The Accidental Princess

by Michelle Willingham

  She strained to hear the men talking. Perhaps the Graf’s coach had gotten mired or a horse was having difficulty. It was likely nothing more than that.

  But when she heard the sounds of gunfire, she ducked down below the window, grabbing Mrs Turner and pushing her against the seat. The widow opened her eyes briefly, but in her drugged haze, she wasn’t aware of what was happening. Moments later, she started snoring again.

  The men were shouting, and more gunfire erupted. Outside, Hannah heard the coachman abandoning his seat, joining in with the others.

  Oh God, what was happening? It hurt to breathe, and Hannah closed her eyes, praying that no one would be hurt.

  It was a foolish thought, for the fighting continued outside. She tried to glimpse the men from the window but could see nothing. When the shouting stopped and the voices grew low, she suspected the worst.

  More minutes passed, but she didn’t leave the coach. Michael had ordered her not to.

  But what if he’s dead? her mind offered. Or wounded?

  What if they needed help, and she was doing nothing but cowering inside the coach? Hannah took a deep breath, then another.

  Her hands shook as she turned the door handle, climbing down from the coach. It was getting too dark to see, but from the whale-oil lamps she glimpsed the road. Thank goodness the laudanum had managed to keep her headache from transforming into a vicious illness, like before. But it made her unbearably tired, and she struggled to keep a clear head. Ahead, she heard the Graf issuing orders in Lohenisch.

  ‘Peter, see if the women are safe. Gustav, take my coach and go to the nearest village with the other servants. Arrange for a doctor to meet us at the inn. Schnelhurt!’

  Though his orders held the undeniable air of command, there was an edge of pain beneath them. As Hannah drew closer, she saw the Graf seated on the ground, with a panicked Estelle and a footman beside the fallen body of Michael. Two other men she didn’t recognise lay dead, a few paces away.

  ‘Is the Lieutenant all right?’ She rushed to Michael’s side, kneeling before him.

  ‘You shouldn’t have left the coach, Lady Hannah,’ the ambassador argued. ‘It’s not safe here.’ He nodded for the coachman to accompany her back, but Hannah refused to go.

  ‘What happened?’

  The Graf released a breath. ‘I went with Gustav to investigate and saw that someone had blocked the road. I was shot.’ His eyes closed as he fought off the pain. ‘Lieutenant Thorpe and the coachman did most of the fighting, but the last one got away’

  Hannah wouldn’t leave Michael’s side, and once he was safely clear of the coach, Gustav drove away with the servants. She lifted Michael’s head to rest in her lap, and he groaned at the movement. Thank God he was alive.

  ‘Was Lieutenant Thorpe shot, as well?’

  ‘A bullet grazed his arm, but nothing too serious. I’m more concerned about his head injury. His attacker struck him against the coach before Gustav shot him.’ The Graf winced at the memory.

  ‘I’m sorry…for endangering you,’ he apologized, his voice breaking. ‘Until now, I didn’t believe it myself. But…there must be a connection to the royal family. Why else would anyone try to kill the Lieutenant?’

  ‘Why indeed,’ Hannah remarked, not speaking a word about the earlier attack on board the ship. Changing the subject, she asked, ‘What about you? Where are you hurt?’

  The Graf slipped back into Lohenisch, almost without realising it. ‘I know of at least three bullet wounds.’

  Hannah hid her fear, for she didn’t know the first thing about tending such injuries. Her stomach tightened with queasiness. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot walk at the moment.’

  Thankful that it was dark, Hannah removed one of her petticoats. If she could stop some of the bleeding, perhaps that would help.

  ‘I already tended to Lieutenant Thorpe’s wounds,’ the Graf murmured. Hannah leaned down to examine Michael’s head, where she saw bruising and a swollen knot. His upper arm was partially wrapped with a man’s cravat, blood staining the cloth.

  She tore the petticoat in half, then in half again. ‘Who do you believe the Lieutenant really is?’

  While she wrapped the Graf’s first wound, he answered, ‘Most likely the Changeling Prince.’

  Hannah tied another bandage around the Graf’s knee, while he revealed the tale of the young Prince who disappeared on the night of All Hallows Eve, only to return the next morning.

