She flew past Boris, who had to run to keep up with her. She didn’t have to understand everything the captain had just said to recognize his threat was sexual.
She ran all the way to her cell. She didn’t enter it immediately. She checked the door at the end of the corridor first to make sure it was locked as he’d said. It was. She came back and had to push the drape aside to enter the cell. She didn’t say a word to Boris, who was standing there waiting to lock the door. She cringed as she heard him do so. The bed was fully made up with bedding, and a smaller brazier was lit and tucked into a corner, filling the room with a comfortable heat. How nice. A cozy prison, she thought sarcastically.
She dropped onto the bed, too exhausted to think about it anymore. She didn’t doubt she’d be asleep in moments, despite . . . She pushed tiredly back to her feet. The captain might not fear for her life, but she had that dread deep inside her, knowing someone had tried to kill her before and would try again. And he’d left her vulnerable.
She glanced about the room for something, anything that she could use as a weapon. She considered the chair. But it was too sturdy, and smashing it apart to obtain a sharp piece of wood would make too much noise. The pedestal table wasn’t sturdy. She flipped it over, stood on top of it, and tested each leg. One was loose enough for her to kick with her boot several times, then yank off. The table leg would serve as a club, a clumsy weapon, but she took it to bed with her and tucked it under the blanket.
She prayed she wouldn’t sleep so deeply that she’d fail to hear an intruder approaching. She prayed she wasn’t a fool for clinging to propriety instead of accepting Christoph’s offer to let her spend the night in his bed. But recalling how pleasurable she’d found his kisses before discovering what a barbarian he could be, she knew she wouldn’t be entirely safe there either.
• • •
Frederick knelt between the two graves, one marked by a large gray stone, the other marked by a small white stone. The snow had stopped falling but had left a layer on the ground that quickly wet his knees. He didn’t even notice. The pain in his chest was too strong. They had both been too young to die. Mother and child. Wife and daughter—his!
Avelina had only been twenty when he’d made her his queen, twenty-one when she bore their child. She had been bleeding when he left Lubinia, complications from childbirth. The doctors had known. She wouldn’t let them tell him. His meeting with the Austrians was too important because it involved a renewal of their alliance. She thought she would have recovered by the time he returned. She died before he did. And he came so close to losing Alana, too, in his grief over Avelina’s death. But he lost her anyway because he’d listened to his advisers instead of following his heart.
“I was afraid you were coming here. You had that look earlier. It breaks my heart to see you grieve like this.”
Nikola Stindal had silently approached. She bent and put her arms around his neck, her cheek to his. His second wife, Nikola, had only been sixteen when he’d married her. He’d promised her mother he wouldn’t touch her until she was eighteen. That had been difficult. She was as beautiful as his first wife, and while their marriage had been arranged for political reasons, it had soon turned to love. But even her comforting touch couldn’t ease this pain tonight.
“I’ll give you another child, I swear I will,” she told him earnestly.
“I know.”
He didn’t doubt she would. Even now she suspected she was pregnant again, but if she was, he was hesitant to announce it to put an end to the unrest the rebels were perpetrating. It would just terrify her all the more and end the pregnancy prematurely like all the others. She’d wanted her other pregnancies kept secret, as Alana had been kept secret, but he’d refused. After all, that secrecy hadn’t helped Alana.
The threat hanging over their lives was a nightmare for Nikola. He’d been told countless times that her fear was what kept her from bringing a pregnancy to fruition, fear that her child would be stolen or killed, too. She hid it so well. Only occasionally did she cry in his arms.
He had been giving serious thought to sending her away this time if she was pregnant again. That was the only thing that might give her peace.
“Come, it’s not safe out here in the ward,” she said. “You know Christoph doesn’t trust all these new men he’s had to recruit because of the rebels.”
Frederick stood up, but only to turn and embrace Nikola tightly. “You needn’t worry about that. The new men are paired with those that are trusted.”
She sighed and asked hesitantly, “What has reminded you so strongly of your loss tonight?”
“The arrival of another impersonator who thinks this grave is empty.”
“Did you see her?”
“I am afraid to, afraid I will kill her with my own hands for pretending to be my child, when my Alana lies here in this ground!”
“You must stop blaming yourself for that. I know you think they followed you hoping to find you undefended—”
“As they always hope to do! And they saw me with her! They guessed correctly who she was and killed her as soon as I departed!”
“Her fall could have been an accident. It’s not your fault!”
“I should not have visited her so often.”
“How could you not? She was your daughter.”
“I should have brought her home! She would have been better protected here. Instead I listened to those old advisers who were so afraid of my line ending. Hide her, they said. Keep her safe in secrecy. Let my enemies think they succeeded, so there would be no more attempts to take my heir from me. But they found her anyway. My God, I should have killed that whole family, every last Bruslan in Europe!”
