The Warrior Maiden Read online

  A shaft of light shone in from a small slit in a window above them, too high for the tallest prisoner to reach. Wolfgang looked around at the men in the cell. All were shackled to the wall by one ankle. No one acknowledged his presence until one prisoner stood.

  “Come to gloat over your brother, have you?” Steffan leaned against the wall.

  “I came to see if you were well. To see if you need anything.”

  Steffan’s harsh laughter told him this would probably proceed as he had expected. Unfortunately.

  Steffan couldn’t help a wry smile when he saw his brother enter his cell. Truly, Wolfgang owed him nothing, but Wolf was a kind and good person—not like him. Steffan was cold and unfeeling. The rest of his family were all unfailingly good, every last one of them, even his sister who’d been kidnapped by their mad aunt as a small child and raised a peasant. But Steffan could see the frustration in his family’s eyes when they beheld him. They wondered why he was not as they were, why he had such a tendency to go the opposite way.

  But no one wondered it more than he himself did.

  Wolfgang thought it was because of what happened when they were children. Perhaps it was, but what good did it do to talk about it? Besides, he didn’t like being lectured by his younger brother, as if he were the wise one. And now Wolf had come to see if he needed anything. In this dung pit? In this forsaken hole?

  When Wolfgang didn’t speak, Steffan said, “I am well. Do you not see the fine accommodations I’ve been given? But do not apologize, as I understand that you cannot give everyone the luxury chamber you give your Lithuanian lady.”

  Of course Wolfgang was too honorable to have claimed this warrior maiden for his own. Perhaps Steffan only said it because it was the kind of thing he always said. It was expected. Furthermore, he was in no mood to humble himself to his brother. Wasn’t it enough that his brother had defeated him?

  Wolf opened his mouth, a look of warning in his eyes, but then he stopped himself and closed it. Once again, Wolfgang was embracing the good and resisting the bad. Always the good one.

  “How is your injury?” Wolfgang pointed to his cheek.

  “It will probably be healed by morning, since your ladylove gave me some of her pagan witchcraft salve.”

  Wolfgang lowered his chin nearly to his chest and glared at Steffan. “You may not be disrespectful to Mulan. She is honorable and she deserves respect.”

  Steffan made sure to look amused. “I might have expected you’d fall in love with the first woman you met once you left home.”

  “I might have expected you to be even more surly and ignoble once you left home.”

  Steffan laughed. “I imagine I’ll be surly and ignoble wherever I go.”

  Wolfgang’s chest rose slowly, then slowly fell as he let out the deep breath. “Is that your only wound?”

  “Yes, brother. God was watching out for me, do you not think?” He said it sneeringly, even though he actually did believe it. After all, his mother and father, sisters, indeed, his whole family of good people, were no doubt praying for him.

  “God was watching out for you. I’m grateful you were not killed.”

  He couldn’t think of anything sarcastic to say in reply. “I see you have come through unscathed.”

  “I was shot in the shoulder during the evening attack when you and your friends set a ring of fire around our camp.”

  His stomach twisted at the thought of Wolf being injured. Lest his brother guess at his feelings, Steffan chuckled. “That was an entertaining night.”

  Wolfgang wiped all expression from his face. “I would have hoped you’d be ready to leave the Teutonic Knights by now.”

  “We are a brotherhood, Wolf. We have a higher purpose, and once we are in that brotherhood, we never leave.” He had not taken the sacred oath as a Teutonic Knight yet—he hadn’t been knighted—but he didn’t want Wolfgang to know that.

  Wolfgang was still and silent. Truthfully, Steffan was weary, not having slept much in several days, which must have been why a twinge of sorrow and remorse stabbed his gut.

  He wished he had a tall cup of wine. Or three or four.

  “You will probably be released on the morrow, and I just want you to know that I care what happens to you, Steffan. And I’ll be praying for you to surrender your heart and actions to God.”

