The Secret Princess (15 page)

Warrick dropped to his knees in the dirt, and Luke bent to pluck up the forgotten crown. He held it out to the Illyrian heir. Warrick bowed his head.

“I crown you Warrick, king of the Dometian tribe of the Illyrians.” Luke placed the crown on Warrick’s
head.

The Illyrian blinked up at him. “There will be peace between our kingdoms. You have my word.” He swallowed and stared toward his father’s limp form, still trapped beneath a tangle of beams. When Warrick looked up at Luke again, he held his gaze sternly. “Go find the slaves, but for the sake of peace, show them mercy. They are my niece and nephew. If any harm comes to them, I will consider
it a crime against a prince and princess of the Dometians. They desire only to return to their homeland. Find them and send them safely on their way.”

Tempted as he was to defend his honor and insist he was always a man of mercy, Luke realized there wasn’t time or need for his assertions. He nodded to the newly crowned king, then pulled Dan and Sacha to his side.

“Can you ride?” he asked
them as he walked quickly back to the place where they’d left their horses.

“I’d welcome water and a bite to eat first, but I can ride,” Dan assured him.

“Eat.” As they reached the horses, Sacha pulled out the stores they’d set by for the journey. “Eat as you ride.”

“Which way?” Dan asked.

“Whichever way the pale-haired slaves went. Did you see any sign of them?”

“None,
Your Highness. They must have snuck away while we were busy with the logs.”

Luke nodded as he finished a long drink of water from his flask. “They’ll head north—to the shoreline and ultimately to Aachen.”

“How will they know the way?” Sacha asked as he broke off a piece of roll and popped it into his mouth.

“I doubt they know much beyond the need to head north. They’ll keep the
rising sun on their right and the sinking sun on their left, but beyond that, who can tell what path they might choose? The farther they travel, the more complicated our search. Let us hurry.” He mounted his horse.

His men did the same. Dan cleared his throat a few times before noting with some hesitancy, “Your Highness, if they’re bent on escaping our country, they won’t cause us any more
trouble.”

“True,” Luke conceded.

Dan straightened a bit and spoke more boldly. “So, then, why are we going after them?”

“They’re escaped slaves. We must pursue them for justice. And to make certain they’re safe, as I promised King Warrick. Anyone who knows their father’s identity might well seek vengeance upon them. We must save them from that end. And because—” Luke swallowed back
a confession of his feelings for Evelyn, though anger speared through his affection for her. In truth, he simply couldn’t let her leave, not like this, without any explanation. He finished his statement by forcing anger into his voice to cover the wrenching cry of his breaking heart. “Because I am your prince, and I have ordered you to do so.”

The men rode in silence then. Luke couldn’t speak,
not when Dan’s question continued to echo through his thoughts. Why was he so intent on going after Evelyn? Justice was important, as was his promise to the newly crowned king of the Dometian tribe of the Illyrians, but that wasn’t the source of his determination. After seeking her for so long and caring for her so deeply, he simply couldn’t let her leave.

Not like this.

* * *

Evelyn bent to drink from the stream. “We should follow this streambed,” she said as she wiped her lips.

“Why?”

“It’s a clear path, and I’m tired of forcing our way through tangled branches. We’ll make much better time this way, and we’ve got to keep our lead. And all rivers lead to the sea.” She climbed back onto the horse’s back.

Bertie didn’t argue. “Let’s hurry, then. I’ve no
doubt they’ll try to come after us once they realize we’ve left.” He held up his hand, and Evelyn helped haul him onto the animal’s withers, seating him in front of her. “I’m surprised we’ve made it this far.”

Evelyn was surprised, too, but she didn’t say anything, only nudged the horse forward. Why had they gotten away so easily? Had Prince Luke been delayed by the Illyrians? Had Warrick
turned on him?

Her heart burned with fear for the prince. She hated to think that any danger might befall him, and yet he was safer without her. She’d only brought him trouble. And there wasn’t anything she could have done to help him, not against so many archers. Her only skill was to sew him up when he was injured. She prayed he wasn’t in need of that service.

“What will we do if they
catch up to us?” Bertie asked as the horse splashed quickly down the shallow stream, his pace nearly a canter now that they were clear of the obstructing branches.

“Ride as fast as we can away from them.”

“Do you think we can outpace them?”

“We’re lighter than they are, even with both of us on the same horse.”

“Our horse is tired.”

“So are theirs.”

Bertie stayed silent
only an instant longer. “What if they shoot?”

Evelyn felt her back stiffen as the thought froze her blood in her veins. Would Prince Luke order his men to shoot at them?

