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Even under the silk sheet, the quilts, and the bear skins, Molly was cold. She shivered, still half-asleep, and scooted slowly to her right, trying to find Lukas. Then she scooted a little more. Maybe he was on the far side. The giant camp bed, as wide as it was long, had been brought by barge from Severn. Servants could break it down and move it in two minutes, but it was the largest bed Molly had ever slept in. She shifted again, and she could feel the edge. He wasn’t there anymore. She wondered where he might have gone, but she wasn’t terribly worried. It wasn’t even dawn yet. She reached down, pulled another quilt over herself, and went back to sleep.
It seemed only seconds later she was awakened by footsteps. It was lighter outside now, though. And there was enough light in the tent to see Lukas pacing around his map table, hands clasped behind his back, muttering. Molly pushed back the covers, intending to ask him what was wrong, but half a dozen of his officers and knights burst in, all talking over each other. Molly, who was wearing only a thin shift, let out a squeak of surprise and dived back under the covers.
There was silence, and then Lukas peeled back the blankets to give her a kiss. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said. He was smiling, but there was a worried, harried look to him.
“Has something gone wrong?” she asked.
“Um...nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart. Just stay here where it’s warm and cozy.” He kissed her again and crossed back to where his men were waiting.
Molly heard them talking together now in low, urgent voices. “Where is Halvor now?” “Where is the enemy?” “Yes, but are those scouts or the main force?”
Then Lukas’s voice, louder. “Blast this all. I’m going to have a look for myself. William, you stay here and guard the tent. See to Miss Coburn, if she needs anything.”
Quick, purposeful footsteps, and outside, men calling for their horses and armor. Molly looked over the covers again and saw William Rode, Lukas’s little Second Squire, standing nervously by the map table. He saw her looking and blushed. “Did...did you need anything, miss?” he said.
“Not at the moment, William. Though if you fetched my robe, I’d appreciate it.”
He did, and then stood with his back to her while she got out of bed to put it on. “Now, William,” she continued, “what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure, miss,” he said, still trying not to look directly at her. “Something about our flank being open now, and maybe the enemy has been sighted.”
From far away, Molly heard a bugle call. And then the dim thunder of hoof beats, getting closer at first, and then fading away. William looked alarmed now. “Um...could you wait here a second, miss? I need to go see what’s happening.”
He left, and half a minute later, Molly heard the rumble and creak of big wagons being moved into position. Why would they be moving the wagons? She went to her trunk and pulled out one of the new riding outfits Lukas had bought her. Then she dressed herself in far less time than her father’s old servants would ever have believed possible, if they had been there to see.
She emerged from the tent to find people packing up the camp all around her. They were working quickly, giving little thought to where things were placed in saddlebags or carts. Everyone was clearly in a hurry, and when Molly asked what was going on, the most she could get out of any of the servants or squires was that “The enemy is coming.”
In a minute, Lukas’s footmen showed up out of nowhere and started taking down his tent. She watched, astonished, and wondered if they had even checked to make sure she was out if it before pulling up the stakes.
That was where her brother found her. “Oh, there you are,” Quincy said. He was smiling, but he didn’t look particularly happy. “His grace sent me back to make sure the baggage train gets moving.”
“What’s going on?” she demanded. “And don’t just say ‘the enemy is coming,’ because that’s what everyone else says, and it’s hardly a surprise, because isn’t the whole point of being here to find the enemy?”
“We didn’t want to find them this way,” Quincy said. He took her aside, where the servants couldn’t hear, and said, “This is bad, Molly. Sir Halvor was supposed to be guarding our northern flank. But instead he was off visiting some abbey. The Sigors caught him there with his pants down, and they beat him pretty badly.”
“So what does that have to do with us?” she asked.
“Now our flank is open, and we’ve seen cavalry from Pinburg and Leornian five miles north of here. If they get around west of us....” He grimaced. “It could get a bit tricky. We have to pull back. At least for the time being, anyway.”
“What’s going to happen, Quincy?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
She hadn’t really been frightened until that moment, when she saw her brother was worried and confused and frightened, too.
“Take this,” he said, taking a sheathed knife off his belt and pressing it into her hands. “Use it if you have to. And if things look really bad, find somewhere safe and hide until it’s all over.”
That first day, she kept the knife on her lap as she rode along with the baggage. Anytime there was a sudden noise—even a twig breaking or a shift in the wind—she would whip around, expecting to see the enemy. But she saw nothing except the slowly retreating column of servants and squires, and the big carts haphazardly loaded with luggage and furniture.
On the first night, she discovered that the footmen had left one of her trunks behind, and that therefore she had lost most of her traveling clothes. She still had her ballgowns and some very lacy shifts and underclothes, though it didn’t look as if she’d have much use for them. Somehow half the command tent had been lost, as well, so Molly slept under an awkward flap of canvas, propped up with one tent pole, in the back of the cart. It was bitterly cold, and there was never time to make a proper fire, so she joined the servants in drinking heavily to ward off the chill.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll be in trouble for this?” she asked Lukas’s cook, Mrs. Langley, as they opened a bottle of old Rodvin.
Mrs. Langley smiled. “My dear, so much got left behind. Who’s to say this bottle didn’t get left behind, too?”
Molly hardly saw Lukas at all. Sometimes he would ride by with his officers and not even notice her. On the second day, he stopped to say a cheerful “hello,” as if they’d planned to meet out there in the middle of a retreat. He had enough time to take her into a little orchard, where he held her up against a tree and fucked her. It was very exciting, but then he was gone again, and she was left to wonder how much trouble they were all in if the duke himself didn’t have time to order a tent and a bed made up for his pleasure.
