The Secret Princess (11 page)

There was only so much she could do to protect him.

* * *

Luke spent the rest of the morning in preparations, securing the site and scouting the trails
to Fier for any sign of a mounting attack, before he was satisfied they were safe to leave, and they emptied the outpost camp. With so many men leaving on foot, transporting the litters, and two of his soldiers being carried out wounded, there were horses enough for Luke and the Illyrian slaves to ride, along with Dan and Sacha, who’d stayed behind to accompany them.

Luke wasn’t surprised
to observe that Evelyn and her brother rode with ease and skill. Nor was he particularly shocked to discover that Evelyn looked strangely stunning as she gazed, sharp-eyed, out from under her hood. He’d never seen any woman like her and had to remind himself more and more that no matter how impressed he was with her, no matter how her tears had moved him, he could not love her. He shouldn’t, anyway.
He’d become increasingly concerned that his heart may have crossed that line already.

He rode alongside her as the path became wider and they traveled deeper into Lydian territory. He determined to attempt to resolve the many questions that still permeated his thoughts. Since his direct approach had met with only resistance, he wondered if he might find more success through casual discussion.

“What is in that little bundle your brother protects so fiercely?” Luke tried to sound as though the question hadn’t been burning through him ever since the boy had run back to Fier, risking capture to fetch the items.

“It’s our inheritance—everything of value our father and mother left behind. The items are important to us, but still, I disagree with my brother’s choice to go back for
them. Too much could have gone wrong. I’m still surprised he made it out again.”

“God must have been watching over him.”

“Indeed.”

The woman fell silent, and Luke tried desperately to think of what to say next. He wasn’t practiced speaking with females, though this woman was not dressed as such, nor did she tend to behave like the ladies of the Lydian court. The difference intrigued
him, and he wondered whether his feelings for her could be attributed to those differences, or if he felt as he did in spite of them.

Or perhaps he felt as he did because of her skills in healing. She’d saved his life, and he’d watched her stitching Vasil’s injury for long minutes before he’d gone into the hut to rest. Indeed, despite his exhaustion, he’d found he could hardly look away from
the woman, bent intently over her work, whispered prayers carried from her lips on the breeze, the bright sunlight turning her hair to a halo of palest gold.

“Thank you for your work sewing up my men.” He found his voice again at last.

“I owe them many thanks for their bravery against King Garren. I should not have attempted to meet with you again.”

“And yet if you hadn’t met with
me, you’d still be inside his fortress, and I would not be with you now.”

“That is true.” She spoke softly, her eyes on Sacha’s back as he rode ahead of them, far enough in the distance to scout out any problems with time enough to ride back and warn them. For that reason, they rode at a moderate pace.

Luke felt his heart tear at the noncommittal way she spoke the words. Didn’t she care
that he’d risked his safety and the lives of his men to meet with her, and now to escort her to safety? Were her feelings for him nothing like those he felt for her? He wrestled with the thought. It shouldn’t matter. They could have no future together. Surely she was wise to feel nothing for him. Still, he longed to know his affections were returned.

He looked back and saw that Dan and Bertie
were a goodly distance behind. The boy and the guard were conversing together—Luke caught the occasional Illyrian word—but the distance between them and Luke was great enough he couldn’t overhear their conversation.

Nor would they be able to inadvertently eavesdrop on what he had to say to Evelyn.

“Your father and mother,” he prompted slowly, referencing them from her words about the
valuables her brother guarded. “Were they noble?”

“Were they members of the Frankish nobility?” Evelyn repeated slowly, clarifying his question.

“Yes.”

When she remained silent, he explained further, leaving out the wild hope that she might somehow, in spite of her current state as a slave, be noble. “You read and write. Your stitches are the finest I’ve ever seen. You ride with
grace and carry yourself with dignity. You speak well-measured words, and you do not hesitate to assert your opinion. Surely you were raised in a noble household.”

She looked up at him and her mouth fell open, but still she said nothing. He got the sense the answers were there, ready to be spoken, if only he could somehow find a way to encourage her to untie her tongue long enough to speak
them.

Luke glanced behind them again and saw that Bertie and Dan were plenty far away still. They wouldn’t overhear. He leaned toward Evelyn and lowered his voice. “You asked me before to promise you no harm would come to your brother. He wishes to return to his family in the north. If I am to make such a promise, I must first know the nature of this family to which I am sending him.”

He met her eyes and held her gaze a full minute or more. “Please, Evelyn. I want to help you, but I cannot risk endangering the safety of my people by making promises without understanding the ramifications. Help me to understand.”

