Lions in the Garden

I smiled. “You’re making the right choice.”

  “I’ll give them back when we get to the castle. That being said, I only have four coins left,” Marc said. “That’ll have to be enough to get us back to Prague. I should’ve brought more.”

  I frowned. “I don’t have any money on me—Wait!” I climbed over Marc and raced across the room to the pile of rags that was once my ball gown.

  Marc looked alarmed. “What are you doing?”

  I searched the silk and satin until I found the hidden pocket in my skirt’s folds. My fingers brushed against cold, hard diamonds. I grinned as I held up the glittering necklace.

  Marc’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of diamonds.”

  “Can we use it? To barter? To get some food?”

  “You could probably buy twenty of these villages with those diamonds. Why do you have that in your pocket—Oh.” Marc’s features darkened.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He slid to the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. “Won’t Radek be upset when he finds out that you sold your engagement present?”

  I lowered my eyes. “Radek will understand that I did what I had to, to survive.”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s not that bad,” I said.

  Marc stood up. “Yes, he is. Why can’t you see it? I don’t understand why he has this hold on you.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “No, not like that.”

  “Then how?”

  “We grew up together. He . . .”

  “What?” Marc demanded.

  “He saved my life when we were children.”

  A line formed in between Marc’s eyebrows. “How?”

  I exhaled. “I didn’t want to live anymore. She left me and it hurt and I didn’t know of any other way to make the pain go away. After my mother’s funeral, I went to my father’s study and climbed over the balcony. Radek stopped me from jumping.”

  Marc sighed and took a step closer. “Well, then I’m grateful to him, too. But you don’t owe him, Mila. Not for something that happened seven years ago.”

  “I know. I guess I have a soft spot for him—”

  A sharp knock cut me off.

  Marc moved to the door. Sometime between rising from the bed and arriving at the door, he’d found his sword and had it raised, ready.

  “It’s your breakfast.” The woman’s voice drifted through the thick door.

  Marc waited for me to hide the necklace back in my gown’s pocket, and when I stood with my hands clasped behind my back, he opened the door. The woman’s attention moved to Marc’s bare chest and then to me.

  My cheeks grew warm as I stood in the thin nightgown, but then I remembered our story—we were married. I lifted my chin and smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” The woman placed the tray on the table. “I knocked for dinner last night, but you didn’t answer.”

  “We were really tired,” Marc said.

  “Will you be staying another night?”

  Marc looked at me. I noticed a flash of something—sadness? “No, we’ll be leaving after breakfast.”

  The woman left, eyeing Marc one last time before she closed the door. We ate a breakfast of eggs, porridge, and goat milk and packed our belongings, including the diamond necklace, into Marc’s sack. I dressed in the woman’s gray dress. It fit nicely, despite being a little long. The fabric was a smoky gray color with capped sleeves and a white lace-up bodice.

  Marc’s good-naturedness returned when we retrieved Jiri’s mare from the barn and headed back onto the road. I made a mental note not to mention Radek again. Marc’s feelings for the duke were clear and I didn’t want to upset him.

  My mixed feelings for Radek were even more jumbled. Did I have feelings for Radek? What would happen when we returned to Prague? I was engaged to Radek, but I couldn’t deny my feelings for Marc. What was I going to do when I returned to the castle? Marry Radek? Flee to Spain? Hope that somehow Marc and I could find a way to be together?

  I wasn’t even confident that Marc wanted to be with me—just because he’d rescued me didn’t mean he wanted me in a romantic way. And last night’s encounter between us had been passionate, but he was a man and I was a woman in his bed. Visions of Marc descending the stairs arm in arm with Ruzena, the beautiful blond kitchen servant, cruelly reminded me that Marc could have his choice of any number of women.

  “You’re quiet,” Marc said.

  “I’m enjoying the ride.”

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” He maneuvered the horse around a fallen branch. “If you try hard enough, you can almost forget that a band of murderous thieves are on our trail.”

