by Barb Hendee
“They could not have left the grounds!” Damek insisted.
Captain Kochè came jogging back from the stable and addressed his prince. “Both their horses are gone, my lord. A large roan stallion and a white mare.”
Heath’s back straightened, as if in triumph at this news, and Damek’s features went still. Anton had no idea what his brother was thinking.
Two more Kimovesk guards in black tabards came up, dragging a third man—who was terrified—between them.
“It was him, my lord,” the man on the right said to Damek. “He had the portcullis opened.”
Damek’s expression didn’t change. He stared at the frightened man in the middle. “You opened the portcullis?”
“Your bride-to-be ordered me! It was still light out when she came. She had her bodyguard with her, and she said she wished to go for a short ride. She will soon be mistress here. I could not refuse . . . I saw no reason to refuse.”
Damek was silent for a long moment and then said, “Take him away and lock him in the barracks.”
Anton didn’t wish to think about the man’s fate.
Damek slowly turned to Heath—who was still mounted on his horse. “You keep saying that your sister was abducted . . . and yet she was the one who ordered my man to let her out.”
Heath’s eyes hardened, and he did not seem so unassertive tonight. “Then Maddox did something to force her! He made her do it. Mount up, and we will recover them, and you’ll hear it from her own lips!” His horse jumped to one side at the anger in his voice, and he pulled it in. “Either that or order the gate open and let me take my contingent to find her.”
Though Heath sounded like a protective brother, Anton agreed with him about the course of action.
“He’s right,” Anton said, walking up beside Damek. “They can’t have gone far. If we leave now, we might be able to catch them.”
Damek took several quiet breaths and then turned to Kochè. “Have eight horses saddled, including mine, yours, and Anton’s. Then choose five of your best trackers.” He looked to Heath again. “Bring only five Väränj guards. We’ll most likely need to split up to search, and larger contingents could give us away.”
“Could my sister and I come?” Céline asked.
The courtyard went silent, and Anton couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. But her eyes caught his, and he could see her pleading. Why would she want to come?
“I think it would be best, Baron,” she said calmly to Heath. “Rochelle is undergoing a frightening ordeal. When she is found, she will need the comfort and company of other women, and I do not think your mother or young Lizbeth should go.”
Céline never ceased to amaze Anton. In one fell swoop she had just given full support to Heath’s insistence that his sister was abducted, and she’d given a valid reason for her and Amelie’s inclusion in the pursuit.
With an expression of gratitude, Heath offered her a nod, and then addressed Damek. “Agreed?”
Damek was staring out at the gate now, as if thinking of something else. “Whatever you wish,” he answered absently.
Lady Helena and Lizbeth watched all this in silence. While Helena had a shawl, Lizbeth stood shivering in a thin silk gown, and she was clearly distraught. Anton walked toward them.
“Rurik, come with me.”
The girl watched them both with large eyes as they approached. “Oh, Anton, you’ll find her? Promise you’ll find her.”
Somehow her use of his given name didn’t bother him, especially when only hours before she had been laughing and calling him “the loser” every time he was caught with the queen in his hand.
“When did you first notice her gone?” he asked.
“Only a short while ago,” Lady Helena answered. She sounded frightened, but he suspected her concern was different—and most of it pertained to Damek’s suspicion that Rochelle had run off with Maddox.
“After leaving you in the hall,” Lizbeth said, “Heath and I went to our rooms to rest. Rochelle wasn’t in the room I share with her, but I didn’t think anything of it. I thought she must be with Mother.” She turned and showed him the open back of her silk gown. “It wasn’t until I went to find her or one of the maids to help me lace up my gown that I . . . I talked to Mother, and she’d not seen Rochelle. We started a search, and then Heath ran to Prince Damek’s chambers.”
Anton mulled that over. “Your sister and Maddox still couldn’t have gone far. They didn’t leave the hall until late afternoon.”