Evelyn’s blue eyes welled with unshed tears, and her mouth twitched a bit before she finally spoke in a shaky voice. “My grandmother is a second cousin to Emperor
Charlemagne. His mother was her grandmother’s sister. When she was young and very beautiful, she met a foreign prince on a diplomatic visit. The two of them fell in love and, as he was a younger son of his father and not expected to reign in his home country, he married her and they lived near Aachen for some time. She bore him a son.”

Luke wanted to interrupt Evelyn and beg her to clarify,
but he feared, after all the difficulty he’d had getting her to speak at all, she might close her lips tight to any questions and end her tale without finishing. So he remained silent, though his heart leaped about inside him at her words.

“When that son was of age, he and my mother married. By the time my brother, Bertie, was born, my father was often away on military campaigns, so my mother
moved with us and our grandparents into the city of Aachen. We lived between Charlemagne’s palace and a convent. Learning is highly valued in that area, as well as stitching, riding and well-measured words.” She glanced at him for the first time and flashed him a cautious smile. “The self-assertion is, I’m afraid, a fault of personality my mother was eager to rid me of, but she died before that
could be accomplished, and I’ve yet to make satisfactory progress overcoming it.”

Luke wanted to dance about for joy, but Evelyn’s sober expression gave him pause. “So you are of noble birth, then?”

“Yes,” she admitted in a voice so soft he strained to hear it. Then, much more clearly, she explained, “But I am enslaved for my father’s crimes, which are so great I may never hope to go
free.” Emotion welled behind her words.

“But you are free of Garren’s household now. Your father’s crimes no longer restrict you.”

“If you knew what he had done...” Her voice faded.

“Tell me, then.”

“I cannot. You will despise me.”

“I cannot imagine how that is possible. Whatever did your father do?”

Evelyn shook her head and breathed out slowly. “Bertie,” she whispered,
looking behind them.

Luke looked, as well, and found her brother’s position unchanged.

“Promise me you’ll not hurt Bertie.” Her eyes met his, startling fear in their blue depths. “Promise me, and I will tell.”

But the last of her words were buried by horse hooves pounding along the trail toward them. Sacha had turned about, and he shouted as he neared, “Illyrians approach!”

Chapter Eleven

E
velyn fell back and rode beside her brother as Luke and his men took the lead to meet the advancing party. Quickly she recognized Warrick’s figure on horseback. The crest and colors that decorated his gear confirmed it, as well as the presence of the two guards who rode ahead of him, whom she recognized as being those who traveled with Garren’s heir.

“Keep
your face covered,” she reminded her brother, though she needn’t have bothered. He’d pulled his hood so low she couldn’t imagine how he could see out at all. She’d pulled hers nearly as low and could see little more than a horse length in front of her, trusting her mount to guide himself. When he stopped completely, she peeked ahead and saw that Prince Luke and Prince Warrick had dismounted and were
talking on the road.

Fortunately, Warrick had never been one to look any more closely at the men who helped him than he did the chairs he sat upon or the dishes he ate from. If he glanced their way, he looked no further than their horses and the robes they wore, then ignored them.

As her confidence at going unrecognized increased, Evelyn’s curiosity grew. What were the two princes discussing?

“I’m going to try to get close enough to listen,” she whispered to her brother. “You stay back here.”

Cautiously she edged her horse closer to the royal pair. As she’d suspected, they were talking in Illyrian. Though Warrick, as future king, had been trained to speak Lydian well enough, Luke’s knowledge of Illyrian was flawless—better than that of many in Garren’s household, in fact.

As she reached them, she heard Warrick say, “The messenger said it was a matter of some urgency. My father and his men were attacked by a Lydian ambush.”

“I assure you, Lydia ambushed no one. If you will feast with us in Sardis tonight, we can discuss precisely what happened. You can set out first thing in the morning and travel by daylight, whereas if you attempt to reach Fier today,
the evening will overtake you while you are still on the road.”

Evelyn expected Warrick to refuse the offer, but instead the Illyrian prince mused aloud, “I have been eager to meet with you, Prince Luke. You understand the issues with the borderlands better than anyone else.”

“And I have many questions to ask of you, as well. Ride with me back to Sardis,” Prince Luke urged. “If you arrive
in Fier tonight, your father will only be asleep, and you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to meet with him. But if you feast with me tonight, you can meet with him tomorrow just the same.”

“Fine, you’ve convinced me.” Warrick took up his reins and clambered onto his horse. “Let us ride.”

As the party started forward again, Evelyn hung back just long enough for her brother to catch up
to her. “I want to ride where I can hear all they say,” she informed Bertie. “If Warrick gives away our identities, we can flee before they realize we’ve overheard. It may be the only chance we get to escape.”

Bertie agreed with this plan wholeheartedly, and Evelyn urged her horse forward. Somewhat to her relief, as she neared the princes and caught what she could of their words, she found
they were discussing Warrick’s engagement to the Lydian princess Elisabette. At first she wanted to giggle as the manly prince spoke glowingly of his future wife and their plans together, but then Prince Luke spoke, and she instantly sobered.