“You only say that when you are this deep in your grief. There are many good fathers and mothers in that huge family, innocent children, the old and the feeble, even friends of ours. Yes, some of them might be unscrupulous enough to want to cause us harm. It might even be Karsten, influenced by the other young bucks who are impatient and bellicose. We just don’t know! But it is time we did. Give Christoph leave to use harsher measures. Please, Frederick, this nightmare needs to end!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
WHEN ALANA DROWSILY OPENED her eyes, she found the light so bright it felt almost painful. She didn’t want to wake up yet! Where the deuce was all the light coming from?
She opened her eyes wider, then immediately brought her hand up to shade her eyes. She wasn’t dreaming. Bright light was shining directly into her cell from the windows in the detention block because the curtain over the cell door had been pulled open.
“Good morning, Lady—Farmer.”
She turned her head to the voice and gasped when she saw Boris standing close to her bed, grinning at her. Yanking the blanket up to her neck, she demanded, “What are you doing in here?”
“I’ve brought you a very nice breakfast.” He set the platter down on the foot of her bed. “I would have brought a table, too, if I had known yours was broken.”
She blushed. The table, which was missing one leg, lay upside down on the floor. She wasn’t going to explain. She wasn’t going to give up her club, either.
“It doesn’t feel as though I got enough sleep. What time is it?”
“Very early. The captain asked me to find some clothes for you to wear today.” He nudged the sack by his foot, then picked up the table.
“I take it mine aren’t cleaned yet?”
“Not yet. And the captain will be here soon, so maybe you should dress quickly, eh? And don’t forget to eat!” he called back as he carried the table away.
She noted he had left the door open. Did he forget? Or had Christoph finally figured out that she wasn’t going anywhere until she met her father? Boris’s tip that the captain would soon be here worried her enough to get her out of bed and emptying the sack of clothes.
She could feel that the clothes were made of coarse materials, but when she slipped the blouse on, she saw they were cut in a risqué sty
She had only half-finished eating breakfast when Christoph appeared in the doorway. She got off the bed immediately. He was wearing a long coat, but not the military coat she’d seen him in last night. The material of this coat was not as fine, and because he hadn’t buttoned it yet, she could see he wasn’t wearing his uniform either. Instead he wore a woolen shirt and loose pants tucked into knee-high boots with wide, furry cuffs. Why was he dressed so informally today?
“Very colorful,” he said, running his eyes over her.
She could tell he was trying to hide a grin, but actually she had to agree; she was colorful. The skirt was bright yellow, the blouse white, and the wrap was deep red.
“But this won’t do,” he added.
Thank goodness, she thought, until he stepped forward and pulled the sash off her neck. “What are you doing?!” She put her hands up to cover what he’d just uncovered.
“You need to look authentic, not comical, where we’re going.” He wrapped the sash around her waist several times before he tied it off. “There, much better, but you’ll need a coat. We’ll borrow Franz’s, he’s as short as you. Let’s go.”
She didn’t budge. “Where are we going?”
“I have to attend a festival today in the high country. It’s official business. Bad timing, since I need to keep my eye on you as well. So I can tend to both responsibilities by taking you with me.”
“I can’t go out in these clothes!”
“Of course you can. I was going to introduce you as my maid, but any man who looks at you will know I wouldn’t let such a pretty morsel stay out of my bed for long, so . . .”
She sucked in a breath. “Don’t you dare introduce me as your mistress!”
“It’s only for the day, Alana. We need to blend in at this festival, not show up as obvious nobles who will make the commoners feel uncomfortable. It must appear that we are just there to have fun like everyone else.”
The thought of having some fun appealed to her, although she wasn’t sure it was possible with him. Nonetheless, she stopped complaining and followed his direction when he extended a hand for her to precede him out of the cell. At least she would be given a coat that would cover her appalling outfit.
Now that she understood why he was wearing what looked like rugged work clothes, she couldn’t resist commenting, “So, just going to be the barbarian today, are you?”
She was being sarcastic, but he raised a brow at her. “If you insist.”
She gasped as his palm whacked her arse. Oh, good grief, that better have only been retaliation for her remark and not a preview of how he was going to behave today!
A lot of snow had fallen during the night. Stepping out into the ward, she was nearly blinded by the sun’s reflection on the snow-covered ground. A guard led Christoph’s horse to him. He hefted her up into the saddle, then mounted behind her. She was still shielding her eyes against the glare as they rode off, so she didn’t notice the little boy standing by the meat-pie cart watching her closely, or see him hurriedly leave the ward as soon as the captain’s horse paced through the gate.
Chapter Twenty-Three
ALANA BLAMED THE COOK’S coat for making the ride to the festival one of the most unusual horseback-riding experiences she’d ever had in her life. The soft fur that lined the inside of the coat was doing the strangest things to her exposed skin underneath it. Every time the horse jostled her even a little, the fur brushed against her breasts. Her nipples kept tightening, and so did Christoph’s arm around her waist. It was almost as if he knew the brush of the fur against her skin was arousing her, and he wanted to intensify those sensations. But, of course, he couldn’t know. He was merely concerned about keeping her from slipping away from him, so he drew her back tighter against his chest—then the cycle would begin again.
