“What are you doing?” Kristoff asked.
“There are four of us,” Marc said. “Where is she going to run to?”
No one responded.
Jiri gathered wood to build a fire. Kristoff unpacked supplies from his horse and Urek lowered himself to the base of a tree.
It was a dumb move, but I did it anyway.
As soon as Marc turned his back, I ran. I knew I couldn’t get away from them, but something deep inside forced me go. Marc chased after me. I dashed past three trees before Marc seized me from behind and lifted me off my feet.
He swung me around and down to the grass in a quick acrobatic motion that I swore the trapeze artists at Rudolf’s ball had used. I braced myself for impact, but instead I landed softy on the grass with hardly a jolt.
Marc’s jaw clenched. He lowered his face to mine. “Stop trying to get yourself killed. Would you just trust me?”
“Get off me!”
“Bring her here,” Urek said.
Marc closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, a flash of fear registered across his face. “Pretend like you’re unconscious,” Marc whispered. “Please.”
Marc brought his fist down with a smash right beside my ear. The blow would’ve knocked me out if it had connected. Marc’s eyes urged me to obey, but the tone in Urek’s voice was enough to induce compliance.
I shut my eyes.
Marc slid his hands under my knees and lifted me from the ground. I went limp as he cradled me against his chest.
The heat from the fire warmed my skin—but sent chills through me at the same time. If we were close to the fire, then we were close to Urek. Marc laid me on the ground and I concentrated on keeping my eyes from twitching open.
“She’s unconscious.” Marc stood over me, but his voice sounded far away. “I banged her head against the ground and I couldn’t stop myself from striking her. I might’ve hit her too hard. She passed out.”
“That’s the second time she’s tried to escape on my watch,” Urek said. “It’s time to teach her a lesson.”
A rustling sounded, followed by footsteps, as the other men gathered around to watch my punishment. What was Urek going to do to me? I fought to keep my face muscles relaxed like I was unconscious, but a swell of fear gripped me.
“If you kill her now, then taking her as a hostage was pointless,” Marc said. “If the king’s army finds us, you may be able to bargain for her life. If she’s dead, you’ll have no leverage.”
Urek’s voice was low. “I’m not going to kill her, just . . . decorate her face a little.”
“You’ll never be able to negotiate for her if she’s disfigured.” Marc’s words were calm but persistent. “The Crown will resent that you harmed one of their own. It only works if she’s uninjured.”
“Yeah,” Kristoff said. “Slicing up her face might infuriate the duke. He may not want to trade for her if you make her ugly. She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s a pretty pain in the ass.”
Urek sighed. “Then what should I do? Nothing? The wench ran away twice. She needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Marc already knocked her out,” Jiri said.
Urek cursed. “Get her out of my sight before I change my mind.”
Footsteps scattered dirt as I imagined Urek stomping away. Bits of dust floated into my nose and I fought back a sneeze.
Marc’s hands—I recognized his touch—scooped beneath me and lifted me from the ground. He held me close to his chest and it was only then that I realized how tired I was and how much pain I was in—my head hurt, my cheek was sore, my feet were bloody, and my legs were tired. On top of all the physical pain, I was hungry, thirsty, scared, and exhausted.
Marc laid me on the grass. The soft blades tickled my arms and the side of my face. His leg or arm—something—pressed against my side. It was reassuring to know he was sitting next to me.
“Go to sleep,” Marc whispered. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
Chapter Nine
The sound of Urek’s booming voice shook me awake and I bolted to a sitting position. My head throbbed with the movement and my hand went to my forehead.
“Easy.” Marc rested against a tree trunk with his long legs stretched in front of him.
The events of the past twenty-four hours came tumbling back and I scanned the campsite for my kidnappers. Jiri was pouring liquid into Urek’s tin cup, a broad smile claiming the older man’s scarred face, and Kristoff held a cast-iron skillet over the fire.
I glanced at Marc. Was he angry about last night’s escape attempt?
