The Lady And The Hussites (The Lady Bornekova Book 2)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  The Lady and The Hussites

  Sara R. Turnquist

  The Lady and The Hussites

  by Sara R. Turnquist

  Published by Clean Reads

  www.cleanreads.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  THE LADY AND THE HUSSITES

  Copyright © 2017 SARA R. TURNQUIST

  Cover Art Designed by CORA GRAPHICS

  For my sister, who is such an inspiration.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About the Author

  Untitled

  One

  Stirrings

  Karin Krejikova awoke as the rocking came to an abrupt halt, shaking her from a gentle slumber. Eyes now open, she tried to remember where she was. The interior of a fine carriage came into focus and realization cut through the fog of sleepiness. She was traveling to the safety of her now in-laws’ home well in Hussite-controlled territory with her new husband. Even then her eyes sought him out—Pavel. Next to her on the narrow bench, his attention was drawn out the small window.

  A yawn overcame her and she stretched her arms, relishing the feel of her muscles being re-energized. As she resettled herself and smoothed over her dress, it occurred to her how strange it was they should pause. Had they reached their destination?

  The sun sat high in the sky. Hadn’t Pavel said it would be nightfall when they arrived?

  “Why have we stopped?” Karin placed a hand on Pavel’s strong arm. Those arms had brought her protection and comfort each in its own time.

  He held a hand up in her direction, but his eyes didn’t waver. Something beyond the thin walls of the small, enclosed vehicle had his attention. Her chest tightened. What could it be? Shifting, she maneuvered to glance out her own window, straining to hear what may be outside her visual range.

  Men and horses moved about just beyond the reach of the carriage. One of the riders approached. The red of the royal military garb flashed in the sunlight.

  Her breath caught and she jerked back into the car, pressing her back against the seat. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe. When she opened her eyes, the blue orbs of her beloved husband were in front of her. He reached for her hand. She slipped it easily into his.

  “You can do this,” he said, his words measured.

  She nodded, drawing in a long breath.

  He lifted a hand to touch her red locks, but only lightly. “You are stronger than you know, Karin.”

  Allowing herself to get lost in his eyes for a moment, she knew he spoke the truth. Karin had been through much in these last months. They had been through much. Was there anything they couldn’t face together?

  She returned his assuring smile.

  Moments later, the door to the carriage jerked open. The menacing face of one of the king’s men glared in. He eyed them from top to bottom before speaking.

  “My lord,” the soldier said, all but spitting out the word.

  Had the coachman shared that this carriage bore someone of noble title? What else had he shared?

  “Would you mind stepping outside?”

  “Is this necessary?” Pavel challenged him. His voice remained flat as if he were bored by the irritation of being detained. “My wife is recovering from a foot injury.”

  The guard shifted his gaze to Karin. She glanced at her fingers, trying to appear nonchalant.

  “I apologize, my lord, but I must insist upon it. By order of the king.” The man’s mouth curled into a slight snarl. Scrapes from above the carriage startled Karin. She gripped Pavel’s arm. Were their belongings being unloaded?

  “Very well.” Pavel moved toward the opening.

  The guard took a step back.

  Karin froze. How could she follow Pavel? Would these guards find out the truth? That she and Pavel were Hussites? That she bore the names of other prominent Hussites on a paper rolled and braided into her hair?

  “But,” Pavel continued.

  The guard spun, his attention on Pavel.

  “I can assure you the king will hear of this.”

  “Noted,” the man said, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

  Once Pavel exited the carriage, he reached in for Karin.

  Leaning on his strength, she managed to step out and onto the soggy earth.

  Their trunks lay opened and sifted through. The coachman, having been relieved of his seat, stood near the front of the carriage. Another guard questioned him. His gaze landed on Karin. She searched his face. Could they trust him? Or would he give them away to save his own skin?

  Prodded forward, Karin lost eye contact with the coachman. She tightened her grip on Pavel’s arm. He drew her closer, as if preparing to protect her somehow. But was there anything he could do against these armed men? What could he do should the guards identify them as enemies of the crown?

  “I am eager to hear the reason you have relieved my wife of her comfort.” Pavel’s eyes flashed as he turned to the man who had ushered them out of their seats.

  “As you see.” The man waved his hand. “This is an inspection. You may be aware that Hussites have infiltrated our peaceful lands. We are only trying to isolate and eliminate their presence and influence. I’m certain you understand. Since you are nothing but loyal to the king.”

  Pavel did not speak. His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched.

  “And so, it is my job to search you . . . and your wife.”

  What did he mean by that? What was he intending to do?

  Pavel pulled her closer.

  “You may search me, if you must. But my wife will not be part of your games.” Pavel’s voice was firm.

