“I don’t want any trouble,” she said.
“We won’t give you any.”
“Where are you from?”
“Far away.”
“How far?”
“Moravia,” Marc lied.
The woman rested her chin on top of the broom handle. “I suppose you can buy a room as long as you don’t cause any trouble. I mean it, no problems, and you have to pay up front. I don’t want you sneaking out without paying.”
Marc placed the coins on the bar. “Can you arrange for a hot meal and for my mare to be put in the barn?”
She swiped the money from the counter. “Done. Take a seat over there. Food will be out in a few minutes.”
Marc glanced uneasily at the table.
“Don’t worry,” the woman said. “No one will be in here for hours.”
He placed another two coins in her palm. “You never saw us. I’ll give you another two when we leave tomorrow.”
The lady’s dull green eyes pierced through Marc. “Agreed.”
Marc led me to the table farthest from the door. I sat down on the bench across from him and leaned across the table. The wood felt rough and grainy against my skin. “Will we be safe?”
“The woman looked like she knew how to keep a secret. We’ll eat quickly and then go upstairs.”
“Thank you for—”
“You’re welcome.”
“I hope I never see Urek and Kristoff again,” I said.
“That was some welt you put on Kristoff’s nose.”
“I slammed the back of my head into his face when I was trying to escape.”
Marc laughed. “I’m certain he deserved it.”
“He did. It was weird. He was nice to me in a strange way before you came, but your arrival seemed to upset him. Do you know him?”
“Kristoff and Jiri have been friends since they were children. Henrik and I still haven’t decided which one of them is the bad apple. Maybe they both are.”
“Henrik’s still in Prague?”
“Yeah, he was angry that I left.”
“Because of me?”
“No, because of Jiri,” he said. “Jiri’s always getting into trouble and it always falls on Henrik and me to get him out of it. When we found out Jiri had stolen the jewels and kidnapped you, I knew there was no returning from something like this.” Marc shook his head. “Henrik begged me to stay, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t about Jiri. It was about you.”
“What a mess.” I sighed. “I still don’t think you should accept Jiri’s ‘cut’ of the jewels to fund your revolution. It’s wrong.”
Marc gave me a look, but the woman walked over and placed a covered tray between us on the table. “It’s left over from last night, but I warmed it over the hearth.”
“Thank you,” I said.
The woman’s eyes traveled down to my torn bodice, laced with Marc’s coiled rope. She nodded and walked away, disappearing through the kitchen door.
“Shall we?” Marc lifted the tray’s cover and revealed two plates—each one boasted two pieces of bread, a scoop of beans, a bowl of porridge, and a full glass of honey milk.
It was a feast.
I couldn’t remember when I’d ever been so hungry. The steam was still rising from the dough. It was delicious, buttery and warm. I reminded myself to slow down so I wouldn’t choke, but Marc was as ravenous as I was—he’d already finished his bowl of porridge and most of his beans.
I handed him my second loaf of bread. “Here, have mine.”
“No, I’m all right.”
“You’re double my size,” I said. “Eat it and take my beans, too.”
“Are you giving me orders now?”
“I am.” I smiled from behind my glass of warm milk.
His eyes crinkled as he scooted my beans in front of him. “Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome.” I placed a spoonful of porridge in my mouth. It was tasteless, but I devoured it anyway.
“I thought about what you said to me on the horse,” Marc said. “About me being naïve to think there wouldn’t be bloodshed, whether it was Protestant versus Catholic or peasants versus the Crown. You’re right. I just hoped there could be change without bloodshed, but I guess that’s an unrealistic dream.”
“Not all Catholics are bad,” I whispered.
“I know, and I love that you’re proud to be Catholic. It’s just this small radical sect that’s lashing out and abusing their power.”
“But what you’re talking about is . . . attacking my home. My family. I overheard my father and Radek discussing the problems they were having with the Protestants. Radek feared this rebellion would take down the monarchy.”
“Something has to be done. The peasants can’t continue on like this. They’re starving. People are dying. Does your father have a stronger allegiance to the king or the Catholic Church?”
I hesitated. Was he just asking or was he gaining information for the rebellion? I sidestepped the question. “The king’s court holds a strong allegiance to the Catholic Church and the House of Habsburg, but I doubt any of them would go against the king.”
Marc’s shoulders rose and fell with his exhale. “The Protestants won’t stop. They’ll make a push for the city.”
“And do what? What is it that the Protestants want?”
“A new king. A Protestant king. Someone who will fight for the peasants and our religious freedom.”
“What will your new Protestant king do? Wipe out all of the Catholics?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then what will happen to them?” I pressed.
“Hopefully, under a new ruler, Protestants and Catholics can peacefully coexist together.”
I glanced up at Marc through my lashes. We both knew that would never happen. It was an idealistic dream. If the Protestants took over, the Catholics would never sit by idly. There would be a war. A long, hard-fought war with bloodshed on both sides.
“Then the rebellion is coming,” I whispered.
