Читать книгу A Royal Marriage - Rachelle McCalla - Страница 12

Chapter Four

His arms no longer held her. Gisela shivered, so much colder now that his strong arms were gone. She heard a voice, but it wasn’t the deep, comforting voice of the man who’d protected her. It was Hilda’s voice. The woman’s scent was far more like boiled cabbage than the woodsy, manly scent she’d grown so fond of.

“Where?” She found her voice after a surprising struggle. “Where has he gone?”

“Who, my lady? King John?”

At the sound of his name, Gisela felt her tension ease. Memories returned and chased away the empty darkness. That’s right. King John had kept her safe. His arms had held her so tenderly and so securely. She shivered, missing his warmth. “Yes—King John. Where?” The strain of speaking silenced her question before she could articulate every word.

“Easy now, Your Highness.” Hilda patted her hand. “The king must see to his men. They’ve posted a watch. I don’t know if he can spare a moment for you. Would you like me to ask him?”

Gisela struggled to consider the question. Would she like Hilda to ask King John to see her? She imagined she must look awful. Likely she was in no condition to receive a visitor. And yet, she wanted so much to hear his voice and to feel his strong arms again. Her shivering continued uncontrollably. Could King John ease her fever? They’d called him a healer.

“Yes, please. Ask for him.”

* * *

“Patrol the entire perimeter,” John advised his men. “Don’t neglect the far bank of the river. The Illyrians could easily cross the bridge past the mill or ford the creek upstream and catch us by surprise. We can’t risk that. If they attack with more men...” He shook his head, letting the threat linger unspoken. He could see in the eyes of his men that they understood how outnumbered they were.

In any other situation, he’d have fallen back, emptying the settlement of Millbridge of its inhabitants and fleeing under the cover of darkness to the walled protection of the city of Sardis.

But Sardis was too far away. They didn’t have the luxury of falling back tonight. Princess Gisela had already suffered far more than she should have. He couldn’t risk trying to move her, not after all she’d been through, not even if they tried to keep her comfortable on the litter.

Besides, litters traveled slowly. If they were overtaken on the road without even the walls of the inn to protect them, the Illyrians would finish them off swiftly. Prince Luke would have the war he’d wanted, but it would be on two fronts: with Illyria by land and the entire Roman Empire by sea.

Lydia would be obliterated.

“Do nothing to provoke them,” John cautioned the men. “Even if they attack, don’t fight back unless they threaten the inn itself. Do you understand?”

The men nodded solemnly, and the two appointed for the first shift headed out to patrol. John turned to consult with Renwick but was surprised by a female voice behind him.

“Your Majesty? The princess is asking for you.”

Warm feelings flooded him. Their suddenness and intensity only increased the guilt he felt after kissing Gisela’s forehead, but he couldn’t stay away if she needed him. He’d hoped to survey the area now that he’d changed into dry clothes borrowed from the innkeeper, but the emperor’s daughter would have to come first. She might not be awake for long.

John hurried after the maid, dismissing Renwick. “Try to get some sleep. You and I will have the next watch.”

He entered the private room where the princess lay resting in fresh, dry clothing her maid had brought. Hilda had pulled Gisela’s long hair from its braid. He could see the comb she’d been using to untangle its vast matted wetness. The golden color glowed in the flickering lamplight.

So did her feverish skin. Everything around her eye was still swollen, but at least the herbs were still packed in place where they could do their work.

“Your Highness?”

Princess Gisela turned at the sound of his voice. Relief erased the tension from her features just before a convulsive shiver ran through her.

“Are you feeling worse?” He rushed to her side and felt her face. It was burning hot. Had he imagined it, or was her fever slightly less intense than it had been on the road? Surely the cold river waters had diminished it somewhat, but he couldn’t risk pressing his lips to her again just to be certain. “What can I do for you?”

“I—I’m—” even her voice shuddered as chills quaked through her “—so cold.” Her jaw quivered.

John addressed the maid. “We need more blankets. Tell Renwick to peel the curtains from the litter, if necessary. We’ve got to keep her warm. She’ll waste all her strength shivering otherwise.”

Her fingers felt icy cold as she found his hand, clinging to it as though for dear life.

“S-so c-c-c-old.”

