Johanna Lindsey - Once a Princess

"We'll be hunted," Pavel pointed out.

"We'll be hunted either way." The other man laughed. "But how does that make a difference when we're always hunted? And no one finds us unless we want them to."

Tanya didn't know she'd been given a reprieve or that her life had even been in imminent danger, because they had been speaking some Slavic tongue that she couldn't begin to understand. But she did know that she would be going with them, because as soon as she was tightly bound — and it took less than a minute to accomplish that — she was tossed up onto one of the small ponies, with the shortest of the men getting on behind her— for the sake of the pony, she supposed.

She didn't know what to make of this abduction, except that she hoped these men weren't associated with whoever had tried to kill her in Danzig, and since they hadn't killed her outright, that hope was strong. But if they were hill bandits, why didn't they just rob her and go? Why take her with them?

They looked no different from the people she had been seeing for the past few days in this part of the country, dark of hair and eyes, swarthy-skinned, except there was a marked difference in their individual heights. One was no taller than Tanya, one was a few inches above her, and one was actually quite tall. Their clothes were not quite the same as those she had seen in the area, looking more appropriate for riding: thick trousers, soft-skinned boots laced up the calves, short sheepskin jackets with the fur on the inside, worn over woolen shirts wrapped with wide cloth belts. They each wore brightly colored scarves knotted close to the neck and shaggy fur hats. If they carried any weapons, she didn't see them, but undoubtedly they did.

Stefan had been traveling in a gradual, southeasterly direction. These men rode directly south, straight for the Carpathian Mountains. And they rode as if the devil were on their tails. The only stop they made that evening was at some isolated farm, where they gave up their worn-out ponies for fresh ones. They avoided roads altogether, seeming to know every out-of-the-way path through forests and hills. And they didn't even stop to eat, chewing on stale bread crusts that each man carried.

They reached their destination sometime around noon of the next day, having ridden straight through the night. It looked like a typical village, except it was high in the mountains, reached by a path that Tanya was sure only those small ponies could navigate.

She was utterly exhausted by then, having gotten no more sleep than her captors. She was almost too tired to care what happened next, but she was definitely grateful for the warmth inside the house she was dragged into.

It was more like a log cabin, though with only one large room. Tanya moved straight to the clay-mounded oven in the center of it the moment she was let go. The first thing she noticed was how cluttered the room was, with crude furniture and the debris of a lifetime. The second thing she noted was the man sitting at a table eating; he didn't even look up at their intrusion. He was big, middle-aged, with the hardened features of someone who had not had an easy life.

A pouch was dropped before him, and a lengthy explanation was given by her captors that she didn't bother to try deciphering. Instead she looked at the many cots scattered about and wondered if anyone would mind if she made use of one. But she didn't want to leave the fire just yet. She had been chilled to the bone, despite the long gray cloak she was wearing. But then she wasn't used to winters like this, and it had become much colder the higher they had climbed into the mountains.

She finally noticed the silence and glanced toward the table to find only the older man there, the other three gone. He'd been watching her while he finished his meal. He didn't seem disposed to say anything, however.

Tanya decided to try her luck just the same. "I don't suppose you speak English either?"

"English," he said in disgust. "I know four languages good, three not so good. My English is not so good."

"Good enough," Tanya said in relief. She knew a smattering of French and Spanish herself, but she doubted those two languages were included in his seven. "Will you tell me what I'm doing here?"

"You should not be."

"Not be what?"

"Here. If my men knew the difference between rubies and pretty glass, then you would not be." He picked up a necklace from the table and dangled it from a finger to show her.

"I don't understand."

"This was given to kill you. It is not real, so you do not die."

It was nice of him to clarify that before she had time to be horrified. "Do I understand you correctly? Someone paid your men to kill me, and that necklace was the payment?"

"That is what I said."

"And since it's made of glass instead of real rubies, you won't kill me?"

"That is what I said. "

It was that cowardly assassin of hers, no doubt afraid to try again himself. But she asked anyway. "Can you tell me who?"

He shrugged. "We do not deal with names."

She sighed. "Very well, what now?"

"My men waste much time getting you, ruin good animals getting here. Pavel, he thinks we should kill you anyway, for the trouble they were put to." He chuckled. "He hates all aristocrats after one beat hell out of him. Will your people pay to have you back?"

