Hereafter (The Lost Princesses Book 3) Read online

  Books by Jody Hedlund

  Young Adult: The Lost Princesses Series

  Always: Prequel Novella

  Evermore

  Foremost

  Hereafter

  Young Adult: Noble Knights Series

  The Vow: Prequel Novella

  An Uncertain Choice

  A Daring Sacrifice

  For Love & Honor

  A Loyal Heart

  A Worthy Rebel

  The Bride Ships Series

  A Reluctant Bride

  The Orphan Train Series

  An Awakened Heart: A Novella

  With You Always

  Together Forever

  Searching for You

  The Beacons of Hope Series

  Out of the Storm: A Novella

  Love Unexpected

  Hearts Made Whole

  Undaunted Hope

  Forever Safe

  Never Forget

  The Hearts of Faith Collection

  The Preacher’s Bride

  The Doctor’s Lady

  Rebellious Heart

  The Michigan Brides Collection

  Unending Devotion

  A Noble Groom

  Captured by Love

  Historical

  Luther and Katharina

  Newton & Polly

  Hereafter

  Northern Lights Press

  © 2019 Copyright

  Jody Hedlund Kindle Edition

  www.jodyhedlund.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are accordingly inevitable. All other characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Emilie Hendryx of E. A. Hendryx Creative

  Table of Contents

  Half-Title

  Books by Jody Hedlund

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  Young Adult Fiction from Jody Hedlund

  More from Jody Hedlund

  Chapter

  1

  Emmeline

  I brushed my hand over the crushed grass and examined the nearly invisible footprint beneath. Only a pace away, a broken twig and a patch of flattened bellflowers confirmed my suspicion. A stranger had made it past the ravine and was quite possibly still lingering.

  My chest tightened, squeezing the air from my lungs and forcing me to stand. I scanned the thick woodland and brush, picturing soldiers in black chain mail converging upon me.

  The late afternoon sun tried to penetrate the leafy ceiling, but only a handful of dappled rays filtered through. With the recent summer rain, vibrant moss stretched lazily up tall oaks, hazel, and birch, while pale lichen drooped from branches. A badger peeked out from among the nettles and elder, and a purple emperor butterfly hovered over a nearby pile of deer dung.

  As far as I could see, everything was as it ought to be. I sniffed the air, catching only the usual smoky remnant of burning charcoal. I heard nothing but the quick trilling chirps of a pair of hawfinches, the intermittent buzz of cicadas, and the breeze rustling the treetops.

  At the nudge of a wet nose against my hand, I released a breath and scratched Bede’s pointed snout. “Whoever was here isn’t any longer.” Otherwise, my ever-vigilant red fox wouldn’t be so relaxed. I could always count on the little creature’s sharp instincts to alert me to danger when my own senses failed to pick it up.

  Still, I needed to follow the intruder’s trail for a short distance and attempt to discover who had come so far into the forest, and why, especially since so few crossed the ravine. My father would expect me to study the details and figure it out. He’d spent years preparing me for such things—teaching me every skill he knew about tracking, hiding, hunting, weaponry, and more.

  With a stealth and lightness he’d beseeched me to perfect, I followed the trail several additional steps before halting. Shivers crawled over my skin at the prospect of someone lying in wait for me ahead in the brush. “Maybe we should go home.”

  Bede watched me, his head cocked, his tongue lolling with a slight pant.

  “Mother will be expecting me to be back on time today.”

  The fox’s pointed ears flickered, but otherwise his attention didn’t waver.

  “And Father will be home soon. I don’t want to miss his arrival.” He’d been gone for over a week, taking our recent batch of charcoal to one of the West Moorland villages to sell for provisions.

  He’d promised to return by today, and I’d been waiting with mounting anticipation, knowing he’d bring me a gift as he did every summer on the day we remembered my birth. He and Mother always skimped and sacrificed for many a fortnight in order to make the purchase. And I loved them all the more for it.

  At the crack of a branch to my left, I dodged behind the nearest tree. It happened to be a young beech. Though I was thin and petite, the tree’s diameter wouldn’t hide me for long, even if my dark hair, breeches, and shirt blended into the surroundings.

  As nimbly as a squirrel, I scrambled up the branches and disappeared into the foliage. From my high perch, I surveyed the forest below.

  Bede rose onto his hind legs, braced his front paws on the trunk, and peered up at me. He wagged his tail and let out a short yip.

  “No, Bede,” I whispered, glancing around, waiting for someone to jump out.

  The fox pawed at the tree as though attempting to climb. His ears perked expectantly, and he let out a soft whine.

  “Quiet, Bede! Go hide.”

  Just then a raccoon poked its nose through the brush. The fox spared the masked culprit a glance before dropping down and lifting his face to stare at me, his mouth curling up almost as if he were laughing.