John scooped her up in the crook of his arm until she sat beside him. He pulled her against him and tried to still her shivers. Hilda headed for the open door, her efforts focused more on fretting than carrying out his instructions.

“Ask the innkeeper’s wife to bring hot water. We’ll have to soak Her Highness’s feet. If they’re half as cold as her hands, they must be like ice.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Hilda lingered in the doorway wringing her hands.

“Hurry!”

The woman startled and leaped through the door.

It was only after she’d gone that John realized he should have run the errands himself. But he couldn’t leave the princess now. She’d burrowed against his shoulder. Her violent tremors stilled until she merely trembled against him, her feverish breaths even against his neck.

With the pack of herbs still tied tight against her eyelid, there was little he could do but hold her and try to keep her shivering to a minimum. “Is there anything you’d like me to do for you, Your Highness?”

The princess had grown so still in his arms, her shivering reduced to mere quivering, that John wondered for a moment if she hadn’t lapsed out of consciousness again. But then she clenched his hand more tightly and whispered, “Don’t leave me.”

The sincerity of her plea, voiced in such a faint whisper, doused him with an overwhelming desire to see her safely through this ordeal. She was more than just a political pawn, an inconvenience whose arrival might bring war upon his peaceful kingdom.

She was also a woman whose rare bravery had saved her ship. She didn’t deserve to die in return for the good she’d done. An unfamiliar fascination pulled at him. If he could do so without awakening further the emotions buried inside him, he’d like to learn more about the remarkable daughter of the emperor. But in order for that to happen, she’d have to survive the night.

* * *

Gisela clutched at the coarse fabric of King John’s tunic. This wasn’t the same chain mail habergeon he’d worn over leather garments when she’d ridden with him earlier.

But he was still the same man, his woodsy scent already chasing away the boiled cabbage odor that had trailed through the open door after Hilda. His deep accent lilted pleasantly as he promised to stay by her side, to see her through her injuries until she’d recovered.

A sense of peace seeped past her fever as he held her securely, promising to do all he could to ease her pain. She’d have to be certain her father compensated King John for his selfless assistance.

As her chills subsided, she managed to find her voice. “I can’t see.”

“Your injury has swollen your eyes shut. When the infection subsides we’ll be able to assess the damage, but from what I’ve seen, the blade missed your eye. You should retain your vision.”

Relief eased the last of her shivers. She relaxed as her fear of living as a blind woman subsided with the king’s assurances. After all, Warrick, the Illyrian prince she’d been betrothed to marry, would likely frown on the idea of taking a blind woman for a wife—not when he could have his pick of unblemished women.

Again, she found herself wondering what King John looked like. Was he as handsome as Hilda’s inflection had led her to believe? He certainly had a beautiful spirit and a kind disposition. She could only imagine his physical features would match his generous soul.

But what did he think of her? Concern over the festering wound forced words to her trembling lips. “Will I be ugly?”

The question came out bluntly, but to her relief King John took no offense. “The natural fold of your eyelid should disguise the scar. I may be able to suture the gash as it heals to minimize its appearance.”

Gratitude welled inside her, but in her feverish state, she couldn’t find the words to express her thankfulness. Silence stretched between them. Warmed by his presence, her shivers abated and she felt a measure of her strength return.

The king continued in a musing voice, as though almost to himself, “Not that such a little thing could diminish your remarkable beauty.”

“You’re already in my good graces, King John. Don’t trouble yourself flattering me.”

He straightened at her suggestion. “I didn’t realize you were still awake. You had relaxed so.” He sighed. “That wasn’t empty flattery, Princess. You are as lovely a woman as I have ever seen. Your Illyrian prince is a fortunate man. And I will consider myself equally fortunate if your fever erases all memory of this conversation.”

“I think my fever is easing, Your Majesty.”

He touched her face. “Perhaps it is. And I hear Hilda approaching with your blankets, so I’ll give you my leave before I embarrass myself further.” Gently, as though he feared she might break, King John eased himself away from her, tucking blankets up as far as her chin and instructing her maid about soaking her feet.

Warmth spread up Gisela’s legs as Hilda dipped first her toes, then, by stages, her whole feet into the heated water.

