A Royal Marriage

by Rachelle Mccalla

  Gisela recognized Hilda’s huffing as the woman approached down the hall. The smell of boiled cabbages preceded her, and the maid slumped onto her mattress without taking off her shoes.

  “Did you find him?”

  “Aye,” Hilda panted.

  “Is he coming? Does he have the herbs?”

  “Yes,” the maid answered, and the sound of approaching footsteps confirmed her words.

  Suddenly nervous, Gisela wondered what she should say to the king. Somehow, when she hadn’t been able to see him, he’d seemed...safe. Tame.

  But when she’d seen his face for the first time and the silhouette of his broad shoulders in the flickering lamplight, she’d realized he was dangerously handsome. Strong. Regal. Not someone she’d have chosen to spend time with, given that she was promised to another. At least this time she had Hilda in the room.

  “Your Highness?” John asked quietly from the doorway.

  As Gisela was about to answer, a loud snore rose from Hilda’s mattress.

  Gisela giggled, and an instant later the king knelt beside her.

  Hilda snored again.

  King John smirked. “I knew that wasn’t you.” He carried a few plucked sprigs of herb in his hand. As he crushed the leaves between his fingers, their pungent scent filled the room.

  “You don’t sound so sure. Who’s to say I don’t snore?”

  “You’re far too lovely.” His words dropped to near silence, almost as though he was ashamed of having spoken them.

  Gisela wasn’t sure how to respond. She lay still as he bent over her and pressed the leaves into place over her injury. To her relief, the application didn’t pain her one fraction as much as the first dose had. “How does the gash look?”

  “It’s on the mend. And so are you. You won’t need me for the ride to Castlehead tomorrow.”

  “You’re leaving?” She felt shocked by the intensity of the pang that struck her at the thought of their separation. “Why?”

  “I need to secure this region against the Illyrians. You need to rest in safety.”

  “What if my condition grows worse?”

  “You’re on the mend,” he repeated as he tied the binding that secured the herbs in place over her eyelid.

  Gisela understood. She knew her intended was the only man with whom she should spend any time. And yet, the thought of John’s leaving shook her with surprising force.

  “You should rest now.” King John stood and took a step toward the door.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “Yes?”

  For long breathless seconds Gisela tried frantically to think of some way of keeping him at her side. But just as when her father headed off on his missions, there was nothing she could say to keep him near her. Not then. Not now. Her life was not her own.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I owe you my life. My father will see that you are generously rewarded.”

  He lingered a moment and cleared his throat, as though grasping at the proper words that fit their circumstances. Royal positions were all about etiquette and formalities.

  But she knew of no formality that covered a king saving the life of the emperor’s daughter. Perhaps she could salvage a bit of her dignity yet. “I’m sorry if I said anything unbecoming. The fever went to my head.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” John answered finally. “And you don’t owe me anything. I am honored to have been of service to the empire and to you.”

  Gisela opened her mouth to respond, but he was already gone, his footsteps retreating rapidly down the hall.

  Gisela groaned softly, regretting her words, regretting that she and the king were so soon to part ways. Was he really not going to be traveling back with her? What if she didn’t see him again before her party struck out for the Illyrian kingdom where her prince awaited?

  The thought of her coming marriage burned more deeply against the pain in her heart. Why had she agreed to marry Warrick the Illyrian? Granted, the political situation required that one of Charlemagne’s daughters enter into such a union. The Illyrians had requested her specifically. She’d wanted to experience life outside of her father’s household, and given her father’s overprotective nature, nothing short of a marriage agreement would suffice to accomplish that. But now she was set to be wed to a man she’d met only twice. There was no way around it, so there was no sense wishing otherwise.

  * * *

  “In the past two days we’ve seen no sign of Illyrian scouts.” Prince Luke pulled his horse’s head even with that of the king’s mount. “They’ve made no move to attack. I’ve never known them to be so quiet.”

  “They’re surely biding their time, plotting their strategy for the perfect assault.” John heard the morose tone of his words, but he did nothing to hide his attitude from his brother. Luke already knew perfectly well how much he detested war.

  “Is that what’s put you in such a bad mood? The thought of war?”

  “Fledge is still missing.”

  “I know you love your falcon, but I can’t believe your attitude is due to her absence. She’s been missing far longer before and always returned.”

  John looked at his brother and tried to judge where the younger prince was headed with his line of questions.

  The way Luke pursed his lips, John could tell he was forming his next question.

  “You were in perfectly good spirits while we were fencing before the Frankish princess arrived.”

  “Yes,” John acknowledged. “That was before all the trouble began.”

  “And yet,” Luke continued as their horses picked a path along a deer trail that led up from the river to the mountains, “I don’t believe your doldrums set in until we parted ways with Her Highness.”

  John wasn’t about to let his brother lead him into a discussion about Princess Gisela. Luke knew him far too well and would pick up on his divided loyalties.

  “You don’t suppose the Illyrians have circled around us to attack Sardis, do you?”

