Her Every Pleasure (2 page)

She did not slow even when she was out of the range of their guns, keeping mindful of the distance her horse was covering. Her heart still thundered even as the sounds of the battle faded into the distance behind her. She could hear her own panting breath, and her mount’s.

Dear God, was Leon badly hurt?
He was more like a father to her than her own regal sire had been. Her heart clenched with pain; it was too awful to think about leaving her friends behind. They had long been a tight-knit group in their exile.

Everything in her screamed to go back and help them—join the fight—but if she returned, Leon would never forgive her. That was the one great sin he had vowed she must never commit. That, he said, would be suicide.

No, she knew she had to trust her gruff old lion’s advice. There was more at stake than just their lives. All of Kavros was depending on her.

Shoving her friends out of her mind for the moment, she turned her attention to her path. She could agonize with worry for them later. Right now, she needed a clear head in case some of her attackers had managed to follow her. Two miles north of the site of the ambush, she slowed her horse for a moment, glanced again at her compass, and looked at the horizon.
Northwest now for three miles.

Always take a circuitous route in case you’re being followed.
All of Leon’s training was indelibly imprinted on her mind. She turned her horse northwest and urged the powerful animal once more to a spirited gallop.

The darkness aided in her escape, helping to hide her from her enemies, but it did make her flight more dangerous, considering her horse could step in some rodent’s hole at any time.

Thankfully, her luck held. The final leg of the red-seven protocol was a stretch of two more miles, heading due west. For this portion of her journey, she came to a lonely country lane.

It was very dark.

She slowed the horse; not only was the animal a little winded, but the narrow road was rocky, and a mount with an injured leg was not going to help her outrun whoever was trying to kill the next heir of Kavros.

Unfortunately, it was a popular sport.

For her part, her thoughts wandered back to the attacker that she had shot. She was not sorry, per se, but pulling the trigger left her a little queasy. She practiced her skills all the time, but she had never had to kill anyone before. She shuddered, thrusting off the memory.

As Leon had taught her, sometimes it simply came down to you or them. At length, Sophia looked over her shoulder again, and still there was no sign of anyone following her.

Out of immediate threat of harm, the aftertaste of fear crept in; a stark sense of vulnerability began to grow. She swallowed hard and gave her horse a frightened pat on the neck to show her gratitude for their escape.

“Good boy,” she whispered. “Any idea where we are?”

All she knew was that the next step in the protocol was for her to get rid of the horse. She hated to part ways with the trusty animal after that ordeal, but the horse would keep moving, and if her attackers were following its tracks, they’d follow it instead of her.

She’d continue on foot.

She recalled the final step that Leon had included in all their drills.
Lastly, find the safest place you can near these coordinates and hide until we come and find you. Do not come out for anyone else,
he had warned.
Stay hidden until you have visual confirmation that it’s really one of us. Do not allow yourself to be deceived.

“Well, here we are,” she said to the horse in a shaky whisper. She pulled the bay to a halt after they had traveled the country lane for about two miles. “It’s time to hide. Let’s get you out of here.” Dismounting, she landed on legs that still felt wobbly.

After quickly unsaddling the bay, she took off his bridle to leave no evidence of the horse’s origin.

“Thanks,” she murmured, patting the strong animal’s velvety neck one last time. Then reluctantly she moved back and gave the bay a slap on the rump. “Go on, boy. Move on!”

The horse just stood there, a tall, fine bay with a white star on his forehead. He tossed his head, as if a little doubtful that she’d survive without him.

“What are you, part mule? You’re free to go!” Sophia exclaimed. “Shoo!” When she gave him another hearty slap on his haunches, the bay snorted and trotted off into the shadows down the road.

Sophia frowned, but when she could no longer hear the horse, she drew her dark cloak around her, feeling very much alone.

No matter. Other princesses might need a knight’s rescuing, but she, by God, would never be one of those silly twits stuck, helpless, in a tower.