And yet, as she heard John’s footsteps retreating down the hall, Gisela couldn’t suppress a cold shiver, missing him.

* * *

John rubbed his temples as he fled from Princess Gisela’s bedside. He was tired. He’d been through a great deal and still had a long night ahead of him.

Still, that was no excuse for the way he’d let down his guard, speaking aloud words better left only in his thoughts. The princess must think he was full of empty flattery!

He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. He might have been caught muttering far worse, especially with the threat of war foisted upon them. But he knew his lapse rankled him precisely because it was the worst possible thing the royal woman could have heard him utter. Ever since his wife’s death three years before, he had taken great pains to make it perfectly clear to everyone in his kingdom that he had no interest in taking another wife.

Even after so long, the eligible maidens and their eager parents were only now beginning to believe him. If it became known that he’d heaped flattering words upon the emperor’s daughter, people might think he’d changed his mind about not wanting a woman. And with the princess obviously unavailable, he’d be back to discouraging eager females again.

But Princess Gisela was the only one who’d heard him. Was there any way he could beg her not to repeat what he’d said?

Not without revisiting it. And if there was any hope that she might not remember his words, he wasn’t about to remind her of them.

Unless she gave him the impression that she remembered, after all.

John rubbed his temples again as he fled outdoors, grateful for the relative cool after the distressing warmth of the feverish princess.

He’d passed Renwick’s sleeping form in the main hall of the inn, and so sought out his men patrolling the perimeter. He could only pray the Illyrians would think better of launching an assault. At the very least, they might postpone their attack until the Frankish princess was safely ensconced in the queen’s tower, the most securely buttressed point of the fortress at Castlehead.

The thought of further harm coming to her filled him with cold dread. Obviously his reaction was due to their political entanglements. She was under his protection now and would remain so until he could hand her off to her betrothed or until her father sent a more substantial escort than the wounded ship with its inexperienced captain.

Assuming, of course, she survived long enough for that to happen.

* * *

As the warm blankets and heated water chased her chills away and the cool herbs above her eye purged the poison of infection, Gisela’s thoughts began to make more sense, except for one thing.

She missed the king’s presence.

It was odd. She’d never been one to rely on any specific person to make her feel better. Her mother had died when she was a toddler, her father was a busy man and she had enough siblings, half siblings and servants that for most of her life she hadn’t concerned herself much about who was around. It had been enough to know that there were plenty of people nearby and that they all cared for her with more or less equal devotion.

It was a strange sensation, wanting a particular person present, even though between Hilda and the innkeeper’s wife bustling about offering her blankets and hot tea, she might have preferred to be left alone.

She told herself she simply wanted King John near so he could monitor her injury. And of course, she felt she could trust him.

But it wasn’t as though she distrusted her middle-age maid or the innkeeper’s wife.

Still, the inexplicable longing wouldn’t go away.

“Is he coming back?”

“Is who coming back, Your Grace?” Hilda’s voice sounded haggard, and Gisela realized the woman would have normally been snoring for hours by this time of night.

“King John.”

“He just left not so long ago. I imagine he has matters to attend to.”

“I see. Of course.” Gisela resolved to rest and forget about the king. “Don’t bother about the heated water, Hilda. You need your sleep.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

As Hilda settled onto the other mattress, it occurred to Gisela that, really, someone ought to fetch the king to look at her injury again before her maid went to sleep. Otherwise, assuming the innkeeper’s wife didn’t return (and she’d been gone long enough, Gisela supposed she’d retired for the night), there wouldn’t be anyone to fetch the king, if she needed him.

“Hilda? Could you please ask the king to check my injury one last time?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The maid heaved herself to her feet and shuffled past.

Gisela listened to the sounds of the night and wished she could see, but the swath of fabric that secured the herbs to her eyelid stretched across both of her eyes. Whether she’d be able to open even the left one without it, she wasn’t certain.

The minutes crawled by slowly. Gisela had tried so hard to ignore her fears, but in the dark silence they taunted her with every unfamiliar noise. Without her sight she was particularly vulnerable, especially alone. Had she been unwise to send Hilda to fetch the king? Worse yet, what if the king and his guards were in the middle of some vital operation and Hilda stumbled into it?

