Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for Christmas\The Secret Princess\Taming the Texas Rancher\An Unlikely Union (34 page)

“What was that?” Omar yelled back.

“I think it was an owl.” A soldier chuckled nervously.

As they spoke, the prince took advantage of the noise cover to pull Evelyn back toward the wall of the ravine, farther out of the way should the men pass by. Grateful for his thoughtfulness and the protective bend of his arm around her, she nonetheless feared for their lives. Omar and his men were sure to find them any moment. And even if they didn’t, the mother bear who called the ravine her home could hardly be expected to sleep through the noise King Garren’s men were making.

“Quiet!” Omar demanded. The men continued on their way, their approach slow but certain as they swept their swords like scythes along the sides of the valley. Surely if they did the same when they reached the spot where she and the prince hid, not even their edging back would save them. The blade would hit them or cut through them—in either case, they’d soon be dead.

From her new position against the wall of the ravine, Evelyn felt a sturdy gnarl of tree roots protruding from the gully wall where the soil had been washed away. Silently she ran her hand up the roots, following their twisted, jumbled path. She’d seen a large tree just to the side in the moment before they’d fallen. The roots made a sturdy ladder all the way up—they could use it to climb out, but if they tried it now, they’d surely be heard.

She moved her hand back and found Luke’s fingers and tugged his hand toward the roots so he could feel their paths.

“We could climb out,” she whispered in a voice that was little more than a breath.

But she had hardly spoken the words before Omar cried out, “What was that? Listen.”

Evelyn’s heart slammed inside her, nearly covering over the faint sound of something shuffling toward them from the other end of the gully—something large. Luke’s men? The rest of the Illyrians?

She held her breath, unsure what this new sound meant. The animal-like scuffling and splashing grew louder as its source drew closer. What was it? A badger? A wolf? The bear? Surely any smaller animal would run away from the soldiers instead of toward them. Whatever it was, it was well within arrowshot of Omar already.

“It’s them!” Omar cried, charging forward. “To arms, men!”

“Up and out, if you can,” Luke spoke silently near her ear, boosting her up on the ladder of roots as he spoke.

She began to climb, then realized he remained below. As she was about to ask him his plan, the sound of an arrow caught her attention. In an instant it hit its target and produced a roar that filled the ravine, echoing off the steep sides with such force Evelyn could hardly keep her perch halfway up the tree root ladder.

“A bear!” Omar cried.

He had to be right. They’d awakened the mother bear with all their screaming and shouting, and now they’d angered her with an arrowshot that clearly hadn’t killed her. In fact, if the furious sounds of her charge were any indication, they’d only made her bloodthirsty mad.

With the sounds of screaming soldiers enough to hide her words, Evelyn grabbed the prince by the shoulder and told him, “Climb up! Hurry!”

In the next moment he was beside her among the roots, and they clambered up, slipping in the darkness, until the prince reached level land ahead of her and hauled her back up after him.

The sound of flying arrows filled the canyon just below them, followed by roars and screams that said the bear still lived—and continued to attack the soldiers. Evelyn couldn’t see anything. She shuffled cautiously away from the edge of the gully, aware that to tumble down again would be to face the bear and the soldiers all at once.

Luke took her hand as they reached flat ground. “To the meadow.” He spoke softly, though given all of the cries behind them, he needn’t have bothered to hush his words.

Evelyn ran with him, terror giving speed to her steps. It wasn’t until they reached the edge of the meadow that she slowed down enough to catch her breath. She nearly burst into the open moonlight of the clearing before the prince pulled her back among the trees.

“Shh. King Garren is still lurking,” he reminded her as he pulled her close into his arms. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in great silent breaths after their panicked flight.

Evelyn huddled against him, panting, grateful for his supportive strength. Otherwise she might have slumped into a pile. The roars of the bear and screaming of the men had faded as they’d run, and she listened closely but could hear nothing.

“Now what?” she asked once she’d caught her breath enough to speak.

The prince had used his sword to hack aside vegetation during their desperate run and now slipped the blade carefully back into its scabbard, the soft moonlight of the clearing shimmering against the metal edge as it moved. “My men will fall back to Millbridge—if my guess is right, the Illyrians left them more or less unharmed when they turned to pursue us. We dare not return to our meeting point for fear King Garren may try to ambush us there. I must reassure my men that I haven’t fallen. Let us make haste to Millbridge.”

Evelyn stayed still, though Prince Luke held her arm as he stepped toward the Lydian side of the borderlands.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” The prince looked at her with such concern it touched her heart.

“I cannot go with you.”

“But you must. It’s not safe for you to stay here.”

“I must return to Fier.”

“King Garren tried to kill you. You cannot go back there.”