  A bitter taste made Steffan’s mouth twist. How dare his brother tell him he would pray for him. He knew Wolfgang was good and he was bad, but . . . it still left a bitter taste.

  “You think you’re better than the Teutonic Knights? We are sanctioned by the pope himself. We are the German Order. To fight against us is to fight against the Church and your own countrymen. You’re only doing this because you have no thought or ambition of your own. You can’t think for yourself. You only think what Father tells you to. You always did. But someday I’ll be a commander or even the grand master. You’ll be married to your peasant soldier, serving in the guard of some Polish duke and living in a hovel.”

  His words were unjust and he knew it. But it assuaged the pain in his gut to throw them in his brother’s face.

  Wolfgang shook his head. His voice was raspy as he said, “I don’t understand how you can be so cruel and petty, Steffan. I want to help you—we all wanted to help you—but you make it impossible.” He turned to walk away.

  Steffan moved forward to grab him, but the shackle around his ankle jerked him back. Pain radiated up his leg from the metal cutting into his flesh.

  Wolfgang looked back at him. He paused, then called the guard, who unlocked the metal gate and let him out. Then he was gone.

  Steffan pressed his back against the uneven stone wall and sank to the floor, letting the stones scrape his spine. He was cruel and petty. Wolfgang was right. And honestly, he didn’t understand it. He couldn’t explain the anger, the impulses to rebel against his parents.

  As he had suspected all along—he was born bad. It just made sense that of all his parents’ children, they should have one bad seed.

  CHAPTER 18

  The prisoners were set free along with Rusdorf the next day. Wolfgang stood on the curtain wall watching through a gap in the crenellations as the group of them slowly made their way through the gate and to the north.

  If Wolfgang could stop this pain, could numb it with something . . . For the first time, he understood those men who drank until they hardly knew where they were.

  Must he forget about Steffan and give him over to a reprobate mind? What choice did he have? Only God could judge the heart, but by his words and his actions, Steffan seemed lost, his mind warped.

  The anger he had felt toward his brother had changed to sadness and pain the moment he left him in the dungeon the day before. He would never stop loving his brother. And to love Steffan was to feel pain. He pitied the poor woman who ever fell in love with him.

  But he didn’t want to harden his heart toward his brother. It was Steffan’s pain that made him lash out, but Wolfgang had seen his kindness and compassion too. When they’d been young boys, it was Steffan who sometimes said, “Let’s get some flowers for Mother,” and had stopped to pick her some of her favorite red poppies. And once he had insisted on taking a baby bird home that had fallen out of its nest. He’d helped find worms and insects and fed it until it was big enough to fly.

  Surely there was still hope for him.

  Someone was walking up behind him. He turned his head and Mulan stood a couple of paces away, watching through the next gap in the stones.

  “There they go.” Wolfgang was glad of someone to take his mind off his thoughts. Mainly he was glad to see Mulan.

  “I hope you made some peace with your brother.”

  He shook his head. “There isn’t much peace to be had with my brother these days. But I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Forgive me for being impolite.”

  “Nothing to forgive. And I’m sorry your brother is difficult. I know it’s not you
r fault, but I can see your heart is heavy.”

  Mulan was looking at him with those wise, almond-shaped eyes. Her expression was ever calm—when not in battle. With how he felt about her now, could he bear it if she put her life in danger again, recklessly risking her life the way she had in recent battles?

  That was even harder to think about than Steffan. He’d have to contemplate that later.

  “I hate to think of him without peace and with such a wrong view of our parents.” He shook his head. “He has a wrong view of everything, it seems. Only God can help him.”

  Mulan said nothing. She was wearing a dress again. He hadn’t noticed at first, but now he noticed something else. “You have flowers—and braids—in your hair.”

  Blushing, she reached up to touch it. “The servants did that. I didn’t ask them to.”

  “It is very becoming.” The white flowers contrasted with her black hair. He wanted to touch her cheek. How different she was from the fierce Mulan who led men in battle. And yet this soft, feminine, quietly understanding Mulan was the same person, the same friend he welcomed the chance to talk to.