She shrugged. "Probably, though I wouldn't stake my life on it. Why don't you just ask whatever price you want and see if you get it?"

He grinned. "I like the way you think, lady." He waved a hand to the pot sitting on top of the oven. "Eat, rest, it will not be long."

"It won't?"

"Your people were not far behind," he explained, "not far at all. Hope they carry a lot of gold, lady, or we may have to kill them all."

He'd managed to horrify her after all.

Stefan rode slowly into Latzko's village, his men spread out behind him. He had come here once before, about seven years ago, when he had had a fight with his new mistress and she had run home to her father. Latzko was her father. Stefan had come to make up with the girl, having decided he'd been unfair in their argument, a dispute he couldn't even recall the subject of, it had been so minor. And Arina had been delighted that he'd come to fetch her back. An old suitor of hers hadn't been, however, and had insisted Stefan fight for her. It had been a bother. He hadn't wanted the girl back that much. But he had obliged the fellow and won. Ironically, the affair with Arina had only lasted another month.

Latzko came out of his house to greet him now and obviously remembered him, if his welcoming smile was any indication. And why not? The wily brigand hadn't been satisfied with getting his hot-tempered daughter off his hands again, seven years ago. He'd charged Stefan fifty rubles before he could leave with her, and that was after Stefan had already fought and won that privilege.

"What brings you here this time, Stefan?"

Two other men had come to join Latzko in front of his house. Stefan wasn't pleased to see that Pavel was one of them, and looking as belligerent as he had the last time. But the rest of the village also turned out, the men coming quietly forward to surround Stefan's, their weapons concealed, but Stefan knew how quickly that could change with these mountain people.

He stared at Latzko and said without preamble, "I believe you have something that is mine."

"Yours?" Latzko laughed heartily. "I'll be damned. They didn't bother to tell me that. "

Stefan gritted his teeth, doubting that, but at the moment he didn't care. "How much?"

"Five hundred?"

"Done. "

"And he has to fight me," Pavel inserted loud enough for all to hear.

"Done."

From Latzko's expression, it was clear he hadn't expected the challenge. He even tried to protest. "You are supposed to learn from experience, Pavel, not foolishly make the same mistakes. Didn't he nearly kill you last time with his bare hands?"

"My mistake was not calling for knives last time, " Pavel replied with appalling confidence. "This time we use them."

The older man made a sound of disgust before he turned back to Stefan. "He bears a grudge, this one. He blames you for Arina's indifference to him, even though she now lives with some Austrian duke. But I have the last say here, and I say you do not have to fight him."

Latzko was obviously worried that he wouldn't get his money if something happened to Stefan. But this time Stefan wanted the fight, had been fiercely glad to hear the challenge issued.

"I have already accepted, Latzko, and it will happen now, this minute."

"Stefan!" Lazar objected behind him, but Stefan merely sent him a silencing glare as he dismounted.

Vasili wasn't as easily shut up. "Let one of us fight in your stead, then. Your position is such that you cannot take these arbitrary risks anymore."

"I will decide what is a risk and what it's worth. This risk is needed to keep the skin on Tanya's back."

Vasili's brow shot up in understanding. Stefan needed something to expend his anger and fear on before he faced his betrothed. It was a wonder he'd contained those emotions these past twenty-four hours.

"Well, heaven forbid she should lose any skin," Vasili said dryly now, knowing full well the girl was in no such danger. "Go ahead and get it out of your system this time. But you are going to have to think seriously about curtailing these little pleasures in the future, Stefan, you really are."

Stefan only gave a curt nod while he removed his sword and coat. He wasn't wearing a knife. Latzko supplied him with his own, a long-bladed dagger with a good grip on it. And he no sooner had it in hand than Pavel brought his own knife in a downward swing to stab him, to end the fight right there. But Stefan hadn't been expecting a clean fight, not after his last experience with this man. Pavel's dirty tricks had made Stefan angry enough to beat him senseless. He wondered if he'd have to kill him this time, as he caught Pavel's wrist, threw it back, and slashed with his own knife, drawing first blood in a small nick on Pavel's upper arm.