“I confess I did not understand why this particular match was so important to you and Elisabette. I understood marriage as an extension of our duties
as princes. But the more I learn of love, the more your determination to marry my sister makes sense. A royal marriage should be more than a political agreement. A prince’s bride must benefit not just his people but his soul. When a man finds a woman who speaks to his heart, no other princess will do.”

Prince Luke’s words echoed back to her clearly, or she might have thought she’d misheard.
Warrick went on to speak of wedding plans—both he and Elisabette wanted to hold their wedding as soon as possible—and Evelyn listened with half an ear and she pondered Prince Luke’s words.

What did he mean about learning more of love? He hadn’t spoken in a matter-of-fact tone, as a casual observer of another relationship. No, he’d spoken heartfelt words with a note of yearning behind them
in a tone reminiscent of that he’d used when the two of them were alone together.

Whom did he love? It seemed presumptuous to think he might be referring to her. She was a slave. He was a prince. And yet considering his actions of late—the risks he’d taken on her account, the way he looked at her, spoke to her, held her—she couldn’t imagine he could claim to be so ignorant of love if he felt
so deeply for another. Indeed, the thought that he might love her sent a flush to her cheeks. She cared about him so very much. Had it not been for the impossibility of a match, she might have rejoiced at his words. Her affection for him grew stronger with every moment they spent together. He’d given her every reason to believe he felt the same.

So he might well be talking about her.

But he couldn’t possibly be. He’d spoken in a context of marriage. Surely he knew such a union between them would be impossible. Didn’t he?

Her heart thumped so hard against her ribs she could hardly hear Warrick’s words. Had Prince Luke thought, however fleetingly, about marrying her? If so, she and her brother were in greater danger than she’d thought. Because the secret she’d kept from
the prince would hit him a thousand times harder if he had real feelings for her.

It would be one thing for Prince Luke to learn that she was the daughter of Rab the Raider, the man who’d killed King Theodoric, Luke’s father. But if Luke thought himself in love with her, he wouldn’t just want revenge against her for her father’s crimes.

He’d want revenge against her for her crimes— covering
over the truth and letting him love her when, indeed, she ought to have warned him away long ago.

* * *

Upon their arrival at Sardis, Luke left the horses in the charge of the stable hands and called for the head of the royal household staff. After explaining his needs, he was assured that Hilda, Queen Gisela’s Frankish maid, was in residence in the city, having been appointed to oversee
the royal chambers there.

Though Luke knew Hilda had an impeccable eye for detail and a knack for getting her way, he also suspected she’d been appointed to the position in part to keep her from managing Queen Gisela’s every move. The queen valued her freedom. Hilda’s history dealing with Gisela had given her ample training in managing headstrong young royals, and she spoke fluent Frankish.
She’d be the perfect person to assist Evelyn.

“Send for Hilda at once. Tell her I have a woman in need of her services.” His message dispatched, he then caught up to Evelyn and her brother, who’d been leading horses with the stable hands.

“Leave the horses,” Luke instructed the pale-haired pair. “I want the two of you to dine with me and Warrick tonight. I’ve sent for a maid to help
you make your preparations.”

“You are too kind,” Evelyn said as she bowed low alongside her brother. “But Prince Warrick will recognize us. He knows we are his father’s slaves, and he’ll require full explanation of how we came to leave our stations. Would this not incite further rivalry between your nations?”

Luke had already thought the matter through as he’d ridden beside Warrick on
the road into the walled city. “Perhaps it would, but he’ll learn Garren’s version of the story as soon as he returns to Fier. Far better, then, for me to present my side of the case to him tonight.”

Evelyn looked as though she wanted to protest further, but Luke had already made up his mind. He saw Hilda approaching and quickly, using Lydian, which the maid had learned quite well by this
time, he explained what he required of her, making clear she was to provide Evelyn with every luxury, even if Evelyn protested. He then introduced her to Evelyn in Illyrian.

Still, the pale-haired woman shook her head slowly.

Luke stopped her objections before she could speak aloud. “If it is too much to ask you to dine with me, then consider it my royal command. You and your brother
will sup with us.”

Though her eyes sparkled with protest, Evelyn dropped into a deep curtsy. “Yes, Your Highness.” She did not meet his eyes again but turned and obediently followed Hilda with her brother at her side.

Content that Evelyn was in good hands, Luke hurried off to check on his wounded men who’d been carried in on the litters. The steward of the house had reported they’d arrived
safely, but Luke felt great responsibility for his men and needed to see whether their conditions had improved as claimed. Only then, with his conscience eased, could he allow himself to look forward to taking his meal at the same table as Evelyn.

