The Lost Princesses Medieval Romance Collection

by Jody Hedlund

  The soldiers at the door regarded me with frightened eyes. Their gazes darted past me to the passageway, to the screams of torture and terror that were no longer contained to the castle walls but drew closer with each passing minute.

  “Lance of the Elite Guard. I must see the king at once.”

  The soldiers parted and opened the door for me. The room was dimly lit and hazy from the smoke of a dozen incense pots and thick with the bitter odor of bloodwort. I homed in on King Francis lying unmoving on his luxurious bed. A physician pressed leeches against the king’s already bruised arm for another bloodletting. At the clank of my armor and heavy thud of my boots upon my entrance, the king lifted his head and attempted to push up to his elbows, but immediately dropped back with a groan.

  Heedless of the courtiers, clerks, physicians, clergy, and others of the royal retinue that crowded the chamber, I strode to the end of the raised bed, lowered myself to one knee, and bent my head. I wanted to blurt out the news and tell everyone in the room to take cover before the keep was captured, but even in the direst of circumstances, I couldn’t break the code of conduct that required the king to acknowledge me before I could stand and speak.

  “Lance? Is that you?” The king spoke in a stilted voice, each word laced with pain.

  “Aye, Your Majesty.”

  “What tidings do you have?”

  I stood and stared at his chest, for I was unworthy to look directly into the eyes of any royal or nobleman. Even though I was one of the lucky few to better my station, I was still not and never would be equal.

  “Your Majesty,” I started, but my attention snagged on the mound of bandages wrapped around the king’s torso. A stain of blood had seeped through a spot beneath his rib cage. I’d heard the king had been wounded yesterday during a particularly fierce skirmish on the west wall, but I hadn’t realized how severely.

  A chill skittered up my backbone.

  Aye, I greatly admired the king for his willingness to fight alongside his noble knights and lords. He’d modeled determination, courage, and honor to face the enemy rather than sending his men out to do so in his stead.

  Yet the king was neither as strong nor as young as his elite warriors who’d been specially chosen for our physical prowess, strength, and speed. At six feet two inches, I’d barely met the required height for the king’s army. Many others were taller and stockier. Most, like me, had spent many years as a page, then squire, with intense training both physically and mentally before being accepted to serve the king.

  If the strongest warriors in Mercia had failed to keep Ethelwulf’s army from overrunning the walled city that spread out as the footstool of the royal residence, then the king shouldn’t have been fighting.

  But it was too late for regrets. All we could do now was to ensure the king’s safety.

  “Your Majesty,” I repeated. “Ethelwulf has breached the castle walls. The battle has moved to the bailey.”

  The news apparently came as no surprise to the king or his council.

  “Is the keep secured?” asked a stately, gray-haired man standing closest to the king’s bed. He wore a golden livery collar that announced he was the king’s most trusted advisor.

  I bowed my head toward the man before responding. “The doors are sealed, but Ethelwulf’s contingency of Saracen warriors will be inside erelong.”

  A murmuring rippled among the men, their faces reflecting their fear. Legends abounded regarding the Saracens, stories brought back from merchant marines who’d encountered the desert warriors and claimed they could sneak up and slash with their curved scimitars, killing their victims faster than a flying arrow.

  Not only had Ethelwulf managed to hire the Saracens as mercenaries in his army, but he also had a squad of the vicious big-boned Danes of Viking descent. While I’d brought down a number of the giantlike warriors single-handedly during the course of the fighting, I had not done so easily.

  “We must aid the king to safety,” I said to the king’s trusted advisor before returning my attention to the king. “Your Majesty, you must leave the castle immediately.”

  The king closed his eyes. “I shall not make it.”

  I looked to the king’s advisor, silently pleading for his permission to hasten the king away. The man nodded grimly before motioning to the two guards who stood on either side of the footboard. “Assemble a litter to carry the king.”