  ‘He looked slightly different, so the stories say. Not a great deal, but enough to make those around him wonder. He cried often, and he stopped speaking for nearly a year. His nurse thought he’d been bewitched. But the King put an end to the rumours, swearing that the boy was indeed his son.’

  ‘If there was a switch, do you think the King had something to do with it?’ Hannah suggested. She tightened the bandage around the Graf’s leg, trying to stop the bleeding.

  It was then that the Graf seemed to realise that they hadn’t been speaking English. ‘Exactly how many languages do you speak, Lady Hannah?’

  ‘Five.’ Her face flushed, for she didn’t want him to think her an aberration. ‘Including English.’

  ‘That may prove useful to us,’ the Graf mused. ‘If you decide to stay with our travelling party.’

  What was he suggesting? That she accompany them into Lohenberg? Her first instinct was to protest that, no, she couldn’t possibly continue with them. But when she looked down at Michael’s unconscious form, her heart shredded into pieces. She worried about him, far more than she should.

  At that moment, Michael sat up slowly, clutching his temple. Hannah was saved from further discussion, and she helped to support him with both arms around his shoulders.

  ‘Where are they?’ he demanded, rubbing the back of his head.

  ‘Gone, I’m afraid,’ the Graf answered. ‘Our men weren’t fast enough to stop them.’

  Michael released a curse and tried to rise. Hannah helped him to steady his balance. ‘How badly are you hurt?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He looked down at the Graf. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Both of you need to be tended by a doctor,’ Hannah asserted. ‘He’s been shot several times, and I’m not sure if all of the bullets passed through.’

  She didn’t voice her fear that the Graf might not survive the injuries. She’d never seen a man die before, and she didn’t want to think of it.

  Turning to the Graf, she asked, ‘How far are we from the village?’

  ‘Too far,’ he managed. ‘Several hours, at least.’

  Michael leaned down, and too late Hannah realised that he meant to pick the Graf up.

  ‘Your arm—’ she protested.

  ‘It’s nothing. Hannah.’ Michael emitted a hiss of pain when he lifted the Graf up. The coachman, Peter, moved towards them and helped put the Graf inside the vehicle.

  When the Graf was safely inside, Mrs Turner stirred. Her eyes flickered upon Michael and the Graf, and she let out a cry of alarm at the sight of their wounds.

  ‘What’s happened?’ the widow demanded. ‘You’re bleeding.’

  ‘Nothing serious.’ Michael shrugged it off. ‘A minor wound—no need to worry.’ Nodding toward the Graf, he added, ‘But Reischor suffered worse injuries. I need you to help Lady Hannah tend him while I drive us to the closest village.’

  Mrs Turner covered her mouth, her eyes still glazed over from the effects of the laudanum. ‘But what happened?’

  Hannah cut off further questions, saying, ‘I’ll explain everything to you, on the way.’

  Michael handed her one of the lamps to illuminate the interior of the coach. While the coachman checked the horses and started the carriage back on the journey, Hannah helped Mrs Turner with the Graf’s wounds. The petticoats were soaked through with blood, and she blanched at the sight.

  Mrs Turner didn’t seem at all bothered by the injuries and took charge, offering him a dose of laudanum to dull the pain. The Graf
took it gratefully.

  As the widow helped tend him, Hannah’s thoughts returned to Michael and the story of the Changeling Prince. Whoever believed he posed a threat wouldn’t stop until the threat was eliminated.

  She stared outside the window, the wretched fear gathering up inside. Though she couldn’t grasp what her feelings were, she didn’t want anything to happen to the Lieutenant.

  Tomorrow, she was supposed to bid him farewell while he continued his journey to Lohenberg.

  But she didn’t want to leave him. Hannah felt as though she were stumbling blind, without a path to follow. They were at a crossroads, their lives taking different turns. Was it so wrong, wanting to walk with him a little further?

  Though she didn’t know what would happen, Hannah was certain of one thing. She was not about to be left behind, not when the man she cared about was in such danger.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Michael knew he was dreaming. And yet, he couldn’t push away the strange visions. In the dream, he was a young boy again, holding his mother’s hand.