  “Do you think they’ll come after us?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Why? Won’t they just be happy with Rudolf’s jewels?”

  “I doubt it,” Marc said. “Urek won’t take lightly that I stole you away from him in the middle of the night. He’ll come after us. Hopefully, we can make it to Prague before they catch up to us. We’re two and a half days’ ride from the castle.”

  “What about Jiri?”

  “He’ll have to make a decision. Maybe, for once in his life, he’ll figure out the right thing to do.” Marc pointed ahead. “Look. Gypsies.”

  Gypsies? My stomach clenched.

  Through the trees, almost hidden from the road, was a caravan of wagons. The covered carts were parked end to end in a circle, creating a communal ring in the middle. A lot of noise—chattering and laughing—drifted through the air as the two dozen or so Gypsies went about their day.

  Marc maneuvered the horse through the trees toward the wagons.

  “Wait! What are you doing?” Walking into a Gypsy camp was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “We can trade with them.”

  “With Gypsies?” I blinked. “I’ve heard—”

  “Don’t worry, whatever you’ve heard is probably not true.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “I’ve run into them from time to time during my trips to Kladno,” Marc said. He tied the horse to a skinny pine at the edge of the tree line. He peered up at me still sitting on Jiri’s mare. “Are you coming?”

  “Is it safe?”

  He grinned. “Do you think I’d walk you into danger?”

  I slid to the ground in response, but I felt uneasy about entering a Gypsy camp. Marc retrieved my diamond engagement necklace from his satchel and used the horse’s body to block us from the caravan. He flipped the jewelry over in his hands and broke off one of the diamonds like he was snapping a twig in half. “That felt good.”

  “I think you were imagining that was Radek’s neck.”

  He grinned.

  We walked toward the caravan, but our presence had already been noted. A group of men had drifted from their protective wagon circle and formed an intimidating barrier of muscle between the caravan and us.

  “Do you know them?” I asked.

  “None of these men, but I should know someone here.”

  “What do you want?” One of the men stepped from the line. A long black mustache twisted at the ends and dangled past his chin. He wasn’t brandishing a weapon, but his tone was clear. We weren’t welcome.

  “Maybe we should leave,” I whispered.

  Marc shook his head. “Is Zora here?”

  “What do you want with Zora?” The mustached man asked.

  “Tell her that—”

  “Marc Sýkora!” A raven-haired woman glided from behind a wagon and shoved her way through the line of men. She wore a long white dress covered in purple swirls. A thick gold belt cinched at her waist, displaying a curvy figure. She had at least twenty silver bracelets on each wrist that jingled when she walked. Inky black hair fell in waves down her back and contrasted vividly with her bright emerald eyes.

  She was beautiful.

  Her mouth spread into an enormous smile. “You don’t know how lovely it is to see your ha
ndsome face.”

  Marc embraced her. “It’s good to see you, Zora.”

  “What are you doing way out here? Who is this?”

  “This is Mila,” he turned to me. “Mila, this is my good friend Zora.”

  Before I could decipher what he meant by “good friend,” she seized me in a bone-crushing hug. Floral scents wafted around my head in a dizzying spell. I wanted to dislike her based solely on how beautiful she was and how cozy she seemed with Marc, but it was impossible not to like her.

  Zora appraised me like she was buying a horse. “Very pretty, Marc. Keep this one.”

  I glanced at him.

  He patted Zora on the shoulder. “Let’s not frighten her away.”

  “Who? Me? Never. Come, let’s eat.” She turned with a swirl of skirts and walked away, not waiting to see if we’d follow her. The line of men protecting the caravan had dissipated when Zora arrived. Apparently, knowing the raven-haired beauty granted immediate access to the Gypsy caravan.

  We walked in between two covered wagons. The carts were jammed with random objects—clothes, pots, books, blankets, lanterns, shovels, and I even saw a marble parrot statue. There seemed to be no logical rhyme or reason to the eclectic collection of junk that was used for trade.

