A Royal Marriage. Rachelle McCalla
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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.
Chapter Five
John rushed outside looking frantically for Hilda or either of the guards. Were they safe? He could only pray they were. As for his safety, he’d quickly realized he’d be far safer outside than he was in Princess Gisela’s room. Even if the Illyrians had them surrounded, that was preferable to the dangers of getting close to the emperor’s daughter.
At what point had their discussion turned so coy? He reviewed their course of conversation as he trotted around the inn in search of Hilda or the plants she’d gone to find.
With chagrin, he realized he’d been afflicted the moment he’d entered her room and a thousand times more so when he’d taken her hand.
By the time he’d seen the dimples on her cheeks, he’d been utterly smitten.
Was he a fool? Her father was the greatest leader the Holy Roman Empire had ever known. Everyone knew Charlemagne was a zealous family man who adhered strongly to the tenets of the Christian faith.
John embraced those same tenets himself. So how had he let himself get so close to a woman who was promised to another? If they suspected him of any impropriety, he’d have the wrath of both Charlemagne and the Illyrians on his head—and on his kingdom.
“Hilda!” He spotted her making her way up from the river, huffing along carrying a burden he couldn’t identify in the darkness, though she acted as though it was much heavier than his herbs should have been.
“Sire,” the maid wheezed as she made her way up the bank. Her words came out in spurts between gasping breaths. “She took it down to the river to water it.”
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