A Royal Marriage

by Rachelle Mccalla

  Gisela settled the cup back into its place on the table. “I have made peace with our resolution, as well. You and I cannot be together. Nonetheless it heartens me to know that I have an ally on this side of the continent.” As she finished the sentence, she raised her voice for the benefit of Elisabette, who’d just joined them. “Elisabette mentioned that the Lydians and Dometians used to meet regularly at festivals. Perhaps, if my father’s peaceful interventions succeed, those traditions could be revived.”

  John smiled graciously. “I believe those festivals would help promote peace between the kingdoms in the region. If the way be clear, I shall do whatever I can to make them happen.”

  Elisabette fairly beamed at the prospect. “Oh, would you really? I always did enjoy them so.”

  “That is what I recall. We could include a fencing tournament such as the two of you put on here two days ago.” He leaned toward his sister. “Renwick tells me you wanted to invite the Illyrians and were disappointed to be advised otherwise.”

  While the two siblings devised tournament plans and reminisced about the festivals they’d participated in before their father’s death, Gisela sat back and tried to focus on her food, though her stomach warred against her again.

  What would Elisabette say when she found out the truth—that Gisela was soon to steal her love away from her, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it? Given the promise she’d made to the younger woman two nights before, Gisela didn’t feel she could consult with John about the matter. She’d promised to tell no one and was quite certain Elisabette would place her brother’s name at the top of her list of people she didn’t want told.

  There wasn’t any way around any of it, and Gisela felt the otherwise delicious dinner turn sour in her mouth as she chewed. Elisabette would hate her.

  Gisela’s only hope was to avoid, for as long as possible, telling King John about his sister’s secret.

  * * *

  With his feelings confessed and an understanding with Gisela that neither of them would act on their affections, John decided it would be safe to allow Gisela to join in the discussions with his leading advisors regarding the situation along the borderlands. Besides his desire to spend time in her pleasant company, the decision was a strategic one. The emperor’s daughter was held in high esteem by his entire court. Rather than leave Eliab and Urias in charge the next time he had to be absent, John wanted his courtiers to look to her for direction. But in order for her to provide guidance, she needed to understand the complexities of their situation.

  Besides that, Eliab and Urias had been pressuring him to turn his back on the borderlands—to withdraw his people from all the lands that lay beyond Sardis—and to reinforce the walls of the city. John couldn’t see the sense in giving up any more of his kingdom. Gisela was on his side. Her authority as the emperor’s daughter, combined with her eagerness to speak her mind, made her an invaluable ally in those discussions.

  And besides that, he liked having her around. It provided great relief to him when, in the midst of high-tempered arguments, she winked at him when no one else was looking, or silenced his courtiers with a subtle retort that made him want to laugh instead of scream. Each time she did so he felt his heart inclining toward her that much more. It became more difficult for him to control those emotions, yet he decided the struggle was a small price to pay in exchange for her company.

  Gisela clearly appreciated being part of the discussions. Her concern for the safety of the inhabitants of Castlehead was obvious in every word she spoke. Slightly less obvious but no less deniable was her discontent with the fortress’s position at the tip of the peninsula. She pored over maps of Lydia, asking clarifying questions whenever she wasn’t certain she understood the landscape represented by the drawings.

  It was after the rest of the men had left them alone that she glowered that Friday morning at the parchment laid out before her. “Sardis lies at the base of the peninsula, where it joins the mainland of the continent. Millbridge lies beyond, along this road—” she traced it with her finger “—and the village of Bern in the mountains beyond.” She sighed. “I know I traveled the road from Castlehead to Millbridge with you, and yet, I cannot picture it.”

  “Your eyes were bandaged on that ride.”

  “But not on the ride back.”

  “Still, you had limited use of your eyes, even then.”

  “I wish I understood the landscape better. With the sea around impassable with rocks, and only one road leading from Sardis to Castlehead, you’ve made your fortress easy to defend, but almost impossible to rescue or escape.”

  “We are indeed isolated here,” John acknowledged, “but there is another path on the western ridge of the peninsula. It is narrow, far too narrow for a cart to pass. Still, it does provide an alternate route between Castlehead and Sardis. Do you desire another?”

  “It seems from this map that the peninsula is so narrow, that path would lie within sight of the road.”

  “In places it does,” John admitted.

  “Then I can hardly see how it might provide an alternate route between your fortress and the city.” Gisela sighed. “My father has always adamantly insisted that every major fortress needs an alternate escape route should it come under siege. I would like to explore the peninsula further. Perhaps there is some possibility I haven’t considered.”

  “It had occurred to me,” John confessed, “that I ought to visit with my men at Sardis. Gregory, the captain of the guard there, has been unable to leave his post to speak with me. I’d like to gauge his opinions personally rather than receiving them secondhand. Would you like to ride out with me?”

  Gisela beamed at him. “How soon can we leave?”

  “Within the hour, if we hope to return by supper time.”

  * * *

  Gisela met King John in the stables where he had two horses saddled and ready to ride.

