Lions in the Garden Page 2

  “Shall we—?”

  Wolves howled.

  Marc eyed the horse carcass with a frown. He clicked his tongue and his chestnut stallion strutted out from behind the trees. “We should leave before we have company of the four-legged kind.”

  “What? You can’t possibly mean—”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  My stomach sank at the idea of wolves ravishing Sepia.

  Marc led me by the elbow. “Hurry, they’ll be drawn to the smell of blood. I can probably fight off a couple of hungry wolves, but not a full pack.” Instead of offering his hand, Marc seized me by the waist and lifted me onto his stallion. He jumped on behind me and gathered me in close.

  The wolves’ howls filled the forest as we raced toward Prague. Their primal cries came from every direction. The sky darkened to the point where nothing was visible—only a sea of blackness. I could feel Marc’s thighs behind mine, pressing occasionally to guide the stallion. I’d lost all sense of direction, but I was confident he knew the way back to the city in the dark.

  Marc loosened his grip on the reins and I noticed a thin black string of thread tied around his wrist. It was almost hidden by his sleeve cuff.

  “I didn’t know female members of the king’s court were allowed to leave the castle without an escort,” he said.

  “I didn’t know you were the keeper of the king’s laws.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me, whatever it is. But we do have a long ride ahead of us . . .”

  What was the point of keeping it to myself? I’d obviously failed at my escape attempt. “I was headed to Munich.”

  “Munich? That’s far. Why were you going all the way there?”

  “I wanted to book passage to Spain.”

  He made a noise in his throat that indicated how ridiculous my plan was. “And what’s in Spain?”

  “My aunt.”

  Marc waited for an explanation.

  “She’s the only family member I have left outside of Bohemia. I can’t stay in Prague.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’re trying to marry me off to this old, fat lord from Moravia. And I refuse to do it.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen, and Igor Otto is probably fifty. I won’t marry him.”

  Marc hesitated. “Munich is farther than I’ve ever ridden and I know this forest better than most. It’s dangerous for a woman to be alone in the woods.”

  I looked at him over my shoulder. The top of my head fit underneath his chin, so it was difficult to see his face, especially in the dark. “What were you doing in the forest alone?” I asked accusingly.

  “I was returning from Kladno.”

  “On official blacksmith business?”

  Marc hesitated. “I took my father to my uncle’s house. They . . . they’re working on something there.”

  “On what?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “Are you a Protestant?” It slipped from my tongue before I could stop it.

  “I am,” he said. “You’re Catholic.”

  “Yes.” It wasn’t a secret. All of the king’s court was Catholic. I hadn’t missed that Marc had deflected my questions about what his father and uncle were doing in Kladno. Clearly, he didn’t want me to know. I’d heard whispers in the castle about the beginnings of a Protestant rebellion. And many of those rumors stemmed from the very anti-crown village of Kladno. Could Marc and his family be involved?

  “And you are a member of the House of Habsburg?” Marc asked.

  “On both my mother’s and father’s sides.”

  “Interesting,” he said.

  We lapsed into a companionable silence as we rode through the forest, and before long we reached the edge of Prague.... It was dark, but my eyes had adjusted enough that I could make out the red-tiled roofs and steeples of the town center. This was my home and I knew it well. Despite the darkness, I knew what lay ahead—the lengthy stone bridge that crossed the Vltava River and led up to Prague Castle, sitting like a fortress high upon Hradany Hill.

  The castle was separate from the rest of the town, but it provided all the necessary comforts of royal life. Towering spires erupted from behind inaccessible walls, and a deep moat around the castle provided ample security from outside threats.

  It felt like a prison to me.

  The beauty of Prague Castle—my home—filled me with an overwhelming sense of panic. I shivered, partly from fear of returning to the castle and partly because my thin cloak didn’t provide enough warmth from the night’s chill.

  “You’re cold,” Marc said.

  “I’m fine.”

  He slipped his hand under my cloak and rubbed my bare arm. “You’re not fine. You’re freezing.”

  “We’re almost there. I won’t freeze.”

  Marc drew me to him until my back lay against his chest. I shivered again with the unexpected contact. He wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned into me, using his large frame to shield my body from the unseasonably cool air. I couldn’t stop myself—I nestled into him, seeking his warmth.

  “That’s better,” he whispered.

  I was incredibly aware of how close we were and how much of our bodies touched. I’d never been this close to a man. My mind buzzed with activity. Was he as aware of me as I was of him? Or was I being silly?

  “You may want to pull your hood up,” Marc said as we descended the sloping hill into the basin that was Prague.

  He was right. I couldn’t be seen outside the castle walls sharing a horse with the blacksmith’s son. My reputation would be ruined, my father would kill me, and the king would ban me from his court. I didn’t care about any of those repercussions, but I pulled the soft fabric down over my forehead anyway. I didn’t want Marc to get into trouble.

  The horse’s hooves echoed off the uneven cobblestone streets west of the town square. Marc pointed to a curving, narrow street lit by one lone torch. “I live down there. My father’s shop has been there for thirty years. My brothers and I live above the store.”

