Always: A Prequel Novella (The Lost Princesses) Page 11

  “I will.” My vow slipped out without hesitation. “Always.”

  Felicia’s eyes rounded at my added declaration.

  The abbess asked her the same question, and her answer came just as quickly as mine had. “I will.” She met my gaze. “Always.”

  The solemnity in her eyes and her echo of my extra promise stoked a fire inside me, a burning need to pull her close and seal our vows with a kiss. But my willpower was stronger than forged iron, and I kept the proper boundary between us.

  The abbess spoke a prayer of blessing over us, and then she pronounced us man and wife. The brief ceremony concluded within minutes, and once again, I wished I had something I could give Felicia to show her my affection.

  But the nuns were dispersing, putting into motion our plans of escape. We had this night and perhaps part of tomorrow before Ethelwulf’s knights arrived at St. Cuthbert’s and realized we were no longer there. We had to take advantage of every second of the darkness to get as far as possible.

  Thankfully, the abbey had a pair of mules. We agreed that Felicia and I would take one. Sister Katherine would ride out on the other with Princess Constance, and Sister Agnes would use the maze of underground tunnels. In the meantime, two of the other nuns would ride our horses and lead our pursuers on a futile chase, giving us more time to disappear and become lost to Ethelwulf.

  Felicia had finally confided to me, Sister Katherine, and Sister Agnes that she’d named the twins Maribel and Emmeline. We’d agreed no one else at St. Cuthbert’s would be privy to those names to ensure the safety of the princesses.

  Sister Katherine determined Felicia and I would raise the younger twin, Princess Emmeline, because her dark hair resembled Felicia’s. Anyone who saw the two together would hopefully assume they were mother and daughter.

  While the nuns helped Felicia form a sling for the babe so she could carry her securely with hands free, I filled a knapsack with food supplies for us and goat’s milk for the babe but little else. We couldn’t weigh down the mule any further. Whatever provisions we needed, I’d have to fashion from the forest or hope to find in the deserted charcoal burner’s cabin. The nuns gave us a few coins, but I would only use them sparingly in order to minimize our contact with anyone. The fewer people who saw us, the safer we’d remain, especially if Ethelwulf’s trackers discovered our trail.

  As we readied to leave, Felicia hugged each of the nuns who’d gathered in the courtyard. Then she kissed Princess Constance and Princess Maribel good-bye. When she turned for my assistance onto the mule, tears streaked her cheeks. She rapidly wiped them away, but more took their place. I gently squeezed her hand as I lifted her, wishing I could do more to comfort her but knowing nothing could truly ease this parting.

  I groped for the small velvet pouch the king had entrusted to me. He’d told me to guard it with my life, that the contents would help the princesses one day reclaim the throne. Felicia had shown me the signet ring the nursemaid had given her in Everly and had passed it to Sister Katherine to take with Princess Constance. We’d also already given Sister Agnes one of the rubies from Queen Dierdal’s crown for Princess Maribel.

  But I still had this pouch from the king. I’d wondered if the contents likewise needed to be split among the princesses. As I’d packed, I’d felt dishonorable opening the bag and examining what was inside, but I’d done so anyway. I’d been slightly perplexed, even disappointed, to see three large golden keys and not something more valuable.

  Granted, the keys were unlike any I’d seen before. The length of a man’s hand, each appeared to be identical, with an oval bow and a long thick shank that ended in a fancy collar and pin. The only difference was that the bits on the ends of the pins contained unique engravings. I’d examined each one carefully, deciding that the little pictures must symbolize something, but I hadn’t been able to figure out what.

  No matter how regal looking the keys, I couldn’t fathom how they’d help the princesses reclaim the throne. Nevertheless, I was determined to do as the king asked—to not only save the princesses but also keep the keys safe for them. I certainly couldn’t retain all three. If anything happened to me, I didn’t want to chance them all falling into Ethelwulf’s hands. The best plan for their protection was dividing them among the princesses.

