A Royal Marriage (20 page)

If the twenty cavalrymen ahead of her reached Castlehead, they could easily breach its defenses. Even if Sardis was saved, Castlehead might fall.

Gisela called to the men in front of her, but saw with a sinking heart that all those on horseback were far too engaged in the battle ahead to hear her or break away. The infantrymen nearest her looked where she pointed, and though realization dawned on their faces, there was little they could do on foot, not chasing after horses.

Gisela had no choice. She shouted to the foot soldiers to send the next available riders after her, then turned her horse and went after the Illyrians alone.

* * *

John recognized the royal insignia on the sword that clashed with his.

“Prince Warrick.” He spat the man’s name back at its bearer.

“King John.” Warrick wielded his weapon with cunning and skill.

A question had burned inside John for days. Since he and Warrick could both die at any moment in the heat of battle, John saw no reason to put off asking it. “Why did you agree to marry Gisela, daughter of Charlemagne, if you’re in love with my sister, Elisabette?”

Warrick snarled at him as he blocked every jab of his sword. “I never intended to marry Gisela. If Charlemagne had been paying attention, he’d have realized my father’s contract was for Gisela to marry his eldest son. And if Charlemagne assumed otherwise, why should my father feel compelled to correct him?”

“Rab the Raider?” John’s surprise was so great that his sword faltered.

Warrick slashed forward, pushing him past the men who raged by the city, nearer the road that led down the peninsula. “None other. If Charlemagne assumed the contract was with me, it can’t be helped.”

“But Charlemagne would never agree to give his daughter to a landless raider. He’d destroy Rab and take Gisela back!”

“Rab does not intend to be landless. He’ll sit on your throne and rule your kingdom and defend his right to have her with the swords of your people.”

Fury surged through John that Gisela might be forced to marry the awful brute who’d killed his father. He spurred Moses forward and lunged at Warrick. His horse pushed Warrick’s horse back against the stone wall that rimmed the road. Warrick leaned back over the wall, holding tight to his reins with his free hand. His eyes widened when he looked down the far side, to the deep gorge that encircled the city of Sardis.

John held his sword to Warrick’s throat. “If I push you back, your bones will be broken against the rocks and you’ll die in slow agony.”

“The sword then.” Warrick closed his eyes. “Kill me quickly.”

“Sire! King John!” Voices called out to him over the throng, and John turned just long enough to see footmen pointing down the road to Castlehead. Gisela made for the narrow path at high speed. And up ahead, beyond her, twenty horsemen galloped down the wide road.

In an instant, John realized that Gisela intended to stop them—alone, if none could help her.

John leaped away from Warrick. “I promised my sister I would not kill you.” He did not wait to see how Warrick took the news, but pushed forward through the charging horses that blocked the road. Surging forward, he used his sword to clear the way, knocking aside Illyrians, while his own men, once they saw his fierce charge forward, scrambled to clear the way for him.

He’d nearly made it through the thick of it when a stallion black as midnight blocked his way.

Even past the scrap of leather mask that shielded the man’s face, John could see that his nose was broken.

“Rab the Raider.” John raised his sword and lunged at the man who’d plotted to take Gisela from him. “You killed my father.”

“Today you will join him in death,” Rab sneered, wielding his sword with brutish thrusts.

John blocked his blows, but the Raider had an advantageous position high on the side of the road. Hemmed in as they were on all sides by the flashing swords of fighting men, there was little John could do but back down the road.

He was more concerned about reaching Gisela than ending Rab’s life, at the moment. But he couldn’t escape the relentless blows, though Moses pranced farther back with every stroke of Rab’s sword. Too soon, John felt the press of cold stone against his leg, and looked down to see the very rocks upon which he’d threatened to leave Warrick dying.

Rab raised his sword.

John lunged desperately forward, hoping somehow to block him, when a scream turned both their heads.

Prince Warrick charged toward him with his sword raised.

There would be no blocking them both.

