Chapter Two
The lawyer tried to give her small pieces of advice. “Look them in the eye, try not to look sneaky. Don’t be too confident though. Answer all of their questions, don’t talk too much.” He patted her hand. “We will do our best.” He had Eidit bring out her gowns and selected one for her to wear. It was dove gray, of a modest cut, and as simple and wholesome as could be. “You want to look like any young lady who might find herself married to a brute. Not like a flibbertigibbet socialite who deserves scorn.”
Dressed and coiffed, she was trying to force herself to eat a piece of bread when her jailer arrived with a note. Wear the opera cape—G.
The general’s given name was Georg, but why on earth would he be encouraging her to wear the gaudiest, most ludicrous item of clothing she owned? The cape was orange silk on the inside, and heavily embroidered indigo on the outside. It had a wide swath of mink around the hem. A fur-lined cloak was totally inappropriate for the August weather. It was designed to attract every eye in candlelight. She would be appearing in a courthouse in broad daylight. There was nothing that would fall further away from her counselor’s suggestions to look sober, modest, and respectable. Did she dare disobey the general? They had never had a demonstrative kind of relationship, but he had always seemed fond of his unfortunate sister-in-law. She decided she needed to do as instructed, but she felt uneasy as she laced up the cloak. Was his recent kindness a ruse? Was he actually determined that she be executed?
She decided to hedge her bets. She donned the dove gray modest dress and draped the theater cape over her arm. Eidit accompanied the soldiers who came to fetch her. Giving a reassuring nod, she nestled Lilja against her copious bosom.
The familiar soldier held out a pair of handcuffs. “I’m sorry, Princess. We’re just following orders.”
She meekly put the cape around her shoulders and held out her wrists. He was careful not to overtighten them. Each man took an elbow, and three abreast, they walked through the corridors to her trial.
Hannelore had never been to a trial before, but she understood that they usually happened in one of the closed rooms deep in the building. She had anticipated the magistrates. She had not anticipated that the trial would be held in the largest gallery and be open to the public. People pressed in on all sides. She was thankful for the soldiers on either side of her. Some of the crowd was seething, “Murderess! Whore!”
There were others who said words of encouragement, but they were much less obvious to the terrified defendant. She was led to a bench, and she sat with the soldiers on either side of her. She forced herself to look up at the upper loft, which was so full of people that she feared the structure would collapse. Once she wasn’t walking through them, she could see sympathy in many of their eyes. Friedrich was known to be a scoundrel, a thief, and a drunkard. Still, a wife allowing a husband to die an agonizing death was no small thing.
The Crown was taking no chances in there being an impression that Princess Hannelore received special treatment. The charges were read. The reaction from the crowd was such that one of the magistrates banged a gavel repeatedly. “This is not a bear baiting! This is a court of adjudication. Be still or I’ll have you put in the stocks, even if I have to cut down every tree in the forest to build enough of them.”
The magistrates called the first witness. Hannelore felt a chill as the valet approached the magistrates. Dag was resplendent in a velvet doublet, with his beard neatly trimmed and curling. When asked what he knew about the death of Prince Friedrich, he said simply that he knew that his master had been killed by his wife. There were gasps in the courtroom. The packed crowd shivered as one. When asked for details, Dag explained how Prince Friedrich had been attacked with a stick of firewood.
The magistrates’ eyes roved over Hannelore. She could feel the disapproval wash over her.
“The prince was loath to risk hurting his beloved wife, or their unborn babe,” Dag continued.
One of the magistrates held up a hand. “How many times did Hannelore strike her husband?” The princess noticed that he called her by her Christian name without her honorific.
Dag shook his head sorrowfully. “Over and over and over; she was like a madwoman. After she was done beating him, I helped him to bed. His wounds grew infected, but the prince had been determined to protect his wife from the consequences of her action. He was a foolish man in love with a wicked woman.”
Only being handcuffed to two armed soldiers prevented Hannelore from jumping up and shrieking at the duplicitous valet. Hannelore’s counselor stood and approached the witness. She tried to reassure herself. Surely, her counselor would put Eidit or the general on the stand, both of whom could attest to the fact that she had been chained in the dungeon. She hoped he would mention the abuse she had suffered and that the magistrates would realize she had only struck him once in self-defense.