  “Sister Katherine.” I approached the nun already on the mule with Princess Constance in front of her. The beautiful little girl was burrowed beneath the nun’s flowing cloak, her solemn eyes hardly visible in the falling shadows of the night. What must the crown princess think now that she had to race for her life again? Did she grasp the significance of her destiny?

  I bowed my head to her in servitude and prayed the next time I saw her I’d be able to bend my knee before her as queen.

  I handed Sister Katherine one of the keys. “King Francis gave me this key upon his death and charged me with guarding it. I’d like it to go with Princess Constance, to stay with her at her new home for safekeeping.”

  Sister Katherine took the key somewhat absently but then stopped short at a closer examination. “How many keys did the king give you?”

  “Three,” I said as I gave the third to Sister Agnes, who held Princess Maribel in a sling similar to Felicia’s. With a bright moon overhead in the yet starless night illuminating the sleeping infant, I bowed my head in servitude toward the second princess and prayed God would protect her in the years to come.

  “Then it is true.” Sister Katherine turned the key over in her hand reverently.

  “What’s true?” I asked.

  “The legend of the three keys.”

  With a large hood obscuring her face, I couldn’t see Sister Katherine’s expression, but her voice contained an awe that pricked at my conscience. Were the keys more valuable than I’d realized? Should they remain together after all?

  “What is the legend?” Felicia asked from atop the mule where she patted Emmeline’s back through the sling. Apparently, Felicia didn’t know anything about the keys either.

  “It has been said that the king or queen of this realm was given the sacred duty of being keeper of the keys,” replied Sister Katherine. “But no one has ever seen the keys.”

  “Keeper of the keys?” Felicia asked. “For what purpose?”

  “The legend says the keys unlock an ancient treasure that once belonged to the wealthiest and wisest king who ever lived, a man by the name of Solomon.”

  I’d never heard of such a king. Then again, my education had consisted only of what would help me become more skilled in warfare.

  “God appeared to King Solomon in a dream and said, ‘Ask for whatever you want, and I shall give it to you.’ The king could have asked for anything he desired, especially wealth and a long life. But instead of these things, he replied, ‘Give your servant wisdom and discernment as I govern my people so that I may be able to distinguish right from wrong.’”

  Felicia nodded at Sister Katherine’s retelling of the story as though she was familiar with it.

  Sister Katherine continued. “God was so pleased with the king’s answer that he replied, ‘Not only will I give you the wisdom you have asked for, but I will also give you what you have not asked for: wealth and a long life.’”

  “So the keys unlock a treasure left from the days of King Solomon?” Felicia asked.

  “That is the legend, but no one knows for certain.” Sister Katherine tucked the key into a pocket beneath her habit. “Rumor abounds that the treasure was brought to our Great Isle during ancient times to keep it safe from barbarians. Past kings have searched for it. Some have claimed that the quest for the Holy Grail is really the pursuit of an ancient treasure. Whatever the case, there are no definitive answers.”

  I shifted my weight, my leg hurting even though we hadn’t yet begun our journey. “Then you believe the existence of these three keys lends evidence to the rumors of an ancient treasure?”

  “It is possible,” Sister Katherine remarked, drawing her cloak closer about her and shielding t
he princess from the night air, which was thinner and colder in the Highlands.

  “King Francis said the keys would one day help the princesses regain the throne,” I said, attempting to understand how an ancient treasure might aid the princesses. Would the treasure be vast enough to allow the princesses to buy the services of a large army, one that could rise up and destroy Ethelwulf?

  “Maybe King Francis was referring to a prophecy in the Book of Dierum,” Sister Katherine replied. “A prophecy foretelling a young ruler filled with wisdom who will use the ancient treasure to rid the land of evil and usher in a time of peace never before seen or ever seen again.”

  “We will pray King Francis is correct,” said Sister Agnes, who rocked Princess Maribel back and forth. “In the meantime, each of the princesses shall keep one of the keys with her in hiding. And someday, when the time is right, perhaps the prophecy will come to pass.”