Glad that she still had her knife, Sophia dropped the compass into her knapsack of supplies and then tossed that over her shoulder. Concealing the horse’s tack with some leaves and branches, at last she trudged off through the dark woods to search for a good hiding place—somewhere she could hunker down in safety for a few days, if need be.

Lord, in a place like this, she doubted she’d have to worry about anyone spotting her.
Leon, where have you sent me to?

She was quite in the middle of nowhere.

Just when she was beginning to fret that she might not find a proper hiding place anywhere near these coordinates, she spotted a clearing ahead. A dilapidated old barn stood alone on the brow of a hill.
That should serve.
It looked abandoned.

Going closer, she halted at the tree line like a deer, first studying the moonlit clearing around the barn, making sure it was deserted before emerging from the woods and hurrying toward it.

A few moments later, knife in hand, she slipped stealthily inside the barn. No one was there, not even any animals. Spiders, maybe, she thought. A few sleeping swallows nesting in the eaves. She crept deeper into the old barn, glancing around for a quick survey of the place.

Well, it was no palace, she thought, but it would do.

In short order she decided that the loft was her best bet. Not only would she be safer up there if anyone wandered in, but it would also give her a better view of the surrounding countryside. That would help her get her bearings in this strange place, and more important, if anyone had followed her from the site of the attack, her perch up in the loft would give her a higher vantage point so she could see them coming.

Gripping the ladder, she climbed, moving confidently with her knapsack over her shoulder. Her thoughts were already revolving around the question of who was behind that attack.

Ali Pasha.
She was sure it had to be him, damn that blackguard. Her late mother, Queen Theodora, had spit on the ground every time the Terrible Turk’s name was mentioned.

The Ottoman powers had swallowed up most of Greece long ago, but what few parts had remained free, Ali Pasha had been laying claim to with his barbarous Albanian fighters over the past few decades, chasing Greek nobles like Leon from their homes. Sophia would have bet her eyeteeth that now Ali Pasha wanted Kavros, too.

Upon reaching the dusty hayloft, she continued on grimly with her final few procedures.

First, she set her knapsack aside, then took off her woolen cloak and laid it out on the ground. Carefully wielding her knife, she slit away the liner, revealing the set of plain peasant clothes hidden inside.

Stealing a nervous glance around, she quickly changed clothes, taking off her regal velvet finery in favor of simple garb befitting some rural dairymaid.

One day,
she thought as she buttoned up her drab gray skirts,
I will probably laugh about this…

No matter. At least she was alive.

The next step was the efficient removal from her person all signs of her royal origins—clothes, papers, and jewelry, her signet ring, even her solid gold hair ornament with the family crest emblazoned on it. She unfastened it and shook her long black tresses free from their neat chignon.

Wrapping up all her telltale items in the discarded lining of her cloak, she looked around for a suitable place to stow them and hid the lot under a pile of musty old hay.

This left her with her knife, her knapsack of supplies, and the woolen outer layer of her cloak. The latter item she spread out over the hay, making a little place where she could rest.

Then she took the canteen out of her knapsack and helped herself to a swallow of water, but not too much. She would have to ration it in case her guards took longer than a day or so to find her. The knapsack also held several items of food and a folding telescope.

Putting her water away, she reached for the spyglass and carried it over to have a look out the little window on the east wall of the loft.

She twisted the telescope open and lifted it to her eye. She was pleased to see she had a good view from here of a portion of the moonlit road by which she had come.

Beyond that, there was little to hold her interest. Trees. Sheep. No sign of a village. Just a dark, peaceful countryside slumbering under an onyx sky spangled with bright autumn stars.

After a moment, she crossed the loft to check the view out the opposite window.
Ah.
At least there was something here to see.

Her gaze homed in at once on the lonely ruins of a little Norman church just a stone’s throw across the fields. She had lost her faith a long time ago, but, all things considered, it was comforting to see it there.

