to worry?”
“That’s what he said.”
“What does that mean?” Had her suspicions been correct? Was the prince up to something? Evelyn hated to think the Christian would be capable of the same deceitfulness as her grandfather, but she chided herself for hoping otherwise. He was royal. Of course he was a liar. She’d be wise to be on her guard around him, lest his handsome smile and winsome ways distract her from his dishonesty.
“I wonder the same thing,” Bertie watched her carefully, his blue eyes dancing, his pale hair the same color as the straw in the stables. “I wanted to ask, but I heard voices below and had to sneak away before I was caught.”
“I should try to visit him myself.”
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“He said not to worry.”
But Evelyn worried, all through that afternoon and evening, especially when King Garren failed to order a plate sent up to the tower. It was one thing for him to starve her out—she was his granddaughter. But Prince Luke could retaliate for the poor treatment, assuming he survived. And she hated to think of him going hungry—unless he was plotting against them, in which case he didn’t deserve their hospitality.
Perhaps Garren had no intention of letting the prince survive this time. It could be he’d learned his lesson after she’d brought the prince back from the brink of death at Bern.
The only good thing to come of the day was a clean dress and a bath. King Garren didn’t believe in bathing—he feared the water might wash away a person’s soul—but Evelyn had grown up taking baths in the Holy Roman Empire. Here she and the serving girls had worked out a system, guarding each other while they dipped themselves in the warm washing water before they started the laundry. And since Cook had retired to her room exhausted from serving lunch to a prince and still put out by her scare with the bearskin, Evelyn took the time to wash her hair, then to comb out all the tangles until it shimmered like pale gold in the orange glow of the fire.
Night had fallen by the time she got a moment to herself. She grabbed the two bread rolls she’d set aside earlier and filled a skin flask with tea, the herbal liquid a fortifying mixture that would give Luke strength even if she wasn’t able to reach him again for some time. Whatever her grandfather’s plans, or the prince’s, she wasn’t about to refuse hospitality to a man who’d brought them a gift. Besides, she hoped to learn more about his intentions.
She made her way stealthily down the halls to the spiraling stairs that led to the highest tower. The guard at the base of the stairs sat slumped against the wall, snoring. Evelyn crept past him without a sound. When she reached the top, she tried the door and found to her surprise that it swung open easily.
Moonlight poured through the open eaves, illuminating the bare stones of the austere space.
It was empty.
Chapter Four
Luke found the narrow pathway between the stables and the rear wall. The pale-haired woman—he cringed to think of her as Biddy—had led him that way when she’d tried to help him escape that morning. If he’d known what he’d soon be up against, he’d have learned more about her intended route then, but he’d misjudged King Garren’s animosity.
The pale-haired woman had been right about Garren’s intentions. Given her warning, Luke had suspected he was walking into a trap when Garren had offered to show him the view from the tower. He’d gone along, partly out of curiosity to see if the king would really imprison him and partly because, assuming the king was bold enough to imprison him, the aggression against his person would constitute a violation of the terms of the peace accord.
By allowing himself to be locked away, Luke had achieved an advantage for Lydia.
Now he needed to pass along word of what he’d discovered to his brother King John of Lydia. Thus far they’d assumed Garren was willing to abide by the peace treaty. They’d clearly overestimated Garren’s wisdom on those matters.
Horses nickered in the stables behind him, and Luke froze. Someone was in the stables. The pale-haired boy, Biddy’s brother, who’d visited him in the tower? If he could find the boy, Luke could leave a message for her with him.
It was dangerous to tarry. Luke needed to report what he’d learned to his brother. And yet at the thought of the woman, he found his feet turning back a few steps toward the nearest stable door. He’d been intrigued by her since she’d saved his life. Finding her here in such a low position increased his curiosity. What was she doing in this place? Her skill with the needle and knowledge of healing meant she’d obviously had specialized training in far finer arts than rumor told him were practiced in Garren’s household. Her brother claimed to be from the Holy Roman Empire. So how, then, had they come here?
What could he do to keep his promise to free her and her brother? Could he buy their freedom? He couldn’t leave them behind, not when he was this close already, not without trying to repay the woman for the gift of life she’d given him. He had to try to see her again. He still didn’t know her real name.
Luke reached the stable door and peered into the darkness inside. The heavy walls blocked much of the moonlight. Horses shifted on their feet, their shadows looming dark against the walls, each one large enough to hide a man.
Was he foolish to come here? Luke slipped into the nearest stall and quieted the sleeping mare that startled at his appearance. The horse went back to its slumber.
Perhaps he was a fool for visiting Fier in the first place, but he’d learned enough to justify the trouble it had caused him.
And what of the woman? She’d tried to warn him away from this place, then tried to help him escape. But surely she could get in trouble for helping him. Why would she take such a risk on his account, especially when she was of such lowly status already? Slaves could be brutally punished, even killed, without their masters ever being called into question. Most were unerringly devoted to their masters out of fear.
The pale-haired woman didn’t seem devoted to King Garren. Whom did she really serve? Could she be trusted?
Movement near the far door caught his eye, and Luke spotted a flash of silver. Human. The boy? No, he realized with a pounding heart, it was the woman they called Biddy.
Moonlight splashed in patches across her as she stole down the center aisle. She’d pulled her loose hair back in a tight braid and changed her dress. This garment was a more tattered rag, perhaps a bit too small, even, though it showed more of her slender curves. Luke’s breath caught as he watched her moving cautiously and gracefully in the moonlight.
She stopped in front of a stall and slipped through the door before Luke realized what she was doing. The horse seemed to know her and followed without hesitation as she led him from the stall.
Where was she going with the horse? The woman had risen early that morning to find valerian roots on foot. She’d worked hard all day and ought to be exhausted by this hour. Surely she didn’t make a habit of going riding at night. With a pang, Luke wondered if perhaps she was going to look for him.
No one had stopped her. From what Luke could tell, they were the only two people in the stable. With a prayer for safety, he stepped carefully toward her, not wanting to startle her or the horse. If either of them cried out, he might easily be caught again. And King Garren was unlikely to leave him where he could escape with so little trouble this time.
The woman led the gelding to the corner where the tack was stacked, and she prepared the horse to ride. Luke followed quietly, debating how best to make his presence known.
He reached a patch of moonlight when a horse nickered. The woman turned. Her eyes widened when she saw him, but she made no sound.
Luke rushed to her side.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, then raised her hands with an offering. “I brought you these.”