“Yes, and very soon.” Marc pushed his empty plate away and reached for my hand across the table. His skin felt tough and calloused, and his hands were strong. He intertwined our fingers. “Don’t worry about your family. I’d never let anything happen to you or them, but I believe with all my heart that this is the right thing to do. We have to fight back.”
I shook my head. “There has to be another way besides a rebellion.”
Marc frowned. “But we have no other choice—”
“Leave your dishes,” the woman interrupted. “Your room is up the stairwell. Last door on the right.”
“Thank you for your kindness.” Marc squeezed my hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I pulled myself to my feet with a wince. My entire body ached from head to toe.
Marc steered me to the other side of the room, where a wide staircase disappeared into the ceiling. We climbed the creaky stairs and wandered down the unlit hallway to the last door on the right.
The room was larger than I’d expected. A single bed was pushed against the wall next to a bedside table and chair. The pine floors were worn smooth and a thick shutter over the window closed out all the sunlight. A divider separated the room from the bathing area, which boasted a metal tub and a washbowl.
It was lovely.
Marc locked the door and went to the window. He opened the shutter and poked out his head. “Good, they took care of Jiri’s mare.” He closed the shutter, draping the room in darkness.
I lit the lantern on the bedside table and a soft, warm glow illuminated the room.
Marc’s eyes found me and then fell to the floor. “This is nice.”
A sharp knock made us both jump. My heart leapt to my throat, but Marc swiftly crossed the room with his sword. He placed his ear against the wood. “Hello?”
“I have your bathwater,” the woman said.
I exhaled.
Marc grinned at me before unlatching the door. “We might be a little on edge.”
<
br /> The woman entered with clothes draped over her shoulder. She handed me a pink nightgown and a long gray dress. “These were my daughter’s. You’re about the same size. They should fit.”
I glanced down at my torn gown. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
She moved to the hallway and returned with two pails. She refused Marc’s help and carried the buckets behind the divider, sloshing a trail of water behind her. “That should be good for two baths. It’s not very hot, but it’ll do. Have a good night.” She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her without another word.
Marc locked the door again. “Or a good day.”
A sliver of sun streamed in from a crack in the shutters, but it didn’t bother me. I was exhausted enough that I’d sleep through the entire day.
“I must look pretty awful if she thought to bring me clothes.”
Marc grinned. “Your gown has seen better days.”
“All the more reason to get out of it. I’m going to wash up.”
I went behind the wooden divider and peeled off my ragged gown. Dirt and grass stains covered the fabric. The hem was ripped to shreds and the bodice was torn from Urek’s near assault. I poured one of the buckets into the metal tub and lowered myself inside. I was extremely aware that I was bathing with Marc in the same room. Only a flimsy divider stood between us. I sank lower into the water, feeling suddenly shy.
I washed in silence and climbed out of the tub. The pink nightgown was sleeveless and thin. A small strip of ivory lace lined the scooped neck and the hem stopped right above my knees. It felt like I had nothing on.
As I fingered my wet hair and dried it with a towel, I noticed a cracked mirror hanging on the back of the divider. I was scared to look into it, but when I finally built up enough courage to do so, it wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined.
I’d assumed my face would be shades of purple and black, but my cheekbone where Urek had struck me was only a light bluish green. My nose was slightly burned from the sun and ugly scratch marks decorated my collarbone. It would’ve been much worse if Marc hadn’t rescued me. Urek would’ve assaulted me and then slit my throat. I owed Marc my life. Again. I inhaled and exhaled. Whenever I thought about Urek, my pulse quickened. He was a vicious man and I hoped I never had to see his face again.
I walked around the divider.
Marc sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. His eyes flipped open with my footsteps. His gaze slowly slid over my nightgown.
I tugged at the hem. “It’s a little short.”
“It’s perfect.” Marc stood.
We shyly crossed paths as he went behind the divider. I sat on the edge of the bed. The nightgown’s fabric was thin, almost transparent, and I felt naked. I tried not to listen while Marc bathed behind the divider, but every time the water splashed, I blushed.
Marc appeared without a shirt. My eyes dropped to the floor at the sight of his bare chest.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t have a change of clothes and I had to wash my shirt. It’s soaked now and—”
“Give it to me.” I held out my hand.
Marc handed me his wet shirt.
I spread the fabric across the back of the chair so it could dry quickly. It was good to keep busy—it kept me from staring at his chest.
“Thanks.” He stood in the middle of the room.
“You’re welcome.” I tried to avoid looking at him while he was half-naked, but I still noticed his smooth, tanned skin. His stomach muscles were hard and defined, but it was the scar that caught my attention—a long gash that began under his armpit, extended across his side, and ended at his navel. The wound was old and fully healed, but darker in color than the rest of his skin.
I dropped my eyes and focused on my task. I ran my hands over his shirt, smoothing the wet fabric. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
He rubbed his elbow. “The woman downstairs probably thought we were murderers by the way we looked.”
“Probably.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“So . . .”
“So?”