Lizbeth shivered again, and Anton wished he had his cloak to offer her. He considered sending her inside but knew she wanted to be out here. Movement sounded behind, and he turned to see that Heath was off his horse, walking over. Heath stripped off the fine gray cloak and wrapped it around his youngest sister. Beneath it, he wore the long-sleeved black wool shirt. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll find them, and I’ll deal with Maddox.”
As opposed to reassuring, his tone was angry. Once again, Anton couldn’t help noting how different he seemed tonight. He must love Rochelle to worry for her so—and to defend her honor so staunchly.
But if Anton had a sister, he would do no less.
Men began leading saddled horses from the stable.
Anton motioned to Rurik and spoke to Lady Helena. “Until Prince Damek and the young baron return, my man will stay with you and Lizbeth. You can depend upon him.”
“My lord?” Rurik asked. “You cannot—”
Anton cut him off. “I know your place is beside me. But these ladies have lost their bodyguard, and the Väränj are only here out of duty. You have my trust in this matter. I can look out for Céline and Amelie.”
Though unhappy at the order, Rurik moved over beside Lizbeth. “Yes, my lord.”
Céline’s gray mare and Amelie’s black gelding were led over to Anton.
“Wait!” a gruff voice shouted. “Wait a moment.”
Helga came running out the main front doors of the castle carrying two cloaks. How could she have known Céline and Amelie would be taking part in the search? Anton sighed. He supposed it didn’t matter. He was glad the sisters would have cloaks—as they were both still dressed for dinner and there was no time to change.
Helga got the cloaks over the sisters as men around them began to mount up.
Anton led Sable to Céline, and amidst the noise all around them, he leaned down and whispered, “What are you doing?”
Tilting her head toward his ear, she whispered back, “Damek and Heath are both on edge, near the breaking point. Can you not see? If either of them finds Maddox and Rochelle, I fear Maddox will be put to death instantly. With Amelie or myself there, we can offer to do a reading . . . to prove the truth of what happened one way or another. If nothing else, this could provide a chance for cooler heads to interject and prevail.”
He stayed there a moment longer, feeling her breath on his ear. He didn’t answer . . . but she was right.
“Keep me with yourself and Damek,” she said, “and if we split up, send Amelie with Heath.”
He gripped her waist and lifted her up into the sidesaddle. “Damek will set a fast pace. Just hold on and let Sable follow my horse.”
Amelie was already up on her black gelding, gripping the reins.
“Open the portcullis!” Damek called.
Anton grasped the reins of Whisper’s bridle and swung up. Once again, he felt swept along on a tide he couldn’t stop, and he had no idea how the rest of this night would play out.
Chapter Nine
Once outside the gate and on the dark road bordered by trees, Céline wondered why Anton hadn’t pressed to be allowed to bring any of his own men. He hadn’t even asked. Perhaps he felt that at heart, this search belonged to Heath and Damek, and that he was a mere appendage. He was most likely in no danger from his brother, who was focused on retrieving a lost bride. Still, Jaromir would have a fit if he ever found out Anton had ridden alone into the night with Damek, Kochè, and five Kimovesk guards.
&
nbsp; As the pace of the horses increased from a canter to a gallop, she soon found herself gripping Sable’s mane and trying to keep her seat. She hoped Amelie wasn’t having too much trouble, and she wondered how some of these men would fare if they were forced to ride sidesaddle.
Beneath her cloak, she still wore the rose-colored satin evening gown.
Within a few moments, she was tempted to throw her leg over, grip with her knees, and let her skirts fly as they would.
She was just about to try this when Damek called, “Halt!”
He pulled his horse up abruptly and mild chaos ensued as everyone attempted to follow suit. They hadn’t traveled far from the castle.
“What are you doing?” Heath asked, trying to hold in his mount.
Damek ignored him and waved a hand at the Kimovesk guards. “Start searching the sides of the road for signs where they might have entered the forest.”
Heath rode up beside him angrily. “No. Searching the forest is a waste of time.”