“Good morning,” he said. Dark shadows had taken up residence under his eyes.
“You didn’t sleep,” I accused.
Marc shrugged. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
I frowned at the thought, but then I remembered I was upset with him, even if he had saved me from Urek’s knife.
Jiri walked over with his container of liquid.
“I don’t have a cup,” Marc said.
Jiri reached into a bag slung across his chest and dug out a dented cup. “Here.”
Marc inspected the container. “You stole this from the house?”
Jiri shrugged and poured a brown liquid into it. “I figured I’d need it.” His eyes sank to the grass between them. “How’s Henrik?”
“Angry.”
Jiri’s eyes skidded to me but then flitted back to his brother. “I didn’t know—”
Marc held up his hand. “Not now, Jiri.”
“Right. I’ll go see if Kristoff wants some.” Jiri walked with slumped shoulders back to the fire.
“Drink some of this.” Marc pushed the cup in front of my face.
I was so thirsty that I didn’t stop to smell it or sip it. I chugged from the cup and immediately choked as the nasty warm liquid slid down my throat. My coughing fit brought on another roar of laughter from the men.
Even a tiny grin played at the corner of Marc’s lips.
“My God, that’s awful.” I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and ran my tongue over my teeth. I couldn’t purge the nasty aftertaste.
“You’ve never had beer before?” Marc’s eyes roamed over me like he was inspecting a foreign creature.
“Of course I have,” I said. “But that . . . that’s horrible.”
“Miss High and Mighty doesn’t like our beer,” Kristoff said. “Is it not up to the quality that’s served at the castle? You’ve just tasted genuine Bohemian beer.”
Marc’s grin grew wider. “That’s what we drink in town.”
“Is that what you drink at your rebel meetings?” I asked icily. “What about that girl—Ruzena—is she a rebel, too?”
Marc glanced over his shoulder. “We don’t know each other,” he said quietly.
“I know we don’t.”
Hurt flickered across his face. “No, Mila. We don’t know each other.” His eyes moved to the other men. Jiri hadn’t mentioned that Marc and I knew each other. Actually, Jiri had pretended that he had no relationship whatsoever with me.
Kristoff approached with a piece of charred meat skewered on a stick. He jabbed it at Marc. “Take it.”
“Thanks,” Marc said.
Kristoff grunted and walked back to the fire. Marc slid the unknown meat from the stick and split it in half, handing me the bigger piece. “Eat this.”
“What is it?” I was starving, but skeptical after tasting Jiri’s “quality” beer. My definition of delicious didn’t correspond with theirs.
Marc nudged me with his knee. “Just eat it.”
I frowned at his secretiveness regarding what I was about to consume, but I was too hungry to turn it down. I placed the suspect meat in my mouth and chewed, swiftly devouring it. The meat was stringy and juicy at the same time—adjectives that I’d never thought would go together when describing meat.
Marc broke his chunk into two smaller pieces. “This one, too.”
“No, you keep it.”
He placed his half in
my hand. “Eat it.”
It felt warm and wet in my palm and my mouth instantly salivated.
“She doesn’t want that,” Kristoff said. “She’s used to steak and goose at the castle. Cakes and tarts and suckled pig.”
“Living the high life in the castle,” Urek said. “While the rest of us starve.”
I lowered my eyes.
“What about you, blacksmith?” Urek licked the meat’s juices from his fingers. “How does your family fare with the king’s meager rations?”
“We do all right,” Marc answered.
“Only because Marc hunts for us in the woods,” Jiri said. “Rations aren’t enough. How can the king expect us to survive on less than what they give their dogs as scraps? Marc always put meat on the table at least three times a week.”
Marc glared at Jiri.
“Interesting.” Urek chewed with his mouth open. “Hunting in the king’s forest is illegal, isn’t it? What would the king say to Marc’s illicit forest activities—what was your name, Blue Eyes? Ludmila?”
I didn’t answer.