  “They couldn’t organize an assault so quickly.” Luke dismissed the suggestion. “Are you worried for the safety of Her Highness? She’ll soon reach Castlehead, even accounting for slow travel by litter.”

  “Knowing her, she had the men roll up the litter and she’s taken a horse.”

  “You know her that well, do you, brother?”

  Unsure how Luke had so quickly trapped him, John evaded his brother’s jab. “She’s easy enough to read. Stubborn. Spirited. Impossible to reason with once she’s set her mind on something.”

  “You paint her in a negative light.” Luke drew his horse nearer and spoke in a musing tone. “Why are you so eager to heap insults upon a woman you ought, for the sake of international peace, to hold in high esteem?”

  “I esteem her well enough. But let’s not let ourselves be distracted from our plight with the Illyrians.”

  “I’ve seen no sign of any Illyrians,” Luke refuted. “But I can’t help wondering why you’re so dismissive of Her Highness. I got the impression she was quite fond of you.”

  John could think of no words his brother couldn’t twist, so he remained silent.

  “You’ve gone rather red in the face, dear brother.”

  “It’s a warm day.”

  “We should stop and rest, then.”

  And face his brother? John was loath to risk it. “We should keep going.”

  Luke began to laugh.

  “Quiet. You’ll give away our position.”

  Luke laughed harder.

  “There could be Illyrian war scouts hiding behind any bush. Pray tell me, brother, what you find so humorous that you’re willing to risk giving away our presence because of it?”

  “You fancy her.”

  “What? Who?”
John sputtered, recovering from the question more slowly than he would have liked, the mad thumping of his heart making it difficult for him to form coherent thoughts. “My missing falcon? Fledge is one of the finest birds I’ve ever owned. Of course I fancy her.”

  “Stop your horse.” Luke held his mount and studied his brother’s face.

  John dropped his voice to a whisper. “Illyrians?”

  “Emotions.” Luke let his horse proceed again. “Yours.”

  “I have none. I gave them up when Dorcas died.” John spoke of his late wife’s passing, knowing his brother respected his loss. Perhaps Luke would leave off his questioning after that reminder.

  “She died. You didn’t. You’re still here and still capable of feeling.”

  “Don’t speak so brazenly of my loss. I shall mourn her passing every day of my life.”

  “I mean no disrespect, John.” Luke’s voice grew serious. “You loved your wife with your whole heart, with every fiber of your being. I find it difficult to believe that someone who loved so well and so fully could live out his days without loving again.”

  “It’s not a matter of loving again. My heart still belongs to Dorcas.”

  “But she is gone, and you are here. If you never take another wife then I will be your heir.” Luke gave him a long look.

  John remained silent. He was certain Luke understood full well his resolution not to remarry, just as he understood Luke’s disdain for his position in line for the throne.

  Finally Luke sighed. “I have never loved as you loved, so I cannot judge. But I saw the look Princess Gisela gave you as you were parted. If a woman ever looked at me that way, I don’t think I could turn my back and ride off as you did.”

  “What look? She only had use of one eye.”

  “You know the look I mean. And I am correct in thinking you have feelings for her. Your distress betrays that.”

  “She is promised to another man—and not just any man! A prince among our enemies. Do you want to be destroyed by the Illyrians for revenge? Or are you so eager for war that you would use her as bait on your hook?”

  Luke’s face flashed with anger. “I am not eager for war, brother. I’m eager to have our land united again. As king, you have a duty to protect your people. I cannot fathom why you choose to turn your back on that duty.”

  “I protect my people—from warmongers like you.”

  “Is that what I am?” Luke turned his horse and pranced the steed backward, away from his brother. “Go back to Castlehead and check on your princess, but think on what I’ve said. I’ll be here, protecting the borderlands.”

  “I can protect my kingdom,” John shouted as his brother rode away.

  “Can you?” Luke’s voice faded with the distance between them.

  * * *

  Gisela lay back on the litter and tried her best to rest, though her strength had returned in the three days since King John had helped her. She’d have gladly taken a horse instead of resting, except that she’d only find herself en route to her intended that much sooner that way. “Do you think we should stop again?” she asked Hilda.

  “We’ve only just got going again from the last break we took,” the maid chided her. “Are you that reluctant to return to your ship?”

  “I don’t believe it’s safe to continue on,” Gisela asserted. “Our vessel is wounded, and our crew is shorthanded.”

  “But we’re nearly to our destination. With a brisk wind, we could make it up the coast in three days and deliver you to your prince.”

  “Hilda—” Gisela felt her distress increasing at the mere thought of the Illyrian who awaited her “—don’t you think it rude to take leave before King John returns? He must be compensated for saving my life. At the very least, I owe him a debt of thanks.”

  “Your father will send payment. King John left on some expedition—”

  “Made necessary by my injury,” Gisela finished for her. “You do realize that his quest for the hare’s tongue herb created the situation on the borderlands.”

  “There was trouble brewing long before you arrived, my lady.”