  “For now,” Sister Katherine said, giving her mule a nudge, “we must make sure the princesses survive. The ancient treasure will do them no good if they are not alive to find it.”

  I nodded and reached for our mule’s lead rope. It was time to go. Time for each of us to do our best to make sure the princesses disappeared so Ethelwulf would believe they were dead or gone from Mercia. There would be opportunities later to sort out the role—if any—the keys might have in putting a new ruler onto Mercia’s throne.

  For now, though, we had enough worries, especially that of making it through the coming night alive.

  Chapter

  13

  LANCE

  I WANTED TO walk and allow Felicia to ride the mule. Yet soon enough it became apparent my slow, stilted steps would hinder our flight from the Iron Hills. I loathed myself for having to ride the mule while Felicia was forced to traverse the steep, rocky climb down the mountain on foot.

  But I cared too much for her to let my pride stand in the way of our escape. She led the way while I sprinkled the nun’s special powder of mountain essence and prayed it would keep Ethelwulf’s men from tracking our scent.

  By the deep hours of the night, we’d finally reached the foothills. Rather than heading south and entering Inglewood Forest from the east, I’d made the choice to cross the remote regions of the foothills and enter the forest from its western edge, as far from Delsworth as possible.

  We kept to desolate paths, veering far away from any town or village. The more isolated we stayed and the fewer people we encountered, the better we’d fare. Speed was no longer necessary so much as invisibility.

  As dawn broke, I located a grove of hawthorn bushes near a clear brook, and we made camp for the day. Safely hidden among the brush, I still could not rest easy. So I took charge of Emmeline while Felicia fell into an exhausted sleep. As she slumbered, I caught several fish but didn’t dare start a fire until nightfall so that darkness masked the plumes of smoke. Only then did we eat a quick meal of fried fish and hawthorn berries. After covering any evidence of our fire and presence, we packed up and moved on.

  We journeyed for seven nights before reaching West Moorland, bypassing each of the Iron Cities. We didn’t encounter any other travelers save a lone shepherd as well as a goat herder from whom we’d purchased a goat so we’d have milk for Emmeline. Even with so little contact with people, I insisted we travel only at night.

  Purple heather, long grass, and sedge covered the rolling hills which were home to all manner of small game. I had no trouble hunting hare, grouse, or weasel. Bilberries, rosehips, and dandelions were also plentiful.

  Each day, my wound healed and I gained strength. With the aid of my cane, I walked more often, even though at times the pain was unbearable. Felicia protested less to riding as the lack of enough proper food and the strain of our journey took its toll.

  During the trek south, the openness of the moorland made me jittery, even under the cover of darkness. I drove us harder and faster, wanting to reach the edge of Inglewood Forest. The distant howls of coyotes churned fresh fear in my gut, and I prayed Ethelwulf wasn’t hunting us with coyotes now instead of wolves.

  My hope was that Ethelwulf’s men had chased the false trail the nuns had offered and in doing so lost all indication of where we’d really gone. So far, it seemed they had. Though I might never know if Sister Agnes and Sister Katherine had succeeded in out-maneuvering Ethelwulf’s men, I never ceased praying for them.

  Through all the hours of praying, I’d come to realize perhaps weaker men had an easier time praying than strong ones. In all the years I’d relied upon my own strength, I hadn’t needed God’s. Now I was coming to understand the truth of my father’s claim that God’s grace and presence shine the strongest in our humblest moments.

  By the morning of our second full week of traveling, we finally reached the thick meadows bordering Inglewood Forest. We were too near a small peasant village by the name of Cannock for my comfort. Nevertheless, I couldn’t resist stopping at a clear brook, especially when Felicia begged for the chance to wash in it. Since we’d gone days without the most basic of bathing, I felt the grime and knew she must too.

  “Only for a few minutes,” I said, guessing we would come to no harm if we took a small break. The area wasn’t secluded enough for staying overlong, and I’d hoped to reach the cover of deeper forest before stopping to sleep for the day. But the sun had just risen, and we still had time to spare before we needed to hide ourselves away.