  She finally turned her gaze back to him. “I wonder if I should only wear my soldier’s clothing. If I stay here as a captain for Duke Konrad’s guard . . . they will not want to see me in a dress.”

  “If you stay? Are you thinking of not taking the duke’s offer?”

  “I’m not certain of anything. I suppose I shall stay until I know what else I should be doing. But Butautus will not allow Mother to keep her house if I’m soldiering for Duke Konrad and not for him.”

  He hadn’t thought of that.

  “Perhaps the duke would allow me to bring my mother here.”

  “Of course. The duke and duchess obviously admire you very much. They would help you find a place here for your mother.”

  She raised her brows at him. Did she know he was trying to convince her to stay?

  “Now that the peace agreement has been signed, I’m not sure Duke Konrad needs me.”

  “A duke always needs good guards. One never knows when a new threat might arise.”

  “And you? Will you be staying with Duke Konrad?”

  “Perhaps.” He smiled, hoping he seemed jovial and unconcerned about his future.

  Mulan peered up at him. “Duke Konrad said there is a pretty area with wildflowers and a tiny stream a little way from here. He said I might like to take a picnic there since I have no duties for a few days, but I don’t want to go alone. Would you like to go? With me?”

  His heart tripped over itself. “I would. Yes.”

  Mulan tried not to think about the future, tried not to think about Wolfgang and what his thoughts or feelings were about her. But trying not to think about those things rather led her to think about them.

  And now, as she rode sidesaddle through the countryside in her dress, she wondered even more what Wolfgang was thinking. After all, she’d not asked anyone else to accompany her on a picnic. It was almost as if she was trying to get him alone.

  But that was silly, wasn’t it? After all, they’d been alone many times when they’d gone scouting and spying together. Perhaps that was why it seemed so different now. There was no upcoming battle, no enemy to wage war against. And she was wearing a very feminine dress.

  Mulan glanced at Wolfgang out of the corner of her eye. Just at that moment, he glanced at her. She averted her gaze, as if she’d done something wrong. Oh, this was getting worse and worse. She was so nervous she could feel her armpits growing damp. How foolish she was being!

  “Where did Duke Konrad say this place was?” Wolfgang didn’t look nervous. He wasn’t as foolish as she was.

  “It’s on the other side of this hill, I believe. There should be a small stand of trees, and in the middle of these trees is the stream and a small clearing.”

  Suddenly she had an idea, something that would rid her of this vexing nervous feeling.

  “Let us have a race to the trees.” She grinned at him and he grinned back.

  “Ready? Go!” Mulan pressed her heels into Aksoma’s sides. She was not as hearty as her father’s horse, Boldheart, but she did like to run fast every so often, for a short way.

  But already Wolfgang was two horse lengths ahead of her. She urged Aksoma to go a bit faster. They topped the hill and had almost caught up with Wolfgang. He glanced over his shoulder at them, then started pulling farther ahead as they started down the other side.

  Mulan raced toward the stand of trees, but Wolfgang reached them before her, reining his horse to a stop.

  “What do I win?” Wolfgang leaned toward her in his saddle. His bottom teeth were slightly crooked, all the more endearing for their imperfection. Did he know how handsome he was? Even if he were not so well-favored, she’d still feel this warmth for him, because he was the kindest, most attentive man she’d ever met.

  Nothing like Algirdas.

  But Wolfgang only thought of her as a friend and fellow soldier. He did say the flowers in her hair were “becoming,” but that meant nothing. He might say that to a little girl he met at the market.

  “You win the opportunity to share the picnic that Cook and the kitchen servants prepared for me.”

  “Ah. Next time I shall specify what I wish as my prize before I race you.”

  “And next time I shall ride my fastest horse so that I shall win.”

  Wolfgang laughed. It was a joyful sound.