  It was a warm afternoon, the air sour with the odours of London. The buzzing of unfamiliar voices and sounds made him stay close to her side.

  ‘It’s all right, Michael. You’ll be safe now.’ She brushed a light kiss on his temple, murmuring words of comfort.

  ‘I’m afraid.’ He gripped her leg, burying his face into her side. ‘She said they were going to hurt me if I wasn’t good. If I didn’t do what she said.’

  Every stranger, every unfamiliar face, was a threat to him. His stomach gnawed at him with worry and hunger.

  ‘We’re going to take care of you now,’ Mary whispered. ‘No one will ever harm you again.’

  ‘Michael,’ he heard Lady Hannah murmuring. ‘Wake up.’

  He let out a breath, realising that he’d been given a few drops of laudanum. His head felt heavy, his eyes leaden. ‘I will. I just need a moment.’

  Her hand reached out to his face, her warm palm resting upon his cheek. It was nice. He wanted to stay here a little longer, feeling her hand upon his skin.

  ‘Michael, I need you to open your eyes. Look at me.’

  His vision flickered, then cleared as he saw Hannah. From her rumpled appearance, she probably hadn’t slept at all. Her hair had been hastily repinned, her long-sleeved rose gown wrinkled. She’d discarded her bonnet on a chair nearby.

  Had she stayed with him all night long? By the looks of it, they were inside a room at the inn. ‘Where is Mrs Turner?’

  ‘She is for, I mean with, Graf von Reischor.’ Her face flushed, and she kept staring at him, a worried expression on her face. ‘Estelle is helping her.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be here alone with me,’ he warned. ‘Think of what the others will say.’

  ‘I told the innkeeper you were my husband.’

  He raised an eyebrow at that, wondering why she would lie. ‘And the Graf agreed to this?’

  ‘He was sleeping permanently.’

  He frowned, not knowing what she was saying. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  She flushed again. ‘I mean, he was unconscious.’ Her mouth pursed tightly, and he couldn’t understand why she kept gaping at him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ He glanced at his right arm, but the bandage appeared clean. His wound ached a little, but it was bearable. The bullet had only nicked the skin. ‘Why are you staring at me that way?’

  ‘Don’t you realise what you’re doing?’

  ‘I don’t, no. Tell me.’ He sat up carefully on the bed, swinging his legs over the side.

  ‘Listen to yourself,’ she said. ‘You’ve been speaking Lohenisch in your sleep during the past hour, and just now. Another language, Michael. One you claimed you didn’t know.’

  ‘I haven’t—’ he started to say, but then he heard the unfamiliar words. It was as if his voice and his brain were disconnected somehow. He had spoken from instinct, without thinking.

  And Hannah had also been speaking Lohenisch, he now realised. It was why she’d made a few mistakes, errors that she’d corrected.

  The revelation was like a knife slicing through his throat, cutting away any further denials. There was a connection between him and Lohenberg, one he had long forgotten. Somehow, the country was a part of his heritage.

  He struggled to speak the language again, but the words eluded him. The moment he tried to think about what he wanted to say, he couldn’t grasp a single sentence.

  Hannah placed both hands on his shoulders, regarding him. ‘I think we both know that you are not merely a fishmonger’s son.’

  He didn’t want to believe it. The idea of having another life, another family who hadn’t wanted him, seemed to shift the ground beneath him.

  ‘Then who am I, Hannah?’

  ‘That’s what we’re going to find out.’

  ‘We?’

  She offered a hopeful smile. ‘The Graf cannot possibly travel to Lohenberg in his condition. Not only that, but my cousins do not know exactly when I will arrive. A few days won’t matter. I’ll come with you.’

  He stood up, pressing her hands away. ‘No. It’s inappropriate for you to travel with us.’

  She stared down at her hands, her cheeks brightening. ‘I want to help you. You’ll need help remembering the Lohenisch language.’ Squaring her shoulders, she added, ‘After that, I’ll leave. You needn’t worry that this would be anything more than…than friendship.’

  The embarrassment on her face increased his own feelings of awkwardness. He’d misinterpreted her offer, thinking she had changed her mind about being with him.