  Her tired smile at my acquiescence made me realize how hard I’d pushed her, how once again she’d withstood the pressure like a valiant soldier. Although I admired her already, my respect for her had deepened. She was the strongest and bravest woman I’d ever met. Even now, as I cradled Emmeline in my arm, my heart swelled with a rush of emotion for Felicia I couldn’t begin to name.

  I’d turned my back to give her a few moments of privacy and so I could keep my focus on the surrounding meadow and anyone who might be approaching. But at her sharp intake of breath and a subsequent cry of pain, I pivoted, my knife already drawn. A sweeping glance around the grassy bank and the few trees told me we were still alone, and yet my heart doubled its pace.

  “Something’s wrong,” I stated as I crossed toward where she sat on a rock next to the gently rippling water. Her stockings and boots lay discarded on the ground beside her along with the peasant scarf she normally tied over her head. She’d taken to wearing her hair simply, in a single plait down her back.

  “I am fine,” she said, although her voice was shaky.

  Still holding Emmeline, I knelt next to her. She’d pulled her skirt and petticoat to her knees, revealing her delicate ankles and dainty white feet. Part of me said I was her husband and therefore had every right before God to look upon her. Even so, I cast my eyes away from her bare skin.

  We’d maintained a friendly relationship during the fortnight of travel, working well together, and even enjoying each other’s company and talking of many things. Of course, I’d experienced incidents when my attraction had swelled, and I’d wished for more than friendship. But I’d kept the boundaries firmly in place. After all, I’d told her at St. Cuthbert’s I wouldn’t dishonor her. And I always kept my pledges and would continue to do so. Even now.

  I focused on her face, where she happened to be nibbling on her lower lip. Her beautiful, full lip. I could admit I’d been more than fascinated with her mouth since the day she’d woken me with her kiss. Her lips were so perfect above her delicate chin and framed by high cheekbones. Her lashes were impossibly thick and long. And her striking green eyes never ceased to slay me.

  As she dipped her toes into the running water, she grimaced.

  Her reaction forced my attention back to her discomfort. “Are you in pain?”

  “Just a little.”

  Chancing a look at her feet again, I sat up in dismay at the sight of the red welts and blisters that had formed, some of which were bleeding. All the walking had chafed her feet, and she hadn’t once let on how uncomfortable she was.

 
I passed Emmeline to Felicia and reached for her foot, this time heedless of the impropriety of her state of undress. I examined the raw, open blisters on one foot and then picked up the other to see the same. Anger swirled in my chest at the same time as frustration.

  “Why didn’t you tell me of your blisters?” My voice came out harder than I intended.

  “I did not want to slow you down,” she said wearily.

  “You should have said something.” I ripped a strip off my shirt and soaked it in the cold water before gently dabbing her wounds. A cry slipped from her lips, which only pierced me deeper.

  She didn’t respond as I tended first one foot, then the other. When I’d finally washed and dried them, I lifted her into my arms.

  “No, Lance.” She snaked one arm around my neck and clutched Emmeline with the other. “I can walk. Please.”

  Ignoring her objection, I carried her a short distance away to a ravine shaded by an oak, though my ruined leg protested at each step. There, I rapidly flattened a bed in the tall grass and lowered her onto it, helping to situate Emmeline next to her.

  “Don’t move,” I ordered, knowing my voice still carried frustration but unable to soften it. I was too angry with myself for not seeing her pain sooner, for not being sensitive, for not taking care of her the way I should have.

  I limped away, tended the mule and goat, tied them nearby, and then returned to Felicia bringing along her socks and shoes. She was lying where I’d left her, and her eyes were closed like Emmeline’s. Had she already fallen asleep? I debated letting her rest, but at a glance at her mangled feet, I dropped to my knees and lifted one of them to my lap.

  Her eyes flew open, startled and glassy from her exhaustion. “Just a little rest and I shall be fine.”

  “You need more than a little rest,” I said as I began to apply the salve Sister Katherine had made for my wound. For long moments, I worked in silence until I’d covered her feet with the salve and then the bandages.