* * *

Gisela let her horse have its head. She had to reach the plank bridge that separated the island of Castlehead from the rest of the peninsula. If she arrived in time, she’d have a chance to knock the loose planks free, down into the steep ravine, preventing the cavalry from advancing en masse. They’d have to make their way down and back up the rocky sides of the gorge—tricky enough for a man on foot, quite nearly impossible on horseback, not without snapping the poor animals’ legs. Even if they made it up the other side, they’d be scattered and tired, and much easier to pick off one by one.

But she had to reach the plank bridge before them for the strategy to work. They had the advantage of the wide road that led straight to the bridge. She’d be going out of her way by taking the narrow path on the far side of the peninsula, but it was the only way she’d have a shot at passing them. She could only hope their horses were tired, and slower due to their heavier riders.

Glancing back, she tried to determine if any of Lydia’s horsemen had made it through to help her. She wasn’t even sure if she could budge a single plank of the bridge herself, let alone send them all toppling into the ravine before the Illyrians made it across. She urged her horse onward and prayed that somehow, she’d make it ahead of them. Somehow, she would stop them.

* * *

“You held my love at sword point!” Warrick screamed as he attacked.

For one disoriented instant, John wondered what the younger prince was referring to.

Then Warrick’s blade knocked Rab the Raider back, and John realized precisely what was happening.

Warrick was ridding himself of an unwanted rival.

John didn’t waste a second to see how their battle ended, but pushed off the wall with a mighty kick, turning Moses toward the road that led to Castlehead.

The Illyrian cavalry had gotten far too generous a head start. Gisela was up there, alone.

“Ride with me!” John shouted to the mounted Lydians nearest him. He pointed with his sword and charged forward, trusting that those who could follow him would.

There was no time to go around by the narrow path Gisela had taken. The alternate route would only be advantageous if he hoped to pass the Illyrians. It would be difficult enough for him to catch up with them riding by the straight route.

Moses charged forward eagerly, his hooves licking up the ground beneath them as he stretched out, flying as though he understood John’s desperate need to catch up to those who would take his castle and harm his family.

With the wind whipping in his eyes, John glanced back to see a handful of riders pounding down the road after them. He recognized a few of his Lydian men, and at the rear, bloodstained sword gripped tightly in his hand, Warrick charged after them all.

John could only imagine he’d dispensed with his unwanted rival and now came to seek his revenge against Lydia. There was no point engaging him now, not if it meant leaving Gisela alone to face the Illyrians. Still, it would not do to let Warrick catch up to him.

“Fly, Moses, fly!” John urged the stallion to greater speeds as the haunches of the Illyrian cavalry came into view ahead of them.

They rode as men saving their strength for battle, and not with desperate speed.

There was some chance John might catch up to them, had the plank bridge across the ravine not already come into view. It was just wide enough to accommodate the widest merchant carts. Two horses could ride abreast, but they’d have to take care not to miss a step. The sides had no railing to keep them from falling.

“Your Majesty,” a voice panted from just behind him.

John turned to see his men, including Tertulio, the great ox of a man who’d nearly eliminated him from the fencing tournament.

“The bridge!” John directed them. “We’ve got to topple it!”

He could see Gisela had already dismounted and heaved at the massive timbers.

John and his men blew through the midst of the Illyrian cavalry, scattering them to the sides. “On your horse!” John shouted to Gisela as he approached. “Defend the far side!” If she could cross with her mount before the beams fell, she’d have the advantage over any men who might make it up the far side.

“Ride with me!” she urged him, leaping on her horse.

Tertulio leaped from his stead and lifted a beam, heaving it down. “Cross quickly, sire.”

John didn’t hesitate, but rode after Gisela as his men scrambled to topple the bridge while defending it from the Illyrians who’d already reached them.

Tertulio sent three more of the dozen or so beams tumbling down into the ravine before the first Illyrian riders pushed past him. There wasn’t enough left of the bridge for them to cross in any formation but single file, and they slowed their steps to prevent an accident. Still, six mounted men took to the bridge while the Lydians struggled to stop them.

John heard Warrick shouting something at his men, but the pounding of hooves against hollow wood drowned out the meaning of his words.