“My brother is there.” Evelyn had been reluctant to remind the prince about her brother, but since he didn’t know they were Rab the Raider’s children, Bertie was still safe—at least for now. “If King Garren returns to his fortress, he may well decide to take out his anger on Bertie. I must warn my brother quickly.”

The prince sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re right. Your brother may be in danger—nonetheless, you’d risk your life if you returned.”

“My brother is all I have left in this world.”

“Didn’t you mention a grandfather at Fier? Can’t your grandfather protect your brother?”

Evelyn’s knees wobbled and she moaned in distress. How could she answer the prince? She would not lie to him. That would be wrong, never mind that he could kill her for the crime of deception once he learned the truth. And the more complicated her situation became, the more likely he’d learn the truth. She felt fortunate her grandfather hadn’t let slip any more than he had already.

But her grief seemed to chasten the prince. “I’m sorry. There is much I do not yet understand about your circumstances.”

“Now is hardly the time to explain,” she added in a whisper. “I simply must go back for my brother. He accompanied me out of the fortress when I came to meet with you this evening. It may be he is yet outside its walls. Let me go to him. You can find your men at Millbridge—”

“No.” Prince Luke spoke with such authority Evelyn stopped short. “I will not allow you to travel alone. The woods are full of Illyrian soldiers looking for you, and there may well be more if King Garren went back for reinforcements. In fact, as I think on it, Millbridge might not be the safest place to fall back. Garren’s taken it before. He’d think nothing of attacking it again.”

“But the peace treaty—”

“He ordered us killed. Clearly he has no regard for the treaty or its terms. The man is a liar who cannot be trusted.” The prince’s words grew curt as his revulsion for the deceitful king overflowed. “I will go with you to find your brother.”

“You cannot! It is too dangerous!”

Prince Luke pulled her toward him, and she realized in an instant he was angry—and not just at King Garren. “Evelyn, I have let you speak freely out of respect for your Christian character, but let us not forget I am a prince and you are a slave. If I say I will go, do not attempt to dissuade me.”

Her breath caught as she looked up at him, and she felt her face flush red. If she’d dared speak so freely with her grandfather, he’d have had her beaten or worse. Gratitude and affection for the prince’s patience mingled with her remorse for speaking so freely. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I care only for your safety and that of your people.”

“I am more than aware of the risks I take.” He pulled out his sword again as they faced the thick woods. “Come, now. Before the sun rises.”

Evelyn held tight to the prince’s hand as he pulled her along. She hated to think of the risks he was taking on her behalf. The prince was brave, she didn’t doubt that. Nor did she want to see him captured or injured again, especially on her behalf. She’d mourned his death once before. To lose him again would undo her.

Many dangers lay ahead. How many soldiers were there between them and Bertie? Would they be able to find her brother? Or had King Garren caught up to her brother and unleashed his wrath already?

Chapter Nine

L
uke felt a twinge of guilt for the way he’d spoken sharply to Evelyn, but where had the girl learned to speak so freely? Surely King Garren didn’t tolerate any protests in his household, certainly not from a lowly slave. It only reinforced Luke’s suspicions that there was more to this woman than she’d been willing to tell.

Intrigued though he was, Luke also felt betrayed by her continued silence on the subject in spite of his many attempts to learn more about her lineage and her past. Secrets were little more than lies of omission, and Luke felt tired of being deceived, especially given how close they’d come to losing their lives to King Garren’s deceptions that night.

They traveled quietly for some time until the mountain rose up in the distance. The fortress of Fier lay in the darkness ahead of them. Luke paused to consult the slave about the best route of approach.

“Where did you last see your brother?”

“We parted ways not a stone’s throw from here, where I left the road to travel through the woods. I told him to go back and wait for me among the other servants.”

“Does your brother often obey instructions, or is he like you?”

Evelyn’s mouth fell open as though she might protest his harsh words, but then she hung her head. “He is rebellious and impulsive,” she confessed.

In spite of his resentment, Luke felt a flicker of rising affection, not only because she’d admitted a bitter truth but because they had in common that defect of character—his brother King John often accused him of being rash, even militant. Luke had been chastened by war of late, but he’d never lost his determination to do what he felt was right, no matter who opposed him. A smile pushed its way to his mouth, but he buried it with a sober frown. “Where can we find him, then?”

Hardly had Luke spoken when he heard rustling behind them and feared they’d been spotted by Illyrians. He swung around and drew his sword to face whoever approached from behind them.

“Evelyn?” A small voice spoke a stream of whispered Frankish words, and Evelyn responded in the same tongue.

“It is my brother,” she explained to Luke in Illyrian.

Luke lowered his sword and a youth of about twelve years of age emerged from the woods. Luke recognized the pale hair of the boy who’d spoken to him through the narrow slats in the tower door.

