The Secret Princess. Rachelle McCallaЧитать онлайн книгу.
too deep to forget, though months had passed as he’d searched in vain to find her again. Driven by his quest, he’d traveled deeper into the forest—past the borders of Lydia—into enemy territory.
The week before, he’d caught a glimpse of her through the trees and had held his breath, watching in amazement, half convinced he’d imagined her.
When she didn’t evaporate with the mist as the sun warmed the day, he’d moved closer, so focused on reaching her he’d paid little attention to the path. She must have heard the sound of his approach. For one long moment she’d lifted her head from her work and studied the woods in his direction, her face in clear view.
Beautiful.
Not an old hag. Not an apparition. She’d run with feet fleet as a deer, disappearing in the direction of Illyria, beyond the Lydian border.
He’d returned every morning since then.
Today he waited. Prayed. Songbirds roused and trilled their morning melodies as the fog lifted, mist rising up the mountain to join the clouds and the pink light of dawn.
Luke sat still, silent. He could wait all day. He’d waited most of each day since the morning he’d seen her. It made no difference. With the treaty between the Roman Empire and Constantinople, peace in the borderlands became even more important. The emperor Charlemagne had pledged to fight for Lydia if the tiny kingdom went to war against the Illyrians again. The Byzantine empress Irene had vowed to counter, supporting her Illyrian territories.
If the two empires met in war across these rugged mountains, Lydia would be trampled. His people would suffer. When the walled Lydian city of Sardis had been besieged by Illyrian forces the previous fall, Luke had ridden out to battle beside his brother King John. Both of them had been prepared to die protecting their people.
By God’s grace, it hadn’t come to that. Rab the Raider, who’d deceitfully killed Luke’s father, King Theodoric, was himself killed by his own half brother, Warrick. In the wake of the battle, Lydia, backed by Charlemagne, had forged a peace treaty with Irene of Constantinople. By those terms, the Illyrians were required to give back all the borderlands Rab the Raider had taken from Lydia.
Luke would never forget the horrors of war. He’d seen enough of battle. To keep the peace, he and his fellow soldiers roamed these lands, always alert for any activity that would indicate the Illyrians weren’t keeping their side of the treaty.
So sitting on a boulder in the forest of the foothills fit perfectly within the mission his brother had tasked him with. His job was to watch the border. The rocky outcropping was part of that border. And so he sat patiently, waiting.
A tiny wren perched somewhere above him, its song cheerful and long-winded. Suddenly the bird stopped singing.
Luke sat up straight, gripping his bow with one hand, an arrow ready. Something had startled the bird. Wolves, who prowled at night, would have returned to their dens long before this hour, but bears were common in these foothills and active at this time of day. Lynx and wildcats weren’t uncommon, though bears were a bigger threat this close to the mountains.
The wren sounded a few questioning notes, testing the air, uncertain. It fluttered to deeper cover.
Leaves rustled near the boulder. Luke could hear the sound, but whatever stirred the foliage lay on the other side of the rocks, out of sight.
Long minutes crept by as Luke pondered his next move. It could be a wild boar nosing about for mushrooms among the fallen logs. The hefty horned animals had thick hides and could run surprisingly fast. It was dangerous to meet one alone. One arrow was hardly ever enough to bring down a boar. Yet who could string a second arrow before the speedy animal struck?
The wren began to sing again, tentatively at first but gaining confidence as it continued. Luke hadn’t heard any grunting. Boars grunted. Maybe it wasn’t a boar on the other side of the rocks, then. Could it be an Illyrian war scout? Prior to the battle the previous fall, the Illyrians had been active in the area. If Luke saw their men venturing this far into Lydian territory, he’d alert his men and King John and intervene before the Illyrians could strike.
He prayed the Illyrians had better sense than to venture into Lydian territory again.
Slowly, soundlessly, Luke eased to his feet, creeping up the craggy incline where the rocks provided silent footholds. He’d be able to see better from higher ground. Besides, if the woman had returned, Luke realized he ought to try to get in between her and the route by which she’d escaped the week before. That way, if he startled her, she’d run toward him instead of away.
The wren’s song grew more exuberant. Luke smiled at the sound. The song was a happy one, but more than that, it helped to drown out any noise Luke might make as he crept around the outcropping, pausing frequently, listening, waiting.
The rustling sound continued. Rocks overhung the spot from which the sound emanated, blocking the source from Luke’s view. He paused, wishing the creature would back away far enough for him to see it, but other than the constant rustling, it made no move.
Below him the rocks gave way like a cliff. Luke weighed his options. If he dropped to the ground here, he’d almost certainly spook the creature. If it was a boar or a bear, it might charge him. If it was the woman, she might easily run away. He wanted neither of those options.
That left a long trek out of his way, following the bluff as it bent back toward the mountain. He’d have to turn his back on whatever was making the rustling sound. He’d venture far from the spot before reaching the lower elevation and making his way slowly back, giving the creature plenty of time to disappear.
He didn’t like either option, but the long trek seemed the most promising.
Cautiously, Luke crept along the rocks, ducking branches, choosing his footing carefully.
He’d nearly reached the forest floor when a solid-looking rock proved to be loose, dislodging under his foot, rattling downward as he slipped and scrambled to stay on his feet.
He grabbed for support, clenched a branch in his hand and steadied himself.
The wren stopped singing. The rustling ceased, as well.
Luke froze, held his breath and waited.
Something bolted from the base of the rocks. Unsure whether it was friend or foe, Luke ran for the path, hoping to intercept it, praying it wasn’t a predator. He reached the path and faced the oncoming sound, its source still hidden by the thick brush that edged the winding route. Fitting an arrow to his bow, he raised the weapon and took aim, ready to shoot the moment the animal appeared.
A woman cleared the bend in the path, her lovely face white with fear, hair mostly hidden by a headscarf that was coming loose, revealing a glimpse of pale hair.
He’d found her.
The woman screamed.
Luke lowered his bow.
She stood close enough for him to see the arresting blue of her eyes, her white teeth evenly matched as she panted, looking about for an alternate route of escape, the way blocked by dense brush and brambles.
“Good morning.” He took a step closer. “I didn’t mean to—”
She yelped, covered her face with one arm and ducked into the bushes.
“Please!” Luke dived after her. He couldn’t let her get away, not without learning her name. He needed to thank her. He needed to apologize.
Spiny branches tore at his leather habergeon, grabbing at the quiver of arrows on his back. Luke tucked his bow under his arm and plowed forward, but the woman ahead of him had the advantage of smaller size and a decent head start. Eyes half-closed, arm up to protect his face, he followed the sound of her retreat, calling after her to please stop.
The sound of her flight stopped without warning. Fearing he’d lost her, Luke charged on, relieved when he caught sight of her pale brown headdress and faded gray skirt ahead of him. She’d stopped running and stood utterly