  The broad-shouldered chestnut stallion bore a saddle emblazoned with the same royal crest John had fought under in her tournament. Though the blood-bay mare bore a saddle made for a female rider, the crest emblazoned on the saddle was the same.

  Gisela ran her hand along the lustrous leather. “What a magnificent saddle!”

  “Thank you.” Only a hint of sadness shadowed John’s eyes. “I had it commissioned for my wife as a wedding present.”

  “But it looks brand-new.”

  “She only used it a few times. I’ve kept it well oiled since.”

  Gisela caught the emotion behind his words and stepped closer, speaking softly. “You oil it yourself?”

  “Yes. It gave me an opportunity to ruminate over my regrets.” He appeared almost ashamed as he spoke, but once his confession had been made, his mood brightened. “In the future I shall oil it and think on the lovely ride we’ll share together today.”

  Gisela beamed at him, and they were soon mounted and on their way.

  The temperatures had begun to cool as summer gave way to fall, but the birds still sang brightly from the orchards and olive trees, and the sun warmed their shoulders. Peasants working in the vineyards looked up as they passed by and blew kisses to their king. The road was wide enough to permit them to travel side by side, and since travelers were few that day, they were able to speak without fear of being overheard.

  To Gisela’s delight, King John was eager to talk.

  “Now that you’ve met several times with my council, I’d like your opinion on Eliab and Urias. I fear their lack of respect toward me will poison the attitudes of their fellow courtiers.”

  “Indeed,” Gisela acknowledged, “Urias is especially outspoken. They must have quite a history with the crown to speak so openly.”

  “They were my father’s closest advisors and fought beside us at Bern the day my father died. Indeed, had Urias not pulled me injured from the battle,
I may have fallen that day, as well.”

  “I’m glad your life was spared that day. Yet I can’t help thinking Urias has been more than repaid by your extended patience.” She thought to say more but wasn’t sure whether her words would be welcome.

  “What would your father do, given the circumstances?”

  Gisela laughed. “My father would grant them both lofty but meaningless titles and put them in charge of some remote corner of his empire, where the local population would punish them daily with their whining.”

  John laughed with her. “I fear Lydia has no corner distant enough for them.”

  “Perhaps my father could provide a location for their exile,” Gisela corrected herself, “or, honored position, as it should be called.” She giggled. “Somewhere near Hilda’s homeland might be best. Urias and Hilda seem to enjoy one another’s company. It seems many of the times when she has been missing from my service, she has been in his company.”

  “How are matters with your maid, then?”

  “I gave her a lecture. She was most contrite. Given all I’ve put her through on this journey, I couldn’t be too stern with her. I told her that as long as she doesn’t neglect her duties, she’s free to spend time with Urias as she likes.”

  “That sounds most generous. You’re not afraid she’ll take advantage?”

  “Perhaps she will, but seeing as my father sent her as much to keep me in line as to meet my needs, I find I breathe more freely when she’s otherwise distracted. Besides, I’ve learned the importance of being allowed to spend time with those dear to our hearts. I may not have that freedom, but I won’t deny it to them.”

  “You are a kind and gracious leader. When Warrick takes his father’s throne, you will make him a fine queen.”

  * * *

  John regretted his words when Gisela went silent. He studied her face and found she’d pressed her lovely lips together as though holding something back with great effort.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned...”

  “Don’t be sorry. It is always in my thoughts regardless of reminder. I thank God daily for allowing me to meet you even if we cannot be together. Your friendship means more to me.” She pulled in a deep breath and shook her head. “I won’t dwell on it. There’s nothing to be gained. Come now, I see a bridge ahead. But surely no rivers run through this rocky peninsula?”

  They neared the spot and John hastened to explain. “That is no river that runs below. The sea has cut through this finger of land. This bridge is all that joins us to the continent, and I fear the chasm widens with every storm. The bridge will need to be expanded if it is to serve for many more years.”

  “So Castlehead isn’t on a peninsula at all. It’s really an island now.”

  “I suppose it is.” John dismounted and helped her down, securing their horses to a nearby tree as Gisela crept closer to the rocky edge of the gorge.

  “It’s not as steep as it looks from a distance. Shall we climb down?”

  Surprised as he might have been by Gisela’s desire to scramble down the rocks, John hardly blinked at her request but extended his hand to hold her steady while she picked her way down the side of the ravine.

  “These rocks look similar to the bedrock at Rome. Do you suppose it is the same all the way down?”

  Since she’d reached the bottom by the time she spoke, and stood next to the very edge of the lapping waves, John couldn’t be sure what she meant. “All the way down, where?”

  “Underground. We’d need solid rock for a sufficient depth to provide a solid barrier between the tunnel and the sea.”

  “You’re thinking of burrowing a passageway through solid rock? All the way from Castlehead to Sardis?”

  “It wouldn’t do any good to only dig halfway through,” she teased him. Then her expression grew serious. “The underbelly of Rome is crisscrossed with tunnels and catacombs. They precede my father’s rule by hundreds of years. Still, he appreciates them and their usefulness for providing alternate routes in and beyond the city, especially in times of war. And Castlehead needs an alternate route to Sardis. What other option is there?”

