A Royal Marriage

by Rachelle Mccalla

  No doubt Hilda felt the same. As long as she returned to her duties within the next few days, Gisela would simply give her a lecture about the need to report her intended absences ahead of time.

  They’d leave that at that.

  Her situation with King John was far more complicated. She cared deeply about him. Not only had he saved her life, but he also made her feel things she’d never felt before. But how did the king feel about her? She’d have guessed Elisabette’s analysis was right, but then there was the lecture he’d given Fledge. He was clearly still mourning his late wife.

  There seemed to be no answer. But she’d often been told that God was both omniscient and omnipotent—that God knew all things and could do all things. So surely God could see a way out of her troubles and bring a better plan to pass.

  The solid stone floors absorbed the sounds of her footsteps as she made her way toward the front of the chapel. Light poured through the colorful panes of stained glass that filled the last window, bringing the image of lilies almost to life. Gisela had admired the window during the midweek service. Stained-glass artistry was rare in northern Europe, though she’d seen more examples of it in Rome. She understood that artisans in the Mediterranean region had been experimenting with stained-glass techniques for centuries. Still, such designs were time consuming to produce, and only the wealthiest patrons could afford them.

  Distracted again by the window, it took Gisela a moment to notice the other figure nearby. A raised dais at the head of the sanctuary was topped with an ornately engraved pulpit. Gisela spotted the open Bible on top of the reading stand at the same moment she realized she wasn’t alone.

  King John stood just beyond the open Bible with his back to her. Gisela suppressed a gasp, but not quickly enough.

  King John spun around. His eyes widened when he saw her. “Princess Gisela. Your Highness. You’re early. Services won’t begin for another two hours.”

  “I came to read the Bible and pray prior to the service, if I may.”

  “Of course you may.” He must have sensed the upheaval in her soul, because he asked, “Are you well this morning?”

  Since he’d addressed her, she determined it was safe to approach, and climbed the steps that led to the platform he shared with the pulpit and Bible. “I am well in body, if not in soul.”

  “What vexes your soul, my lady?”

  “Many things. My maid has repeatedly gone missing.”

  “Has she made it a habit of running away?”

  “Never before, but I suspect the rigors of the journey have overwhelmed her.”

  “Yes, she does seem a nervous sort of woman.”

  “I want to thank you for sending attendants to my room. With my maid gone, I made use of their help last evening in drawing a bath and preparing my hair.” She patted the fresh braids, which the attendants had coiled in high heaps on either side of her head, pinning them with her jeweled clips.

  “I’m glad they could be of service. You have such beautiful hair, it would be a pity not to have it properly cared for.” He appeared to regret the compliment the moment he’d spoken it, and his voice faded while his cheeks flushed with color.

  Gisela quickly changed the subject. “Have I interrupted your private worship time?”

  “No, I’d finished my reading and my prayers. I was lost in thought.”

  “There are many troubling things to think about of late, Your Majesty,” Gisela acknowledged.

  John didn’t deny it. To Gisela’s relief, his expression relaxed slightly.

  Gisela couldn’t help wondering if Elisabette’s dramatic assessment of her brother’s feelings had any basis at all. She prayed silently in her heart that God would help her find a way to reach out to him so that he would share the concerns that etched worry lines across his brow. More than that, she wished there was some way to get to the root of the concerns he’d expressed over his falcon’s newfound love. She pointed to the window. “The stained glass is absolutely stunning.”

  “Thank you. I commissioned it in memory of my late wife.”

  With a grateful prayer that God had led her in the right direction, Gisela took a small step closer to John and the window. “How long has she been gone?”

  “It was three years this past spring. She loved lilies. I had a garden planted for her. She never saw it flower. The first buds opened the day of her funeral.” He spoke with aching resignation.

  Gisela’s heart burned inside her. She wanted so much to speak of the feelings Elisabette had said John still clung to, but the king looked as though he wanted to flee already. Should she say anything? What if he ran?

  Her heart offered a wordless prayer as she spoke. “You love her still.”

  John closed his eyes but didn’t run.

  Gisela wasn’t sure what to say then, so kept silent.

  When John opened his eyes again, they showed a trace of moisture. “When she died, I told myself I would always love her. That I would never forget and never love another. My brother Luke calls me a fool, but what does he know of love?”

  Silence hung between them. Finally Gisela offered, “You never know what feelings a person might carry deep inside them.”

  “A person has a right to keep hidden what they wish to keep hidden.”

  Having regretted keeping Warrick’s name from Elisabette, Gisela shook her head. “Sometimes keeping secrets only makes things worse.”

  John moved, and Gisela was nearly certain he was going to leave. Instead he stepped closer to her. A cloud had passed over the sun, dimming the light that poured through the windows, making it more difficult for her to read his face.

  But the bitterness in his words was unmistakable. “You no longer speak of my brother.”

  “No. Do you?”