  The room became a hustle of activity as the men prepared to leave. Of course, we had plans for an emergency evacuation. We’d just never expected we would have need to implement those plans. Nor had we expected to do so when the king was so injured, he could hardly move.

  I wasted no time now in grabbing the king’s cloak and bending near to assist the others in lifting him onto a pallet—the same bloodstained board that had been used to transport him away from the battle.

  “No!” He raised a hand in protest of my effort to move him.

  “Please, Your Majesty,” I said with bowed head. “We have little time to spare.”

  “I shall—only—slow the escape.” Each of the king’s words came out tight and stilted.

  I couldn’t argue with him. I’d been told the secret tunnel that burrowed far underground was not easy for a healthy man to traverse, much less one so wounded. It went beneath the moat and led to a highly secretive exit no one knew about—except the king and the magnate of his elite army. And now me and my fellow knight, Baldric.

  Of course, once we opened the tunnel, the enemy would discover the hidden passageway soon enough, but the hope was that we could get the king, queen, and the remaining civilians and servants out before our enemy learned of our evacuation plans and attempted to follow us.

  “You have no need to worry, Your Majesty,” I reassured. “I’ll get you to safety and will carry you myself if need be.”

  The king sucked in a breath and grasped his injured side. I tried to wait patiently for his pain to subside, but with every passing second, we lost precious time. Perhaps I would have to scoop him up and run, heedless of his protests and the pain it cost him.

  “The queen,” he stammered through a shuddering breath.

  “Another elite guard has gone to aid her escape—”

  The chamber door banged open, cutting off my words. Every muscle in my body tensed with alertness, and I spun as I unsheathed both my sword and dagger, ready to impale the newcomer if necessary.

  At the sight of Baldric’s familiar towering frame, I lowered my weapons. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be helping the queen.

  He tossed back his chain mail hood, revealing the triple strands of warrior braids on his scalp that converged at the back of his neck and were tied together with a leather strip. The style was identical to mine and to all the men who served in the king’s guard, except my hair hadn’t darkened with age but had remained a light golden wheat.

  Baldric’s face was red with perspiration and stricken with grief. “The queen is dead,” he gasped. “From childbirth.”

  At the sickening news, my stomach clenched. The king stilled, and the room grew silent enough that the shouts and cries of battle in the bailey rose up as an urgent reminder. We had to leave. Now. No matter how awful the queen’s death was, my mission was to save the king. And I had to do it at any cost.

  I slipped my hands underneath the king to transfer him to the waiting litter, but he resisted by grabbing my arm.

  “The newborn babe?” he asked Baldric in an eerily calm voice.

  “Twin daughters,” my comrade replied with a furtive glance over his shoulder. Were the Saracens even now invading the residence? If so, we had even less time than I thought to make our escape.

  The king fumbled deep within his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch that was attached tightly to a girdle underneath his garments. Only when he removed his hand from my arm did I realize he’d left a handprint on my sleeve—a handprint of blood. His own. My sights dropped to the bandage below his rib cage and the ever-widening spot of bloo
d, then to his blood-slickened fingers unable to loosen the pouch.

  I touched the bag. “May I, Your Majesty?” I asked as gently as I could, wishing I had time for words of comfort. But I’d been trained to think and act rapidly, and that required cutting myself off from emotions that might cloud my judgment or slow me down.

  “The knot is tight,” he said as he let me have access to the leather straps, “as I have never been without this bag since the day I became king.”

  With a flick of my knife, I slashed the pouch open, allowing the king to reach inside and remove a bundle wrapped in black velvet and tied with several pieces of twine.

  My skin prickled with the feeling the enemy was drawing near, an instinct I’d learned not to ignore. We didn’t have time for the king to untie this bundle too.

  As though sensing my urgency, the king pressed the item into my hand. “Guard this with your life. It is for my daughters and will help them one day to reclaim the throne.” He gave a sharp gasp and reached for his side. His gaze met mine before I could look away. His eyes were filled with immeasurable sadness and loss. But a spark of determination burned in the depths. “Save them, Lance.”