  We entered the festive circle. Children weaved in and out of the wagons and chased one another. A handful of scruffy-looking dogs wandered the campsite carrying chicken bones between their teeth. Men and women ate, drank, and laughed. It was odd to see everyone wearing such vibrant shades of teals, purples, and yellows. Muted colors were always worn at the castle, but here, even the Gypsies’ clothes vibrated with life.

  Zora led us to a wagon on the opposite side of the circle. Two chairs and a table were arranged like an outdoor dining room. “Sit.”

  Marc motioned for me to take the chair. He sat on the grass beside me, so Zora could take the other seat.

  She buzzed around the wagon, sporadically pulling objects out and tossing them to the ground. She eventually returned with an armful of food—cured sausage, bread, three apples, and a brick of chocolate. I couldn’t wait to eat. If there was one thing I’d learned since being kidnapped, it was that meals weren’t guaranteed outside the castle walls.

  Zora sliced the sausage with a long knife. “So, Marc, you kidnapped the chancellor’s daughter? I know you admire beautiful women, but I’m sure Mila would’ve come willingly if you would’ve asked her.”

  Marc laughed.

  “You heard about my kidnapping?” I asked. “Way out here?”

  She winked. “I’m a Gypsy. I hear everything.” She handed me a plate with six pieces of thickly sliced sausage. “I saw a convoy of the king’s Royal Army two days ago near Prucha. I spoke with some of the men.” Dark eyebrows squished together. “It was Jiri who stole the jewels?”

  Marc nodded.

  “What does Petr say?” Zora asked.

  I tilted my head, but Marc explained before I could ask. “Petr is my father.”

  “He is the most kindhearted man I’ve ever met,” Zora said to me.

  Was she stating a fact to involve me in the conversation? Or was she trying to make me feel excluded because she knew Marc’s father and I didn’t? I couldn’t tell.

  Marc shifted. “I haven’t seen my father since I left him with my uncle in Kladno almost two weeks ago.”

  “He’ll be heartbroken,” Zora said.

  “Hopefully, he hasn’t heard yet.”

  I silently chewed a bite of sausage and listened to their conversation. There was no helping it. I was on the outside and I didn’t like the way it made me feel. Marc had had a life before me. Were they once a couple? It was stupid to feel jealous, but I was.

  Worry lines burrowed into Zora’s smooth forehead. “This isn’t good, Marc. You’re going to hang for this, you know?”

  I sat forward. “No, he’s not. Marc rescued me. He wasn’t involved in the theft.”

  Emerald green eyes shifted to Marc. A humorless smile claimed his face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “He’s a blacksmith’s son, Mila,” Zora said, as if I were a child incapable of understanding what that meant. “The Crown won’t stop to listen to what he has to say. They don’t care. His brother was involved in the theft of the king’s crown jewels and your kidnapping.”

  “No, I’ll talk to my father and Rudolf. They’ll listen to me.”

  Zora opened her mouth, but Marc interrupted her. “Do you have a bow and arrow set to trade?”

  She thumped her fingers on the table. Every finger, even her thumbs, was decorated with gold and silver rings. I glanced down at my bare hands and felt incredibly ordinary.

  “I don’t, but I think Raj has a set,” Zora said. “I’ll check. Are you looking to trade?”

  Marc retrieved the diamond from his pocket. He set the stone—roughly the size of my fingernail—on the table. Sunlight glittered through the jewel and created a reflective prism of colors.

  Zora’s eyes lit up. “You know I can’t offer an even trade for that. There’s not enough merchandise in my wagon, or in all of the wagons in this caravan, to trade evenly for that diamond.”

  “I know,” Marc said.

  “Then what do you want for it?”

  “A bow with a quiver of arrows, some blankets, a sack of food for a three days’ ride, and a container for water,” he said. “And a dress for Mila. Something pretty.”

  “Done.”

  Marc slid the diamond across the table.