He’d have every right to. After all, wasn’t that why they fled—to escape retribution for their father’s crimes against the Royal House of Lydia? And she’d seen the way Luke’s eyes had hardened when Garren had revealed
the truth about her. He’d looked at her for only a moment before Garren’s antics and the falling logs had pulled his attention away again, but that moment had seemed to stretch forever, and she’d seen her worst fears in his eyes in that time.

Anger. Disgust. A feeling of betrayal and a thirst for vengeance that had instantly wiped away whatever affection he’d felt for her before.

“If
they shoot—” she measured out her words slowly, forcing her voice to work in spite of the pain lodged in her chest “—we’ll have to take cover. Flee on foot if we must. We should try to stay together, don’t you think?”

Bertie mulled her words briefly. “Yes. We’ll have to stay together. You’re all I have.”

Evelyn wrapped one arm tighter around her brother, feeling more alone than ever.
If the pile of fallen logs was any indication, their grandfather Garren was gone now. That much was a relief. But she’d found, in spite of all her efforts not to develop feelings for Prince Luke, that she had grown to care for him quite deeply.

She’d known they couldn’t be together. She hadn’t doubted that truth for one moment. And yet living that reality now, the woods seemed so very vast,
and she felt so terribly small. When they’d told her Luke had died in the hut at Bern, she’d grieved the loss of a man she hadn’t really known.

But having known him and having grown so very fond of him, she now grieved the loss of his presence from her life so much more fiercely, with a pain that squeezed her heart and threatened to crush it.

Chapter Fifteen

L
uke stayed on the road to Sardis but peered intently into the woods on either side as they rode. Given how near they were to the city, it would be irresponsible of him not to alert the rest of his men to the situation that had unfolded, even if that meant risking letting Evelyn and Bertie slip away.

It was his duty.

Besides, he wasn’t sure yet how to
respond to the news he’d learned. If he’d hoped for one instant that Garren was lying, Warrick’s sincere words had erased that possibility. His own eyes and heart had confirmed the rest. Evelyn was Rab the Raider’s daughter. She’d kept the truth from him deliberately.

That deception tore at his heart most deeply. The woman had kissed him. She’d held him and hoped with him, all the while knowing
full well the crimes of her family against his. He wanted to scream in frustration at the blue, cloudless sky, to beat his chest in hopes of dislodging the pain there, but what good would it do him?

Evelyn had deceived him. And then she’d run away.

“Gregory,” Luke called to the captain of the guard as he and his men approached Sardis. “Your ranking men—gather quickly.”

By the time
Luke’s horse had thundered across the drawbridge, Gregory and his men stood just beyond the portcullis to meet him. “Yes, Your Highness?”

Quickly, Luke explained all that had transpired at the mines, leaving out Evelyn’s parentage. Too many in Lydia held hard feelings toward the man who’d killed their king. He couldn’t risk letting any of them strike out at her in anger. He hadn’t decided
yet what to do with her, but he didn’t want her dead—that would only crush his heart all the more.

Fortunately, he knew the men who’d been with him at the mines could be trusted to keep secret all they’d heard—their allegiance to him had always been strong. “I crowned Warrick king of the Dometian tribe. Send word to my brother and Elisabette. I’d like a team dispatched to the caves to offer
their help and condolences. Warrick has promised us peace—I don’t want to give him any opportunity to rethink his position. This may be the best chance Lydia has to live at peace with her neighbors.”

“Yes, yes, indeed.” Gregory nodded firmly. “But come in. You must be exhausted.”

“No.” Luke stepped back toward the bridge. “I must ride.”

“Why? Where?”

“The Frankish slaves escaped.
Their lives may be in danger. I must catch up to them before anyone else does.”

“Let me send you more men, then. And fresh horses.”

“I’ll take a fresh horse.” Luke conferred with Dan and Sacha about their readiness to ride. Both men agreed they were exhausted after the adventures of the past several days and expressed concern that their prince wanted to ride out so soon without resting.

“I must go,” he told them flatly, not willing to elaborate any more than that—because they didn’t need to know his reasons and because he wasn’t clear on them himself. He still didn’t know what he was going to do with Evelyn once he found her.

But he had to find her. He wouldn’t be able to breathe freely until he did.

“Men, horses.” Gregory presented them both to Luke, handing him
the reins for the finely saddled mount and indicating a group of half a dozen men. “Shall I send a larger party? I’ve included Renwick, the messenger—he can bring us word if you’ve need of anything more at any time.”

“Thank you. You’ve been most helpful. I must hurry.” He mounted the horse and nodded to the men to follow, waiting until they’d crossed the echoing drawbridge to explain to them
their mission.