  “I’ll save you too—”

  “No!” Although everything within me demanded I drop my gaze and told me I was dishonoring the king with my familiarity, he held me captive with a sudden fierceness in his expression. “Keep the princesses safe until the time is right.”

  I nodded, hoping the move would reassure him. I’d do as he asked, but I wouldn’t abandon him. When I’d joined the elite guard, I pledged to serve the king with my life. I would die for him if need be. I couldn’t leave this room without him.

  “Go now,” he said, as though reading my mind. “It is too late for me and for the rest of the people here. But not for the princesses. Not if you help them.”

  With that, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he released a long gasping breath. Then he didn’t move. He simply stared at the canopy overhead, his eyes wide and unblinking.

  My wildly beating heart stumbled to a halt.

  He was gone. I’d seen enough dead men to know.

  A piercing scream wafted from a corridor somewhere in the castle, the kind of tortured scream that told me the Saracens had made it into the residence, likely through an open window or even a garderobe hole.

  I closed the king’s eyes. Then I quickly kissed the tips of my forefingers three times and pressed them to his heart. He’d been right. I was too late to save him. But I could honor his last wish or die trying.

  Around me, the king’s chamber succumbed to a mass of confusion as the realization of the king’s death began to penetrate the retinue. I tucked the velvet bundle into an inner pocket under my chain mail and at the same time crossed to Baldric. “We must hurry to the queen’s chambers.” Baldric nodded curtly, and I followed him out of the king’s private rooms down the long, deserted hallway.

  “What shall be done with the rest of the nobility and castle staff?” Baldric asked.

  If the enemy had already infiltrated the fortress, we had no time to institute the evacuation plan. The king had known it, and Baldric knew it as well. While I had no wish to leave everyone behind, I had to make the princesses my first priority. “We’ll pray that if they surrender and pledge fealty to Ethelwulf, that he will show them mercy.” At least those who weren’t killed by the Saracens could pledge fealty.

  “I will defend you until you are safely away with the princesses,” Baldric said. “Then I’ll return to protect those who remain.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose even as a whoosh of putrid air assaulted me. A faint line formed in the arched doorway of a nearby alcove. “To your left!” I warned Baldric as I drew both of my weapons and ducked.

  Talon-like fingers raked the air where my face had been only a second earlier. A shadowy figure screeched in anger at missing me but spun like a sandstorm. I pivoted and brought my sword down reflexively, a lunge that only anticipated the Saracen’s next move. If my instincts were wrong, I’d pay with the curved scimitar embedded into my chest digging through my flesh.

  My sharp double-edged blade severed something. I didn’t wait to see what but immediately thrust my dagger upward. It connected too. A fading scream told me my blades had done their job on my opponent. I spun halfway with my bloodied sword and aimed it for the back of the Saracen who had sprung upon Baldric. At my thrust, the thin wraith froze in midair and then crumpled to the floor next to his companion.

  Baldric jumped back, his weapons at the ready. But the two bodies on the hallway floor lay motionless. Blood pooled almost black around the brown-skinned men wearing robes that had likely once been white but were now grimy and tattered. The stench of their filthy garments and unwashed bodies was offensive even for a seasoned soldier like me. But I couldn’t complain since their odor had alerted me to their presence and given me the split second I’d needed to react.

  The outstretched hand of one of the Saracens revealed long fingernails filed to deadly sharp points. Fresh blood covered them.

  I glanced to Baldric. He shook his head, answering the question before I could ask. If he hadn’t been injured, then we had to pray the blood didn’t belong to the newborn princesses.

  We both started forward at the same time, running, our feet pounding in urgency. The queen’s chambers were located on the opposite side of the keep, strategically positioned so that if the king was besieged first, the queen could still make her escape.

  “There.” Baldric nodded to a half-open door.

  I bolted ahead of him, my speed exceeding his. As I burst into the chamber, the weeping of the women surrounding the queen’s bed turned into frightened gasps and cries of alarm.