  “You would burrow through solid rock?”

  “If this is, indeed, the same type of bedrock that we have under the streets of Rome, you’ll find it’s actually quite soft to dig through, and it hardens when exposed to the air. It’s as though God created it expressly to be tunneled through! How can you turn your back on such a divine invitation?”

  “But how?” John began, wondering if Gisela appreciated the many miles that lay between those two points, and the vast scale of the project she was proposing.

  Gisela placed a hand on his arm. “My father could lend you his best overseers. They know precisely how. All you need to do is tell them where and how fast to dig.” She clapped her hands twice as though encouraging an invisible crew of workmen. Then she hoisted her skirts and started the climb up toward the horses.

  John followed behind her, ready to steady her if she stumbled. She only took his hand once, and that was as she made the final steps onto the softer soil at the top of the ravine.

  They continued on their way to Sardis, where John was greatly encouraged by his meeting with Gregory, who’d been running drills with his men and had a cavalry training with horses. But as they lunched in the officer’s quarters, a flush-faced messenger arrived.

  “Your Majesty.” Martin bowed low. “I was to take this message to you at Castlehead, but since you’re here—”

  “You may deliver the message to me now.” John nodded to Martin to proceed.

  But the messenger hesitated, looking from the king to the men who lined the table with increasing consternation. “Your Majesty?”

  “Is it a private message?” John guessed.

  Relief filled the youth’s features. “Yes, sire. I’m afraid so, sire. And important.”

  John excused himself from the table and pulled Martin into an empty side room. “What is it then?”

  “Rab the Raider has learnt of your brother’s presence in the borderlands. Rumors are swirling in Bern, and our sources tell us that Rab is hatching a plan to target your brother.”

  “Then Luke must withdraw to the safety of Sardis. I’ll put someone else in charge. Luke is heir to the throne. His life cannot be placed in danger.”

  “That’s just it, sire. Luke didn’t send me with this message. Renwick did. He’s argued with your brother. Luke fell back as far as Millbridge, but he won’t budge from there. Renwick can’t reason with him. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.”

  John exhaled slowly and wished Martin’s words were true. Sadly, he doubted his stubborn brother would listen to reason—not even if it came as a direct command from the king.

  John called Gregory and his top men into the side room to consult with him. John would have preferred to have Gisela at his right hand, but given the cramped quarters he found it quite reassuring that she stood directly across the table from him, so that he could watch her reaction as the messenger again relayed the news.

  Captain Gregory growled when the youth finished. “Prince Luke’s life cannot be endangered.”

  “He insists,” Martin explained.

  John hastened to clarify his brother’s position. “Luke has regretted the loss of Bern since the day of my father’s death. He claims that, if he’d been present, we wouldn’t have lost the village.”

  “I’ve made the same claim myself.” Gregory crossed his arms over his chest. “Nonetheless, neither he nor I was there. If we had been, you wouldn’t have been so grievously outnumbered. But all that means nothing in the face of the current threat. If we lose the prince, we’ll be more vulnerable than ever. With Prince Mark off on his journey and long overdue to return, we’d be left with only Elisabette to take the throne after you, Your Majesty. Long liv
e you both, and all, but that’s a tight spot and risk we should try to avoid.”

  “I agree.” John felt an inner quaking at the thought of his little sister on the throne. It was nothing against her gender. Gisela would make a fine leader, but little Elisabette had never known the pressures of leadership, nor did he ever wish to have her face them. John quizzed Martin, “Renwick’s tried talking reasonably with my brother?”

  “He started with reason, sire. When that didn’t work, Renwick threatened to send for you himself. Your brother banished him to guard the far perimeter and said he won’t look at him or listen to anything he says until tomorrow.”

  “Dare we remove Prince Luke from his post by force?” another of Gregory’s commanders asked.

  Gisela shook her head. “His safety is secure only as long as his position remains concealed. The Raider may know Luke is in the area, but if he doesn’t realize already that Luke has fallen back to Millbridge, we can’t risk drawing any attention to his location. I fear any party large enough to compel him to withdraw would, by its very size, give away his position.”

  Gregory let out a long, low whistle. “She’s right. It’s too risky.”

  Martin spoke up. “Renwick said Luke would only listen to the king.”

  “You can’t both be out there!” Gregory threw up his arms. “If Rab the Raider comes for Luke and finds the king as well, it’s the end of Lydia. Simple as that.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right.” John didn’t bother to note that Luke wasn’t likely to obey a direct order, even from the king. “Luke has taken this upon himself. He understands the risks as well as anyone.”

  John had already discussed the state of the troops with Gregory, so he knew they’d been training, but were not yet prepared to launch an offensive attack—not one they could expect to win, anyway. “How soon will your cavalry be ready to face the Raider?”

  “Given the size of the army he’s amassing? I wouldn’t want to face them for another week at least. The longer we have to train, the better the odds of success. I’m loath to send them out now. Not unless we have no other choice.”