  “Yes, but I was the spark that lit the fire. My conscience plagues me. What if war breaks out on my account?”

  “I trust King John can put out any fire you light. You’ve got an Illyrian prince waiting to wed you. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

  “I’m not due until Christmastide.”

  “No, but I expect he’d welcome your arrival sooner.” Hilda chuckled.

  Gisela squirmed, disturbed by the tone of Hilda’s chuckle. The maid seemed all too eager to see her married off.

  Her uneasiness was brief enough. The litter slowed to a stop.

  She stuck her head out to inquire of the reason.

  “A rider approaches swiftly,” Renwick informed her.

  “Is that a bad sign?”

  “Your curtains are spread with the royal crest. All riders give way to the crown.”

  Gisela’s fear spiked. “Perhaps it’s a messenger with important news.” She squinted with her lone good eye toward the approaching horseman. “Isn’t he wearing the same royal crest?” Sunlight glinted off the mother-of-pearl inlay on his habergeon.

  Renwick’s stiff posture relaxed as he let out a breath. “Your Highness is correct. I do believe—” he eyed the horseman as the figure drew nearer “—it is King John himself.”

  “Help me down.” Gisela shot her hand out before Hilda could stop her. With Renwick’s assistance she was standing on her own two feet as King John’s horse came to a stop in front of them.

  “Is everything all right, Your Majesty?” Renwick asked.

  “As right as it can be with one Illyrian war scout dead at our hands.” He dismounted, holding tight to his stallion’s reins. “There’s no sign of Illyrian activity along the borderlands.” He nodded to Gisela. “I thought you’d be relieved to hear that, Your Highness.”

  “Quite relieved, Your Majesty, and honored that you took the time to deliver the message personally.”

  John nodded, but his eyes roved the road instead of meeting hers. “After finding the border in such a peaceful state, my concern immediately arose for the safety of those in Sardis and Castlehead. I wouldn’t put it past the Illyrians to circle around and mount an attack.”

  “Are they able to organize themselves so quickly?” Gisela had spent her youth discussing military strategy over meals, while traveling—any time she was around her father. Her interest was immediately piqued, especially since any attack had essentially been provoked by her intrusion.

  “The possibility exists, although I believe their prime window for attack is only now beginning to open.”

  Gisela appreciated King John’s astute appraisal. Since he had yet to cast more than the briefest glance her way, she took a step toward him. “I fear my imposition has brought trouble on your peaceful kingdom.”

  “Trouble has been brewing for many years, Your Highness.”

  “And my arrival has brought it to a full boil. I can’t, in good conscience, allow your people to be endangered for helping me.” She reached for his hand.

  He drew back and placed his hands on his horse’s neck.

  His action jabbed at her heart, stinging like a tiny spear, but she didn’t allow the pain to show on her face. The guards were watching and listening. She couldn’t show any weakness in front of them.

  “You’re injured,” John stated flatly while fussing with his horse’s mane. “The best thing you can do now is be on your way. If trouble comes, I don’t want you to have to meet it.”

  Gisela felt as though the tiny spear that had snagged her heart had begun to tear it open. Had John made the journey to meet her, only to send her away?

  “Please, Your Majesty. I owe you a debt of gratitude. My father
has immense resources at his disposal. Allow me to do whatever I can to assist Lydia’s defense.”

  King John felt the eyes of his men upon him. He was trying to push the princess away, but he couldn’t be rude to her.

  And he heard the double-edged warning in her words.

  My father has immense resources at his disposal. Allow me to do whatever I can to assist Lydia’s defense.

  She was offering to help, true enough, but he didn’t miss the implied threat if he failed to accept her help. My father has immense resources at his disposal.

  The last thing he needed was for the emperor to turn those resources on Lydia to avenge a slight against his daughter. But at the same time, he knew it wasn’t wise to spend time with the lovely princess. Even Luke, who was far more adept at spotting signs of war than signs of love, had picked up on the attraction he felt for her.

  “Your Highness.” He risked looking at her, and felt his heart lurch inside him as he caught her one good eye. Even injured, she held herself with dignity. “The situation with the Illyrians is quite complicated.”

  “Then explain it to me.” She placed her hand over his. “Please?”

  He couldn’t risk insulting her. And something deep inside him cried out for her presence as his lungs cried out for air. How could he deny her request? It wasn’t in him.

  “Are you able to ride a horse?”

  Relief filled her face. “Yes.”

  John called for his men to bring a spare horse. “Ride with me, Your Highness, and I shall tell you the ugly story of the relations between Lydia and her Illyrian neighbors.”

  With the other riders spread over the road before and behind them, John felt slightly more at ease in the princess’s presence than he had at the inn three nights before. Any of his men or her maid could vouch for his propriety.

  They were simply talking. She was well guarded.

  He would just have to keep his heart guarded against her as well, and prove to himself and his brother that whatever strange emotions she’d evoked in him were not permanent, and would soon be squashed.

  “Tell me more about your kingdom,” the princess prompted as they got underway. “How long has Lydia been a Christian nation?”