  In one wide glance, I took in the pale, lifeless face of the queen centered in her large canopied bed, a noblewoman brushing the long golden hair and another helping to style it. Still another was laying out an elegant gown, clearly intending to dress the queen in preparation for her funeral. The midwives were in the process of cleaning up towels, sheets, and tiny glass bottles that had likely contained every herbal decoction that had ever been created for child birthing.

  All eyes now focused on Baldric and me, and filled with terror. I didn’t have the heart to tell them we were the least of their concerns. That the king was dead now too. That Ethelwulf would be in control of the castle by the end of the night. That without the king and queen, Ethelwulf would finally lay claim to Mercia. That they would become his vassals—if he allowed them to live.

  “The princesses?” I asked even as I began to wind through the room toward a door I assumed would lead to the nursery.

  One of the midwives, sagging from both exhaustion and dejection, pointed toward the inner door. “That way.”

  I wasted no time, not even with words of thanks. I threw open the door to find a smaller chamber, one that had been decorated for a newborn babe with an elaborately carved crib, light-colored tapestries and blankets, cushioned chairs positioned near the hearth, and a wardrobe displaying an assortment of infant clothing.

  Two maidservants knelt in front of leather satchels. At the sight of Baldric and me, their whispered chattering came to a stop. Their eyes widened, revealing both confusion and fright.

  “I’ve come for the princesses,” I said in a tone that brooked no arguing.

  At my pronouncement, a young woman stepped forward. I didn’t need an introduction to know she was of noble birth. Her beauty gave that away. Younger than the ladies I’d seen in the queen’s chamber, this woman had long dark hair, as lustrous and rich as prized mink. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, her cheekbones high, her chin petite and delicate, her nose elegant. Thick lashes framed her wide eyes. I surveyed her face in an instant then focused on the opal button at her collarbone holding her cloak closed.

  “The princesses are gone,” she said. But even as she motioned at me to leave, one of the satchels on the floor echoed with a tiny cry.

  In two strides, I
was beside the bag, staring down at a tiny swaddled infant tucked securely inside amidst a bed of soft blankets and clothing. Her red face contorted with what appeared to be anger. Could a babe be angry? About what?

  The infant gave another squall louder than the last.

  I stepped back, uneasiness swirling around my gut. I could handle the most vicious of Saracens and the toughest Dane. But manage a newborn babe? What had I gotten myself into?

  “You must be away,” Baldric urged behind me. “Before you’re discovered.”

  Once again, my training overrode my emotions. I grabbed the satchel, but before my fingers could close around the handles, the young noblewoman unsheathed a knife from under her cloak and pointed it at me. “Unhand the bag and I will do you no harm.”

  Her fingers trembled, a clear sign she’d never had to use a knife before, that she wouldn’t know how to hurt me with it even if she tried. And she apparently didn’t know I could have knocked it out of her hand the moment she unsheathed it and slit her throat in the same motion.

  “Your ladyship,” I said, trying to keep the irritation from my voice. “Before his death, the king tasked me with taking the princesses to safety.”

  “And the queen tasked me likewise.”

  “Now that I’m here, I release you from your duty.”

  “I release you from yours.” Her tone turned to iron. She had authority over me, and I had none over her. And we both knew it.

  I couldn’t stop myself from lifting my gaze to hers, even though such direct eye contact was disrespectful. Perhaps my defiance came from having already dismissed etiquette with the king. Whatever the case, I found myself peering into a pair of stunning eyes—a striking green that rivaled pure emeralds. They were arresting, almost mesmerizing in their beauty. But there was something deeper lurking beneath the surface, something that told me this woman wouldn’t be easily swayed from her mission.

  Chapter

  3

  Felicia

  The young knight stared at me much too boldly. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time a king’s guard or any servant had ever dared to look at me. I ought to rebuke him, perhaps even report him. But at the cry that came from the satchel, I shifted my attention.