“Come on, tell us,” Urek pressed. “You so graciously informed us that the king would spare no expense to find you, so you must know him. What would old Rudolf say about Marc’s illegal hunting activities?”
“If the king knew his people were hungry, then he wouldn’t say anything about hunting in the woods,” I said.
“Are you trying to convince me that Rudolf doesn’t know his people are starving?” Urek asked.
“The king is a kind man,” I retorted. Rudolf had to be oblivious. The Rudolf I knew would never let his people starve. He was just out of touch—maybe he was going crazy.
“Rudolf is mad.” Urek’s features hardened.
“And he hates Protestants,” Jiri added.
“That’s not true,” I said quickly. “He tolerates—”
Marc hissed under his breath. My shoulders slumped with the reproach, but he was right. I needed to keep my mouth shut. I stared down at my dirty hands.
“I forgot we had a Catholic amongst us.” Urek used a knife to pick at the food in his teeth. “I should’ve known there was another reason I didn’t like you. All the royal rats kneel down to the pope.”
Kristoff dropped his eyes. Urek must not have known he was a Catholic, too.
“Not for much longer,” Jiri said.
The men laughed and I glanced at Marc for answers, but he looked at me sharply. He wanted me to keep quiet.
“Once Rudolf is gone and with Don Giulio dead, the Protestants can claim the throne and take over the kingdom,” Jiri said.
Don Giulio had been the king’s son and only heir. He’d been a sadistic man who’d lived in a perpetual state of drunken debauchery. Two years earlier, Rudolf had banished him to Krumlov Castle in the southern part of the kingdom. There Don Giulio had tortured and raped a peasant woman before killing her and dismembering her body. The king’s son had been sent to the feared Daliborka Tower, where he’d mysteriously died a few months later. With his death went Rudolf’s only heir to the throne.
Urek retrieved the chest containing the crown jewels. He pushed back the lid and his eyes glittered at its contents—gold coins, diamonds, and other precious gems. I noticed the royal orb and the crown of Saint Wenceslas, but the scepter, the golden cross, and Saint Wenceslas’s sword were absent. Maybe they were too big to fit in the chest.
We finished our breakfast in silence. I rode on Marc’s stallion without asking for Urek’s permission. My anger at Marc had subsided. Whatever the case, for the time being, Marc was looking out for my best interests and I needed his help to stay alive. Soon, the army would rescue me and I would return to the castle.
And then what? Would I marry Radek?
Yes. That’s what I was supposed to do. Branka had been right all along. All of this would be a distant memory in a few months. I’d do the right thing for once. I’d be a quiet, dutiful wife. Radek loved me. And I loved him—not in the way a wife loved a husband, but in time, I could learn. I’d marry Radek and be a good Catholic girl. That reminded me—
I turned in the saddle. “What did they mean before? About the royals not kneeling down to the pope for much longer? Are your rebels going to attack the castle soon?”
“Shh.” Marc’s eyes moved to Kristoff, but he had drifted in front of us. “Your mouth is going to get us into trouble,” Marc whispered.
I frowned. “You’re not going to tell me, are you? You don’t want me to know.”
“That’s not true. I’m just focused on keeping you and my idiot brother alive. I don’t have the time to worry about the details of the rebellion.”
“So there is going to be a rebellion?”
“I don’t know,” Marc said. “Maybe. People are talking about it. They’re unhappy with the way things are.” He hesitated. “You’re smart, Mila, but you have no idea what goes on outside the castle’s gates.”
“You lied to me. I asked you if you were a rebel.”
“We’d just met and you’re the chancellor’s daughter. How was I supposed to know you wouldn’t—”
“What? Turn you in?”
“You have no idea what’s going on. People are starving. They work all day with nothing to show for it. They’re tired of being overtaxed by a church that doesn’t care about them.”
“The church cares,” I said.
I wasn’t certain why I felt so defensive. I knew the people of Prague were starving. Hadn’t I seen it with my own eyes? I remembered poor starving Yelena standing dirty and neglected in the alleyway. Was my Catholic Church doing that? Was the Crown the cause of her pain and suffering?