Carved stone angels, eerie in the moonlight, stood sentry by its crumbling entrance.

Suddenly, Sophia noticed the feeble glow of light dancing through the ancient stained glass window where a portion of the stone wall was still intact. She furrowed her brow.
Someone was moving around in those ruins—at this hour?

Lifting her spyglass once more to her eye, she peered into the sanctuary’s broken shell.

Staring for all she was worth, she suddenly caught sight of a man dressed all in black.

He was lighting candles at the altar.

She froze, studying him through her spyglass.

With a brooding stare, seemingly lost in his thoughts, the formidable stranger lit each creamy candle on the iron rack, one by one, until their flickering glow illuminated his steely profile—stern nose, a hard, unsmiling mouth. A short scruff of a beard roughened his strong jaw, while his jet-black hair was overgrown, a rebellious tangle that curled over the back of his coat collar. Her heart pounded. Who, what, was this man?

Was he a threat?

The light was too dim and the distance too great to judge for certain. Perhaps, since he was wearing all black, he was a priest—but, no. On second thought, he looked more sinner than saint. Or rather, like a lost soul.

Watching him, Sophia did not know
what
to make of the man. He was very handsome, with the look of a gentleman, yet something in his countenance was hard and cold and fierce.

Clearly, this lonely place was not quite as deserted as she had thought.

His task completed, the stranger stood there with a downward gaze for another long moment, seemingly a million miles away, and then abruptly, she lost him from view as he moved away from the iron rack of candles.

When she found him again with her spyglass, he was stalking out of the church.

She felt a small easing of relief inside her tense body to see him heading off in the opposite direction.

There must be a house around here somewhere.

When he had disappeared past the angle of the loft’s window, Sophia lowered the telescope from her eye with an uneasy frown, wondering if it was really safe to stay here.

Like her, the man appeared to have larger matters on his mind. Caught up in his own troubles, he seemed unlikely to come into the old abandoned barn.

But should she take that chance?

The alternative certainly sounded worse. She did not want to be wandering out on the road in case her attackers managed to track her this far.

Gnawing her lip, she scanned the landscape, debating with herself on which was the lesser of two evils.

After a moment, she let out a low sigh and decided to stay. The vicious creatures who had attacked her carriage clearly meant her serious harm, while the solitary stranger in the church had seemed entirely distracted by his own private demons.

He’d probably never notice she was here at all before her guards found her again—and even if he did, there was no reason to assume he’d pose a threat. True, he had a dangerous look, but if he was out at this hour visiting a church, albeit a broken-down one, lighting candles for some unknown cause, then that at least suggested that he had a conscience, which was more than she could say for her as-yet-unknown enemies.

Unknown?
she corrected herself bitterly.
They’re Turks. I am sure of it
. The European countries who might otherwise have been her top suspects were as tired out from the nearly twenty years of war that had just ended as England was.

Suddenly, she heard something stirring behind her.

Sophia whirled around, bringing up her knife.

Searching the shadows, her heart pounding, she saw no one. Scanning the loft, a bit of movement near the base of the haystack caught her eye.

What?

Abruptly, a small laugh escaped her. She lowered her knife and put her hand to her heart with a smile, her startled pulse beginning to slow back to normal.

Kittens.

Little puffs of fur, baby barn cats, apparently out on a grand nocturnal prowl.

The three fuzzy kittens had discovered her knapsack, she saw, shaking her head. One had crawled inside of it, leaving only his stripy tail sticking out.

The tail disappeared as the contents of her knapsack moved around. She smiled wryly as the disappearing kitten came shooting out of her knapsack again, pouncing on his brother. They tumbled.

Well.
Not quite the guardian angels she could have used at the moment, but at least they would keep her amused.

With a final glance over her shoulder at the lonely church, Sophia put the intriguing stranger out of her mind and went to befriend the fuzzy trio of venturesome little clowns.