  I tried to imagine Marc living above the blacksmith’s shop with his brothers and his father. Was it crowded? Or was it wonderful living so close to your family?

  We crossed under the towering covered parapet and onto the wide stone bridge. The rushing Vltava River separated the town—where Marc lived—from the castle on top of Hradany Hill. Dread filled the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to go back.

  “Can you take me around to the side entrance?” I whispered. “To the Eastern Gate?”

  The bridge ended at the second parapet. The horse climbed the steep hill and I slid back into Marc. The strange warm feeling that I’d experienced with his first touch spread through me again.

  “The gate is over there.” I pointed.

  Light from the castle lit the side entrance that servants used to bring in food and supplies. Marc climbed down from the horse and the cold air assaulted me with his departure. I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering while he helped me to the ground.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  The horse’s body blocked the gate, and even though I’d just ridden with him for the last several hours, standing with him in the shadow of the looming castle walls felt . . . intimate.

  “Can you get inside?” Marc asked. “Undetected?”

  “One of the guards should let me in.”

  I didn’t want to go inside for several reasons, but I didn’t know what was keeping him from leaving me. It finally dawned on me that I should give him some form of compensation for all that he’d done for me. Coins clinked as I rummaged through my sack. “Here, let me give you something for your troubles.”

  Marc’s hand clamped around my wrist. He shook his head. “No.”

  “It’s no problem—”

  “No, really. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t want your money.”

  “How can I thank you?”

  “You just did. I�
�m glad I was there to help,” he said. “You shouldn’t run off into the forest again. Or if you do, come find me first.”

  A guard appeared on the other side of the gate. “Who’s there?”

  “I have to go,” I whispered.

  “Good night, Mila.”

  “Good night.” I ran to the gate, hugging myself to keep warm.

  The guard drew his sword. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me,” I said softly.

  “Lady Nováková? What are you doing out there?”

  I didn’t answer. I waited for the guard to unlock the gate. I slipped a coin in his hand as I passed, hoping he understood that I needed him to keep quiet. The guard pocketed the coin with a nod.

  My skirts swished against the ground as I raced up the path. I was headed to the back entrance of the castle, where all of the nobles and other important members of the state’s administration lived.

  I glanced over my shoulder before I went inside. Marc watched me from behind the gate. We made eye contact and something passed between us. I held the stare for longer than was probably considered acceptable for a lady, but after all the rules I’d broken today, I hardly cared.

  Marc tapped his heels against the stallion’s sides and he disappeared into the night. I immediately missed his company. The guard paced in front of the gate. It was a disturbing reminder of what separated us—peasants and members of the working class were prohibited from entering the castle unless they were on official royal business. Marc couldn’t enter the castle grounds—and I couldn’t leave them.

  Chapter Two

  “You can’t sleep all day.” Branka opened the thick velvet drapes and sunlight flooded the dark room. My lifelong nursemaid proceeded to the next window and opened those drapes, too.

  I groaned in the harsh light.

  “Your father wants to know why you weren’t at dinner last night.”

  “I went to sleep early,” I lied, surprised that he’d noticed my absence. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  Branka picked up my yellow gown, which I’d carelessly thrown over the chair in front of my vanity table. She pointed to the bloodstain and then to the mud splatters covering the hem of the dress. “Should I be concerned by this?”

  “No.”

  Light filtered in from the windows as Branka sat the copper tub in the middle of the room. She poured hot water from the kettle into the bath. Sunlight glittered off the bronze ring on Branka’s right hand—it had been a gift from my mother and was the only piece of jewelry she owned. The finely crafted metal was interwoven, making the ring appear braided.

  “A horse was stolen from the stables yesterday. Odd, don’t you think?”

  “Odd, indeed.” I swallowed down the guilt of Sepia’s death. The poor mare was dead because of me.

  She waddled over to the bed, leaned over, and pecked me on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re safe, my dear. I was nervous when I couldn’t find you last night, but I supposed you wanted to be alone. Come on, out of bed. Your father wishes to see you in his study.”

  That wasn’t good. “Why? Is this about Igor Otto? Have you heard anything? Because I’m not marrying him.”

  “The grotesque lord from Moravia?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “No. Should I have heard something?” Branka asked.

  “Hopefully not.”

  “Since you missed dinner last night, I should tell you. The duke has returned from Vienna.” She couldn’t hide her excitement. “Radek asked for you at dinner last night.”

  I pushed back the fur coverlet and crawled out of bed. My thighs were sore from yesterday’s long hours on horseback. I sighed. All of that traveling, and here I was, back at the castle. But I wouldn’t categorize the trip as a total failure. “Branka, do you know anything about the blacksmith’s sons?”

  Her eyes fell to my hand, which I had cradled protectively against my stomach. “What happened?”

  The gash throbbed with my heartbeat. “I fell on the stairs. It’s fine ... it barely hurts.”

  She inspected my palm. “Wash it well in the tub. You’ll want to get all that grass and dirt out of it . . . I didn’t know our stairwells were so dirty.”

  I lowered my eyes.

  She huffed. “Did you hear what I said before about the duke?”