  They both dismounted and led their horses into the trees. They soon came to the clearing and the stream. It made a trickling sound as it slid and tumbled over the rocks on its way to the river. Birds chattered nearby, adding to the peace of the place.

  They took the bundles from the backs of the horses and soon had all the provisions laid out—a simple feast of bread and cheese, cold meat, nuts, and dried fruit.

  They ate and listened to the birds and the stream. She couldn’t help glancing often at Wolfgang in the silence, but after he caught her staring at him for the second time, she forced herself not to look at him. Instead, she watched the stream and the way the sunlight glinted and glittered on the flowing, fluctuating water.

  Even when she was sure Wolfgang wasn’t looking at her, she still had the strange feeling that someone was watching them, possibly from the cover of the trees that surrounded them. She peered all around but saw no one. It must be her imagination, the vigilance of a soldier who’d spent the last several days either in battle or anticipating a battle.

  Wolfgang took the small metal cup from the picnic bundle. There was only one, so he dipped it in the stream and handed it to Mulan. She took and drank of the clear, cool water, then gave it back to him.

  He dipped it once more in the stream and held it out to her. “More?”

  “No, I thank you.”

  She watched as he brought it to his lips and tipped it up. His throat bobbed as he swallowed once, twice, thrice. At the same time, water dribbled from the corner of his mouth and dripped from his jawline.

  What would he do if she stood up and kissed him?

  She looked away, appalled at herself. Kissing him, indeed. Wolfgang was her friend. She should not be thinking such thoughts about him. Someday he’d be married. She would never want his future wife to know that she . . . Well, she didn’t want to think about his future wife. A spoiled, do-nothing, pale-faced daughter of a duke. Or at the very least, she’d be a wealthy knight’s daughter.

  Mulan lay back on the ground and stared up at the sky, but the sun was so bright, she closed her eyes.

  Truly, she didn’t know Wolfgang that well. They had fought together and been in life-and-death situations. They’d saved each other’s lives, certainly, but was he truly as kind as she imagined? Perhaps she was making him into a better person that he was, fooling herself because he was the first handsome young man she’d ever spent time with.

  Other than Andrei, who was only twelve.

  She sighed. Perhaps being in battle had ruined her sound mind.

  �
��This place is very peaceful,” Wolfgang said from nearby. He was lying only three paces away, squinting up at the sky, his head pillowed on his bent arm. He chewed on a blade of grass, drawing her gaze to his mouth.

  No. She would not let herself think about . . . Battle, horses, castles, swords . . . Those were safe things to think about. Armor and helmets and wounded shoulders . . . A memory flashed before her eyes of her dabbing her mother’s salve on Wolfgang’s wounded shoulder . . . of Wolfgang without his shirt.

  “These were your first battles, were they not?” She said the first safe thing that came to mind. “I remember you said something about what your father told you about battle, about not becoming hardened and also not feel too guilty.”

  “Tak.” He propped on his elbow and faced her.

  “Were your first battles as you imagined?”

  He took the blade of grass out of his mouth. “My father described it fairly accurately. What about you? Did you feel prepared? Your father must have told you stories about battle.”

  “Not many. Mostly it was Andrei who told me battle stories, as he usually accompanied my father into actual battles so he could carry his extra arrows and other weapons.”

  “Andrei seems young for that.”

  “Yes. But he is mature for one so young.”

  His eyes fixed on hers as his gaze became more intense. “Did the prophecies happen as you imagined?”

  “I never imagined being carried on men’s shoulders or getting shot while sitting in a tree. But yes. I suppose I do feel as if the prophecies were fulfilled. It seems so strange that God would choose me.”

  “God knew you were brave and fierce. And that you would give Him the glory.”

  Her chest filled with air at his praise. She wanted to remember it always.

  “Truly.” His brown hair was tousled and boyish, a short strand of it brushing against his forehead, moved by the wind. “You always had this expression when you were in battle. Your eyes were bright and shimmery, and you were like an avenging angel, bent on completing your task, no matter what.” He bared his teeth as if to mimic her.