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