  “Yes. It was sweet of Radek to ask about me.” I sank my feet in the plush bearskin rug and peeled off my sleeping gown. I submerged myself in the tub. My palm wound burned in the warm water. “But do you know anything about the Sýkora brothers?”

  “Must we speak of them?”

  “I’m only curious.”

  Branka sighed. “One of them is a drunk. He gambles every night at the tavern. He’s up to his ears in debt that he’ll never be able to repay.”

  The words stung. “Which brother is that?”

  “The youngest. What’s his name? Jiri? Yes, that’s it. Jiri is the one soiling his father’s good name.”

  “And the other brothers?”

  Branka’s gray eyes narrowed. “Where were you last night? Were you in town with one of the blacksmith’s sons?”

  “No, of course not.” I rode through town with Marc, but I wasn’t in town with him as Branka was suggesting. “I’m only curious. I heard some of the girls talking about them,” I lied.

  Branka shook her finger. “Don’t you listen to them. Those foolish servants gossip all day long about the Sýkora brothers.”

  Now I was interested. “What do they say?”

  “Jiri is a lost cause, but the oldest brother—the blond one—comes to the castle each week to deliver the king’s weapons. He’s in charge of his father’s blacksmith shop. His name is Henrik.”

  “And the middle brother?” I cupped a handful of water in my non-injured palm and watched it splash back into the tub. I didn’t want Branka to notice my eagerness.

  “The dark-haired one? I believe his name is Marc. He’s handsome.”

  “Yes, Marc.” I blushed, hoping the hot water had already caused my skin to appear blotchy. “That was the brother the girls had mentioned.”

  “Of course they did. He has his choice of the ladies.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Use your imagination, Ludmila. He’s a very handsome man.” Branka laid out my chemise and corset and a dark crimson gown. She lowered her voice. “But it’s best not to get involved with any of the Sýkoras. I’ve heard things.”

  “Like what?” I stood from the tub and dried with a towel.

  “I’ve heard rumors that all three brothers, and their father, support the revolution.”

  “How do you know?”

  She leaned in and spoke so softly that I almost didn’t hear her. She wrapped a strip of clean white linen around my palm. “Trust me, I hear things. Especially in town.”

  I slipped on my chemise and corset and turned around so she could tie my laces. Was it true? Was Marc a Protestant rebel? Branka was known to gossip based on misinformation, but it wasn’t an outrageous accusation. He had just returned from Kladno. Numerous rebel altercations had originated from that small town.

  I stepped into the velvet gown. The crimson dress was one of my favorites—it had a low rounded neckline that trailed up into a standing collar and long tight sleeves.

  Branka finished drying my hair and secured the sides back with pearl combs. “All done. You look beautiful.” She squeezed my hand. “Just remember what I said about those Sýkoras. Now, off you go. Your father is looking for you.”

  I headed toward the other side of the castle. True to Branka’s word, my father was in his study deep in conversation with Radek IV, Duke of Prucha. Thankfully, Lord Igor Otto was nowhere in sight. I stood by the doorway, not wanting to interrupt them.

  “Have you journeyed across the river? Prague is full of Protestants,” my father said.

  Radek frowned. “I don’t deny it, Václav, but if Rudolf chooses to do nothing—”

  “How much time do you think we have before t
he church—” My father’s voice fell to an inaudible mumble.

  Radek yawned loudly before leaning in close to my father. They were speaking so quietly that I could make out only a few words here and there.

  “. . . the Habsburgs no longer support the king.”

  “Perhaps we should consider aligning with—”

  “. . . treason.”

  I strained my ears and leaned around the doorframe. What were they talking about? Treason? Who?

  “And the heir?” Radek asked.

  “That is a discussion for another day,” my father said curtly.

  What heir were they talking about? King Rudolf’s only son had died a few years ago.

  “I agree.” Radek dragged his hand over his face. “Let’s talk about everything later. I have a headache from all the traveling.”

  They lapsed into silence. Radek poured a drink. He handed one to my father and amiably clapped him on the shoulder.

  I knew I wasn’t supposed to overhear any of what was said, so I knocked on the doorframe before another conversation could start. “You wanted to see me, Father?”

  “Ah, Mila! There you are! Where were you last night?” My father stood. His flowing overcoat covered his sickly thinness. An ever-decreasing tuft of white hair surrounded his head like a wreath.

  “I wasn’t feeling well,” I lied. How many lies had I told today?

  “No? Well, I am delighted to see you up and about. As you can see, the duke has been keeping me company.”

  Radek waited behind my father. Not a hair was out of place on his blond head. He regarded me with startling clear blue eyes. A single dimple cut deeply into his right cheek as he grinned.

  I bowed. I hated bowing.

  “I looked for you last night, too. I wanted to tell you about my trip to Vienna,” Radek said. “Ludmila, you wouldn’t believe it. The court there is most extravagant.”

  “I can only imagine.” I didn’t like it when people used my full name. Radek knew I preferred to be called Mila, but he never used the shorter version because he considered it to be common.

  “The ladies’ fashions were impressive,” Radek said. “I took the liberty of purchasing a few for you while I was there.”