“Stay behind me.” John maneuvered his way in front of Gisela, glancing at her only briefly and wishing he could take her in his arms again. He’d have to cut down the approaching soldiers before he could do that. “Be prepared to ride ahead to Castlehead if they get past me.”

“They will not get past us.” Gisela drew her sword, but obligingly stayed off to his right, just behind him.

The Illyrians leaped from the bridge with their swords drawn. John hastily unhorsed the first rider with a swipe of his sword and sent him sprawling back over the lip of the ravine. The next man proved to be a better fighter, pushing John back and making room for his comrades to come across.

John fought to see as sweat poured under his helmet, filling his eyes, transforming the bright flash of swords into a dazzling blur. The pounding of hooves was replaced by the clang of swords as Gisela fought alongside him.

Timbers boomed and cracked as they fell into the ravine, but John saw another horseman make his way across.

Warrick.

“Stand down!” the Illyrian prince commanded his men with drawn sword.

When the blade before him no longer flew, John peeled back his helmet and swiped the sweat from his eyes, unsure precisely what Warrick was up to, but unlikely to discern anything without the clear use of his eyes. He turned to Gisela, whose horse had pranced backward under the press of swords.

She gripped her leg where a bloody gash rent her skirts, staining them deep crimson.

“No!” he screamed and leaped from Moses’s back. Even from a distance he could see the wound was deep. He hurried to her side and tore the slashed fabric from her skirts, quickly using it to bind her injury and stem the flow of blood. Warrick rode on toward Castlehead with four men behind him.

John let them go. He doubted Warrick would do anything to hurt Elisabette. Whatever happened, John could address it later. He couldn’t lose the woman he loved.

* * *

Gisela held tight to John’s chest as he rode with her toward Castlehead.

“What of the battle for Sardis?” She could feel her thoughts swimming from the loss of blood, and hoped by speaking to keep from slipping out of consciousness.

“I believe Rab the Raider is dead, killed by his half brother Warrick. From what I could see of it, your father disabled the catapults and overwhelmed the Illyrians with his surprise attack. Once the remaining Illyrians realize Rab is dead and Warrick has fled, they’ll likely surrender.”

“They won’t chase us all the way to Castlehead?”

“If they do, Tertulio will knock out the rest of the beams of the bridge.”

She sagged against him and felt her strength waning.

“Gisela?” He touched her face, obviously aware that her strength was leaving her. “Gisela, my love, don’t leave me.”

“I shan’t leave,” she whispered. “But I must rest.”

The weary horse beneath them gathered speed. Gisela felt it, but let her fingers loosen their grip on King John’s arms. She lacked the strength to hold on any longer. And she trusted John would keep her safe. He would not let her fall.

* * *

“Is she going to live?”

John turned at the sound of the heavy accent. The Emperor Charlemagne approached him.

John immediately dropped to bow before him. “She is strong. I’ve stopped the bleeding, and she roused enough to drink earlier. She should recover.”

Charlemagne crossed the room to where John knelt by Gisela’s side, supervising her every breath as if by the force of his will alone he could compel her to continue breathing.

The emperor placed a hand on his daughter’s forehead. “She is strong,” he agreed, then turned to John, who’d risen from his bow just high enough to keep watch over Gisela. “King John, accompany me to Constantinople. We must present Warrick and Garren to Empress Irene for punishment. I understand their crimes are many. I’ll need you to testify to their extent.”

John reluctantly stood. “I’ll do as you command. But my kingdom—”

“Your brother Luke is holding Sardis, not that the remaining Illyrians are likely to give him any trouble now. As for this fortress of yours, a man arrived by ship with many men in time to reinforce my advance at the Illyrians’ rear. He claims to be your brother Mark. He fought valiantly. Can we leave Castlehead in his care?”

John felt a surge of relief that his brother had finally returned. He smiled. “I believe we can.”

Charlemagne continued, “As for you, I’ve been told repeatedly, first by Boden and his men, and since then many times by my daughter and her maid, that I owe you a debt for my daughter’s life. Name your price.”