Instead he only said, “You saw the princess hit the prince with the piece of firewood, and those injuries led to his death?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I see,” the counselor offered. “No more questions. Our defense is finished.”
Hannelore felt as if the floor was falling away from her feet. Her counselor had done nothing to help her. In fact, he may have made it worse. He had allowed Dag to repeat his lies about her.
The magistrates stood. “The prisoner will return to her cell while we deliberate.”
She couldn’t feel her feet touching the floor; it was all a blur. Without the guards on either side, she wouldn’t have been able to move. They did not take her directly back to her cell, seemingly choosing to meander through the assembled crowd. The horde on either side hissed their fury at her. She was too stunned to respond. She watched the floor flow under her somehow moving feet. They walked her all around the perimeter of the grand hall. Instead of moving through the building, they took her out the main entrance. There were even more people outside. She had no idea there were so many people in the world. Someone trod so closely to her that her cape was yanked off of her shoulders. The trio came to an immediate stop. With her hands shackled, she had to stand still while one of the soldiers retrieved the cape, angrily berating the fellow who had stepped on it. With a flourish, he draped the ridiculous cape around her shoulders, and took his time tying the satin ribbons at her neck. They resumed their mournful walk. She couldn’t understand why these two vigorous men were moving at a snail’s pace. Clearly the humiliation of being slowly walked through the crowd was part of her punishment. Another soldier approached them.
“When did you get back?” He joyfully slapped one of her escorts on the shoulder.
“Just a week or so ago. It’s a big change from the Ryskan front to guarding murderers.” He glanced around him. “I’d better keep moving.”
“Meet me for a drink later?” the interloper asked.
Hannelore stood in mortification as the crowd eyed her while her escort made plans for carousing later. Finally, they got moving again. They lumbered all the way around the building being watched by thousands of vengeful eyes. She was relieved when they finally made it to the main entrance again. The door was shut and locked. They stood at the door for several minutes, Hannelore had no idea why. One of the soldiers pounded on the door.
“Open for the prisoner Princess Hannelore of the Southlands, wife of the murdered Prince Friedrich,” he bellowed. The throng surged around them, alive with fury. It seemed to take forever for them to open the door. Her absurd cape caught on the edge of the step and she faltered. Someone stepped from the crowd and released the fabric so that she could keep walking. Hannelore was so grateful for the clang of the door behind them that she began to weep.
“Hold,” came a stern command. “The magistrates have reached a verdict. You will return to the gallery.” Again they took her outside and walked her around the building. She wanted to scream. Why wouldn’t they just walk her through the fucking building, she wondered. They seemed to be making this as difficult as possible. After parading her around the block, they did not take her back into the courtroom. She was led up several flights of stairs and out onto a balcony that overlooked the town square.
The chief magistrate was waiting for her. He did not look her in the eyes, which she knew couldn’t be a good sign. With his eyes resolutely on the crowd, he said in a loud clear voice that carried all the way across the courtyard, “Princess Hannelore, you have been sentenced to death for the murder of your husband, Crown Prince Friedrich. The sentence will be carried out within the hour. May the Gods have mercy on your soul. The king in his mercy has ordered a private execution by sword. The Crown will see to the raising of the heir.”
The guards turned her around and led her quickly into the building. The bile rose in her throat. She was going to be sick. She heard her own voice begging to see her baby one last time.
Dignity be damned. She began to fight with all of her strength. Seemingly with no effort at all, her escorts moved her through the corridors and forced her into a small cell. She could hear a loud voice telling the crowds to disperse. The soldiers unshackled her wrists. Her ridiculously opulent cloak was removed from her shoulders, and the men turned on their heels and left her. No sooner had the door clanged shut then she heard the dark bearded guard announce, “The Crown is giving out ale on the pier to celebrate justice being done. You have all done well, you deserve it. I will be along when the bitch is buried.”
She pressed her back into the wall in the hope that it would help her stay upright. Her brother-in-law the king had ordered a party to celebrate her execution.
A key turned in the door. She cowered. “Where’s my baby?”
He ignored her plea and used a key she had never seen before to secure a lock on the inside of the door. She panicked; she could only think of one reason why a jailer would lock himself into the cell of a female prisoner.