  She squeezed the gem between two fingers like it was the most precious object she’d ever laid eyes on. It was the complete opposite of my reaction when Radek had placed it and its twenty or so equivalents around my neck.

  It was funny how people valued different things.

  We finished our meal and I helped Zora clean the dishes. I couldn’t help but watch her from the corner of my eye. If Zora and Marc had been together at some point in their lives, I could easily understand why he had been attracted to her.

  Certainly he still found her attractive. How could he not?

  “Here you go.” Zora collected Marc’s list of requests. Long black hair tumbled over her shoulder as she piled the supplies on the table. “Business has officially concluded. Now let us enjoy the evening.” She knocked on the table twice and walked away again to join an older man at a nearby wagon.

  “What do you say?” Marc asked. “It’s almost dark. We could camp here for the night.”

  “All right.”

  “It’s safe,” he assured me. “I won’t leave your side. I promise.”

  “Do I look that out of place?”

  Marc laughed and held out his hand. “Yes, you do, but that’s what I like about you.”

  We walked to where the Gypsies were building a giant campfire in the center of the communal circle. Everywhere I turned members of the caravan were busy—pulling chairs near the fire, talking, eating, laughing, and throwing wood into the burn pile.

  “Are they celebrating something?” I asked. We found a patch of grass in front of the fire.

  “They celebrate every night.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “To be so happy all the time.”

  “People don’t understand their way of life. The Gypsies wander from place to place, but they are kind people who have a deep connection to music and art.”

  “I heard they practiced dark magic.”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say dark, but they have a spiritual connection to the earth. It’s hard to explain.”

  “What’s hard to explain?” Zora lowered herself to the grass in front of us. She sat with her legs under her and with her back to the fire. Orange flames outlined her like a glowing aura.

  I blushed.

  “Ah, the Gypsy way of life,” she smiled. “Don’t worry, I will show you the ways of my people firsthand. But unfortunately, I have some bad news to deliver before we can enjoy our night. Or perhaps it is good news, depending on where your allegiance lies.”
Her eyes shifted to me.

  “What happened?” Marc asked.

  “My friend over there tells me he received news this morning of an assassination. Word is spreading across the land. Igniting more violence.”

  My throat went dry as I braced myself for news from the castle. Had my father been killed? King Rudolf? “Who was assassinated?”

  “Henrik IV.” Zora’s emerald green eyes flashed purposefully toward Marc.

  “The King of France?” I couldn’t hide the incredulity in my voice. The King of France’s assassination was terrible news, but I didn’t understand why it would upset Zora. France was so far away.

  Marc swore under his breath. He stared into the raging fire, clearly upset, but I didn’t understand why. Did he know the King of France?

  “What am I missing?” I asked after a long moment of silence.

  “Henrik IV was a member of the House of Bourbon,” Zora said.

  “Oh.” I began to understand. The House of Bourbon was opposed to my Catholic House of Habsburg.

  “Henrik IV was a Protestant and one of our biggest supporters,” Marc said. “This is bad. What happened to him?”

  “He was assassinated by François Ravaillac, some fanatical Catholic. François ambushed King Henrik’s carriage and stabbed him to death. His murder happened a few days ago, but word just reached us.”

  “The Catholics are pushing back.” Marc frowned. “When did you say this happened?”

  “On the fourteenth.”

  I glanced up. “The night of Rudolf’s ball?”

  “The night the king’s crown jewels were stolen,” Marc said.

  “And the night the Catholic chancellor’s daughter was kidnapped,” Zora added. “By a group of Protestants.”

  “It can’t possibly be related,” I said.

  “No, but these events will be used to fuel the fire.” Marc cracked his knuckles. “To provoke Catholics against Protestants. Have you heard anything out of Austria? Anything from King Matthias?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Zora’s mouth turned downward. “I apologize for being the bearer of bad news.”

  “Keep an ear out. We have to keep apprised of the situation.”

  “Of course,” Zora said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if I can find some spirits to lighten our mood.” She rose to her feet and disappeared into the crowd.