible—and hoping her traitorous body would quickly snap out of its besot stupor and get back in line.
“What I am doing here is none of your business.”
“The cook was told to prepare a dozen trays for the late arrivals from Specter Company, mercenaries from expatriated cavalry in the Frank kingdoms.”
“’Tis none of your affair.”
She slapped him as hard as she could, though there was little heat on it due to the limited range in which to wind up her swing. “How could you? Does your father know? Oh God, he is behind this vile conspiracy! He is going to betray all those he falsely lured into his alliance.”
He shook her so hard that her teeth rattled. “Lower your voice. The duke knows nothing of my being here. I left Lubeck last year and have no intent on returning.”
“You are a mercenary? What has happened to you?” Katia demanded. “What of your plans to protect the unprotected? What of your quest for purpose and peace? Was it all a lie to seduce me?”
He clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shut your bloody mouth before you get us both killed.” He pressed her head harder into the wall and waited for her to calm down before relaxing his grip. “I abandoned my infantile fantasy long ago. It’s every man for himself, princess. I gather you are still years behind me in maturing.”
She tore his hand away from her mouth. “Well, I see that there is nothing more to be said between us. If you will excuse me, I must go see after Tosha.”
She shoved past him but he jerked her back, creating a cage with both hands fisting on the wall on either side of her head. The intimate enclosure caused the small hairs on her skin to rise and her pulse to quicken. It felt dangerous and wicked and lovely to be so close to him, and it couldn’t possibly have come at a worse time. She wet her lips, unsure if she wanted to kiss him or slap him again.
“Tosha is with Lars. How did you think I knew where to find you?” He shoved off the wall, apparently too disgusted to keep her prisoner.
“You’ve changed, Lothair, and not for the better. I thought you wanted to patrol for pirates, not become one!” It broke her heart to find that he had turned into a heartless rogue. She had loved dreaming of him sailing around, saving merchants, rescuing villagers. She used the noble vision of him to help soothe her unrequited love.
<
br /> “Save your impertinent speech, princess,” he growled. Pinning her to the wall with his eyes this time, he asked, “Now, what the devil are you doing here?”
“Making a difference,” she said through a clenched jaw.
He closed his eyes and shook his head dismissively. “By being raped and slaughtered? How exactly will that make any difference?”
“They will not kill me as long as you do not tell them who I am, as long as we don’t get caught. I have already learned vital information to report back to Tronscar, after I . . .” She stopped herself before she revealed anything more. “I am serving my country the only way I know how. Can you say the same?” She tilted her head, returning his piercing stare.
He looked away from her and down the dark corridor. “We don’t all have powerful jarls for fathers who indulge us in our every whim.” He let out a frustrated breath. “Specter Company sometimes sells their swords to the latest contender for the empire, because we are not all floating in a warlord’s splendor. I am here with Lars, Fist, and Valen.”
“So you are a traitor then?” She seethed.
“Would you shut up and listen? Prince Andrei invited every swordsmen in the Baltics to come hold tournaments with his men, and a fat purse of gold goes to the victors. I’m here because the pretender, Emperor Frederick is tearing apart Saxony and Bulgaria at the moment. He is an expensive man to have as enemy, and his power and influence over the Holy Roman Empire grow daily.”
“So go back home and protect your people. What are you doing here playing around, wasting time in tournaments?”
“Prince Andrei declares he desires peace and wishes to forge support for his claim to the Rus throne, but at the same time he schemes against Frederick’s growing power. Andrei wants the power for himself. Having the sons of Saxony, Angli, and Flander in his ranks helps boost his claim with Rome that he is a ruler for peace.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Even a spoiled princess must have learned that from her father’s counsel.”
