A Royal Marriage

by Rachelle Mccalla

  The battle within him surged as fiercely as any he’d faced with a sword. Brandishing all his willpower against the longing he felt, he brushed a chaste kiss against her cheek. The impatient clanging of the bells pulled him away.

  “I must go.”

  “My prayers go with you.”

  “You’ll stay?”

  She nodded. “For you.”

  * * *

  Princess Gisela forced a calm smile to her face as she entered the dining hall, where the gathered courtiers had finished their dessert while she and John were in the tower. Most of them had lingered, and now their conversation whirled with the clamoring bells and rumors carried in from the courtyard.

  John hadn’t given her any instructions. He must have guessed she’d know what to do. That, and there wasn’t time for him to waste covering the less-urgent details. His brother’s freedom—even his life—was at stake. Gisela could handle the courtiers. She’d dealt with bigger crowds in Aachen and in Rome.

  She stood at the head of the table and looked down the long rows, waiting for the conversation to die down. Like a ripple of water passing across a pond, silence spread from the head of the table toward the foot, until the roar of voices had diminished enough for her to speak.

  How much would John want her to divulge? Her father had always been adamant about speaking the truth. Unless there was a specific reason why the people shouldn’t know the whole truth, he’d always been determined to give it himself. Much better than letting the people find out via rumor. Not only did his approach solidify his authority, but it engendered trust.

  Would the people trust her? Only if she told them the truth. They’d find out soon enough if she tried to hide any important details.

  “A messenger has brought news of an Illyrian attack on Millbridge.” She let the responding rumble pass while she gathered her thoughts. “The bells you hear call the men to arms. Your king rides out—” A roar of shocked murmurs silenced her.

  She glanced at Bette, whose eyes had gone wide.

  Gisela raised her hand, and the roar of voices eased. “King John and his men ride to recover what they can of the people who were carried off.”

  “Carried off?” Eliab protested loudly. “Who was taken?”

  “Prince Luke.” Gisela named the only person she knew with certainty. The people were getting too stirred up. She had to contain them. “Your king and his men need your prayers. If you will all join me now, let us observe a time of silent prayer while the bells toll.” She sat and dipped her head.

  To her relief, the stunned courtiers more or less did the same. Those who couldn’t contain their chatter fled to the courtyard, where they could hear the king address his men before riding out. Elisabette reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  Gisela squeezed back, grateful for a hand to hold as her heart groaned with silent prayers for the safety of John and his men.

  * * *

  To John’s relief, the men assembled quickly. Moses had been resting since John had taken an alternate horse on his trip with Gisela that morning. The stallion looked eager to ride out. That much was a relief.

  So much had changed, not just inside his heart, but also along the borders. With his brother taken, John felt a surge of gratitude for Gisela’s presence. Granted, if he’d sent her to her betrothed two weeks before, she’d most likely be safe from the dangers Rab the Raider presented.

  But there was no going back in time to change what they’d done, and she’d be safe enough as long as Castlehead wasn’t overtaken. The fortress was the safest place in his kingdom, safer even than the walled city of Sardis. And her presence provided him a more favorable position as he rode out against the Illyrians. By leaving her in charge at Castlehead, he was able to take with him as many men as he had capable horses, emptying the stables and draining the barracks by a significant measure.

  It wasn’t an optimum choice, especially not with the threat of attack. But, save the possibility of a clandestine rescue operation, John couldn’t see how he could get his brother and the civilians from Millbridge away from their captors, unless he could outnumber them.

  With his men clear on the plan, and instructions to those staying behind to respect Princess Gisela’s authority the same as they would respect his, John led his troops in a thunderous wave of hooves across the castle bridge and down the road to battle.

  His heart burned with regrets as he rode. If he’d listened to Luke years before, they might have dealt with the Illyrians and retaken Bern shortly after his father’s death. When Gisela had arrived injured on his shore, he could have gone for the hare’s tongue without risking anything. He could be sitting at his table in Gisela’s company instead of riding out in a desperate bid to save his brother.

  Luke had been right. The thought gripped John’s guilty heart. Luke had understood the need to assert their military might against the Illyrians to prevent just such an attack. Whatever stupidity his brother had engaged in by not deserting his post at the border when he first received word that Rab the Raider had learned of his presence, it didn’t change the fact that John’s decisions had ultimately created the situation.

  If war was inevitable, why hadn’t he taken it on his terms, instead of letting the Illyrians provoke him? True, there would have been fatalities. But they risked fatalities today and left Castlehead vulnerable.

  His fears for Gisela’s safety combined with his regret that they could never be together. And why not? Because of these Illyrians—these warmongering, rift-causing Illyrians. His zealous anger burned against them with a rage fueled by the knowledge that, whatever the result of the battle, Warrick would take Gisela from him.

  When they reached the end of the peninsula, John stopped to address his guards at Sardis, the walled city, the largest population center in his kingdom. He had as many men stationed there as at Castlehead.