Gisela wasn’t entirely clear on the events that had preceded her arrival at the inn, but she’d caught enough of the discussion through her fever to deduce that they were in danger from enemy war scouts in the area. Was King John needed outside more urgently than she needed him inside?

Had she exposed them to danger through her selfish request? And why did she feel so strongly about seeing the king again?

* * *

“Your Majesty?”

John turned at the sound of Hilda’s voice, instantly concerned. The maid should be at Princess Gisela’s bedside, not out here by the river, looking for him. He darted downstream, speaking softly before she called out for him again. “Yes, Hilda?”

“She’s asking for you again.”

A wave of relief hit him with force, followed by an almost euphoric joy he attributed to happiness that the princess was well enough to speak. Certainly it had nothing to do with her request to see him. She only needed his medical knowledge—not anything more personal than that.

Still, he hurried after the maid, fearful that she’d already left the princess unguarded for long minutes while she’d been out searching for him. John had traveled upstream, expanding the search perimeter looking for signs that the Illyrians might have forded the creek.

The darkness had yielded no sign of them. He passed the other two guards on his way to the inn and was relieved to see them patrolling attentively.

Hilda panted as she held her oil lamp aloft and led him into the low-beamed private room.

“Did you find him?” Gisela asked.

Realizing the princess had heard her maid but was unable to see him, John hastened forward and scooped up her hand. “I’m here.”

A smile spread across her lips and the anxiety fled from her features.

John found the expression contagious and couldn’t help grinning back. Certainly his relief stemmed from finding her responsive—from finding her alive at all. He’d not stopped praying for her since he’d left her bedside.

He pressed his hand to her forehead. To his immense relief, her fever had already begun to abate, even from its reduced state when he’d left her last.

“Hilda? Where are the herbs I brought in my pack?”

“I gave them to the innkeeper’s wife, Your Majesty. She was going to put them in a pot.”

Instantly alarmed, John snapped, “She can’t cook with them! The princess is still in a precarious state. I need those herbs—they must be fresh!”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean a cooking pot. She was going to plant them in soil to keep them alive, sire. That’s all. Shall I fetch some?”

Mollified by her reassurances, John softened his tone. “Please, if you can find them, bring me the whole pot. I’ll pick what I need.”

“Yes, sire.” Hilda shuffled past him, taking her oil lamp with her, leaving him only one sputtering flame to see by.

“I’m sorry if she interrupted your patrol.” The princess looked repentant.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize. I’ve seen no sign of the Illyrians, and my guards are actively patrolling. In any case, your condition is of paramount importance. I’m glad you asked for me before your maid retired for the night. I was hoping to change your bandages again and refresh the herbs. They seem to be helping.”

“Yes. I’m feeling more alert and less feverish already.”

“Good,” John said, though he felt a prickle of distress that she might remember the words he’d spoken earlier when he hadn’t expected her to hear. His mouth dry, he posed a tentative question. “Have you been awake since...” His words dropped off as he tried to think of the best way to pose his question.

“Since you heaped flattering words upon me?” Princess Gisela’s slight grin told him she was teasing him.

His heart stuttered at being caught, then an unfamiliar thrill of relief rippled through him. The princess wasn’t upset. In spite of her continued fever, she was playing with him.

King John wasn’t used to lighthearted repartee. Few were the men in his kingdom who would dare to jibe with him. His brother Luke was far too serious in demeanor, and his brother Mark was away on a journey. That left only his little sister, Elisabette, and though she’d once enjoyed nothing more than goading him to laughter, the girl was growing into a woman and leaving her playful ways behind.

Gisela’s smile spread across pearly teeth. “I haven’t forgotten, Your Majesty, though I struggle to understand your embarrassment. Your compliments were quite kind, considering my condition.”

“I hadn’t meant to be heard. I would appreciate it if you keep those comments to yourself. I can’t have anyone thinking that I...” John tried to think of an appropriate way to express what he meant without making the situation worse.

“That you revere the emperor’s daughter for her beauty?” Gisela finished his statement for him. “It is well-known that Lydia is a Christian nation. My father’s empire is Christian, as well. We do not worship our leaders as some nations do. That fact is well-known. I doubt anyone would misinterpret your words, but since you’ve requested that I not repeat them, I shall refrain from doing so.”