“Bertie, you were supposed to go back to bed,” Evelyn chided him in Illyrian even as she pulled him into her arms and tousled his hair.

“I was going to, but Omar and Gra—”

“Garren?” Evelyn corrected him quickly. “Call him King Garren, Bertie—it is his proper title.” She raised a pointed eyebrow at the boy, so that Luke suspected some history between them on the subject and was immediately curious about it. Had the youth been beaten for speaking of the king improperly? Or was there something more? Luke forgot the question as Evelyn quickly explained to her brother all that had happened and why he needed to come with them immediately, speaking in Illyrian, apparently so Luke could understand. He appreciated her thoughtfulness. It went far toward helping him consider trusting her.

“King Garren hasn’t returned yet,” Bertie assured her. “I’ve been watching. No one has gone past. There’s still time to fetch our things before we leave.”

“I assure you,” Luke cut in, “you’ve no need to fetch anything. All of your needs will be met.”

But Bertie shook his head and stepped away quickly. “I must!” he whispered urgently as he sped away on silent bare feet.

“Bertie!” Evelyn darted toward the road after her brother, but Luke pulled her back.

“Don’t. He’ll be more discreet if he goes alone.”

“But it’s not worth the risk. I should bring him back.”

Luke wished he’d realized what the boy was about to do in time to stop him, but he couldn’t risk giving away their position now, not with Garren and his men likely returning at any time. “He seemed determined. If you fought him on the road, the soldiers on guard at the barracks might hear you, and then you’d both be caught. Let’s wait for him here. If anyone approaches, we can slip away. Besides, we’ve a long journey ahead of us. Here’s a log. Sit and rest.”

Evelyn sat as instructed, looking up at him with eyes that seemed to ask how he thought she could possibly rest until her brother safely returned, but she remained silent. Luke sat beside her on the side of the log nearest a break in the trees through which he could just see the splash of moonlight that marked the road. He unstopped his flask and shared the last of his water with her. They’d pass the good clear stream on their way back to Lydia, so there was no sense saving it any longer. Besides, he was both thirsty and hungry after their long night, but he had no food with him. The water was all they had until they reached the provisions stored at the outpost near the ruined village of Bern.

“You need to rest if you’re going to make the journey. You’ve not had any sleep yet tonight. Here, you can lean on me.” He patted his shoulder in invitation.

Evelyn stared up at him, her eyes twinkling with starlight. “Is that your royal command?” Her voice was soft with a note of trepidation.

Luke felt his heart swell with affection for this feisty woman. He forced his expression to remain stern. “It is.”

Obediently, silently, she pressed her cheek against the side of his arm, and he heard her slow exhale as she relaxed. By tipping his head and peering past his own shoulder he could see her face clearly. She’d closed her eyes, but concern still colored her expression, and Luke couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. He prayed her brother would return safely—more than that, he asked God to keep Garren’s hostilities far from Castlehead.

The gentle moonlight washed over her face, illuminating her features. For the first time he was able to study her visage for as long as he wished. He wanted to memorize her every attribute, to know her by heart. She had, he saw now, a light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks and a small scar near her chin. He wondered how she’d gotten it. He wished to know everything about her.

Most of all, he wished to know for certain he could trust her. His heart could not be relied upon—already she meant too much to him for him to judge fairly how far he could trust her. If he had his way, he’d pull her tight against him as he had in the ravine. But such a move would only further cloud his judgment, surely.

How long they sat there he wasn’t sure. In fact, he may have dozed somewhat in his exhaustion before the sound of men approaching the fortress woke him with a start.

Evelyn looked up and blinked, questions in her eyes.

“Shh,” he mouthed, holding a silent finger to his lips. He leaned forward in an attempt to see the road more clearly. The moon had sunk behind the rim of the western trees, but still the sun remained hidden. It was the darkest part of the night, with only the distant stars to light the road.

Shadows ambled into view along with the sound of boots against the packed dirt road. The band of men walked close together. Luke couldn’t see any of their faces, nor did they speak. They passed by in shadow. The sounds of their passage soon faded.

“Did you recognize any of them?” he whispered.

“The tallest may have been Omar.” She scowled and shook her head. “I couldn’t tell if King Garren was among them. It’s far too dark.” She stared after the men as the green tint of dawn spread across the mountainous horizon. “Come on, Bertie,” she whispered, her words pleading.

Luke reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

She looked up at him. “I can’t lose him. He’s the only loving family I have left.”

Luke could only nod. He’d have liked to assure her that she wasn’t completely alone—that he was on her side, that he’d taken many risks for her and would continue to do so. But he knew he couldn’t replace her brother, and he couldn’t be certain he’d always be on her side—not when she’d held back so much of who she was.