She was quite warm and flustered by the time they arrived. They’d had to ride around a bend in the mountain, then steadily upward to a high meadow. The road was actually clear of snow from so many carts, coaches, and horses heading to the festival, but this area of the country, at a much higher elevation, had obviously been deluged with more snow than the capital had seen so far. Several feet of it lined both sides of the road and circled the meadow near a small village where a fairgrounds had been set up.
The huge tent at the center of the grounds was filled with people—merchants selling food and drink, and people of all ages eating, drinking, and laughing, many seated at long tables. Laughing children were gathered in front of a makeshift stage where a puppet show was in progress. With so many people in the tent, Alana found it so warm she worried that she’d have to remove her coat if they stayed there. But Christoph merely bought each of them a mug of ale before they went back outside to walk around the grounds.
Games and competitions were set up everywhere Alana looked. There were targets for archery, pistols, and rifles, stakes in the ground for throwing horseshoes and other objects large and small, and several wrestling platforms. There were contests of dexterity—an obstacle course a contestant had to cross while carrying a mug of ale on his head! And contests of strength—a footrace in the snow, but each runner had to carry another man on his back. That one, Alana noticed, definitely got a lot of laughs from a crowd of onlookers. Most of the games seemed designed to amuse the audience rather than the competitors, but that was apparently part of the fun.
Christoph kept his arm around Alana’s waist as they walked around. Mindful of the role she had tacitly agreed to play, she didn’t try to shrug away from him despite the odd tension she felt from his closeness. The effects of that sensually stirring ride still hadn’t worn off, and she didn’t think they would until she could get rid of the fur that was still tickling her skin. But the alternative was out of the question because the outfit she had been given was much too revealing. Yet because of her agitation, she was far too aware of the man beside her!
She drank some of her ale, hoping it would soothe her frazzled nerves. Christoph bent his head toward hers to say, “You don’t have to drink that. It’s just another prop to help us blend in.”
“Is it common to drink so early in the day?”
“Normally, no.” But then he grinned. “At a festival, absolutely.”
“Then I think I’ll have a little more of this, if you don’t mind.” She took a bigger sip.
He laughed. “You can’t sound all prim and proper while drinking ale, wench. But you don’t need my permission to enjoy yourself.”
No, she didn’t. He might like to consider her his prisoner, but he was going to get his comeuppance just as soon as she met her father. She took a bigger sip. It was helping to soothe her agitation over how possessively he was holding her. She also felt on display. Well, she was, actually, because he was drawing so much attention himself, which meant too many people were looking at her, too. He might have wanted the people to be at ease with his presence, and it appeared to be working—he got a lot of smiles and greetings—but they still knew who he was.
“Are you here merely to observe, or to speak with someone, or are you not allowed to tell me?” He didn’t answer, which was an answer, so she added, “Well, if you’re determined to ‘blend in’ as you put it, shouldn’t you be playing some of these games?”
“Which would you like to try?”
“Me? If I was inclined, I would choose the pistol shooting, and I would win, you know. But I suppose the men might object to being beaten at something like that—by a woman.”
“I think you’re right. It’s fine for women to show off, and they’re quite good at it. In the kitchen—and the bedroom.”
“Oh, please,” she said drily. “You’ve let the barbarian out again. That’s a bad habit you’ve got.”
“Being myself? I should hope so, eh? But in the interest of avoiding embarrassment for the men present today, perhaps I’ll take a turn at something for you. What would you suggest?”
She glanced around, twice, but both times her eyes were drawn back to the wrestling platform where the two combatants currently up there were only half-dressed, their chests bare. Yes, she would like to see him up there.
She took another sip of the ale, then pointed at the platform. “There you go, that ought to be a piece of cake for you. Show them how it’s done.”
“Too easy.”
“Oh, ho!” She laughed. “So barbarians are braggarts, too?”
He raised a brow. “Are you getting drunk on just a few sips of ale?”
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been drunk, but you asked me to choose and I did. Now let’s see what you’re made of, Captain.”
He chuckled. “And said in the form of a challenge I can’t refuse, eh? Very well.” He started walking them toward the platform.
“The object, I take it, is to throw the other man off the platform and you win?”
“That’s about it.”
“Well—good luck.”
“You think I need luck?”
“You will if you take me up there with you,” another male voice said.
They both turned around—well, Alana had no choice with Christoph’s arm holding her so tightly. The man who had come up behind them was blond, brown eyed, and handsome. As tall as Christoph and about the same age. Apparently nobles did attend these festivals because the man’s rich apparel spoke for itself. He also had his arms around not one but two young women, both clinging to his sides.
“It’s good to see you again, Christo,” the man said sarcastically. “But I’m afraid you won’t have any fun here if you’re on a rebel hunt. These are good people loyal to Frederick.”
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