  “I will determine what will be.” A sneer crossed the man’s features.

  The guard rifling through one of her trunks nearby looked over and stood, walking toward them. Pointing at her, the lead guard spoke to the second. “Let’s search her first.”

  Pavel pulled Karin behind himself, but it was no use. Yet another guard joined the first two and helped extricate Karin from Pavel. Then rough hands pulled her to the first guard, uncaring as she tripped over her injured foot with pained cries.

  Then she stood in front of the sneering guard, vulnerable and afraid. Not only for herself but also for Pavel. For them both. For what this guard might find. Her back to Pavel, she could not take comfort or strength from him.

  The man made small circles around her, his gaze intense. She closed her eyes against the harshness of his stare, praying it would be over soon. With each round, he moved closer and closer until his breath grazed her neck.

  Without warning, his hands were on her shoulders and moving down her arms. She wished Pavel wasn’t looking. The hands continued down her back. Jeers sounded from the other men.

  Lord, help me!

  “What are you doing?” An approaching voice shattered what concentration
she had left.

  Her eyes shot open to see yet another man in royal garb—the guard who had been questioning the coachman.

  “My job,” the searching guard replied. His words were edged with a roughness she had come to associate with the man.

  The questioning guard’s disapproving look gave Karin hope. Was the approaching guard in command?

  “Get these trunks loaded and help the lord and lady into the carriage before I decide this merits a letter to the general.”

  Relief washed over her. The guard in front of her did not seem as pleased. His face twitched, but he did not move. He remained mere inches from Karin.

  “Now,” the head guard said with more force.

  The guard with the sneer took a step back from Karin. Her knees weakened. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain upright.

  Pavel rushed to her side, steadying her with an arm around her waist. He hurried her back to the carriage. Settling her inside, however, he did not join her. Standing just outside the doorway, he watched through narrowed eyes as the men reloaded the trunks.

  The coachman returned to his seat before long and the guards mounted their horses.

  “We apologize, my lord, for any inconvenience,” the head guard said. “Safe journey.”

  With that, the men moved away and trotted off into the distance.

  Pavel nodded at the coachman before sliding into the seat next to Karin. He gathered her into his arms, holding her securely.

  Was it she who was shaking or the carriage?

  “I’m sorry,” Pavel said over and over. “Karin, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have been able to protect you.”

  * * *

  There were whispers. Everywhere. What was all this gossip? Could people not find anything better to talk about? As much as Radek burned with frustration, he knew these whispers were not about him. Not after something so life-altering had happened. With the breakout of violence within the borders of their country, people were bound to talk. In all truthfulness, it was all Radek could think about, too.

  Though Radek usually kept his thoughts to himself, he struggled with his musings and found he had to voice them. But should he disclose his opinions on this, of all things?

  He and Zdenek made every effort to not become a part of the hostilities in their homeland. Yet it became more and more apparent this would not remain possible for long. War was overtaking their country and the events of this last week proved monumental. For everyone.

  Radek took a long swig of his beer and set the tankard down with a solid thud. “I should think people would have more respect for the king’s memory and stop all this fighting.” His eyes met Zdenek’s.

  In the midst of draining his own pint, Zdenek pulled his cup back from his mouth and swallowed hard.

  Even in the dimness of the pub’s atmosphere, Radek saw his friend’s wide eyes and raised brows. They didn’t talk of such things. Maybe because of what had happened between their friends, Stepan and Pavel. Or maybe because they were avoiding the reality of what they would eventually have to do—pick a side.

  Zdenek ran his hand along the rough wood of the tabletop. “I think the people are inflamed by their cause. And while the king’s death should bring a country to mourn, they are caught up in their movement.”

  Radek nodded. “I thought this Hussite nonsense would have run its course.”

  Zdenek blinked several times and shifted in his seat. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you not think these radicals and their violence are not what brought our king to an early grave? His heart broken over the fighting within our borders?” Radek continued, surprised by his own impassioned speech.

  Zdenek continued to fidget. “I don’t know.” He lowered his voice. “But I do know that Prague is not a safe place to say such things.”

  As if he could spot Hussites by sight, Radek glanced around.

  No one listened to them. The men in the pub were caught up in their own merriment. All was as it should be. At least within the walls of this establishment. But they couldn’t stay here forever.

  Prague remained in the hands of the Hussites. A number of Hussites had left the city and held rallies all over Bohemia, stirring the people. There was even word of Catholics still faithful to the Pope being driven out of their hometowns. Disgraceful!

  Zdenek watched Radek with curiosity. An eyebrow drawn upward and his mouth quirked, he made quite the picture.

