his band plucked him up and carried him off, but...” Renwick sucked in a breath. Though technically a messenger, Renwick had seen his fair share of battle. He’d ridden with John the day his father died. “It didn’t look good.”
John clapped his hands over Renwick’s forearms and addressed him with greater severity than he’d intended. “Pray that man doesn’t die.”
Renwick winced. “What should I tell the men, sire?”
“Give them my thanks. They did as they were told. They saved my life.”
“And the Frankish princess?”
John shook his head morosely, guilt from his confused feelings swirling with his prayers for her recovery. “Pray for her, as well. If we lose her, we won’t just have the Illyrians to worry about, but the Holy Roman Empire.” He continued to the stairs, the war he’d tried so hard to avoid dogging his every step.
His men looked up at the sound of his boots, their faces drawn with concern.
John offered them a forced smile and held up his hand. “The Frankish princess lives, for now at least—with many thanks to all of you.”
“Sire,” one man spoke up, “we wounded an Illyrian.”
“So I’ve heard. We’ll post a double guard around the inn tonight and dispatch riders to Castlehead to explain the situation to Luke. He’ll need to increase his guard, as well.”
“But, sire,” one of the guards protested, “there are only five of us. If you send two men, there will only be three left to split the guard. One man will have to stand guard all night.”
John sat on a bench as he began the work of prying his water-swollen leather boots from his feet. When he got one off, he addressed his men. “I can take a shift at guard. The Frankish princess lies on the brink of death. It’s not as though I could sleep, given the circumstances.”
As he set about prying the other boot free, John felt a ripple of tension flow through the men. He hadn’t meant to disquiet them, but given the situation, perhaps it was best that they appreciate the potential danger. After all, if Lydia went to war, they’d be on the front lines fighting alongside him.
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