  Damn it all, he didn’t know what to do about Hannah. She wasn’t a woman he could marry, nor could he become her lover. And yet, he couldn’t quite bring himself to push her away, the way he should.

  ‘I can act as your translator,’ she offered. ‘Without the Graf, we’ll attract less attention, and Mrs Turner will be fine with him.’

  Alone with her? Was she so naïve to think that no one would notice an unmarried woman and man travelling together? ‘Others will speak poorly of you,’ he warned.

  ‘Not if they believe I am your wife.’ She stood only an arm’s length away from him. ‘It’s a travel arrangement, Michael. Nothing more than that.’

  Looking at her innocent face, he saw that she truly thought they could travel together as friends, not lovers.

  ‘Twice, someone has tried to kill me,’ he argued. He wasn’t going to put her into harm’s way, no matter how she tried to convince him. ‘It could happen again.’

  ‘Not if we disguise ourselves.’ She reached out and touched his coat. ‘With the right attire, we could blend in with the others. No one would know we’re any different, especially without the Graf to draw notice.’ She pulled her hand away once more. ‘And we’ll find the answers you’re looking for.’

  He kept silent, pondering her idea. It wasn’t sensible at all. To travel alone with Hannah, into a country he barely knew, was risking far too much.

  Most of all, she risked her innocence. For if he had to remain at her side every hour of every day, he doubted if he could resist touching her again.

  ‘It’s not a good idea, Hannah. It’s dangerous.’

  She started to protest again, something about all the reasons why he should uncover the past. He silenced her by kissing her.

  With his mouth, he ravaged her lips, trying to show her how much he desired her. Her arms wound around his neck, whether for balance or whether in response to his kiss he didn’t know. She smelled so good, the jasmine fragrance exotic and tempting. He softened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside her mouth. Coaxing and urging her to give him more, he used his good arm to draw her close.

  ‘Do you feel how much I want you?’ he whispered, bringing her hips to his. ‘The danger you face is from me, not the assassins of Lohenberg.’

  He lowered his mouth to the curve of her neck, whispering upon her skin, ‘If you travel with me, pretending to be my wife, I can’t promise not to touch
you.’

  She pulled away, composing herself. ‘I’ll take the risk.’

  ‘The Graf von Reischor isn’t dead, is he?’

  ‘No,’ the servant apologised. ‘He survived the assassins we hired. And as for the Prince—’

  ‘Do not call him that. He is only a man with an unfortunate resemblance to the King. A bastard son.’

  The servant cleared his throat. ‘You are right, of course. But if he is only the King’s by-blow, is there a need to kill him?’

  ‘There can be no usurper. No reason to question the rightful heir to the throne. He bears too strong a resemblance to the King.’

  ‘You are right, of course,’ the servant confirmed. ‘And it will be noticed, once he enters Lohenberg.’

  ‘You cannot allow it. If you have to kill him yourself, ensure that this man poses no threat to the throne.’

  The servant bowed. ‘It will be as you wish.’ Straightening, he inquired, ‘Do you wish for me to remain in the Graf’s employ? I can continue to watch and inform you of his doings.’

  ‘Yes. And return to me, as soon as it is done.’

  ‘What about the Queen?’

  A brief nod. ‘See to it that she’s kept quiet. Use your connections in the palace and tell no one of the Graf’s doings. I don’t want any more stories about the Changeling Prince.’

  A bag of coins exchanged hands. The servant gave thanks, but hesitated before departing. ‘What of the woman who is travelling with them? She was supposed to be sent to some cousins in Germany, but after the Graf was injured, they were delayed. If she witnesses anything—’

  ‘Dispose of her, if you must.’

  Hannah’s bottom felt as though it had been beaten with wooden paddles. She clung to her horse, knowing the Graf’s servants would pursue them. Reischor would be livid when he learned of her impulsive plan. Not only because they had ‘borrowed’ horses from his coach, but also because he would suspect they had discovered something about Michael’s past.

  Yet Michael faced more danger by travelling with the Graf than with her. It might not be the best of circumstances, but he could hide his identity easier if he didn’t arrive in a grand coach with servants.