  “Let us talk of more pleasant things,” Radek said, raising his pint in the air before taking another long sip.

  Zdenek’s shoulders relaxed.

  “Whatever happened with your brunette from Hradek Kralove?” Radek lowered his glass but for a moment. Another swig followed shortly.

  Zdenek’s face colored. He opened his mouth, but nothing came forth.

  Radek smiled. His friend had been caught.

  The door to the pub burst open, slamming into the wall. A rather large man stood in the doorway, a spear in his hand. He was heaving.

  Glaring about the pub as if he, too, could name Hussite from loyalist on sight, he bellowed, “Arm yourselves, men. The Royalists are marching on Prague.”

  Radek rose and exchanged looks with Zdenek. Their time to pick a side had just come.

  * * *

  Lenka Bornekova sat in silence as her husband worked. Hunched over the small desk, he wrote the necessary letters to inform the leaders of the Hussite movement in Prague he would come soon. What a change these last couple of months had brought! Not only was he communicating with these Hussites, he intended to aide them. Karin had changed him. It almost brought a smile to her face. Almost.

  But Lenka could not smile after the happenings of these last weeks. The king’s death, the fighting in Prague . . . It brought on more reason to worry after her katka. Where was she? Was she safe? They had not heard anything since sending them off the day after their wedding. That had been two weeks ago.

  Instead of dying down, the hostilities escalated. Was it just last week that Wenceslaus’s widow sent a force of mercenaries into Prague in an attempt to regain control? They had thought the fighting had been bad before, but the country discovered a new depth to the violence. From all reports, there were many portions of the city that were completely destroyed, some with severe damage.

  Had it been so long since Lenka had walked the streets of Prague or visited the grand castles there? Still her heart ached at the thought of the beautiful city in ruins. And all for naught.

  Petr found himself in a unique position. Foremost, he was a member of the nobility, a voice that carried weight. And, because of Karin, it was now known in some Hussite circles that he was sympathetic to their cause. Not only that, he remained supportive of the regency. He was in a much sought-after position—to negotiate with Wenceslaus’s brother, Sigismund, who now inherited a claim on the Czech crown.

  And so Petr would do what he could to pick up the pieces and bring peace to their fractured country. That’s what Lenka wanted—to see hostilities end. Imagine, this might mean they could travel to see Karin and Pavel soon. If they could bring this conflict to a swift end.

  “What are you thinking?” Petr’s voice interrupted her musings.

  Lenka met his eyes, already on her. They were bright, as was his smile. “How it will be when this fighting is over.” She continued working her fingers on her sewing, turning her attention back to it.

  “You’re thinking about Karin,” he said, the lilt of his voice betraying his laughter.

  And why shouldn’t they be light-hearted? The willingness of the two sides to negotiate was a good sign.

  “Perhaps.” She wiggled her head, not fighting the smile that graced her features.

  He stood and moved to where she sat. Pressing a kiss atop her head, he allowed his hand to linger on the side of her face.

  “It may take time, dear wife, to find compromise,” he warned. “But if the others feel what I do, there will be great determination to see it through. I can’t
imagine anyone on either side wants to see this war continue.”

  She nodded, gazing up at him. “Be safe.”

  “As God wills.” His hand moved to touch her hair.

  Her eyes pleaded as they peered into his. “Write me?”

  His mouth turned up at that as he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. “Of course.”

  * * *

  Pavel shifted in his sleep. How long had he lain here, restless? How many nights had found him in the same situation? Opening his eyes, he gazed across the pillow to where Karin slept. It didn’t matter how often he awoke next to her, he would never cease to be grateful.

  The hardships of the last year came rushing back. He almost lost her. Twice. Once to his best friend in marriage and a second time to his best friend’s sword. If he’d been only a few seconds later . . . He dare not think what might have been. And he didn’t have to. God had sustained her. And helped him. Now they were together. Safely within Hussite territory at his parent’s home near Tabor.

  Shifting his gaze back toward his wife, he was thankful she lay in peaceful slumber, her features relaxed and her red-blond hair splayed across the pillow. He resisted the urge to lift those tresses to his face and feel the silken locks between his fingers. As much as he would like to, he didn’t want to risk disrupting her rest.

  Overcome with an urge to protect her, he ached to hold her. His throat became dry and pained. So much had happened to her. They had overcome many obstacles. And with the state of affairs in Bohemia, there would be much yet to endure. He must shield her from whatever might come their way better than he had during their brief detainment on their travels.

  Running a hand across his face, he rolled onto his back, guilt welling within him. The pressure of it settling on his chest. She relied on him. Yet in that moment when she needed him to stand for her, he had not been able to.