The jailer sternly approached her and then suddenly pressed a finger to his own lips. “Remember,” he whispered. “Courage.” A jerk of his head and she found herself following him through a small secret door in the bookcase. It opened silently and suddenly; the hinges must have been oiled recently. He paused to secure the door behind him and led her down a narrow twisty corridor. A finger to his lips was meant to discourage her from asking the millions of questions roiling through her mind. She stubbornly refused to take another step.
“Where is my baby?” she whispered defiantly.
The man silently gave a reassuring nod, but did not speak. He pressed a finger to the insignia on his shoulder. The Vastran crown was embroidered in silver. “Are you working for my brother-in-law the king?”
He gave an anxious glance toward the ceiling of the maze they were in. He pressed his lips as close to her ear as a lover would. “Hush. I am on your side; we have to go right now.” He turned and resumed hurrying down the dim hall.
Hannelore didn’t have anywhere else to go, so cursing under her breath, she hoisted her skirts and followed. She was led to a part of the tower she hadn’t been in before. Without a sound, they hurried down a series of unfamiliar staircases. She knew they must be underground by the sheer number of stairs they had descended. The air grew heavy with dust and damp. The corridor leveled off, but did not get any wider. The broad shoulders of the guard touched on either side. Still, he did not slow down. Hannelore had to hustle to keep up with him. The passageway began to lead upward again and the air smelled less musty.
They finally came to rest at a small wooden door. He held a warning hand up and she remained silent. He ran a fingernail over the wood grain quietly as a field mouse. Hannelore watched his face closely. He responded as if he had heard something reassuring, although it was so quiet that the princess could hear nothing. He gently pressed her flat against the wall and twisted the handle, and silent as a ghost, he nudged the door open. He looked out and then reached back for her. The sunlight caused her eyes to water. They had exited into a courtyard so small that it barely was able to contain a mule-drawn cart. Hannelore tried to press back into the dark doorway. Were they taking her somewhere else to execute her? He grasped her elbow and gently forced her out into the daylight. With his other hand, he gestured toward the cart. She caught her breath. Eidit was sitting beside the driver of the cart and Hannelore could not imagine the Crown involving Eidit in her beheading.
The plump woman cradled Lilja. “It’s all right, lamb,” she whispered. Eidit’s big husband swung himself down from the wagon. An empty barrel was lying on its side in the back of the wagon. With a sharp nod of his head, he directed her to climb inside. The smell of the smoked fish was overwhelming. The barrel was rolled upright and, horribly, the lid was nailed down. Princess Hannelore, beloved chatelaine and convicted murderess was being smuggled out of the city.
* * *
Between the trial and the market, the merchants had to line up to get out of the city. The guard smiled to himself. There was a round sassiness to the wife that the sentry enjoyed. He tried to remember her name; he thought it might be Erika, or maybe Elsa. He snapped his fingers when the name came to him. Eidit. Bold as brass, she was. She didn’t try to hide the fact that she was married; the big husband who always seemed to smell of wood smoke was always driving the wagon. Though married, it was clear she had taken a shine to him, the guard thought to himself. For the last several weeks she had slipped him something sweet, a piece of cake or some dried fruit on their way out of town. The soldier straightened his shoulders. He knew he looked handsome in his red tunic, but he must be even handsomer than he had realized for the woman to so openly flirt with him. Did her husband not notice, or was he intimidated by the power of a town sentry?
When they had arrived in the morning, she had gestured to a basket covered with a soft yellow blanket. She had held a finger to her lips. “I’ll show you the new baby later. She’s finally asleep.” Ignoring the oaf of a husband, she had handed the guard a piece of seed cake. He had learned that she was a very good baker and had greedily accepted it.
Now it was the end of a market day and the cheerful wife held a sleeping baby to her welcoming bosom. Her blouse was lower than it had to be, her charms were openly flouted. “Good day?” the sentry asked, amazed at how clueless the big lug of a husband was.
The braid wrapped around her good-natured face bobbed. “Fall’s always a good time for us, the housewives are stocking up for the winter.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you know when the execution will happen?”
The sentry straightened himself up. “Already happened. Some of my comrades saw her going into the inner courtyard, couldn’t miss her. She had on a fur cape.”
The fishwife laughed. “Only a princess would wear such a thing in this weather!”
“Didn’t matter, really. She left in a coffin, like all the others.”