Relieved as he was by her promise, John didn’t bother to correct her interpretation. Everything she’d said was quite true, other than her guess at his reason for making the request. And he wasn’t about to correct her on that, since it would require him to explain feelings he neither wanted nor understood.

John hastened to change the subject. “Assuming Hilda is able to find my herbs, I’d like to change your compress. Do you mind if I remove the bandages?”

“Please do. I feel as though the swelling has gone down, and I’m curious to discover whether I can open my left eye.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise.” John began tugging at the knot that bound the herbs in place. “You ought not strain yourself too soon.”

“But how will I know...” The princess began hesitantly as a coy smile graced her lips.

“How will you know what?” The knot came free at last, and John eased the bandage away from her eyes. The crust of infection that sealed her lids shut had trapped even her left eyelashes. “Don’t try to open your eyes just yet,” he cautioned her. “Let me use a warm compress to soften the film.”

The pot of steaming water had cooled somewhat, but John found it still warm enough for his purposes. He dipped a soft rag into the boiled water and pressed it gently against her left eye.

“Does that hurt?”

“It’s soothing.” Her demeanor had grown more serious.

John found himself longing for her to toy with him again. It was a silly thing to fancy, but it made his heart feel far lighter than he could recall it feeling in recent memory. “If you can see,” he adopted a serious tone, “what is it you want to know?”

The smile returned to her face, this time with an impish dimple that winked at him from high on her cheek. He hadn’t noticed it before because the bandage had obscured it. Now he instantly wished to see it again.

“I would like to see—” the dimple flashed at him, then disappeared as the princess matched his tone in mock-seriousness “—if the king who heaps such flattery upon me has a face that begs for accolades as well.”

“I cannot answer that, but you may find out for yourself in a moment.”

* * *

Gisela’s heart beat as rapidly as it had at any time during the height of her fever. She wasn’t usually so bold in her chatter, certainly not with near strangers, although in feasting season her father’s household was filled to the rafters with joking and jesting, and several of her brothers prided themselves in their skill at exchanging jibes.

She was no match for them, but there was something about King John’s otherwise melancholy spirit that challenged her to make him smile. And after her long journey holed up in a ship’s cabin to keep her away from improprietous sailors, she was ready to accept that challenge with gusto. Uncertain as she was about his physical appearance, she had nonetheless long believed that a smile improved the features of any person.

Besides, when she heard the sadness in his voice, all she could think about was easing his sorrow, if only for a moment.

“There.” John dabbed gently at her left eye. “The light is not well, but if you can open just your left eye, we’ll see what you can see.”

Cautiously, taking care not to disturb her injured right eyelid, Gisela lifted her left eyelid until she could just make out the yellow glow of the oil lamp. She let out a relieved breath, grateful that she still retained the ability to see. Then she lifted the lid a little farther and turned her head to the place where John’s voice had last sounded.

It took a moment for her vision to focus. Then she saw him dipping the rag he’d used in the pot of warm water and wringing it out carefully before turning to face her. Dark hair revealed that he was young for a king—young enough that no gray hairs discolored his ebony locks.

And he was handsome. As he bent over her, she was able to get a better look and felt a smile spread across her lips in spite of her best efforts to stop it. Had she ever seen a more handsome man? Not with only one eye, that was for certain. She could only imagine he’d look even better when she saw him with both eyes.

King John’s serious expression lightened. “Why are you grinning?”

“I can see you.” She felt herself blushing and wished she could think of a lighthearted jab to cover her reaction at seeing him for the first time. But all she could think of was the way his arms had felt around her earlier. Her blush deepened.

His expression sobered again. “I wonder what’s become of Hilda.”

The giddy delight she felt while looking at him was quickly replaced by fear for her maid’s safety. How long had Hilda been gone? Gisela realized she’d been so distracted by her conversation with the king that she’d lost all track of time.

John set aside the bandages. “I’ll go look for her.”

“Is it safe?”

“For me to leave or for you to be left alone?”

“Either.”

“Safe enough. Try to rest. I should be back soon to redress that eye.” He darted away quickly, almost as though he was in a hurry to be gone from her side.