By the moonlight, Damek’s eyes flashed as he wheeled his horse, but before he could speak, Anton spoke.
“Why is it a waste of time?”
“Because they won’t be there,” Heath answered. “Most people understand that my sister is delicate, but Maddox sees her as fragile porcelain. He would never even consider allowing her to sleep outdoors in the forest.”
Damek went still, listening now. “Then where would he take her?”
“With Rochelle in tow, he knows he can’t outrun a pursuit, so he’ll opt for holing up and hiding her somewhere in at least adequate comfort. Most likely, he’ll head for a large outlying village or town, someplace where he might find shelter and be able to disappear. He’ll remain out of sight for a few days, possibly longer. He’ll keep her there until he believes the search is waning, and then he’ll try to slip away.”
Céline absorbed this and glanced at Amelie. Everything he said made sense . . . but what if he was wrong?
“I do not know this area well,” Heath continued, “and neither does Maddox. He would need information . . . directions to someplace both large enough for his needs and yet out of the way.” He paused. “We should ride into Kimovesk Village and ask the people there if Maddox and Rochelle rode through, and if they spoke to anyone.”
Slowly, Damek nodded. “Yes . . . good.”
Anton grimaced almost imperceptibly
With a lurch in her stomach Céline wondered what methods Damek might employ to ask the Kimovesk peasants if they’d seen or spoken to anyone.
As the horses around her broke into a trot, Céline looked back at her sister. “Amelie, throw your leg over the saddle.”
Holding Sable’s reins, Céline followed her own advice. There was no stirrup on the right side, but it didn’t matter. She could grip much better with her knees.
The horses moved from a trot to a canter to a gallop in a matter of seconds, and again, Céline focused on nothing except holding on. The village soon loomed before them, and her worst fears were realized.
Damek thundered down the main path, shouting orders. Both Kimovesk and Väränj guards began leaping off horses, kicking doors open, and dragging people into the open.
Sable was breathing hard as Céline drew her up, and then Amelie’s gelding was beside them.
“Oh, Céline,” Amelie said in despair, watching the scene before them.
Dozens of bone-thin people in tattered clothes had been dragged or pushed out into the night at sword point. The whites of their eyes showed as they stumbled into the muddy main path between dwellings. Anton didn’t try to interfere. There was nothing he could do.
A large number of people must still be huddling in their homes in the dwellings farther on, but Damek seemed satisfied with the few dozen kneeling before him.
Still on his horse, he called out. “Those of you in hiding! Listen to me! A man on a roan horse and a lady on a white mare rode through here in the late afternoon. The man would have spoken to someone and asked for information. I need only to know to whom he spoke.”
Soft gasps sounded from the peasants on the ground, and Céline longed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. She had witnessed . . . she had lived through too many scenes like this one.
“Someone spoke to this man,” Heath called out. “Who was it?”
An aged woman on her knees near Damek looked up at him. “My lord . . . the man and the woman did pass through, but they did not speak to anyone.”
Damek jumped down off his horse and drew the dagger from its sheath on his hip. He pointed to a boy, perhaps twelve years old, kneeling in the mud beside the old woman.
“Bring that one,” he ordered a guard.
Céline closed her eyes, but that proved a mistake, as she was instantly drawn into a memory she kept pushed down in the back of her mind. . . .
She was nine years old, living in Shetâna with her family. Her mother was the village apothecary and her father was a hunter—a good one. This was before Damek had been placed in charge of the province, but his predecessor, a vassal of Prince Lieven’s, had been no better. Soldiers had free run of the villages, and the people feared them.
One day, three Kimovesk soldiers rode into Shetâna and began taking whatever they wanted. Céline knew they weren’t collecting taxes, just taking things for themselves, probably to sell. One of them ordered a farmer to turn over all twenty of his goats. This would have left the man to starve, and he refused. Céline remembered when the shouting started, and she saw the farmer take a swing at the soldier. All three soldiers attacked the farmer, and Céline’s father ran to help.