  He had every right to ridicule me. I was letting my anxiety get the best of me. If a true threat had approached, Bede would have warned me long in advance. Even so, my heart pounded out an ominous rhythm, and my body tensed in anticipation of an arrow or knife embedding my chest.

  In my nightmares, I always died one way or the other, usually unexpectedly, while I was hiding.

  After a minute of waiting in which Bede simply stood, staring at me, I reached out trembling hands to begin my descent. I needed to return home. I’d be safe there. And when Father came back from the market, he’d have a logical explanation for a stranger’s footprints in this part of the forest, in the depths of the woodland where we rarely had visitors.

  I hopped to the ground, took a final look around, and then started off. As I leaped over windfall and d
ucked under low branches, my pouch thumped against my hip. I pressed it firmly, the outline of the small leather-bound book inside reassuring me of its safety. I’d already read the historical chronicle countless times, but I never tired of starting anew and had spent the afternoon high in my favorite oak tree doing just that.

  My fingers also brushed against the familiar form of the key I always carried, along with a smaller lump at the bottom of the pouch—the ruby signifying my true identity. An identity my parents never let me forget.

  “You are Princess Emmeline,” my mother had reminded me often, “of the house of Mercia, the daughter of King Francis and Queen Dierdal.”

  “I don’t want to be Princess Emmeline,” I’d responded as often. “I just want to be Emmy, the charcoal burner’s daughter.”

  Of course, only Father called me Emmy. Mother insisted on using my given name, Emmeline, because it was more ladylike. While she hadn’t wanted Father to teach me how to be a soldier like him, she’d understood his reasons for doing so: that he wanted me to be prepared for the future, with the ability to fight the enemy and keep myself safe. To balance Father’s training, Mother had worked even harder to shape me into a proper lady worthy of the title of princess.

  Bede raced along next to me, easily keeping pace, his paws barely touching the ground. While his tracks wouldn’t matter so much, I made sure not to leave a trail, stepping on stones, large branches, and outcroppings where even the most skilled of trackers would have difficulty tracing my path.

  When I reached the coppiced woodland adjacent to the earthen kilns, I allowed myself to slow down. The stumps left from trees Father had once felled had regenerated with new shoots. Some from as far back as ten years ago had grown into multiple stems that were ready to cut again. Others were still young and needed protecting from browsing deer.

  The forest was thinner here, lighter and airier, allowing the sunlight to penetrate so the trees could grow again and continue to provide the wood Father needed for making charcoal. At midsummer, bluebells, violets, archangels, and wood anemone formed a colorful carpet all around the copse that I was loathe to trample.

  I skirted the new growth and entered the clearing where Father had constructed several domed kilns made of alder and covered with damp turf. Today the kilns were cold and smokeless, waiting for the next production, which Father would start soon after his return. His was an endless job, one he did year-round during the heat of summer as well as the frigid days of winter.

  Yet, even with all his hard work, we struggled to survive from one year to the next. The rugs Mother wove on her loom fetched a fair profit when Father sold them at the market. But rather than letting Father buy her anything, Mother always insisted on saving the earnings to use on something for me.

  Across the clearing and beyond the herb beds and large vegetable garden, the cottage sat tucked against the edge of the forest, partially concealed by blackthorn and covered with ivy. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, a sign that Mother had been busy cooking all afternoon in preparation for a special meal to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.

  At the sight of Father’s mule grazing in the shade of the maple closest to the cottage, my pulse spurted with renewed anticipation. He was home earlier than I’d expected, and I prayed that meant he’d had easy and profitable trading.

  “Race you!” I called to Bede.

  The red fox bounded with a snort. When I picked up my pace, he scampered to remain at my side.

  As I sprinted the last of the way, my worries dissipated, and I couldn’t keep from smiling at the thought of the special evening ahead. We’d feast on the delicious meal Mother had prepared with my favorites of roasted duck and baked vegetables fresh from the garden. Afterward, we’d enjoy a slice of honey cake—the only sweet delicacy we ever ate, and only on my birthday. Finally, after we’d washed dishes, Mother and Father would present me with a gift—always a book that Father managed to find on one of his trips to the market.

  What book would they have for me this year? A collection of poetry? Perhaps a text of ancient history? Or maybe even a compilation of maps and descriptions of faraway places?

  Whatever it was, I’d adore it, as I always did. And I’d read it until it was near to falling apart, just as I had all the books in the hidden cupboard.

  Bede yipped as he ran beside me, his eyes sparkling with excitement, his head bobbing with his effort to outrun me. I lengthened my stride and reached the cottage first.

  At the door, I stopped short and pulled myself up straight. Lifting my shoulders and chin, I tucked loose strands of hair back under the cap I wore. Father required me to wear boys’ clothing whenever I went beyond the clearing. Although Mother never liked to see me in the plain garments, she acquiesced so long as I cast them aside and returned to my skirts at home.

