Fourteen
Elyce caught Sir Gerard looking at her again as they rode their horses down the cold, muddy road. She wished she could ask him what he was thinking.
The road to Prague was becoming crowded with people, forcing Elyce and her three companions to ride closer together. They encountered more and more villages along the road as well.
Was Gerard thinking about their kiss as much as she was? Did he wonder what would happen when this was over? She wanted to ask him how he felt about her. But that would be foolish. She might make things so awkward that he would leave. And she needed his help. More than that, she would be sad and hurt if he left, if he rejected her when what she wanted most was to know him better.
What if she gave up this mission and did exactly what she told Rodrigo she was planning to do—marry Sir Gerard and stay in Prague?
A lovely warmth cascaded through her at the thought of being Sir Gerard’s wife. But that was immediately followed by a sick feeling in her stomach at how her people would hate her, and rightfully so, for abandoning them and leaving them to King Claude’s tyranny. O God, I really am selfish! Forgive me. She could not, would not desert her people.
When she was a little girl, one of her nursemaids had told her, “Don’t be selfish. No one likes a selfish girl.” Then she’d scrunched up her face as if she smelled a rotten fish.
So as a child she had learned there were two unforgivable sins, things that would cause everyone to stop loving her: being selfish and showing too much emotion. But she didn’t always know when she was being selfish. And she hated being fake and pretending to think and feel something she didn’t.
How many times in her life had she hidden in her wardrobe, or in the darkness in her bed, and cried, careful not to let anyone see her? She’d hold in her anger or sadness or disappointment, then later, when she was alone, let it out in hot, bitter tears, ranting in her mind about things she was not allowed to speak out loud.
No one could possibly love her if they knew the kind of thoughts she had.
But how her heart ached with longing, yearning for someone to know everything about her. Even Ysa, who must know her better than anyone, did not truly know her.
Ysa was so quiet and gentle, so different from Elyce. Even when she tried to explain to Ysa how she was feeling, Ysa always gave her that look, with her mouth slightly open, forehead wrinkling, and brows lowering. It was not as bad as Aunt Winifred’s expression of blatant disapproval, but it sent Elyce the same message—that she was not especially lovable.
Sometimes Elyce sensed that Sir Gerard was just as emotional as she was, that he felt things strongly, much the same as she did. But that was probably just wishful thinking.
Still, the thought persisted as she observed Sir Gerard and Sir Oswalt together. Both men were quiet, but Sir Gerard spoke more than his friend. He also showed annoyance more often, but that was because he was always trying to take care of everyone. He made sure they had water and food and that the horses rested when necessary. When they slept in the woods, he took precautions against wild animals, and he arranged for their rooms at the inns. They all depended on him, so when a horse needed a new shoe or a saddle strap broke, no one minded when he became annoyed and spoke a little more sharply or made a growly sound under his breath.
Perhaps he wouldn’t mind if the woman he loved became angry and raised her voice or cried on occasion. If he loved her, he would accept her as she was.
But it was unlikely Sir Gerard would ever love her or ask her to become his wife. He mostly ignored her unless she spoke to him first. And now she was almost too nervous to speak to him, too afraid he might realize she was in love with him.
Sir Gerard turned and looked straight at Elyce.
“Could that be a castle or a cathedral?” Sir Gerard pointed to a rooftop just visible in the distance. The narrow, slanted roof of a tower was covered in snow, snowflakes falling from the low-hanging gray clouds above.
“I believe it is a spire of the basilica inside Prague Castle.” Elyce felt her stomach flip. They were close, so close they would be there within the day.
What would King Wenceslaus say to her entreaties? Would he refuse to help her? Could he be absent from his palace in Prague, on a journey to another kingdom to see the pope or some noble kinsman?
She was soon to find out.
* * *
Gerard wanted to go straight to Prague Castle as soon as they arrived in the huge walled city so Princess Elyce could see what King Wenceslaus—the King of Bohemia and the King of Germany, the Holy Roman Emperor—would do for her and her people. But the princess had insisted she needed to rest, to put on her most elaborate dress and make herself look her best before going before the king. So she sent a missive to the king when they arrived, then they went to an inn to await his hoped-for summons.
The summons came quickly, and the group slept their first night in Prague inside the king’s palace bedrooms on his insistence, with the request that Princess Elyce meet with him the next day.
Princess Elyce and Ysa were spirited away upon their arrival at the palace, and Gerard and Sir Oswalt were taken to their own bedroom and given food and clothing and even a bath in a tub large enough to sit down in. And in spite of the uncertainty of what the morrow would bring, Gerard had slept quite well.
A knock came at their door. Gerard opened the door to see Princess Elyce standing in the hallway. She wore one of the most elaborate dresses he’d ever seen. Her hair was adorned in pearls and a see-through veil, but her smile was the same.
“I am meeting with the king, and I would like you to accompany me.”
“Me?” Gerard had assumed she would meet with the king alone. After all, she was a princess, and he and Oswalt were only knights, and foreign ones at that.
“You are the son of an English earl, so you know a bit about royal politics. You can help me explain why we need the king’s help, how many men we will need, and he may want to know that you are experienced enough to help strategize and fight.”
“I don’t know that you need me for any of that, but I am willing to go with you, if you wish.”
“You are very capable. Furthermore . . .” She paused, her face slightly downturned. “I will feel more confident with you by my side.”
His heart swelled at her honest confession, to think that she needed him, even if it was only to be beside her during an important conversation.
“I will accompany you, but I am not dressed to be in the presence of the king—”
“You are perfect. Come.” She smiled and stepped back, allowing him into the corridor.
He said over his shoulder to Sir Oswalt that he would be back later. Then he closed the door behind him.
Instinct, as well as decorum, demanded he hold out his arm to her. She immediately placed her delicate hand lightly on his forearm.
Just that innocent touch on his arm brought up the memory of their kiss, the feel of her hand in his, the way she had leaned into his side afterward. Did she think of their kiss as often as he did? Surely not, for he remembered it many times a day, and every night when he closed his eyes, even though he knew he was foolish to do so.
And now he was going with her to meet the King of Germany and Bohemia, King Wenceslaus the Fourth.
Rumor had it that the other noblemen called him “King Wenceslaus the Idle.” Gerard would get a chance to decide for himself if the name was appropriate.