* * *

Evelyn pondered her predicament as she soaked in the bath. There wasn’t any way around it. She’d absolutely have to find Warrick before
dinner and beg him not to give away who she and Bertie really were.

Warrick might very well refuse her. He might even go to Prince Luke and tell him everything, from her father’s identity to her request to him to keep it a secret. If it came to that, she’d do her best to run away. Bertie, of course, would have to be warned well ahead of time. He could linger just out of sight as she spoke
with Warrick, in order to flee at the first indication that their uncle intended to disclose the full story to Prince Luke.

It wasn’t a very promising option, but it was her only hope of getting through the meal and staying in the prince’s good graces long enough to attempt to secure a place on a ship for Bertie and preferably for herself, as well.

She wished she could tell Luke everything.
It went entirely against her nature to keep secrets, though her grandfather King Garren kept secrets almost as often as he lied. Indeed, she’d have told Luke the full truth long before if he would only promise not to harm her brother. She trusted the Lydian prince to keep his word once he gave it. But with Bertie’s safety—his life—at stake, Evelyn would have to do all she could to keep Luke
from learning their identities for a little bit longer at least.

The Frankish maid Hilda insisted on combing out all of Evelyn’s long blond hair and braiding it round in the most gorgeous coils, which she set with jewel-inlaid combs. Evelyn tried to protest, to insist a single jewel-free braid would be more than adequate, but the larger woman was quite insistent, and Evelyn feared Hilda might
pin her to the floor to finish the braids if she put up too much resistance.

At the sight of the gown she was expected to wear, Evelyn nearly fainted. The rich blue silk had to have cost a small fortune, and the embroidery along the bodice and neckline appeared to be of silver thread. She shook her head, certain she’d spill something on the dress and ruin it, but Hilda gave her a fierce look,
and Evelyn realized she’d only be wasting time if she tried to protest. And she’d need every minute she could spare to track down Warrick.

Fortunately, Hilda was helpful on this point. She reunited Evelyn with Bertie, who’d bathed in an adjoining room and been given an oversized tunic and freshly laundered pale-colored hose. Evelyn quickly explained her plan to her brother, using Illyrian
so that Hilda wouldn’t overhear her concerns.

To her relief, her brother didn’t argue. “If we can keep our secret long enough to get on a ship bound for the Holy Roman Empire, we’ll leave all our troubles behind and be that much closer to our goal. And we can always run away if Warrick refuses.” He put his hand in hers. “Now, let’s find that uncle of ours. Do you have any idea where he might
be?”

Evelyn consulted with Hilda, who went so far as to lead them down a stone hallway, stopping at a door and inquiring inside before leaving them to their business. The moment Hilda disappeared around the corner, Bertie stepped after her and ducked out of sight.

The chamberlain who’d answered the door went to fetch Warrick. Evelyn waited, rehearsing in her head what she had to say.

Warrick smiled graciously as he approached, but she saw his expression harden the moment he recognized her. “Evelyn? Whatever are you doing here in Sardis? And dressed like royalty?”

Evelyn dropped into a deep curtsy. She didn’t dare whisper aloud the truth they both knew—that she was the king’s granddaughter and therefore a princess. As such, the clothes she wore were more befitting
to her station than those his father begrudged her. No, she kept to her plan. “It is a long story, Your Highness. Prince Luke will be telling you all about it over dinner. Before we are presented to the Lydian prince, I have a request to make of you.”

“A request?” Warrick sounded shocked, and Evelyn felt certain he’d turn her away the very next instant with the reminder that slaves were not
to beg favors of their masters, and possibly have her jailed for dressing as a noblewoman—though he of all people knew she’d been born into the station.

But instead of anger, sadness crept across Warrick’s features. “What is it?”

“Please, Your Highness.” She curtsied again for good measure. “Prince Luke is unaware that Rab the Raider is my father. At this time he knows only that Bertie
and I hail from the Frankish lands of the Holy Roman Empire, and he intends to help us return there. If he learns the truth about our father, he will surely exact vengeance upon us for his father’s death.” She paused then, unsure how to proceed.

Warrick regarded her, his face unreadable in the dim light of the doorway where she still stood, having not been invited into his chambers. In truth,
she’d never known where she stood with her uncle. He’d hated her father—that much was certain. Warrick had killed her father in battle just outside this very city, and though she might have held that fact against him, nonetheless, she needed his help at this moment and would have to overlook the awfulness of his deed.

“I suppose,” the Illyrian prince began slowly, “I owe you some recompense
for slaying your father and rendering you both orphans. And I won’t pretend I’m not eager to send you back to Frankia. Indeed, it would be a great relief to me to have you both gone.” Warrick rubbed the pointed goatee he’d freshly trimmed in preparation for dinner. “But to keep the full truth from the Lydians...”