  From behind, Bede jumped up onto me, tail wagging and tongue lolling again.

  “No, I won this time.” I turned and playfully nudged him down.

  He tossed his head as though arguing with me.

  “I can’t help it if I’m faster than you.” I rubbed a hand between his ears and was bending to plant a kiss there when the door wrenched open with such force I stumbled back.

  “Emmy. There you are.” Father filled the doorway, all muscle and brawn. With broad shoulders, a strong square jaw, and rich brown eyes, I guessed he was as handsome now as he’d been eighteen years ago when he’d first met Mother. That had happened during the dangerous days as an elite guard fighting against King Ethelwulf’s invasion of Mercia.

  “Father!” I vaulted into him as I always did upon his return. His strong arms surrounded me and lifted me up in a tender but all-encompassing hug. I breathed in the woodsmoke that permeated every part of him, a scent he couldn’t scrub off even when he washed away the black grime he accumulated while tending the kilns.

  “I was about to set off in search of you.” He gently lowered me to my feet, studying me with his typical keenness, which told me he hadn’t missed a single detail. He’d likely already figured out where I’d gone, what I’d been doing, and how long I’d been away.

  “You’re home earlier than usual.” I eyed him in return. In simple garments that were patched and mended beyond their usefulness, I saw nothing out of the ordinary except he favored his stronger leg, the sign he’d overtaxed himself in his haste.

  Every time I pleaded hard enough, he’d tell me the story of how he’d injured his leg while saving Mother, me, and my two sisters, Adelaide Constance and Maribel, from a wolf attack when I’d been but a few days old. He’d single-handedly thwarted the pack sent by King Ethelwulf to track us down. One of the wolves had taken a bite out of his calf, and he’d almost died from the severity of the wound.

  Mother claimed she’d saved Father by giving him true love’s kiss. And of course, whenever she brought it up, Father asked her to demonstrate the kiss she’d given him, which she gladly did every time.

  Father stood back and waved me into the cottage with his cane. The scent of roasted duck enveloped me and made my stomach rumble. Only when he moved to close the door did I notice the extra energy in his step—an energy that shouldn’t have been there, an energy he never had after days of trekking many leagues to town and back.

  I expected Mother to be bustling around the table setting out our wooden trenchers and cups or busily carving the duck. Instead, she was kneeling in front of our clothing chest and folding items into neat stacks on the floor, a bag open at her side.

  A vise seized my lungs and squeezed. Was she packing for a trip?

  As though sensing my question, she halted and sat back on her heels. Only seventeen years older than me, she could have passed for my sister, not my mother. If she’d been beautiful when she was younger, she was only more so now with her long, lustrous dark hair, her pale and perfect skin, and her trim and yet womanly body. Father said I resembled Mother, which was why Sister Katherine had chosen them to raise me and not one of my siblings.

  Her striking
green eyes met mine, and I saw in them a mingling of fear and excitement I’d never seen before.

  “Emmeline,” she started, her voice containing a note of apology.

  I turned my attention to my father. “Is something amiss?”

  He didn’t meet my gaze this time and instead limped to the corner where he’d dumped his sacks. “Much has changed in the outside world since my last trip during the winter.”

  My muscles tensed, and I braced myself for whatever news he’d share, sensing it wouldn’t be to my liking. “What changes?” I forced the question even though I didn’t want to know.

  “Your twin sister has come out of hiding and is living with Queen Adelaide Constance in Norland.”

  I took a rapid step back and almost tripped over Bede, who’d followed me inside and now sat on the rush mat in front of the door. I sank down beside him.

  Father was watching my reaction carefully. “Maribel married young Lord Chambers of Chapelhill.”

  “Should I know that name?”

  “No, you wouldn’t, and that’s not important. What matters is both Maribel and Adelaide are now married.”

  Last year on Father’s visit to town, he’d come back with news that my older sister Adelaide—as she preferred to be called—had finally begun her quest to reclaim Mercia’s throne from King Ethelwulf. Upon reaching the age of twenty, she was old enough to rule of her own right.

  As such, she’d sailed to Norland and had married the Earl of Langley, who’d left Mercia years before and had been in Norland forming an army of rebels. Since the earl was like a son to Norland’s King Draybane, Adelaide’s marriage had solidified an alliance with Norland as well as gained much-needed troops and financial backing.

  Ever since discovering the news, Father had been thrilled. A spark had flared in his eyes and only burned brighter with each passing month.

  I, on the other hand, hadn’t wanted to talk about the news with Father, much to his disappointment. I’d done my best to forget all about it.

  Now, I had no wish to speak of Adelaide again. And I certainly had even less desire to hear of Maribel’s marriage. “I don’t know why either of their marriages should matter. They don’t affect me.”