“Our only other choice is to allow my brother to follow his own judgment and trust he understands the risks he’s undertaken.” John dismissed the men. “We’ll leave it at that and respond as we must.”
After the others filed from the room Gregory took King John to the side. “Your Majesty, I know it is not my place to advise you—”
“You’re a captain of my guard. I welcome your advice.”
“It’s not a strictly military matter, sire, but it is one of national importance. I know you said after your wife died that you wouldn’t marry another, but given Mark’s long absence and Luke’s reckless choices, I beg you to reconsider for the sake of the future of Lydia. You’ve been a good king to us, but your legacy is only as strong as your heir.”
John looked into the man’s earnest brown eyes. Gregory had served the kingdom well, both under his father, and even under his grandfather. The man was wise in ways John could only begin to appreciate. He understood the importance of the royal line. And he’d risked a royal reprimand to speak out for the good of Lydia.
“Thank you, Gregory. I have given much thought of late to my previous vow.” John glanced through the open doorway. Gisela waited for him at the far end of the next room, watching him patiently. “And I would consider doing something about it, if I could.”
Gregory’s brow bunched. “If you could? You’re the king.”
“There are some rules even a king must follow.” John decided it was past time to end the discussion and clapped the captain on the arm. “Keep me informed of every development at the border. Have your men ready to ride should the need arise but pray for peace.”
“Always, Your Majesty.”
Chapter Twelve
Gisela left King John to his thoughts as they traveled back to Castlehead. She knew he carried a heavy burden. The situation at the border troubled her, as well. If she’d had a solution, she’d have offered it to him, but the only hope she could see was for Lydia to hold off the Illyrians until her father responded to her message. She wished she’d told Boden to ask the emperor for an army, but that hadn’t seemed necessary two weeks before.
And it was far too late to amend the message. If Boden had found favorable winds and avoided the blades of the Saracens, he’d be in port at Rome already.
“We’ll be back in time for the evening meal,” Gisela noted as the Lydian royal castle fell into view at the horizon.
“Yes.” John sighed. “I’m sorry you’ve become entangled in Lydia’s problems.”
“Me? I arrived uninvited, and I’ve been nothing but a burden to you.”
“A burden? Far from it!”
“This trouble stems from my arrival. If Boden had sailed us straight to the Dometians, Lydia would not be on the brink of war.”
“You’d be dead,” John stated flatly. “Lydia might have been granted a meager extension of peace, but without your marriage to Warrick to unite east and west, the church might someday be split and Lydia would become a battleground between two empires. Captain Gregory noted something at the end of our meeting.” John fell silent, musing.
“What did he note?” Gisela prompted as they neared the castle gates.
“It was a reference to the long-term leadership of Lydia. His words gave me reason to look beyond our immediate concerns, to the future. The current situation at our borders, important as it may seem, is not nearly as critical as the long-term survival of the church.”
John didn’t explain further, and Gisela didn’t ask him to. Their proximity to the castle made it possible for their conversation to be overheard by anyone on the wall. Besides that, John didn’t seem to have quite made up his mind about whatever was troubling him. She trusted that he’d share with her any decision he made that might influence her.
* * *
John felt grateful to Gisela for choosing to chat with Elisabette over dinner, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He’d nearly made up his mind earlier and now could see no way around it. Gisela would have to be sent to Warrick now, ahead of any response from her father. The instability along the border demanded it.
With chagrin, he realized the only reason he’d allowed her to stay so long was because he wanted her near. That, and he’d trusted her insistence on staying until her father had a chance to reply to her message. In light of the feelings she’d confessed having for him, he now suspected her decision to stay in Lydia might have more to do with her interest in him personally than in any objective political goals.
It wasn’t that he doubted her sincerity in maneuvering to see Rab the Raider punished. Rather, he doubted anyone as prominent as the Emperor Charlemagne would go out of his way to punish a man whose crime four years before made so little difference to the security of the Holy Roman Empire. Surely Charlemagne had far more pressing issues to attend to. If he bothered to intervene at all, it would likely only be to fetch Gisela and deliver her to Warrick himself, with only a chastisement to Lydia for their role in her delay.
John would have to send Gisela away.
She wouldn’t like it. He didn’t like it. But she was a reasonable woman who loved the church. She’d already agreed not to act on the love between them. He’d heard from her own lips that the peace of the church was far more important than her personal happiness.
And it wasn’t as though there was anything to be gained by letting her remain in Lydia any longer. It only increased his affection for her and made it that much harder for him to imagine sending her away. She had to leave as soon as possible.
He would tell her tonight.
* * *
Gisela reached for the gold cup just as John’s hand moved toward it.
“After you.” He ceded the cup to her.
She hesitated to take it. “Your deference exceeds my worthiness.”
“Hardly.” The king shook his head, his disposition as morose as she had ever seen it.
She understood there was much of late to trouble him, but his disposition still bothered her. “Would you like to discuss what has you so sullen tonight?”
“We do need to talk. They’re about to serve dessert. Shall we leave now or after?”