“We should get some sleep.” Marc grabbed a folded blanket from the foot of the bed and shook it out before lowering himself to the floor.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Going to sleep?”
“On the floor?”
Marc’s eyes moved to the bed and then back to me. “I figured . . . well, I didn’t know—”
“It’s only a bed,” I said softly. I couldn’t look at him while I spoke—I ran my hands over the wet fabric.
“I think it’s smoothed out.”
“What?” I asked.
Marc pointed at his wet shirt.
“Right.” I flattened the fabric one last time before I walked to the bed. I kept my eyes on the lines in the pine floorboards and crawled into bed with my barely there nightgown. I slipped under the blanket and inched against the wall.
I couldn’t look at him without blushing, so I stared at a dark spot in the ceiling. He placed his sword next to the bed. The mattress under me rose as his weight pushed the other side down when he slid in beside me.
“This is better than the floor,” Marc whispered.
“Yes,” I breathed.
Marc shifted onto his side to face me, allowing a sliver of space between us. “We made it. For the moment, we’re safe. Warm, fed, and clean.”
I rolled onto my side, too. My hair fell over my shoulder and onto the mattress in a dark pool of damp waves. We were so close that I could see his pupils—the line was barely visible in his dark eyes. His thick lashes brushed against the delicate skin beneath his eyes.
Marc reached for a lock of my hair and wrapped it around his finger. “Are you nervous?”
I nodded.
“Don’t be nervous around me. I’d never—”
“I know,” I whispered.
Marc moved closer so our knees touched under the blanket. One of his arms was under the pillow and the other hand lay between us, twisting a lock of my hair. I lightly touched the thin piece of black string tied around his wrist.
The strand was tiny but significant. I didn’t like what it stood for, but it was who he was. I knew I couldn’t separate the two—the man and his beliefs. This reformation was something he believed in and, seemingly, was willing to die for.
The air around us felt heavy. I longed to touch his face, and before I could contemplate what I was doing, I boldly extended my hand to the rough stubble on his cheek. My fingertips moved across his jaw until my thumb brushed against his lower lip.
His eyes went to mine and he dropped my lock of hair. His hand slid over my hips, pulling me against him. We were so close that we were breathing the same air. He slowly lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me.
His lips were soft and gentle, and his mouth tasted sweet from the honey milk. I slid my palm over his bare chest, surprised at how hot his skin felt under my hand. Marc drew me closer, so our bodies pressed together, and then he rolled on top of me.
I felt the pressure of his body against mine, but he supported most of his weight on his elbows. His mouth trailed down my neck and I heard myself pant as his kisses moved down to my collarbone. He ran his hand over the top of my nightgown, caressing my breasts through the thin fabric. A deep warm feeling spread over me. The urge to taste him again was too much to bear, so I pulled his mouth back up and his tongue slipped in, deepening the kiss.
I had to stop now or I wouldn’t be able to. I moved my lips to his ear. “Marc, I—”
“I know.” His chest heaved from his own heavy breathing. He pulled back so he could see my face. Crinkles formed in the corners of his eyes as he smiled. “You are so beautiful.”
I turned my head, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Stop.”
“You are.”
“You must be delirious from lack of sleep,” I said. “We should get some rest.”
He kissed the tip of my nose and moved beside me, gathering me in c
lose so my back was to his chest. His arm went around my waist and he tenderly held my hand. “Good night, Mila.”
I listened to his breathing slow and stared at our clasped hands—the intertwined fingers looked like we were forging a pact or lying in a last embrace. I played our heated encounter over and over in my mind. I yearned to kiss him again, but there was no possibility of our being together. We were so close at the moment, but we were two worlds apart. I was Catholic, part of the House of Habsburg, and a member of the king’s royal court. He was a Protestant rebel and, even though he was a skilled blacksmith, essentially a peasant.
The facts were clear—I had fallen deeply in love with him, but the revolution was at our doorstep, and Marc and I stood on opposite sides of the line.
Chapter Eleven
We slept for the entire day, through the night, and into the next morning. We probably could have slept longer, but at that point the craving for food was greater than the craving for sleep. I opened my eyes to find Marc staring at me.
I immediately felt embarrassed about how far I’d let things go the night before. Marc’s had been my first real kiss, and the memory of him lying on top of me and caressing my breasts over my nightgown made my cheeks burn.
“Morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Me, too.”
The blanket was pulled around his waist and his bare chest was still exposed. I traced the long purple-tinged scar that wrapped around his side with my fingernail. “What happened?”
He glanced down like he’d forgotten the old wound. “Oh. Nothing. Just a scar from when I was a boy.”
“That happened to you when you were a boy?”
“I was twelve.”
Marc didn’t say any more about it. I could tell by the way he’d lowered his eyes that he didn’t want to discuss how or why he’d received the scar. I let it be. We all had secrets. Maybe one day he’d trust me enough to confide in me.
“You’re right about using the jewels for the rebellion. It’s wrong. We’re fighting corruption and I don’t want to use stolen goods to fund our cause.”