Her Every Pleasure Read online

  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.

  Anything to distract her from her dread over the fate of her friends. Surely they would be all right. Her Greek guards were very well trained. Still, terror had begun to creep in belatedly as the aftermath of the night’s clash.

  She had known, of course, that she would be a target. She just hadn’t expected it to start so soon.

  As she sat down on her cloak near the tumbling, shy kittens, she couldn’t help wondering who she thought she was fooling, or how she ever had dreamed this plan would work, this plan to claim the throne her father had lost. In this dark, lonely hour after what had happened back on the road, she could not seem to stop the doubts that came rushing in. Who was she to rule a country? A mere girl!

  Worst of all, the secret truth was that she hardly even remembered Kavros, for she had been all of three years old when her family had been forced to flee—though she could still hear the cannons’ booms on that terrifying night. Yes, she possessed the royal blood, but good heavens, she was only a young woman, barely twenty-one!

  With that, Sophia abruptly remembered that it was her birthday.

  She let out a low, cynical snort and lay back on her cloak, stretched out on the hay.

  So much for her grand notions of shoving her demands down the diplomats’ throats.

  Ah, maybe the dairymaids of this world were the lucky ones, she mused while one of the kittens came over and introduced himself with a tickle of whiskers.

  Such simple cares. Nobody trying to kill you…

  As she had told Alexa a hundred times, being a princess was so much harder than it looked. She closed her eyes, refusing with all her might to succumb to frightened tears.

  All of a sudden, she laughed aloud as the lively little kitten bit her hand with its pinprick teeth.

  Well, it appeared Leon was right. Trust no one. Even a tiny fur-ball.

  She scooped the kitten up and gave it a stern look, but it continued gnawing merrily on her knuckle.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Nights were hard, for when the world was dark, his brooding thoughts churned with visions of the strange things he had glimpsed beyond the threshold of death’s door, and gnawing uneasiness for the blood he had spilled in his past career.

  Whether he was bound for heaven or hell, nothing was clear yet beyond his certainty that, surely, he had slipped through Death’s bony fingers for a reason. There must be something more that he was meant to do—but whatever it was, he only hoped in the long, dark stretch before dawn, that it would be enough to repay his debt for all the killing.

  He had been a soldier before he had come here to this lonely place. A soldier all his life. A very good one.

  He was not at all sure what he was now, but somehow, the morning light always managed to restore his peace of mind.

  A new day was no trifling thing to take for granted. Not when you knew that, by all rights, you should be dead.

  Major Gabriel Knight stepped out onto the flagstone stoop of the old farmhouse and tasted the chilly, fresh morning air with a slow and cautious inhalation.

  It felt so good to be able to breathe again without pain.

  He tilted his head back, savoring the sunlight on his face. The new day brought the trace of a hard-won smile to his lips as he stretched his arms up over his head and loosened his shoulders, still a bit sore from yesterday’s grueling efforts at regaining his full strength.

  Dropping his arms to his sides again, he rested his hands on his waist and surveyed the picturesque scene of rustic tranquility before him.

  It was so beautiful here. So peaceful.

  Born and bred in British India, he had only arrived in England a couple of months ago and was slowly getting used to this tame, tidy country with its hawthorn fences and patchwork fields. Too much safety felt so odd. But it was undeniably lovely. Wisps of fog still hung in the green dips between the rolling hills, and past the ancient stone church, he spotted his white horse knee-deep in late season wildflowers, grazing in a dewy field.

  His lazy smile widening, Gabriel shook his head. That horse was going to get fat.

  Leaving the stoop where the faded black slab had eroded into a dip from centuries of footsteps passing over that one spot, he strode out to carry on with his morning duties.

  They were very different from what they once had been, but he had left that life behind, had put away the lethal tools of his trade and all the bloodied symbols of his grand warrior pride.

  His martial glory no longer signified.

  He had been so driven then, as if he’d been striving for some sort of terrible godhood. But now he knew all too well he was only a man. A man whose eyes had been opened.

  If a part of him sensed that fate still had more in store for the warrior in him, he shied away from that whisper of intuition. He had been given a second chance at life and did not intend to waste it. Few mortals got the chance to see what lay beyond the grave, but Gabriel had glimpsed enough to grasp that a wise man savored the simplest pleasures of everyday life—while it lasted.

  Committed to doing just that, first, he pumped water from the well, mesmerized as he watched its bright crystal flow streaming from the spigot. Things he would have taken for granted in the past sometimes astounded him now with their beauty. Water. God knew, he had led his men across enough Indian deserts to know that water was life.

  As he pumped the handle, he noted that he felt no further strain in his solar plexus. He was almost healed, almost back to the state of his former power. The question was, how would he use it this time? No answers, still. Be patient, he told himself for the thousandth time. His answers would come.

  Next he rationed out grain for his horse, inhaling the pungent smell of the sweet feed. Carrying it out to the paddock, a mere shake of the bucket was enough to bring Thunder trotting over with a hungry whicker. Gabriel set the bucket down before his kingly steed, then he noticed the deer had been at the salt lick again.

  Well, the horse didn’t mind sharing that. With a hearty pat on the neck, he left his trusty mount greedily crunching his grain and made his next stop at the chicken coop. While the clucking hens rioted over the handfuls of seeds he threw down, he collected a few of the eggs, so smooth to the touch. He brought them inside to Mrs. Moss, his gray-haired, ill-tempered housekeeper, who was bustling about the kitchen, just as she did every morning.

  “Have you got the milk yet, sir?”

  “I’m going for it now,” he replied, taking the pail with him. No doubt the woman thought him very odd, a gentleman-tenant who did his own chores rather than bringing a horde of servants with him. Army life made a man supremely self-sufficient, but more than that, Gabriel had just wanted—needed—to be alone.

  He strode back outside and found the farm’s pair of docile cows in the meadow under the massive oak tree. When he had milked them, he brought the pail back inside, but before handing it over to Mrs. Moss, he poured some of its creamy contents into a bowl. The old woman frowned in disapproval, but Gabriel ignored her and carried the milk outside to feed the kittens.

  Their mother had been killed by a fox, so he had moved the tiny orphans into the hayloft to save them from a similar fate. He’d have liked to bring them into the house, but Mrs. Moss forbade it. She said they’d get the carpets full of fleas.

  As he walked into the silent, musty barn, Gabriel mused on how his old chums from the regiment would have laughed to see “the Iron Major” playing nursemaid to a troop of rowdy kittens. But no matter, he thought as he climbed the ladder, balancing the bowl of milk in one hand. He could laugh at himself more easily now, too.

  Besides, though he would not have admitted it for the world, the kittens were far better company than Mrs. Moss and all her grumbling. Indeed, his only complaint about life at his rented farmhouse was that, sometimes, after these many weeks of self-imposed isolation, now and then, the loneliness grew dismal, especially with winter coming on.