Gisela glanced down the table. None of the courtiers appeared to require their presence, and she doubted they’d be offended if they snuck away so late in the meal. “Now.”
John grabbed the recently filled glass and led her out the back door of the great hall. As they stepped past a server bearing tarts toward the hall, John handed Gisela the cup and snagged two raspberry-filled desserts. Then he led her up the stairs to the tallest tower where Fledge and her new mate had been roosting.
Beady eyes sparkled down at them through the near darkness.
“It’s only me,” John announced to the birds. “Take no heed.”
A red glimmer of sunlight reflected off the most western strip of the sea. Save for that, night had fallen. Already the first stars appeared in the east.
Gisela shivered as the cool autumn air cut through the thin silk sleeves of her gown.
John wrapped one arm around her as he delivered one of the tarts into her hands. “Are you cold?”
“Not anymore.” She thanked him for the pastry and nibbled at the corner. “You pamper me.”
“Hardly. You’re the emperor’s daughter. Many would assume a princess is used to being pampered.”
“I believe princesses are born to serve. That’s how I was raised. You must know I’m not used to all this attention, sitting at the head of the table and drinking from a gold cup.” She took a sip before finishing her thoughts. “In Rome as in Aachen, I am one of many princesses, and a lesser one at that. But you treat me as though...” Her words trailed off as she fought to find the words that could describe the way John made her feel.
John finished off his tart with one last bite and swallowed before
speaking. “Do you feel as though I place your well-being ahead of my own?”
“Yes.” She realized with a guilty pang that the king had been placing her needs above his own from the moment her ship had set anchor off the Lydian shore.
“Good. I must make a request of you. Please know that, while it may pain you, I make it for your own well-being and the continued safety of all you hold dear.”
Gisela heard the heavy sorrow that John so often suppressed now rising to the forefront. She wished to ease his grief, but no matter how many times she’d made him laugh, it was always present in the depths of his heart. She’d do anything to rid him of its plague forever. “Please tell me your thoughts.”
“I hardly know where to begin.”
Having been curious about what Gregory had told John since the moment she’d observed them speaking together and having her curiosity further piqued by John’s later reference to their conversation, Gisela asked, “What did Captain Gregory say to you after our meeting?”
Something akin to apology or regret simmered in his eyes. “That I should father an heir.”
“Oh, no. Did he?” The words twisted her already-hurting heart.
John’s shoulder rose behind her as he sighed. “Two weeks ago I would have told him he’d overstepped his bounds. But you’ve helped me to realize my allegiances lie on this side of the grave. My duties as king lie to the future, not the past.”
Gisela felt her heart thumping desperately inside her. She wished he’d get on with what he was trying to say, but at the same time, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear it.
“I realized,” John continued, “I’ve been selfish. From a purely strategic standpoint, given the current political situation—” he heaved a sigh “—and the likelihood of war...”
Gisela turned in his arms until she could just make out his features in the dying light. Deep sorrow etched its way across his furrowed brow.
“Oh, John.” She reached up and traced his cheek with her palm, then laced her fingers back through his loose dark hair.
He bowed his head until his nose touched her forehead. “You oughtn’t run your fingers through my hair like that.”
“Isn’t it proper?” She pulled her hand back.
“No, it isn’t fair. I want to undo your braids and let your golden hair fly free. I want to bury my face in it and kiss each silken strand.”
“I’d let you.” The words leaped from her mouth almost before she realized she’d thought of them.
“Prince Warrick would never approve.”
“He’s not here. Does it really matter?”
“It’s all that matters.” John heaved a long sigh, and the light that had sparkled briefly in his eyes as she’d touched his face now dimmed to solemn darkness. “That’s why I must ask you to go to him now.”
“To Warrick?” A sob rose through her and nearly choked off the words. “But my father hasn’t—”
“It’s an excuse. We both know it’s an excuse. If you go to your betrothed, there is some chance you may convince him to discipline Rab the Raider. Every minute we wait for your father, my brother’s life is in danger. And not just his. All of Lydia.”
Gisela’s arms tightened around John’s waist. His words fell like shackles, clasping her tight and stealing her freedom. A surging sob rose up through her and she pressed her face against his leather tunic to bury the sound.
“I wouldn’t ask you to go,” he whispered close to her ear, “but it’s where you were bound before you met me. You’d have been there by now if I hadn’t held you back.” He caressed her back gently. “I hate to cause you pain but I can see no other route. If you stay in Lydia and the Illyrians attack, you might be accidentally killed. If I saw any other option—”
“No, I agree.” She moaned softly. “You’re right. The pain I feel is only that which I have brought upon myself. My decision to send Boden away without me was a hasty one and a selfish one. I see now that, in spite of the justice I claimed to seek, truly I sought to put off the time of my own leaving, to extend my time with you. If I’d have gone, I would never have known the depth of heartache I now feel. This is the penance I must pay for my selfishness.”