“Do them no harm,” he insisted, having described to them Evelyn and her brother, relieved to learn all six of the men who rode with him had seen the pair on their previous visit to the city and would recognize them even if their pale hair was covered. “Treat them with the same respect you would treat any royal, only do not let them get away.”

They rode back in the direction
of the caves some distance before Luke decided to separate his party into three factions, sending two men farther inland and two back through the woods heading nearly due north. He took Renwick and a soldier named Gurn and headed out between the others.

“If you find them, bring them to me. Failing that, return them to Sardis and send a party to fetch me back.” The men nodded, and Luke urged
his horse forward, prayers pounding through him with every beat of his heart. That he would find her. That she would be safe. And most of all, that he’d know what to do with her once he reached her.

* * *

“We’ve got to stop and rest,” Bertie pleaded.

“Rest while we ride. You’ve done it before.” Evelyn felt exhaustion tugging at her, as well, but fear prodded her onward and kept
her alert.

“I hardly slept all last night. Besides, it’s getting dark. The horse will need to rest soon, too,” Bertie reminded her.

Evelyn tried to think. They’d had to leave the streambed when it had met up with a river. They continued downstream along the eastern side, but the thick bushes that grew on the banks of the river slowed their passage and forced them farther away from the
rushing water. She hated to lose sight of the river in the darkness—it was their only landmark. Without it they might end up walking in circles, especially once the sun went down.

And she really didn’t know where they were going or what they would do once they reached the shore. Could they find a ship that would take them on to the Holy Roman Empire? They had the rest of their treasures,
except for the crown, which had never been theirs to begin with. Could they buy passage? Or were they more likely to have their treasures stolen if they dared show them to anyone?

“We can rest. But let’s find a good hiding spot to do it.”

* * *

“Tracks,” Gurn confirmed as he crouched near the ground to inspect the slight disturbances of the soil. “Fresh horse prints that follow
the river.”

“Do you suppose it’s them?”

“Could be anyone, but if it turns out to be someone else, we can ask them if they’ve seen the pair,” Gurn suggested.

“Let’s hurry,” Renwick urged. “The sun grows low behind us. Once we lose its light, we may not be able to follow the tracks much longer.”

Luke rode onward, trusting Gurn’s vigilance to keep them on course with the tracks.
After the long day and night—indeed, the exhausting several days he’d spent traveling—Luke felt bleary-eyed and didn’t trust himself to follow the trail as well as the soldier ahead of him. It was all he could do to stay upright in the saddle and ride. Had it not been for the anxious churning in his heart, he might not have been able to stay awake at all.

Gurn stopped and dismounted for a
third time, crouching again and squinting at the ground. Then he rose and shook his head. “I’m not sure which way they went from here or if we’re even still on their trail. There simply isn’t enough light to see.”

Luke absorbed the news silently.

“The prince is exhausted. Shall we make camp?” Renwick suggested.

But Luke shook off his stupor. “No. They may choose to travel through
the night. If we rest now, they’ll be many hours ahead of us when we advance again.”

Gurn straightened. “If we ride in the wrong direction and lose the trail, we’ll be at just as much disadvantage.”

“Can you follow it on foot?” Luke asked.

“Perhaps—for a little longer, at least.”

“Then do so. Renwick and I will rest here. You proceed on foot. If you find anything—or if you
discover you’ve lost the trail completely—double back and encamp with us.”

Gurn nodded but clarified. “If I follow them until dawn—how will you find me then?”

“You have your knife?” Luke asked, and Gurn nodded in confirmation. “Good. Are you familiar with the marks we’ve used in the borderlands? Pick one you can make quickly as you go.”

Gurn stepped to the nearest sapling and used
his blade to quickly peel back a thumbprint’s width of the thin-skinned bark. “Will this work?”

Luke smiled at the way the fresh white wood reflected even the waning light. “Very good. Mark your path. When I’m rested enough to ride, we’ll follow it. If you’ve doubled back, we’ll find you. If not, we’ll eventually catch up.”

Satisfied they’d done all they could for the moment, Luke wearily
lowered himself to the ground and began munching on a cake of raisins.

Far too soon Gurn shook him awake. The moon was high in the sky. Luke found most of his raisin cake still in his hand—he’d fallen asleep before he’d hardly eaten at all.

“I’ve caught up to them,” Gurn whispered. “They’re encamped some distance ahead of us, well hidden—I nearly stumbled upon them in the darkness.”

“Did you wake them?” Luke sat up straight and blinked. “Do they know they’ve been seen?” Instantly he feared Gurn’s discovery might have sent the Frankish slaves into panicked flight.

“I don’t believe they realized I was there—both of them slept deeply. But we should hurry all the same in case they break camp before the sun rises.”

