by Sue London
Hans knocked twice on the ceiling, the arranged signal to tell Erich to stop as planned. The village had a rather large inn, and the horses could be traded if they did not recover overnight.
"We're stopping?" her voice had taken on a different quality, a bit breathless.
"In a bit," he said. "It would be too dangerous to continue past nightfall."
She nodded and turned her attention back to the failing light outside. "Just three more days at this pace, yes?"
"Three or four to Calais," he agreed carefully. "Depending on weather, horseshoes, and other surprises. Then we need to cross the channel and make our way to London. All told it will be at least five or six days."
She nodded again and he heard her give a tiny sigh. "It would have been faster on horseback."
* * *
She would certainly say that Von Rosen and his man were solicitous of her needs. They hovered over her in the stable yard, escorted her through the inn, and ensured a bath had been ordered before leaving her alone in an admittedly spacious room. Her escort would be sleeping in the adjoining room, and his man would stay with the carriage. Although she wanted nothing more than to continue their journey, she couldn't insist that they risk the horses and themselves in the dark. Instead, she chose to luxuriate in the provided bath and curl up under the warm if rustic blankets. Were this to be her last adventure before marriage, she would try to enjoy it as best she could. Mama was undoubtedly worried, but Krystyna was sure she could talk some sense into Casimir and be home before the end of the year, even if her escort was traveling at a slower rate than she hoped. Hopefully if Mama sent men on her heels from the hints of her plans in the note she had left, they would be too far behind to catch up even at this speed.
Chapter Four
Soldiers, as a rule, were adept at sleeping whenever and wherever they could. At the moment sleep was eluding Hans. As a supposed newlywed he hadn't wanted to stay down in the tavern for long. However, that meant listening to Frau Rokiczana take her bath. He wrapped the pillow around his head in order to not intrude into her privacy in even this unintentional way, but then he became concerned that she could slip or need help, which in retrospect were terrible excuses, but it meant that he lay there in the dark listening to her humming and soft splashes for nigh on a quarter of an hour. Shortly after that, the pale candlelight shining under their adjoining door was snuffed out, and he heard the creak of her climbing into her bed.
He had never thought very deeply about taking a wife. He always supposed he would at some later date, even if he hadn't really been looking at women as potential wives. But there was much to recommend about escorting a woman such as Frau Rokiczana into a room and being able to claim her. When they arrived, all of the patrons had looked on her much as Hans and his own staff had, as a lady. She had an air that demanded respect. If he were to begin a list of qualities he wanted in a wife, he would include that. Not that he had any deficit in commanding respect himself, but it had been intriguing to stand behind her and experience the reflected glory. Perhaps that was similar to the feeling troops had experienced following him into battle.
He turned on his side. If that were true, however, she might not feel as confident as she seemed. Hans himself was a risk-taker at heart. He had never truly been as confident as everyone thought. His experience was that it didn't matter how he felt, it only mattered how he acted. Was that also true of Frau Rokiczana? It would be folly to expect her experiences to mirror his own, but the thought was hard to dismiss. Finally lulled by the silence from her room, he fell into his slumber.
* * *
Two more days passed in relative silence. Krystyna found that if she asked Von Rosen about the terrain or towns, he was quite familiar with the area, but he seemed no more interested in a prolonged conversation than she did. However, the atmosphere inside the carriage changed from one of tension to a more settled and comfortable quiet. She didn't cling to the door with the tenacity she had the first day, and actually became quite used to having his solid form next to her. When the carriage would hit a rut he put a steadying hand on her and the spot on her arm would stay warm for long minutes after he let her go. She was glad that he didn't feel the need to be charming. She had other things to occupy her mind rather than fending off flirtatious gentlemen.
That night he asked her to remain in the carriage as he secured their rooms, saying that the accommodations weren't as savory as those they had used thus far. She didn't want to confide to him that she had seen any number of unsavory things in her lifetime. Being treated as a pampered lady was yet another way of being sure she was delivered to her brother with all haste and minimal amorous advances.
There was a knock at the carriage door. "It's Hans."
"Yes?"
He opened the door, holding aloft a lantern. His expression was chagrined. "We will be sharing a room this eve."
"They didn't have sufficient accommodations?"
He looked over his shoulder. When his gaze returned it was quite grave. "I don't trust the patrons. I'm not letting you out of my sight."
She nodded once and gathered her things.
As soon as she alit from their carriage he thrust a bundle of cloth into her hands. "Put on this cloak. Cover up as well as you can with it."
She looked up at him. Tall, imposing Von Rosen had a tension to his jaw that bespoke sensing trouble. No one needed to prove to her that terrible things happened in the world. In her life she had seen things, heard things, that were horrifying. She huddled into the cloak, bending over and holding her arms at an angle that would indicate both girth and age. Taking his arm, she waddled beside him like someone's decrepit old aunt.