Around noon on the fourth day of the retreat, Molly sat huddled on the front seat of the cart, under her cloak and a bearskin, trying to stay dry against a slow, persistent drizzle. She was desperately tired now and lost in her own little fantasy: a warm bath, a clean shift, and Lukas with a flagon of mulled wine. Over the rain, she became aware of a deeper drumming sound. At first, she paid it no notice, but it grew louder, and then she realized it was hoof beats. Was it Lukas returning? She finally looked around, only to see a flickering glow from the front of the column. And then she heard the screams.
What was going on? Had something caught fire? Still holding the bearskin over her shoulders, she stood up, peering into the misty gloom. Louder screams, and then a dark shape, rushing up at her. In half a second, it went from a vague shadow to a mounted soldier. She saw his eyes, his gritted teeth, his wild beard. She saw his gleaming helmet and the green tree on his surcoat. A knight of Pinshire, then. He had a sword in his hand, and when he spotted her, he raised it over his head and brought it sweeping down at her.
She didn’t have time to think; she fell backward into the cart, smashing and tumbling through blankets and tent canvas and assorted camp furniture. The shock of pain made her cry out, and when she could move again, she felt all over herself, sure that the cavalryman’s sword must have hit her somewhere. But she couldn’t find any wound. Just little abrasions and throbbing aches that would be massive bruises soon.
More horsemen passed the cart. She heard footsteps now—people rushing this way and that. And screaming, too. Carefully, painfully, she raised herself on someone’s big iron-bound trunk and looked out. She was in time to see a Gramiren soldier run through with a lance and go splattering headfirst into the mud. On the other side of the cart, she saw a woman—maybe one of the laundry girls who followed the army—get slashed across the back by a saber. The woman staggered, fell to her knees, and then slumped over, motionless. Molly sank down into the cart and carefully pulled a blanket over her head.
She sat there for what seemed like hours, waiting for the horsemen to leave and the screams to die away. Then there was a flickering glow. She could see her hands now, and her legs. She pushed back the blanket and saw that one of the enemy had dropped a burning torch into her cart, only a yard away from her. She struggled to her feet, meaning to grab the torch and toss it out again, but the stack of blankets and tent stakes and folding chairs that she was standing on gave way. Down she went, under an avalanche of junk, deeper into the pile, and she could feel the bottom of the cart under her hand now. She turned, trying to raise herself, but she couldn’t get a grip on anything, and the wood and fabric kept slipping.
Looking up, she saw that the blankets were on fire. It was spreading to the tent canvas, too. She was going to be burned alive if she didn’t get out. With one frantic heave, she caught hold of the corner of the big iron-bound trunk, and she dragged herself up, coughing in the smoke, brushing off the embers that signed her clothes and hair. Her skirt was burning, and the only thing she could think to do was to tumble over the side of the cart and into the mud. She heard the hiss as the burning fabric extinguished, and then she lay there, feeling too exhausted and beaten to move.
One of Lukas’s knights found her there after nightfall, and he took her to Quincy, who gave her his cloak. “We’re all going to die,” she whispered, when he gave her some water.
“Actually, things are looking up,” he told her. “We managed to escape their trap. We’re almost home free now.”
He carried her on his horse down to the river, where she saw dozens of barges waiting. The men here were cool and calm and in remarkably good spirits. Apparently, the whole army hadn’t been destroyed. One of Lukas’s big, gilded barges was tied up at a small village nearby, and Quincy took her on board and set her up in a huge cabin. She found embroidered curtains and gold cups and a massive crystal decanter full of deep red wine. Lukas’s private secretary, Mr. Rigley, and his valet, Mr. Verner, had cabins, as well. Neither had ever shown much affection for Molly, but they greeted her like a long-lost little sister.
“We thought you were dead!” they said, as they brought her food and wine.
“So did I,” she sighed.
The chambermaids got her a bath and a new dressing gown, and she spent the early morning hours dozing in a bunk. She could never sleep for very long, because whenever she rolled over or shifted in any way, some bruise or sprain would send a jolt of pain running through her whole body.
Near dawn, Lukas finally joined her. “I hear you had quite an adventure.” He brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead.
“Where were you?” she blurted out.
“I had to leave the baggage train to save the army,” he said with a shrug. “Though I am very glad that you made it back.”
“You knew I was in that baggage train when you left it!” she cried. She was more hurt than angry.
“There, there,” he said, like she was a child. He pulled out a little silver tin from his pocket and opened it to reveal a thick white cream. It smelled like pine needles and exotic spices from the east. “My surgeon, Mr. Fisher, makes this for me. It’s marvelous for aches and pains.”
He slathered her in it, and she had to admit it helped a lot. She lay on the bed, totally naked, and felt his hands on her, and the gentle warmth of Mr. Fisher’s special ointment.
“Rest for a bit,” Lukas said. “We will be in Severn tonight. And then I’m going to set you up with your own rooms in the palace.”
“But the duchess....”
“Carrine will do as she’s told. Sleep now.”
A bit later, when she’d slept for a while, he returned to her, and this time he used his hands on her in a very different way. So different, in fact, that she almost couldn’t stand it. She had never felt anything like that before in her life. For the first time, she understood why people bothered having love affairs, and what those tedious poets like Adler and Claudius and whoever had been talking about. She snuggled up to Lukas afterward, and she decided that even if he hadn’t apologized, she would forgive him, anyway.