  Gregory, the captain of the Sardis Guard, had already heard Renwick’s message when the man had paused there for a fresh horse.

  The captain had a plan ready. “I can hold the city against any assault, even with half the men currently stationed here. I’ve called up the cavalry unit. They’re ready to depart. I’d have sent a rider with Renwick to see him safely to you, but that would only have shorthanded us.”

  John cringed to think that their numbers were so small that the difference of a single rider would matter.

  Gregory continued, “If Sardis is attacked, we’ll go into siege mode. It will be a relief to the city to have the horses outside her walls where they can graze. Let me dispatch half of my riders to accompany you and the other half to return to Castlehead to reinforce the depleted forces there.”

  John appreciated Gregory’s apt assessment, as well as his plan. “I cannot predict what the Illyrians are planning, but I intend to put an end to their plans today.”

  Gregory crossed his arms over his chest. “Put an end to Rab the Raider, Your Majesty—avenge your father’s death! Put an end to Warrick and Garren and their violent rule.”

  “Aye.” John’s sympathies were roused by his captain’s stirring words. “They shall inflict their violence upon our land no more!”

  With a bellowing laugh, Gregory boomed, “Vanquish Rab the Raider and Warrick and Garren, Your Majesty, and my men will write songs in your honor.”

  “I must make haste if I’m to catch them.” John realized the men had gathered thickly, and were listening to his conversation with rapt attention. He quickly dispensed instructions for half the cavalry to accompany him, and another unit to ride back up the peninsula to Castlehead to reinforce Gisela’s depleted guard. He hadn’t felt comfortable leaving her without adequate forces. She had the walls of the castle to protect her, but now she would have the swords and arrows of some of his finest men.

  He could only pray it would be enough.

  Chapter
Thirteen

  “Soldiers approach, Your Highness.” Eliab sounded winded by the walk from the watchtower to the great hall.

  Fear shot through her. “Illyrians?”

  “Lydians, my lady.”

  “King John can’t have completed his mission so soon.”

  “They appear to be a regiment dispatched from Sardis, possibly to reinforce our depleted ranks.”

  Gisela felt rising frustration with the courtier. Why hadn’t he told her as much in the first breath? He’d purposely tried to alarm her. John had warned her that the man didn’t appreciate having anyone younger than himself in authority. No doubt it rankled Eliab doubly to play messenger to a woman.

  Rather than depend on such an unreliable source for information, Gisela rose. “I’ll meet them at the front gate, then.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Which way do they approach?”

  “Toward the front gate, my lady.”

  “Then it would hardly do to head toward the back gate. Although you may take that route if you wish, Eliab.” She nodded at him with a straight face and lifted her skirts to make haste to the front gates.

  She found Elisabette already there, along with Renwick, who was supposed to have been resting after his frantic ride to warn them. He looked disheveled but obviously wasn’t about to sleep through the arrival of soldiers.

  Not knowing any of the approaching men personally, Gisela climbed the gate tower to address the men stationed there. “Do you recognize the men by their faces and not their uniforms? I wouldn’t put it past the Illyrians to try a ruse.”

  “Aye, that’s my brother. I’d recognize his ugly mug in my sleep.” The guard pointed to one of the men, who’d come to a stop before the raised bridge. “And I trained with half the infantrymen in the front row. Should we let them in?”

  “Lower the bridge.”

  As the guard moved to heave the beam, Gisela hurried back down to the courtyard to receive the men. Though she’d met some of the soldiers in Sardis that day, and many had likely attended the fencing tournament, she didn’t know how many would recognize the authority John had given her over the castle. Knowing Eliab’s penchant for usurping power, she felt it best to assert herself before the courtier opened his mouth.

  “What news do you bring from King John?” she asked the commander at their head.

  “He and the cavalry are trying to intercept the Illyrians. King John rides like a man with a fire under his feet. He’ll avenge the death of his father with the death of their princes.”

  Elisabette’s mouth fell open. “My brother is a man of peace. He doesn’t kill for vengeance.”

  Gisela immediately recognized the source of Elisabette’s fear. Unless the girl wanted to give away her own secret, Gisela would need to quiet her quickly. “The commander speaks figuratively, Elisabette. He means only that King John will return in triumph and restore your brother Luke to Lydia.” Surely Bette would recognize that her brother’s safety was more important than the rowdy claims of the warriors.

  But the commander only laughed at Gisela’s retort. “Captain Gregory challenged the king to end the violent rule of Rab the Raider and the Illyrian princes. Our king is a valiant fighter! I’ve no doubt he will end their rule and their lives.”

  “No!” Elisabette shouted. She spun around and ran for the stables.

  “Elisabette!” Much as Gisela wanted to establish her authority over the incoming soldiers, there was nothing for it but to leave them to Eliab while she chased after John’s little sister.

  Fortunately the stables were empty of horses in the wake of the cavalry’s departure, so Elisabette couldn’t do anything rash such as ride off after her brother—which Gisela feared was precisely what Bette wanted to do. “Elisabette!” She caught her by her shoulders and tried to calm her down.