Von Rosen whispered down to her. "What are you doing?"
"Being unattractive," she replied, following up with a hacking cough and spit.
He chuckled. "You're brilliant at it."
Her only reply was an indelicate snort.
* * *
Hans closed and locked the door of their room while his charge took off her cloak. Her impromptu disguise had been stunning for the purposes of making her unremarkable and downright unattractive to the patrons of the inn. He leaned against the door, grinning. "You know they think I married you. Or what they now suspect to be a warty, fat little troll who was under that cloak."
Her eyes danced with mirth and she sat on the bed. "You can tell them that you married me for my money."
"Why would a Von Rosen need to marry for money?"
She tipped her head to the side as though considering. "Then perhaps for my very blue blood?"
Prepossessed, confident Krystyna Rokiczana had been attractive and admirable. Silly, teasing Krystyna Rokiczana was absolutely devastating. If he were any younger, any less honorable, any less trained to self-restraint, he would already be wooing her in an attempt to take her in this very bed. "We should get some sleep. Leaving early may avoid unpleasantness in the morning."
"True enough." She removed her shoes and rolled down her stockings as though his being in the room didn't bother her a whit. Soft, thin stockings. Fine wool? Silk? He couldn’t tell without staring. Or touching.
He sat on the straight-backed chair to remove his boots.
"Do you need help with those?"
"It's not the easiest thing, but I can manage."
"Don't be stubborn." She knelt in front of him and took hold of the boot he had started to work loose.
"I don't want you to get your dress dirty."
"Then do a better job of wiping your feet on the way in next time." She plucked the first boot off in a quarter the time it would have taken him to remove it himself. "I used to remove papa's boots. And of course Casimir's, when he was little." The second boot came off just as quickly. "See? All done. And I can dust myself off just fine."
Watching her dust the flecks of dirt off her bodice as she knelt before him sent a dart of longing through him that he had never experienced before. Not lust, precisely, but a wanting that had a sweeter edge to it. The de
sire to kiss her made him ache.
She seemed to sense him watching her and looked up. "What?
He changed the direction of his thoughts by force of will. "Once you're in bed I can turn down the lantern."
"Then turn around a moment so that I can take off my dress. It's far too heavy to sleep in."
He bit back a groan and dutifully stood, turning his eyes to the wall.
"Are you sleeping in the bed, too?" she asked.
"No," he said, perhaps more sharply than he meant to. "In front of the door."
"That can't be comfortable."
"I've had worse."
"Do you want the pillow or a blanket?"
"Keep them. I'll be fine with the cloak." He heard the creak of rope supports. "You're in bed?"
"Yes."
"Good night then." He turned down the lantern before he could look at her in the bed. Before he could see her with her hair down, curled under the blankets to sleep. Yes, it would be a long, hard night, but not because he was sleeping on the floor.
Chapter Five
Krystyna bit her lip and snuggled deeper under the covers. Good God, she had been flirting with Hans Von Rosen. She was lucky that he was as honorable as he seemed. But that tiny bit of playacting had taken her back to a time before her father had died, a time when her talent at playacting had very real, very profitable results. Her father had called her królewna, princess, but she was so much more than that. She had been his right hand, planning coach robberies or, as papa liked to call it, saving the wealthy from their excess of wealth.
Hans hadn't needed to tell her that the Von Rosens were wealthy. There had been a time when Krystyna might have known more about their holdings than Hans did himself. Even if she couldn't tell the difference between Hans and Henry on sight, she knew who they were. Knew what they were worth, or likely to be worth when they stood to inherit. Families like the Von Rosens were 'above our touch' as papa used to say. In other words, they weren't just rich, they were rich enough to shake out the woods of Silesia if they took offense to a robbery. But Krystyna had always dreamed that one day her family would be as rich as one of those. That one day she would be above others' touch.
She tossed over onto her side. Then papa had been taken by the constables and charged with treason. Treason! They had beheaded him before any defense could be sought for him. In her mind the constables were as good as murderers. How dare they judge the Rokiczana family? Her people were only seeking to right the wrongs of the past. It had been a sudden, harsh lesson in politics. Now her brother was throwing away everything they had worked to achieve. And for what? It made no sense to her. She tossed onto her other side.
"Are you all right?" Hans asked from his spot on the floor.
"Yes, sorry. Just chilly, I suppose."
She heard him moving and wondered what she had gotten herself into with that white lie. The ropes creaked as he lay down atop the covers next to her and pulled her close. "Better?"
She was cocooned in heat from his body, emphasized by a blush in response to his nearness. "Yes. I'm quite warm now."
"Sleep."
She wouldn't have thought it possible to sleep with him so close, his arms around her. But before she knew it she was waking, chilly, with the earliest light of morning seeping in through the grimy window. She sat up.
"Hans?"
He stirred from his pallet by the door. "Yes?"