He offered her the most encouraging words he could think of. “We’ll stay here and wait for him as long as we can without being seen.”

She nodded appreciatively. She didn’t ask, though Luke was nearly certain she’d wondered, what they would do if Bertie was taken prisoner by the vengeful King Garren. He couldn’t risk his life and the peace of Lydia by entering the fortress to go after the boy, nor would he allow Evelyn to walk into a trap she had no way of escaping. Bertie would have to come out on his own, or they’d have no choice but to leave him.

The sky grew pale in the east and pink clouds kissed the peak of the mountain. Evelyn had bowed her head low over her folded hands, and Luke placed one hand on her back, praying silently along with her—for Bertie, for peace and for God’s protection.

He prayed, too, that she could be trusted. His father had died because of a deceptive ruse. Luke had always despised trickery and secrets, even more so over the course of his dealings with King Garren, who endangered the safety of all Lydia with his lies. Accustomed though he was to being lied to in Illyria, Luke wanted desperately to know he could trust Evelyn.

Luke had grown to care for her far more than he should. He knew she couldn’t be his. That simply wasn’t possible. As royalty he must marry only a bride fit for a prince. But even though he knew the two of them couldn’t be together, still, he couldn’t bear the thought that this brave, compassionate woman was keeping secrets from him.

He watched as the distant figures on the ramparts shifted—the changing of the guard. Would one of the sharp-eyed newcomers spot them in their hiding place among the trees? Luke felt a trickling of fear edge through him. The boy was taking so long to return.

Why?

A figure on horseback came around the backside of the fortress on the road from the postern gate. Given the distance and lack of light, Luke couldn’t tell much about the rider, but moments later Evelyn gasped.

“Is it a scout? Should we hide?” Luke felt his concern growing.

Evelyn shook her head and stared at the rider a moment longer. “Is it?” she whispered. “It is. Bertie has brought a horse.”

Luke felt his stomach lurch. A horse? What was the boy thinking? Granted, they might make their retreat more swiftly on horseback, but one animal could hardly carry all three of them. No, more likely the horse would be missed before the boy, and they’d be tracked down because of the animal.

Bertie urged the horse to a trot. As he neared their hiding place among the trees alongside the road, he called out something in Frankish. Evelyn responded in kind, then translated her brother’s words.

“He says we’re to run alongside the road out of sight of the guards until we leave the fortress far behind us.”

Luke took her hand as she spoke, and they made their way through the tree cover in a path parallel to her brother’s. Once they’d topped a few small hills and come to a deeper valley, Bertie slowed his horse and met them by the side of the road.

“You brought the bearskin?” Evelyn touched the bundle her brother used in place of a saddle.

“I brought everything.” Bertie lifted a strap rested across the mare’s withers that was tied to bundles that hung on either side, just in front of Bertie’s knees. “And food. The first strawberries have ripened. Cook made tarts.” He reached into his bundle and held out the fruit-topped pastries.

“You stole them?” Evelyn sounded aghast.

“Technically, no. Rosalind gave them to me. She begged me to bring her with me—that’s what slowed me down.” He distributed a tart to each of them and took a large bite of one himself.

“The princess Rosalind?” Luke’s stomach growled at the scent of food, but he waited to take a bite until he’d asked the clarifying question. “She wanted to escape her father’s fortress? Why?”

Bertie nodded as he chewed. “She hates it there. We’re her only friends. King Garren wants to marry her off now that she’s turned sixteen.” He swallowed and uncorked the stopper on a flask, then met their eyes again. “I promised to come back for her once it’s safe—that’s the only way she’d let me go alone. She helped me escape. I owe her.”

The youth passed the flask to his sister, who handed it to the prince without drinking.

“Aren’t you thirsty?” Luke asked.

“You’re a prince,” Evelyn noted.

Luke felt guilt swirl through him. Yes, he’d made the same distinction earlier, and rather curtly, but that was on the issue of obedience. It didn’t seem right to take Bertie’s water that he’d shared with his sister. But then again, the strawberry tarts were quite dry and left his throat aching for a drink.

“You may drink first,” he told her. “I’m still finishing my tart.”

“I’ve got more tarts if you’d like another,” Bertie offered freely.

Luke nodded and accepted the gift. They were small tarts, and he was quite hungry. Besides, if all went well, they’d soon be at Bern, where more provisions awaited them.

“Let’s keep moving,” he urged once they’d all had a chance to drink. “If King Garren sends out riders, they could catch up to us quickly here.”

“He called for wine when he arrived,” Bertie explained. “I doubt he’ll send anyone anywhere for a while.”

“Nonetheless, we can’t risk being captured.” Luke thought for a moment as he polished off his second tart. “Evelyn, why don’t you ride the horse with your brother? I’ll trot along beside. We’ll move faster that way.”