  But the young woman spun around and faced her with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why? Why would he attack Warrick?”

  “Warrick’s family was commissioned with the responsibility of restraining Rab the Raider, the man who killed your father. They haven’t restrained him at all. Elisabette, please understand—your brother Luke has been taken prisoner.”

  “Warrick would never allow harm to befall my brother. He esteems me too highly.”

  “That may well be, but is King John aware of that?” Gisela gripped Elisabette’s shoulders, propping her up as she drooped with distress.

  “No. My brother knows nothing of my love for Warrick, nor of his love for me. Someone’s got to warn him not to hurt Warrick. Send a rider.”

  Gisela closed her eyes and tried to think. They were short enough on men, and shorter still on horses. “We cannot spare the few horses we have. What if we need to send an important message later?”

  “What could be more important than this?”

  “Our lives, Elisabette. If Warrick is among those who mounted the attack at Millbridge, then you must know that he has chosen to take on the inherent risks.”

  But Elisabette’s sobs only grew stronger. “He can’t die! He can’t!”

  With Elisabette’s shouting replaced by muffled sobs, Gisela heard a commotion in one of the empty stable stalls. Realizing with horror that their conversation might have been overheard, Gisela patted Bette’s shoulders. “I don’t think we’re alone,” she whispered.

  The young woman looked up at her with round eyes.

  “Shh.” Gisela tiptoed down the central path, searching the dark empty stalls to see what had caused the noises she’d heard. She recognized two figures whispering in a dark corner. “Hilda! Urias! What are you doing? The Illyrians have attacked and taken Millbridge, and yet you’re in here.”

  Neither of the pair answered. Had they been spying on her? “Go find Eliab,” Gisela told Urias. “Try to keep him out of trouble.” She wasn’t sure what good her instructions would do. The two men were as likely to help one another into mischief as keep each other out of it.

  “Your Highness.” Hilda bowed.

  Gisela took her by the elbow and led her down the stable toward where Elisabette remained. At least the girl hadn’t run off to stop the king. Not yet, anyway.

  “Hilda, I must entreat you with an important mission.”

  “Anything, Your Highness,” the maid promised contritely.

  “Elisabette is in need of your watchful care. As you can tell, she is in some distress.”

  “Yes, I heard—” Hilda began.

  Seeing there was no reason to disguise any of the situation from Hilda—not if she was already privy to every word Bette and Gisela had spoken in the stable—Gisela spoke frankly. “She’s of a mind to take a horse and run into trouble. I can’t blame her for her distress, but neither can I risk having her take off on an expedition that would be dangerous for her and Lydia’s soldiers, as well as the king.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “I appreciate your diligence, Hilda. Now I must attend to the men before they try to make plans without me.”

  * * *

  “Between the tracks and scattered debris, it’s obvious they headed toward Bern.”

  John listened solemnly to the report. The men had ridden half the night to reach Millbridge, which had been in shambles. There had been no sign of life about the place. Only blood spilled on the ground, and that was an ominous sign indeed.

  “Have the men rest here. They haven’t slept all night. I’ll take a scouting party toward Bern. The village was Lydian until four years ago. No doubt the citizens of Millbridge, few as they are, have friends and relatives who’ll watch over them in Bern. I can only assume they were taken to ensure their silence. My brother was undoubtedly the true target. If we can free him, the rest of the people should be safe.”

  “But, sire, what if your attempts to free him are met by an att
ack? The men are worried that we may be walking into a trap.”

  John considered the man’s words. If he located his brother before the full light of day, he might have some chance of freeing him before the Illyrians would think he’d have had time to hear of the attack and respond. They weren’t likely to know that Renwick had alerted him to their activities. He wished to take advantage of the time Renwick had bought him with his valiant ride.

  But at the same time, he didn’t want his men to get close enough to Bern that the Illyrians would realize he’d arrived so quickly. But he needed them close enough to ride to his aid if it came to battle. That was, after all, the reason he’d brought so many horsemen.

  For an instant, John missed Fledge, his falcon. But the last time he’d brought her to the area she’d gone missing for days. He had only his wits and his men and the weapons they’d carried. Somehow, it would have to be enough.

  Reluctant as he was to waste the time it took to make them, John quickly laid out plans to have his men positioned in stages behind him. They needed to be close enough to hasten to his defense should the Illyrians notice him, but not so close that they’d draw that notice themselves. To that end, he stationed three small parties at intervals behind him, each with a pyre and dry tinder wood.

  If they needed reinforcement, they’d light their fires. The men at Millbridge would be watching. The moment they saw smoke, they were to hasten to his aid. What happened then would be any man’s guess. John suspected the Illyrians outnumbered them still. Worse yet, he didn’t want to engage a battle too close to the village of Bern itself for fear of injuring his people. Though he needed his men to be ready to fight, King John preferred to accomplish his mission without them—without shedding any blood, if possible.