The crowd was getting unruly, too much ale provided by the Crown. The sentry was going to have to go help quiet things down. He waved the wagon on. No need to pay too much attention to the smoked fish merchant and his family who quietly headed north to their modest home in the forest.
* * *
Hannelore was miserable. The staves of the barrel seemed to press into her and there was no way to adjust her body so that some part of her wasn’t bent into an unnatural position. She had to breathe only through her mouth and it left her feeling dizzy. She thought it was uncomfortable while on the cart path, but once they were heading through the forest, she got tossed around with every root the cart passed over. She had no idea how long they had been traveling; the baby had begun to fuss, which made Hannelore think that it had been several hours at least. Still they jounced on, her teeth rattling in her mouth. The discomfort was a blessing in some ways; she couldn’t formulate the questions that had an icy grip around her heart since her very skull was in danger of being ricocheted off of her spine.
The horse pulled to a stop. Hannelore had no idea what she should do, Should she leap out and try to make a run for it? Had they been captured? Was she endangering her friends by keeping still? She felt the barrel being dragged to the end of the cart and then it was awkwardly lifted. Hannelore could feel the disparate steps of the two men who were carrying the barrel. It couldn’t have been light for them, but they hoisted her up with no difficulty at all. She was suddenly set down. The hammer blows that positioned the crowbar to pry open the lid sent her already inflamed nerves into overdrive. Through her panic she could hear two men conversing in a language she had never heard. She did not hear Eidit. With her heart hammering against her collarbone she readied herself. With a yank, the lid was removed from her barrel. The sudden influx of light left her blinded and afraid. She bit the gloved hand that reached into the barrel. The momentum of Hannelore springing up knocked the barrel onto its side. She frantically crawled out and made a run for it. A strong arm caught her around her waist. Hannelore clawed and kicked. She was gently set on her feet. As she took a desperate step away from her captor, the room came into focus.
The general reached for her elbow. She whirled at him. “What have you done?” She frantically scanned the room looking for her precious baby. Lilja was nowhere to be seen.
“Hannelore.” He calmly reached out to her again.
She would not have it and slapped his hand away from her. “Did you plan this? Let me think you were helping and then bring me out here to kill me?” Rage overcame her and she threw herself at him, clawing and kicking.
His strong arms enfolded her. “Shhhhhh, listen to me—just listen.”
She wouldn’t listen. “You bastard,” she shrieked. “You cowardly, slimy murderer of women and children!”
“Stop,” he commanded. “Control yourself or I will control you.”
She spit at him. “I would like to see you try, you conniving son of a whore.”
She had more to say but she suddenly found herself tossed over a strong thigh. A resounding slap landed on her upturned bottom. She went rigid with shock and found herself on the receiving end of a volley of swats. This only served to increase her fervor. She kicked and squirmed. To her mortification her skirt was tossed back over her shoulders. With only a petticoat between her and his forceful spanking she was shocked into immobility.
“You stop that right now!” she cried. Her wriggling was for naught and she called him an onslaught of ever worsening names. This might have been a miscalculation on her part.
The general apparently had no intention of stopping. His right hand landed on the roundest part of her bottom with the ferocity of a firecracker. She gasped and struggled to yank herself off of his lap. It was a futile attempt. Holding her still seemed to take no effort at all. “I am sure I can go longer at this than you can, so you might as well save your strength,” he said.
“Don’t you dare!” Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears. He ignored her and continued to spank her with impunity. “Count yourself lucky, I left your petticoat down,” he growled.
This made her very aware of how little was between his angry hand and her vulnerable backside. It was hard to count herself lucky when he focused his strong hand on the tender junction between bottom and thigh.
The lecture continued. “We do not have time to debate this. You need to listen to me right now,” he said. She tried to consider what he said. He had always been trustworthy; she appeared to be far from the chopping block. It was hard to rationally assess the situation when she couldn’t focus on anything other than the growing fire radiating from her spanked bottom.
She found herself gasping for breath. The fight was ebbing out of her. Hannelore felt very sorry for herself, indeed. She was helpless, and her bottom was on fire. With a gulp she realized that she was on the verge of tears. She was determined not to cry. The general shifted so that he held her ever more tightly against his strong torso. “Stop fighting me,” he ordered. Despite her valiant efforts, a single tear leaked from her eye and rolled down her cheek. Hannelore inexplicably found herself less frantic. Something had washed over her and she felt safe, in spite of her red hot bottom.
