Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for Christmas\The Secret Princess\Taming the Texas Rancher\An Unlikely Union (25 page)

“Peace,” he said, cringing as he butchered the accent.

But the woman stopped talking and listened.

“Peace,” he repeated, his inflection perhaps a little better that time. Try as he might, he could only remember one other word. “Cheese.”

The woman made a face, half uncertain, half amused.

“Sorry, that’s all I know,” he confessed in Lydian, then repeated the Frankish words. “Peace. Cheese.”

The woman laughed, her eyes alight.

Luke sighed with relief, though questions filled him. What was this Frankish woman doing here on the borderlands between Lydia and Illyria? Her heritage explained her pale blond hair, a rarity in their part of the world, but her background raised more questions than it answered.

“You are good with languages.” The woman spoke in halting Illyrian. “Do you know any Illyrian?”

“Yes.” Relieved, he switched to the familiar language of his enemies, chastising himself for not trying the tongue sooner in his excitement. “Do you recognize me?”

She looked away, glancing to the carcass of the bear lying still in the clearing, then back in the direction of the village of Bern, where she’d saved his life. She stared that way for some time, not looking at him, nibbling at her lower lip uncertainly. Her dress was coarse, patched, befitting a woman of low station. A puzzle, indeed, for rarely did women of low station travel far beyond their homelands...unless they’d been sold as slaves.

He couldn’t bear the thought that the woman who’d saved him might be owned by someone else—not when he had the means to buy her freedom.

“You saved my life.” He stepped forward tentatively, fearing she might bolt again. “Please allow me to repay you.”

But the woman shuffled backward away from him, shaking her head, her face pale again. “No,” she whispered, “no.”

* * *

Evelyn rubbed her eyes, blinked, looked at the man again. She had to be dreaming. She
had
to be. She’d dreamed of him plenty of times before, but this dream was different. She was certainly awake this time. This dream felt real.

“You are not the man I helped,” she told him frankly, looking him full in the face and denying the way her heart leaped inside her. Granted, this stranger looked like the soldier she’d sewn together, but plenty of other men looked like him, too, at least at first glance. She’d stared at other men for months, thinking she’d seen him, then feeling foolish for hoping to find him alive knowing she couldn’t possibly see him ever again.

He was dead. He’d died. Her efforts had failed, and the enemy had returned. In the battle that had erupted, the hut where he’d been sleeping had burned to the ground. There’d been nothing left of him but charred bones and ashes.

She’d prayed there had been some mistake. But though her hope-filled eyes had spotted plenty of men who resembled him from afar, on closer inspection none of them were as handsome as the soldier.

“I am,” the man insisted, stepping closer.

Evelyn stumbled backward. She wasn’t sure what she was seeing, but she didn’t like it. “You can’t be. That man died.”

He stopped advancing, scowled, reached for his shirt. “I’m not dead. You saved my life. I can show you my scar.”

A wall of brambles prevented her from retreating further, so Evelyn turned her head and pinched her eyes shut. She couldn’t see, wouldn’t look, refused to resurrect the grief she’d felt at his death. It hadn’t ever made any sense, anyway, why the death of a stranger should tear so deeply at her heart. Her prayers for his recovery had gone unanswered, but her disappointment shouldn’t have been any deeper than what she felt daily, reduced to the status of a lowly servant in her grandfather’s household.

God hadn’t rescued her from her position. Why did it hurt her heart so much that God had failed to save the soldier? Sorrow had stung her deeply when she’d heard of his death. Thoughts of him could drive her to tears even still. She certainly wasn’t going to revisit those raw emotions, not in front of this stranger. She kept her eyes closed, her head turned away as she sought to control the sadness that rose up inside her.

The sun had warmed the day, and the wren that had sung to her as she’d dug valerian roots hopped closer, singing exuberantly again.

Fingers brushed her hand, the light touch so shocking she nearly screamed again.

“Please.” His voice was low, gentle, far too close to her. “I owe you for my life. What can I do to repay you?”

She shook her head and kept her eyes closed tight. “You are not that man. That man died.”

“How do you know he died?”

“They showed me the charred bones and ashes. There was a battle. The hut burned.”

“The hut didn’t burn. Or maybe it did, but I was gone by then.”

“You were too weak to walk.”

“My men helped me out.”

“Your men?” She peeked back at him, assessing his clothing, trying to determine his rank. He spoke with words that would indicate he had soldiers serving under him. But then, her grasp of the Illyrian language was tentative at best. Surely she’d misunderstood. His dress was no different than a common woodsman’s, not even that of a soldier.

But the man she’d tried to save had been similarly dressed, and they’d told her he was a soldier—and an important one. They’d wanted him to live so they could use him as a tool for bargaining.