“The church sells indulgences. They allow the rich, for a handsome price, to be absolved of their sins—just by making a monetary contribution. You can literally pay your way into Heaven in the Catholic Church. Where does that leave the peasants? How are the peasants supposed to gain salvation when they can’t afford to pay for it?”
“Indulgences are the makings of a revolution?”
“Not only indulgences, but the peasant way of life. And it’s not a revolution,” Marc said. “It’s a reformation. There needs to be change. Everyone should receive equal treatment when God is involved. Most people can’t understand the Latin mass. You can. Your father can. But we can’t. The church has abandoned us. Their only concern is amassing wealth and power. There needs to be a change.”
“That sounds like a revolution to me.”
“Whatever it takes to bring about change.”
“And you’re going to use the king’s stolen jewels to fund your rebellion?”
“It wasn’t my intention, but we could use the money. The king won’t miss a few gold coins.”
I shook my head. “It’s wrong and you know it.”
“You can’t understand because you’ve lived a sheltered, pampered life behind the castle walls.”
I twisted around. “What does your rebellion mean for everyone else, Marc? Do you want my family’s blood running through the streets? My blood?”
“No, of course not,” he said.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be so naïve as to think that the Protestant reformation won’t mean bloodshed for both sides.”
“Having a heated discussion, are we?” Kristoff materialized beside us. His horse reared its head as he pulled on the reins. Ginger eyebrows rose to an equally red hairline.
I exhaled loudly.
“Just passing the time,” Marc said.
“Is that so?”
“Tell me, Kristoff. Was it you or my brother who introduced your way into Urek’s good graces?”
Kristoff smiled. “Upset we didn’t include you in our plans, Marc?”
I stiffened, but I didn’t turn around to look at Marc. Kristoff watched me too closely.
“No.” Marc chuckled without any humor. “I just didn’t realize either of you were stupid enough to steal the king’s jewels and kidnap the duke’s fiancée. This tops both of your dumbest ideas to date
. I wonder what your mother thinks of all this.”
“Careful there,” Kristoff said. “Or we might start to question your loyalties.”
“My loyalty is to Jiri. I have no other.”
Kristoff’s eyes shifted to me. “Is that so, Marc? Only Jiri?” He clicked his tongue and galloped ahead of us.
I waited until Kristoff was out of earshot. “You didn’t know about the theft beforehand?”
“No.” He exhaled and his breath blew against my neck. “You thought I used you. Didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
“You thought I used you so Jiri could gain access to steal Rudolf’s jewels.” Marc shook his head. “How could you think so little of me?”
“What was I supposed to think?”
“That I have an idiot brother who can’t make a right decision if his life depended on it,” Marc whispered. “And that when I stormed off from the ballroom—after I had to watch your engagement to Radek—I got a note from Jiri about how he planned to steal the jewels. Then I found out that they kidnapped you, too!”
He squeezed his arm around my waist and yanked me against him. “I jumped on my horse and raced after you—against Henrik’s wishes. I’ve finally realized there is nothing I can say or do to change Jiri. He is who he is. And to answer your unspoken question, yes, I wanted to save my brother, and yes, I’ll gladly take his share of the jewels to help fund the rebellion, but the only reason I’m here is to rescue you.”
“You struck me,” I said weakly.
“Of course I did! You attacked me.” His whisper grew louder. “They have to think that I’m with them, Mila. How else am I going to get you the hell out of here? They’re watching my every move like a damn hawk. Not to mention they could use my brother’s life against me.”
“I’m sorry.”
He sighed. I felt the anger fade from his bones as he relaxed against me. “I’m sorry you were sucked into Jiri’s mess.” He lowered his voice. “And I’m sorry I had to strike you. I did it as softly as I could, but I had to make them believe it was real. Mila, you have to follow my lead. You have to trust me and do what I say so I can get us––you, me, and my brother––safely out of here. All right?”
I nodded.