Dimly, like a light through a fog, she could hear his calm voice. “I am trying to help you, I swear, on my own mother,” he added the most ferocious slap of all, “who might not have danced at your wedding had she known you would call her a whore.”
Whatever else was happening, she did know that that was certainly true. “I’m sorry I said that,” she whispered.
He rested his hand on the back of her thigh. “Are you ready to listen?”
She was afraid that if she spoke a sob would break from her throat and could only nod that yes, she would listen. She would agree to almost anything to end the spanking, and somehow she felt a deep sense of trust. He stood her between his knees, and gently smoothed her skirts back down. Her eyes tried to adjust to the dim room. The general crossed his arms over his chest, observing her closely.
“I am sorry that this was so traumatic; if I could have thought of another way to do it, I would have. It was essential that no one knew of my plan. Eidit is changing the baby, she will be right here.”
Hannelore still had some doubts. “What language were you speaking?”
“With Faro?” Seeing her confusion, he continued, “With Eidit’s husband? He’s Kalastajan. I like to practice when I get the opportunity.”
Stupidly, she responded, “You speak Kalastajan?”
He smiled. “Only enough to be polite in.”
Hannelore knew that that wasn’t likely to be true. The general was an accomplished linguist as well as a renowned soldier. Her high opinion of him was why she had hoped he would come to her trial. When he had rescued her from the dungeon she had hoped that he was on her side. Now, she wasn’t sure what to think. “Sir, where have you been?” she blurted.
“I had urgent business with Ryska. I am sorry that you felt neglected.”
She was ashamed of herself for implying that her personal struggles mattered at all compared to the burden he carried. “It appears you made sure I would be taken care of, and I thank you. What’s happening with Ryska?” she asked, referring to the country to the east of them.
“There’s been some unrest there.”
A sudden opening of the door and Eidit bustled in with Lilja in a basket. She set the baby at Hannelore’s feet and busied herself setting a fire. “Is this your home?” Hannelore asked, directing herself to her former lady’s maid. Her savior shook her head no.
The general gestured her into a chair. “This is a hunting lodge of a friend of mine. I’ve”—he looked at Edit’s shining face—“we’ve,” he corrected himself, “made ready to get you north.”
“How far north?” she asked, gratefully gathering Lilja from the basket the hungry baby had been resting in. She fiddled with her bodice and tried to cover herself with a blanket while she nursed the infant.
“All the way north. The Snow Force is still loyal to me all along the wall. You will be safe among them.”
Hannelore couldn’t quite grasp what he was telling her. The North Wall was a tale parents told their children to make them behave. Eat your cabbage or I will send you to the wall. She had never been sure if it was real or not.
“Are you sending me to the wall to have it be my prison?” she asked. It didn’t appear that the general was seeking her death, and yet there was so much that was beyond her understanding.
“No. I’m sending you to the end of the world because I can keep you safe there.”
“I’ll be safer at the wall?” she repeated stupidly. “Aren’t there ice tigers there?”
“My Snow Force is there. The best soldiers the land has ever known.”
“I mean this with gratitude and respect,” she began slowly, formulating her thoughts as she spoke. “But isn’t there any other option?”
He assured her that there was not. The general had to explain his plan to her more than once. Her mind couldn’t grasp the enormity of it. They would stay here for only a few hours. Once it was truly dark, one of his trusted compatriots would carry her and the baby away on horseback. He estimated they would need several weeks of riding; there were safe houses along the way.
“So it will take days to get there?”
“Hannelore, you will travel the first two hundred miles on horseback. After that, we will have to use other modes of transport that can be used in deep snow.”
“But it’s September. There isn’t snow yet.”
He ignored her. “Once you hit the wall, the only way to the ice mountain is by dog sled. Pinnacle Keep is safe. No one can breach those defenses. The paladin there served with me on the front. He has sworn to me that he will protect both you and Lilja.”
It was too much. She could not drink it in.
The general continued earnestly, taking her hand. “He is powerful. He is a widower with two small children of his own, and of course, Pinnacle Keep is where they train the Snow Force. He needs you as much as you need him.”