Luke agreed. Renwick had roused as Gurn and Luke
spoke. Now all three men prepared to ride again. Luke ate the last of his raisin cake in haste, washing it down with water from the stream.

Gurn assured them they could safely ride for some distance before stealth required them to walk. White patches of fresh wood guided them in a path alongside the Mursia River. Finally Gurn slowed his mount.

“It’s not much farther. We should walk from
here.”

Fearing the clank of gear and heavy hoof falls would give them away too easily, the three men secured their horses among the trees before proceeding on foot. After passing three more patches of peeled bark, Gurn raised one hand and stopped. He motioned for Luke to stand near him.

Luke approached cautiously, even more careful now not to make a sound. When he reached the soldier’s
side, Gurn pointed downward ahead of them, and Luke realized they stood on a slight overhang half a man’s height above a small ravine. The moon was high in the sky and still nearly full. Its bright light illuminated the pale horse that slept below and the two fair-haired slaves who slept at the animal’s side.

Evelyn lay with one cheek pressed against the horse’s ribs, her hair mostly tucked
away under her hood, though her cloak had fallen back, leaving her face fully exposed. The moon’s gentle light cast a radiant glow across her forehead and cheeks, its shadows lengthening her eyelashes and highlighting her lips.

Luke caught his breath.

How many times in his dreams had he pictured her just like this, only never so real or so perfect? How long had he searched for her—not
just that day but in the weeks and months since she’d saved his life? How much had he longed to see her, how many prayers had he prayed that she was real?

And yet she wasn’t just the woman who’d saved his life. He could see it now, so clearly he wondered how he’d ever missed it before—the resemblance to her father, the man who’d rendered him an orphan and shoved him forward, against his will,
to the second spot in line for the Lydian throne. How could he ever look at her again without seeing Rab the Raider, without remembering his loss and the thirst for justice that had burned through him ever since the moment he’d heard the awful news of his father’s death?

How could he ever feel for her all he’d felt before?

But then again, how could he stop feeling?

“What should
we do?” Gurn asked in a whisper after Luke gawked for many long minutes.

Luke shook his head, still unsure. He’d prayed for God to make the path clear to him, but the rush of conflicting emotions inside him made no clear pattern, pointed to no obvious path. What was there to do but send the pair back to Aachen, as Warrick had instructed him—as Evelyn herself had begged of him before?

He turned away, his back to them. He couldn’t look at her any longer, not without feeling far more than he wanted to feel. “We’ll wait for them to awaken, then escort them to Castlehead. My brother Mark is anchored there but will be leaving soon to cross the sea.”

As Luke announced his plan, he realized it was prudent. Yes. He’d send them both away, where they couldn’t interfere with the newfound
peace between Lydia and Illyria. Where Evelyn’s beauty would no longer pain his heart.

Gurn and Renwick looked slightly surprised at Luke’s instructions, but true to their positions, they didn’t argue with their prince.

“What now, then?” Renwick asked in a whisper. “Shall we attempt to camp here?”

Luke mulled his question for only a moment, then made up his mind. “Yes. Here. Fetch
the horses but remain silent. I don’t want to disturb them. They need their rest.”

As Gurn bent silently to clear a space for them to rest, Luke found himself turning back, almost against his will, to look at Evelyn again. All the hope he’d felt for their future, all his joy at finding a woman who might be his bride—not just in a duty-bound, diplomatic sense but in love—all his dreams for
a future with the lovely woman died inside of him, crushed as King Garren had been under the weight of the truth she’d kept from him.

He turned away in disgust. He could not look at her again. Renwick and Gurn would have to escort the pair to Castlehead. He could not bear to be in her presence any longer.

Luke stepped back toward the flattened stretch of ground Gurn had cleared for them
to rest. In the distance, Luke could see Renwick approaching slowly with one horse—he’d no doubt chosen, wisely, to fetch only one at a time. They’d be much stealthier that way.

A stick cracked, its sound echoing sharply through the silent night.

Luke froze and looked at Gurn, who stared back at him, eyes wide. Luke wasn’t sure which of them had made the noise, but it mattered precious
little where the sound had come from. All that mattered was whether the siblings had heard it.

Time stretched long and tense as Luke stood completely still. He raised one hand toward Renwick, who was still some way off, cautioning the messenger to stop lest he add any noise that might disturb the siblings further.

No sooner had Luke begun to breathe again than he thought he heard a faint
whispering behind him. Had Evelyn and Bertie awakened, and were they even now discussing their plans in muffled voices? Slowly, cautiously, Luke turned around, but the lip of the ridge blocked them from sight.