The Secret Princess. Rachelle McCalla

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СКАЧАТЬ to leave. Why are you still here?”

      “I had to see you again.” He reached for the bread just as she held it out to him. His left hand met the rolls. His right hand touched her arm, held her sleeve and was about to pull her closer to him when he stopped himself, unsure why he felt so drawn to her. Granted, she looked much better now than she had earlier, and smelled far better, as well. Along with washing her hair and changing her dress, she’d replaced the stench of pigs with the clean scent of crushed lavender.

      Was he foolish to want to know more about this woman? Perhaps somewhat, but he wouldn’t allow himself to fall prey if she was trying to trick him. He’d stay on his guard in case she was as great a deceiver as the man she worked for.

      “Please tell me your name. I don’t believe it’s Biddy.” He took a bite of roll.

      “That’s only what my grandfather tells everyone to call me.” The woman looked down as though ashamed.

      “Your grandfather?” Luke scowled. “Who?”

      “It doesn’t matter.”

      “It matters to me.” He finished the first roll and wished for another flask of tea.

      “Why?” She’d stepped back against the dozing horse. Just enough moonlight filtered through the open eaves to illuminate her face as she looked up at him. “You’re a prince. I’m a slave.”

      “You saved my life. Let me buy your freedom.”

      The woman’s mouth fell open like a rose in full bloom. Soft, delicate. “It’s not possible.”

      “Why not? I have the means to pay any price.”

      The woman made a small noise, almost a whimper, and then turned toward the horse, hiding her face near its mane.

      “Please.” Luke reached for her but placed one hand on the horse instead, mindful that the woman might not welcome his touch. “You must tell me your name.”

      She seemed distraught. Luke’s throat felt rough, possibly from the dry roll but more likely from his confusion at the woman’s reaction. No doubt she’d be an expensive slave, with her skills at healing and her obvious ability to work hard for long hours, not to mention her beauty. Many a master would buy her for her looks alone, though they wouldn’t treat her nearly as well as she ought to be treated. At the thought, Luke became that much more determined to free her.

      “Your name?” He wanted to grasp her shoulders and turn her to face him, but he resisted. She wasn’t his. “Please?”

      She turned to him, tears glistening like tiny gems on her eyelashes. “Evelyn.”

      “Evelyn,” he repeated, smiling. It fit her so much better than Biddy. “Why have you chosen to help me?” He raised the last roll as evidence of her aid, then took a hungry bite.

      “You are from Lydia?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then you are a Christian?”

      “Yes.” His heart warmed as she smiled at his admission. “What do you know of Christians?”

      “I was raised in the faith in Charlemagne’s empire.”

      Luke instantly recalled the words Evelyn’s brother had spoken in the tower, which Luke still didn’t completely understand. He would never have expected to find Christians enslaved inside the fortress of Fier. From what Luke knew of Garren’s household, they all followed pagan beliefs. As a member of that household, he would have assumed she’d follow the same. But then, she’d spoken Frankish earlier. Perhaps he should have guessed the woman was more like him than his enemies. Perhaps she could be trusted. Perhaps. “How long have you lived in Illyria?”

      “Five years.”

      “What brought you here?”

      “My father. He brought us here after my mother’s death.”

      “Us?” Luke clarified, wondering how many more there were besides Evelyn and her brother.

      “My brother and me.”

      “The pale-haired boy I spoke with in the tower?”

      “Yes. Bertie.”

      “Your mother was Frankish, and your father is Illyrian?”

      “My father was half Frankish and half Illyrian.”

      “Was?”

      “He died last fall.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      She nodded, her expression thoughtful, but remained silent.

      “And your grandfather?”

      “Would be furious if he knew I was speaking with you.” Her eyes met his with a spark of challenge.

      “Is he a slave, as well?”

      Evelyn’s mouth fell open again. Luke studied it, marveling at her fine matched teeth, a far healthier set than he’d expected to find in the mouth of an Illyrian slave girl. But then, nothing about her was what he’d expected, and everything he learned about her only intrigued him further.

      She didn’t answer his question, but Luke felt the urgency of their situation and realized with certainty what he needed to do. He’d promised her brother he’d help them. Why should he return later when he could fulfill his pledge that very night?

      “I can take you with me.”

      She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes wide.

      “I’m leaving for Lydia tonight. You would be safe there with other Christians.”

      Evelyn shook her head, but the way she glanced at him, he guessed she found the offer tempting. Surely she didn’t want to remain a slave.

      Luke couldn’t let her refuse his offer. “My sister-in-law speaks Frankish. She is a daughter of Charlemagne himself. You might enjoy her company.”

      Evelyn shook her head more fervently. “I cannot leave—”

      “You would not be a slave there.”

      “No.” Evelyn stepped to the side as though to dart away and escape from his words.

      Luke caught her arm. “Please come with me.”

      She met his eyes. “My brother—”

      “I intend to bring him, too, of course. He asked me to help him return to his homeland. Once we reach Lydia, we can arrange further travel plans.”

      A look of yearning passed across her face. He saw it clearly in the moonlight. His heart twisted at the sight.

      “Please, Evelyn. You saved my life. Let me restore yours. You deserve more than a life of slavery.”

      Evelyn closed СКАЧАТЬ