He shoved one soldier away, and as he was turning to push off another, the man drew a dagger and rammed it through Céline’s father’s stomach. She didn’t scream. She stood there frozen and watched him die . . . over helping a farmer try to save twenty goats.
He’d failed.
The soldiers took the goats, and they stepped over her father’s body as if it were rubbish lying on the ground. They’d probably forgotten him by the time they reached the edge of the village.
“Someone here spoke to this man.” Damek’s voice cut through her memory. “Who was it? Tell us, and we will leave.”
She opened her eyes. Though he still held the dagger, he didn’t seem intent on using it. Two Kimovesk guards held the boy between them. The boy panted in wild fear, and the old woman on the ground bowed her head, groveling.
“Please, my lord! They spoke to no one!”
Damek looked at one of the guards holding the boy. “Cut off his right hand.”
Céline cast a desperate look at Anton. His whole body was taut, but he stayed on his horse and said nothing.
“Close your eyes again,” Amelie warned.
The boy screamed as his arm was jerked forward and held out.
“Stop this!” someone called.
A young woman about Amelie’s age walked down the path toward them. Her clothes were as tattered as everyone else’s, but her back was straight.
“I spoke to the man you seek,” she said. “Let the boy go, and ask me your questions.”
She walked right toward Damek and stopped about ten paces away. True courage was rare in a place like this, and Céline hope the young woman would not suffer for it.
Heath was still mounted, and he spoke first. “What did the man ask you?”
“He asked the name and direction of the largest town within half a day’s riding distance.” Her voice was clear.
Heath appeared so grateful that he lowered his voice. “And what town did you name?”
“Chekalin, to the north.”
Turning quickly to Damek, Heath asked, “You know this place?”
Damek didn’t answer him and studied the young woman. He’d not seen the boy’s hand cut off, and he still wanted blood. Céline’s stomach lurched again, but Heath seemed to see the danger as well and urged his horse between Damek and the young woman. “We have no time for this. Do you know the town?”
“Of cours
e I know it,” Damek bit off. “It’s in my province.”
“Then you lead.”
Reluctantly, Damek turned, sheathed his dagger, and remounted his horse.
Céline looked down to see her hands shaking. After living most of her life in Shetâna, and then finding a safe haven in Sèone, she’d thought herself beyond sorrow or fear-induced flashbacks. She was wrong.
* * *
Halfway to the middle of night, Amelie heard one of the guards say they were approaching Chekalin. It had been a long, hard ride, and she was angry with herself over how much her current discomforts bothered her.
For one, she was hungry. After what she’d witnessed back in Kimovesk Village, she should not have the slightest interest in food, but she hadn’t eaten much all day, and for the second night in a row dinner hadn’t been served in the castle. Last night, Lord Hamish had died, and tonight, the meal had been forgone because of the news of Rochelle’s abduction.
Both of these events were tragic . . . and yet Amelie could not ignore her hunger pangs.
Worse was the pain she felt from the skin on the inside of her legs. Céline had not been wrong to suggest riding straddle. At the fast pace they rode, gripping with their knees was the only option. At first, this had been a relief. A few hours later, Amelie’s skin felt as if it had been rubbed raw.
Stupid dinner gown.
The dress offered no protection, and once again, she longed for her pants.
On the edge of town, the horses slowed. A wall of wooden logs surrounded Chekalin. There were two entrances within sight. As the wall would clearly not withstand any sort of serious assault and there were no watchmen on the entrances, Amelie assumed the wall’s intent was merely to help channel incoming traffic to the main streets.
Heath rode up to the front of the contingent.
“Prince though you may be,” he said to Damek, “this place is much too large for you to ride in and start torturing people. We might conceive a different strategy.”
Amelie almost couldn’t believe the change in Heath. He was panicked over his sister’s disappearance, and it seemed to bring out the best and worst in him. While he was certainly more commanding than she ever could have imagined, his manner bordered on insulting.