The babe had fallen asleep in her arms. “I hope we get along then,” she said with forced laughter.
The general did not laugh with her. “That would be for the best, since you are marrying him the day you arrive.”
There seemed to be no reasonable response to that. It made sense; propriety would never allow an unmarried woman at a fortress. By marrying, she might blend in better and be harder to locate if anyone was trying. “I’m grateful for your help.” Her voice wavered, and she had to fight tears. “I am truly sorry I killed your brother.”
“No, you didn’t.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to, but I still did.”
“No, you didn’t. My brother was smothered. You didn’t do that.”
She stepped back and the chair caught her at the knees, forcing her to suddenly sit down. “I hit him with the stick of wood. His hand got infected.”
“Yes, and he was an idiot for not letting you draw the poison out, but while he was sick in his bed, someone suffocated him.”
“How do you know?”
The general gave a wry grin. “I know a murdered man when I see one. Even if I thought you had done anything wrong, you were locked in the dungeon when he was killed.”
“How did you find out I was there?” she asked.
He cocked his head in the direction of the busy woman who was putting together a meal for all of them. “Your friend wouldn’t rest until I knew of your plight.”
Her friend Eidit had been her lady’s maid for five years. Now she was something much more precious.
“She intimidated battle-hardened soldiers until she got in to see me. I tried to recruit her, but her husband wouldn’t have it.” They all laughed at the thought of small, round Eidit bullying the elite guards. It was funny, because although it seemed impossible it had clearly happened. The general continued, “We need to get both of you to safety.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
He paused and rested a large callused warrior’s hand on the tender head of Lilja. “I have never married. The bishop can’t marry, and the king has no living children and he is no longer a young man. If there are no heirs to our throne, then the Ryskan king rules over both.”
“Why?” she blurted. Apparently imprisonment and being sentenced to death knocked the gentility right out of a person, even if she had been raised to marry royalty.
He was nonplussed. “We are related. Second cousins, I think. The laws of both countries are clear. In the absence of a legitimate heir, the countries are combined in a commonwealth under one of the crowns.”
“And Ryska wants that to be under their crown.” Hannelore finally understood.
“I can’t prove it, and yet I feel that there is a connection between my brother’s murder and the unrest going on there.” The general stared into the fireplace as his active mind struggled to fit all the pieces into place.
She was frightened and exhausted, and she sensed he was telling her something very important and yet she still was unsure of his purpose.
Eidit learned close. “If someone is trying to kill the heirs to the throne, the wee lamb is in danger.”
Hannelore felt the room swim around her. Her chest spasmed and she could barely breathe. She had been a fool. She had been afraid that her daughter would be orphaned. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone might want to hurt Lilja.
“This man on the North Wall—” she began.
“His name is Jonis. He is a gilded warrior and paladin of Pinnacle Keep.”
“He can keep Lilja safe?”
“Yes, there is no one I trust more. You are now believed to be dead and buried. In a few weeks, we will release the sad news that the Crown Prince Lukas has died of a fever.”
“There is no Crown Prince Lukas,” Hannelore said with bewilderment. The general nodded toward the dainty, sleeping redheaded baby girl. “It is common knowledge that you gave birth to a strapping dark-haired son who was christened Lukas.”
“Why do people think that?” she asked.
“Because that’s what I told my brother the archbishop in the letter that we allowed to be intercepted.”
Hannelore gasped.
Eidit was quick to reassure her. “That way, no one will be looking for either of you.”
The general nodded his head. “The enemies of the Crown have infiltrated the royal households. This is the only way I can be certain to keep you both safe.”
She squared her shoulders. “Then how can I help you get us north? I have a wedding to attend, apparently.” It was gallows humor but it helped.
The general handed her a scroll, tightly rolled and in a leather case. “This is all of the communication I have had with him about this matter, and others. I thought it might ease your mind.”
“My mind doesn’t matter. If he can protect Lilja, then I would marry him if he was a fire-breathing dragon.”
She thought she saw a glimmer of a smile flit across the general’s solemn handsome face. “I am sorry my brother was a cruel and feckless husband. You deserved better. I have done my best to give that to you this time.”
She believed him. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He gave a courtly bow to both women and swept out of the hunting lodge with a purposeful stride.