“No, the guilt is all mine,” John protested. “I could have easily called Boden back. It would have been nothing for me to send you with him. But I didn’t want to send you away. I knew you weren’t mine, yet I sought to keep you.” His arms clasped her tighter. “I seek to keep you still. How will I ever find the strength to send you away?”
Hardly had the question left his lips than the distant sound of pounding hooves clattered toward them, and a cry came up from a watchtower. “A rider approaches!”
“Friend or foe?” another voice called out.
“Friend!” The answer carried from the rider. “Renwick, with a message for the king!”
“Martin left Renwick with Prince Luke at Millbridge this morning.” John turned and pulled Gisela behind him as he leaped for the stairs.
“How did he reach us so quickly?” She trailed him as he made his rapid descent.
“If he ran at a full gallop the whole way and caught a fresh horse in Sardis, he could make the journey in under three hours.” John paused at the base of the stairs before leaping down the right-hand hall. “He made just such a ride to carry the news of my father’s death at Bern.”
Gisela followed, wondering what message would have prompted Renwick to make such a hard ride. They reached the gate just as Renwick slid trembling from his froth-covered horse.
“Catch your breath, Renwick,” King John encouraged him.
“Prince Luke, sire.” Renwick sucked in gasping breaths as he spoke. “He was taken. Wounded. Along with all of Millbridge. The Illyrians, sire.” He shook his head. “They outnumbered us three to one.”
* * *
John felt his face quickly lose its color. He couldn’t let the men and gathering courtiers see his response, or they’d become distraught, and a courtyard full of distraught courtiers would only slow him down.
He quickly quizzed Renwick for details. “Is my brother alive? Where have they taken them?”
“Your brother was alive when I left to carry the message. I’m sorry if I fled, Your Majesty, but if I hadn’t they’d have only captured me, too, and then it might have been days before you knew.”
“You made the right choice.” John felt his anger with the Illyrians rising. “Was Rab the Raider among them?”
“I can only assume he was. I didn’t get a close look, I’m afraid. Prince Luke had sent me to the most distant guard.” He shook his head with regret.
“I heard about that,” John assured him. “I apologize for my brother’s rash decision, but it may have been God’s good providence that spared you to bring us word.”
“They circled around by way of the bridge and struck in silence. By the time I heard the commotion there was nothing I could do.”
“Did they leave many dead?”
“I cannot say. I didn’t linger. The moment I saw that your brother was being carried off—” His voice broke.
“You did well to carry the news swiftly, Renwick.” John clapped the guard on the shoulder. “I must gather a band and ride. If we make haste, we’ll reach Millbridge before morning.”
“But they aren’t there anymore,” Renwick protested.
Gisela took John’s side. “It doesn’t matter. If we’ve any hope of reclaiming them, they’ll have to be intercepted on the road. If they reach a proper Illyrian village, worse yet, if they’re taken to a fortress...” She let the implied threat in her words go unspoken.
John felt grateful that she understood his plans so readily. But he also needed to make perfectly clear that he had no intention of letting her accompany him. He thought quickly, dismissing Renwick to rest before instructing the m
en who’d gathered to muster the troops.
Once he’d provided the officers with their initial instructions, he took Gisela’s hand, speaking quickly as he hurried back to his suite for his armor. He might have sent a servant for it, but it gave him an excuse to speak to Gisela alone. “I’d like to leave you in charge of Castlehead while I’m away.”
“Why? I have no authority here, and your courtiers know it. You’ll need every sword you can get if you’re going to rescue your brother.”
“You understand the situation as well as anyone, and I trust your judgment. The men will recognize your authority far more than they’d respect anything my sister says. And you know I don’t want to leave Eliab and Urias in charge.”
“Why not?”
“You’re right when you say I need every sword I can get. But I can’t leave Castlehead undefended, and that’s precisely where you come in. My councilmen have met with you these many days. They respect you. The men watched you fight in the tournament. Some of them even lost to you. If you have to defend my fortress, they’ll recognize your authority.”
“Do you really think the Illyrians would attack here?”
“They had to have a reason for taking my brother alive. If they meant to draw me out, I may be walking into a trap, or more likely, leaving Castlehead vulnerable to attack.”
“But wouldn’t they strike Sardis first?”
“They’ll strike wherever they think they’re least expected, and they’ll do it at the worst possible time for us. That’s here and now. I hate to burden you with the responsibility, but someone has to look after my sister and my courtiers, and you’re the only one who can do it.”
“Any of your ranking guards could do it. You don’t want me with you because you’re afraid I’ll get hurt.”
John couldn’t deny her words. He heard the bells toll, sounding the alarm pattern that called the men to arms. John needed to be ready to address his men.
He caressed her face gently with his palm. “You read me far too well. It’s much too dangerous to send you to Illyria now, not with Rab’s men already on the move. And I won’t take the risk of allowing you to ride out with me. Indulge me this once, then, I beseech you. Please guard my home and my sister? With Luke taken, they are all I have left.” He bent close, knowing that to kiss her was to risk falling even deeper in love, to risk encroaching on Warrick’s rightful claim.
A Royal Marriage Page 17