  He groaned. “You read me far too well, Princess. Am I an open book to you?”

  “Hardly.” She felt a wisp of a smile clinging to one corner of her mouth. “But I find you quite intriguing, and I wish to understand you better.”

  “What if I do not wish to be understood?”

  The smile escaped, and danced across her lips in a ripple of laughter.

  John grabbed her hands. “What do you mean, laughing at me? In some kingdoms it is a crime to laugh at the king.” His lips bent upward, but the fire behind his eyes still burned with sorrow-filled flames.

  Gisela quickly sobered. Her laughter had not been to mock him. It arose from her own embarrassment. “Pray, forgive me. I should not have laughed. How can I laugh, good King John, when you want so much to cling to your heartache?”

  “You make light of my losses.”

  “Never. I, too, have known loss. My mother died when I was young. I have lost siblings and beloved friends.” She shook her head, not wishing to make a contest of comparing losses. “I understand the need to grieve. What I can’t understand is your wish to remain grieving when God has placed opportunities for happiness before you.”

  “What happiness, Princess? War is coming, no matter what I do. And you—” he dropped her hands and cupped her face tenderly, tracing her cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs “—you’re to be taken from me.”

  Gisela could barely whisper in response. “Does this vex you?”

  “Far more than it should.”

  Her mouth had gone completely dry. She ran her tongue over her lips and tried twice to speak before she could form an audible sound. “Why?”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead, then nuzzled her eyebrows. His hands slid down her back and pulled her into his embrace. “Why? Must you ask why? Must I speak the words I should be ashamed to speak aloud? You, the emperor’s daughter, pledged to marry another? You, who have rescued my heart from the pit where I cast it to die?”

  His lips moved down her nose with tiny, featherlight kisses, as though he
warred with himself and lost each time he planted one. “You, who have captured my heart.”

  “And you, mine.” A moan that was half joy and half defeat rose from her lips, and he silenced it with a kiss.

  She melted against him, too caught up in kissing him to remember that she ought to be shocked. What would her father say?

  What would he say?

  John pulled back, cupping her face in one hand, holding her close with the other. The sorrow had been chased to the recesses of his eyes. In its place was passionate determination. “How impossible is it to break off your marriage agreement?”

  She shook her head, not knowing, and not trusting her mouth to speak.

  “I will pay whatever price, I will fight whatever war, if there is any hope for us to be together.”

  “No. If the Illyrians unite against you, they would wipe your kingdom off the earth.” A horrible sinking feeling sent her knees trembling.

  “How, then?”

  Recent history danced through her memory, taunting her with every failed negotiation. She prayed God would give her the words to help him understand. “The Christian world is split in two. There is only one church, but two great empires and many minor kingdoms. Though my father prefers to live in Aachen, the head of his empire is Rome.”

  “Yes.” John nodded, clearly more than acquainted with the facts. “And the head of the Eastern Empire is Constantinople. The Illyrians pay homage to Constantinople, not Rome. Yet your father wields tremendous influence among them.”

  Gisela offered him a taut smile. “They recognize his military might and are wise not to provoke him. My father is intent on solidifying bonds of peace between his empire and the Byzantines at Constantinople. He is especially concerned about the borderlands where the two empires meet. There have been far too many conflicts there, and they can’t all be blamed on Rab the Raider.”

  “My brother Luke would be happy to testify if your father is in need of a detailed report.”

  “He doesn’t like the reports he hears. What he desires is peace between our two empires. Ultimately, he would like to unite them, but some things are beyond even the great Charlemagne, and I believe he recognizes that. He tried several years ago to initiate an accord. My sister Rotrude was betrothed to marry Constantine VI.”

  “I remember that well. Many people in the region had high hopes that such a union would bring a greater measure of peace between the empires. Then Constantine’s mother, the Empress Irene, canceled the agreement herself.”

  “Yes! And my father has never forgotten. He resents the loss of what he saw as being a long-term peaceful accord between our two empires.”

  “But Constantine VI is dead now.”

  “And if he’d married my sister, she might be on the throne instead of Empress Irene.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “My father thinks so, and that’s all that matters. In his mind, ending a betrothal is the worst possible offense. If he hadn’t been so eager for peace, he might have declared war on Constantinople when my sister’s agreement was broken.”

  Chapter Eleven

  John listened to Gisela’s account of the events in the lives of her powerful family members and felt the inkling of hope that had filled him upon kissing her recede with stomach-swirling rapidness. “So, if you tried to call off your betrothal to Warrick...”

  “My father would be enraged. I wouldn’t be surprised if he disowned me.”

  “You? But Charlemagne’s reputation as a loving father is legendary!”

  “I won’t deny he is a loving father. But his zeal for the church is stronger yet.” She took both of his hands in hers and drew close to his face, speaking in hushed tones as though she feared the truth behind her words. “My father has predicted that if Rome and Constantinople cannot be united, that someday the rifts between them will divide the church itself.”