"Why are you down there again?"
Rather than answer her question, he stood. "If you're awake, we should make haste to leave."
"Turn around so that I can put on my dress."
He turned, shaking out the cloak he had slept with on the floor, and she scrambled into her warm woolen dress and rolled on her stockings. They were both ready in a trice and Hans covered her with the voluminous cloak again before taking her out to the carriage.
* * *
Frau Rokiczana, Krystyna, no longer shied from his touch. She readily shared the meager bread and cheese they had been able to secure, and twice today she had leaned across him to look at the view outside his window, resting her hand on his thigh to steady herself. It was like having one foot in heaven and one in hell. He had been attracted to women he couldn't have before, of course. What man hadn't had to deal with that? But never this keenly, and in such intimate quarters. He finally had some sympathy for the poets who carried on about unrequited love. Unrequited lust, really, was what it amounted to. But either way, he simply firmed his jaw and tried to remain neutral and pleasant. She spoke more now, asked more questions. As he had spent much of his life traveling he was able to answer most of them.
He had barely slept the night before, and as the afternoon wore on his exhaustion got the better of him. He dozed off in their companionable silence while she was staring out her own window, then awoke again with a jolt as their carriage rolled to a stop. There was barely any light outside and a very warm, deeply asleep Krystyna Rokiczana rested in his arms. A knock at the door made her shift and waken.
"Yes?" Hans called.
Erich opened the door, and if he was surprised to see the young woman moving out of Hans' arms he didn't show it. "We could stop in this town for the evening, Herr Von Rosen, but I can see the lights of Calais from here. Do you wish to press on?"
Hans knew that their best chance for a crossing tomorrow would be to continue so they could find a ship early in the morning. Conversely, it was tempting to suggest caution simply to ensure more time with her. It was precisely that temptation that had him saying, "If it seems safe to do so, let us head for Calais this evening."
Erich nodded. "Of course, Herr Von Rosen."
When the door closed Krystyna said, "Thank you."
"For what?"
"I know that my haste must be a burden, and you have been very kind."
"I'm not precisely known for my slow pace, so your needs have been no burden."
She smiled at him, and even in the dim light he could see that she was showing something of herself without artifice, that it was a genuine smile, and something in him wanted to respond in kind. Smile. Laugh. Share something more of himself. Another part warned him of the folly. The first part was quite insistent, however, and he found his own lips curving upwards. Unsated, that part of him urged that he kiss her. Just a simple, sweet kiss, it insisted. He chose to ignore it and turned his attention away from her.
"If you watch out the window," he said, "you will see the city lights brighten as we approach."
Her attention was diverted as he'd hoped. "Really? They have streetlights in Wroclaw but you can't see them from a distance."
"The French enjoy their nightlife. In Paris the streets are almost as bright as daylight in the middle of the night."
"No. Truly?"
"Indeed, I have seen it once."
"What of London?"
"I have not been there before, so I suppose we shall see."
"London will have bright streets at night," she predicted. "They have more money than they know what to do with."
Her tone had darkened but her observation made him chuckle. "Some of them, yes, but not all."
"Surely you're not defending the British?"
"Defending? No. It's just a matter of practical evidence."
"Of course there are always sługa. Peasants. Who else to act the servants?"
"I don't think I'll tell Erich that you referred to him as a peasant."
"Isn't it true, though? By birth we are assigned a role, either master or servant. Simply by virtue of the blood that runs through our veins, rather than any measure of our means or abilities. A rich peasant remains a peasant. A poor noble remains a noble."
"There are those that fall between."
"Merchants? Who are despised by master and servant alike?"
"Clergy. Military. Occupations for gentleman and common men alike, where ability can dictate achievement."
Even in the dim light he could see the eyebrow she arched at him. "Officers colors are purchased, as are plum cle
rical assignments."
Debating with her was delightful. "You seem passionately interested in the plight of the classes, for a blue blood."
That seemed to quiet her and she turned back to the window. "Yes, I do, don't I?"
The final hour to Calais passed in relative silence.
Chapter Six
The inn in Calais was the grandest of the places they had stayed. Even if he wasn't the Von Rosen heir, being one of the middle sons, it was clear that Hans had ready access to a gentleman's income. Although it was quite late when they arrived, they were accorded every luxury, and within minutes Krystyna found herself alone in a large, well-appointed room with no idea if Hans was even housed nearby. He had stayed downstairs in the public room while a maid had shown Krystyna up the stairs. Feeling restless, she paced in front of the large fireplace. The weather had turned noticeably colder outside, which shouldn't be a surprise as they were well into December. Tomorrow they would cross the Channel and be a day or so from London, from Casimir. Only now was she beginning to feel some trepidation about her mission. What if Casimir didn't listen to her? Even if he was her little brother, he was technically head of the family now. Whatever decisions he made, she was bound to them. It was infuriating.