She had studied his face in the firelight as she’d prayed for God’s mercy on his life and wondered then what made the man so important that they’d threaten her, a life for a life. If she failed to save him, they’d promised to kill her. When she learned the fire had killed him, she’d half expected to die then, but it hadn’t been her fault, so they’d let her live.

Besides, with her knowledge of healing, she was useful to her grandfather, even if he purposely gave her the hardest, most demeaning jobs at the fortress as she worked to pay off the infinite debt her father owed him.

Fingers brushed her hand again. She froze and pinched her eyes more tightly shut.

He cupped his hand over hers and drew her arm toward him, settling her fingers over the scar. “Do you recognize your handiwork?”

She opened her eyes cautiously, looked at the scar, blinked and inspected it more closely.

He’d been cut from just above his navel to his ribs, saved only by the thick wall of muscle that had kept his organs from being spilled. The scar followed the exact line, etched with feathered strokes marking each neat stitch.

Yes, she recognized her handiwork. She’d prayed over each stitch, over each carefully chosen herb she’d pressed to the wound to ward away infection and speed his healing.

The man had survived.

Did the Illyrians know? Did her grandfather know? Either they truly believed the man had died, or they’d lied to her about his death. But why lie?

No, they must not have realized he’d escaped before the hut burned.

She pulled her hand away from the scar, though he still held her fingers in his. For the first time she examined his face in the full light of day. How could she ever have thought that any other man looked like this man? His clean-shaven jawline was strong with a slight cleft in the middle in his chin. His nose was straight, his brow line high, intelligent, his complexion healthy, cheeks slightly flushed. And his lips...

No, she’d best not look too long at his lips.

The concern on his face slowly spread to a smile. “You recognize me?”

“Yes.” Cautious joy rose inside her as she spoke.

“I owe you for my life. Tell me, how can I repay you?”

Evelyn thought quickly, her happiness at finding him alive tempered by fear for his continued safety. Her grandfather, King Garren, had wanted this man alive so he could barter his life for political gain. He thought the man was dead. If the king learned that the man had lived, he’d only try to capture him again to keep him prisoner or, worse yet, to exact his vengeance for the lands Illyria had lost to the kingdom of Lydia.

She couldn’t let that happen. And yet, this close to the fortress of Fier, he could easily be spotted, recognized and reported to her grandfather. Her mind made up, she met his eyes as she made her request. She’d lost him once before, and it had grieved her in ways she still didn’t understand. She couldn’t risk harm coming to him again.

“You must leave this area immediately and never return.”

ISBN: 9781460320518

A FAMILY FOR CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2013 by Winnie Griggs

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical,
now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

www.Harlequin.com

Her Royal Deception

When Evelyn tended Prince Luke of Lydia’s battle wounds, she had no idea whose life she was saving. Yet now the handsome warrior is determined to rescue her from King Garren’s fortress. Evelyn may be Garren’s granddaughter and a princess by right, but the vindictive king has forced her to pay off her father’s debts as a servant. A shared faith deepens her bond with Luke, but revealing her true identity could tear them apart and bring war to two kingdoms. Only courage and trust will help them forge a royal union where two hearts reign as one..

The man had survived.

Did the Illyrians know? Did her grandfather know? Either they truly believed the man had died, or they’d lied to her about his death. But why lie?

No, they must not have realized he’d escaped before the hut burned.

Evelyn pulled her hand away from the scar, though he still held her fingers in his. For the first time she examined his face in the full light of day. How could she ever have thought that any other man looked like this man? His clean-shaven jawline was strong, with a slight cleft in the middle of his chin. His nose was straight, his brow line high, intelligent, his complexion healthy, cheeks slightly flushed. And his lips…

No, she’d best not look too long at his lips.

The concern on his face slowly spread to a smile. “You recognize me?”

“Yes.” Cautious joy rose inside her as she spoke.

“I owe you for my life. Tell me, how can I repay you?”

Books by Rachelle McCalla

Love Inspired Historical

*
A Royal Marriage
*
The Secret Princess

Love Inspired Suspense

Survival Instinct
Troubled Waters
Out on a Limb
Danger on Her Doorstep
Dead Reckoning
†Princess in Peril
†Protecting the Princess
The Detective’s Secret Daughter
†Prince Incognito
†The Missing Monarch
*
Defending the Duchess
*
Royal Heist

*Protecting the Crown
†Reclaiming the Crown

RACHELLE McCALLA

is a mild-mannered housewife, and the toughest she ever has to get is when she’s trying to keep her four kids quiet in church. Though she often gets in over her head, as her characters do, and has to find a way out, her adventures have more to do with sorting out the car pool and providing food for the potluck. She’s never been arrested, gotten in a fistfight or been shot at. And she’d like to keep it that way! For recipes, fun background notes on the places and characters in this book, and more information on forthcoming titles, visit
www.rachellemccalla.com
.