  “Split the church?” John whispered, feeling the words were hardly suitable to be spoken inside the chapel. Yet he had to understand what Gisela was saying.

  “Yes—split the One Holy Christian Church into East and West.”

  “It is not possible! You cannot split the church. That is contrary to its very nature.”

  “My father is not the only one who fears this possibility. He has many wise and knowledgeable advisors.”

  “The church cannot be split,” John moaned, wishing the authority in his words could make it so. Yet, even as he spoke them, he felt a distinct chill run up his spine, and feared that the emperor and his advisors knew far too well what they were talking about.

  “I have pledged my intent to see Rome and Constantinople united in whatever way they can be united, for the sake of the church. That is why I agreed to marry an Illyrian and why my father agreed to send me from my home to be wed. Such a drastic decision was not undertaken lightly. This agreement has been years in the making. I’m afraid it cannot be unmade.”

  John hung his head, already feeling ashamed for kissing Gisela. “What have I done, admitting feelings I can never act upon?”

  But Gisela caressed his face gently. “I am glad you confessed to me how you feel. Now we can focus on the political situation around us, instead of fearing the betrayal of our affections. There are worse things than mutual affection. We must resolve to work together for peace between the empires. We must never let on to others the depth of what we feel for one another.”

  “Few women would see matters the way you do.”

  “Few men would give them an opportunity to choose. I’m grateful that you trusted me with the truth.”

  “You’ll understand, then, if I cannot spend time in your presence as I might like?”

  “I’m not sure which is more painful—being near you and unable to act on my feelings, or being away from you entirely.”

  John considered her question in light of the previous week’s experiences. “I would rather be in your presence, but unable to touch you, than to be completely out of your sight. There is nothing that gives me more joy than to see the light of your smile.” Distant sounds told him the deacon had entered the rooms beyond the nave, and might any moment walk in on them.

  “I shall ask again if my courtiers know anything about your missing maid.” John walked reluctantly away from her, knowing that to remain in her presence any longer was to risk kissing her again—and that was the last thing he wanted the deacon to witness upon arriving for the Sunday worship service. “I’ll leave you to read the Scriptures. You should still have an hour before worshippers will begin to arrive. I will return in time for the service.”

  “Thank you.” Gisela’s voice carried after him. “For everything.”

  It took all of his willpower, but he somehow made it out of the chapel without turning around, scooping her up and kissing her until she forgot all about war and her obligation to marry Warrick of Illyria. Given the mighty effort his exit required, he wondered how he could possibly make it through the next several weeks.

  * * *

  Gisela pored over the Scriptures until worshippers began to gather and then found a place among them for the service. King John soon appeared at her side and made a formal greeting before turning to face the front of the sanctuary. Though his proximity warmed her down to her toes, Gisela kept her attention on worshipping God. When the readings and singing had ended, a bell tolled, announcing mealtime.

  As the worshippers poured toward the back doors, Gisela took a moment to step forward and thank the deacon who’d conducted the service. The older man, she learned, was named Bartholomew. He spent much of his time attending to the larger Lydian population in the city of Sardis at the other end of the peninsula, traveling to Castlehead for the twice-weekly services and leaving the services in Sardis to his younger associates.

  With a blessing from Bartholomew, Gisela left for lunch feeling s
piritually refreshed, though she still saw no way out of her betrothal to Warrick. As she approached the dining hall, she heard King John’s deep voice booming through the cavernous room as he greeted those who’d gathered for the meal.

  She entered feeling embarrassed, not only because she’d arrived later than she’d meant to, but also because she wasn’t sure how she could look John in the eye after the kiss and confessions they’d exchanged in the chapel earlier that morning. But when he saw her, a relieved smile crossed his face, almost as though he’d feared she’d decided not to come to lunch.

  He reached for her as she took her place beside him, and he squeezed her hand.

  “How was your morning?”

  “A very pleasant morning. The worship service was lovely, and the king was most gracious to me when we met by chance in the chapel earlier this morning.” She hadn’t meant to be coy with him, but found her teasing words encouraged as he looked at her with light dancing in his eyes. She sat as he did, and the servers heaped broiled fish and roast vegetables on the plates before them. “And how was your morning?”

  “I’m afraid it went quickly downhill after we parted ways.”

  Gisela reached for the golden cup at the same moment as King John extended his hand toward it. “After you.”

  “I insist.” He handed it to her.

  She took the cup and drank. “You are far too good to me.”

  “Why should I be otherwise? You are too soon to be taken from me.” A melancholy note colored his words. He leaned closer and murmured, “I have resolved not to touch you. I cannot repeat my indiscretion of this morning or in any way express the affection I feel. But that cannot stop me from enjoying your presence here. There is no one I’d rather converse with, no advisor whose wisdom I hold in higher esteem.”