To Protect a Princess by Jess Michaels
Chapter 25
Jonah watched as the physician who had been called wrapped the final bandage around his arm. It hurt like the devil, but it had been stitched and the cut, though deep, would certainly heal in time. He was lucky. Luckier still that Ilaria hadn’t taken that knife.
The door to the chamber where he was being attended to opened and the king stepped through. Grantham leaned back against the wall next to the door and watched in silence as the doctor packed up his things.
“Will the patient live?” he asked.
The doctor looked puzzled rather than amused at the quip and glanced back at Jonah. “As long as he is careful about infection, I don’t see why not. He has his instructions on changing the dressing and I’ll check on him in a few days, Your Majesty.”
Grantham nodded and motioned the doctor toward the door. “My mother would like you to look in on Miss Killick again, if you don’t mind.”
The doctor nodded. When he had stepped from the room, Grantham shut the door and faced Jonah once again.
“You realize that this is impossible,” Grantham said without preamble. “Loving her.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Grantham held his stare as if daring him to deny it.
Jonah didn’t. He couldn’t. “I do love her, Your Majesty. And I also know that the situation is complicated. I knew that a long time ago.”
“Complicated,” Grantham snapped with a humorless laugh. “Oh yes, it is that. So how do you feel about that fact?”
Jonah pondered the question and drew a long breath before he answered. “Ilaria once told me she was lucky to know that the man she loved felt the same in return. Whatever happens, I know that was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And I am grateful to have been loved by her and to have had the ability to love her with all my heart.”
Grantham tilted his head. “Whatever happens. So you would give her up?”
Pain ripped through Jonah, but he was accustomed to it now. After all, he’d been building toward this since the moment he first met Ilaria. He’d never had any illusion it would end any way but this. “I don’t want to do so. The very thought of it is worse than if you shot me where I stand. But if I knew she was happy and safe, I would give up everything.”
Grantham pursed his lips and indicated the wrapping on Jonah’s arm. “Apparently including your life.”
Jonah looked at it, felt the pain of the injury mingle with the pain of this conversation. “I would have, gladly, to see her safe.”
“This is an untenable situation.” Grantham paced away, running a hand through his hair. “I either give up the possibility of solidifying the connection between our countries and leave my island at risk of colonization while a rebellion puts me at my weakest point, or I lock my sister into a marriage that will break her heart and, eventually, her spirit.”
Jonah watched him pace, felt his friend’s true torment. And felt a strange frisson of…hope. “Perhaps Remi would be open to a marriage for duty.”
Grantham pivoted toward him, and they stared at each other for a moment. Then Grantham laughed, and this time it was filled with more true humor. “Somehow I doubt that.”
Jonah managed half a smile. “Then what about you, Your Majesty? You will also have to marry someday, and likely soon. Would none of our English lasses tempt you into a union?”
Something flickered across Grantham’s expression, but he erased it instantly. “My future remains to be written, I suppose. My sister is pacing in the hall right now, desperate to see you once your injuries have been tended. Shall I allow her in?”
Jonah winced, and not from the pain of his injury. After this conversation, he knew that this would likely be the last time he would see Ilaria before her future was set in stone.
“Yes,” he said. “I would see her.”
The king inclined his head and left the room. He did not return, but a few moments later Ilaria burst into the parlor and raced to Jonah’s side. She gave no heed to the fact that he was shirtless as her arms came around him, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird against his bare skin.
“Hush now,” he said, smoothing her hair. “I’m fine. Just a scratch, little more.”
She frowned. “The doctor said there were twenty stitches, Jonah. Hardly a small thing. Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore. Not now that you’re here.” He pulled her into his lap and rested his head against her arm. He said nothing more, but drew in a whiff of her sweet scent, knowing time was down to seconds, mere moments and nothing more. So he had to savor each one of them.
* * *
Ilaria sat in Jonah’s lap for a few moments, and they were both quiet at the end of the storm that had been the last few weeks. Her mind raced with thoughts, though, with hopes and dreams that she feared would be soon dashed. She had pictured a hundred scenarios in the last hour while Jonah’s wound was tended and her brother spoke to him.
None had the outcome she wished most for.
Finally she sighed. “He’ll come soon. Too soon.”
“Your brother?” Jonah’s voice was muffled against her arm, his breath warm through the thing fabric.
She nodded. “He said he’d give us privacy for a short time.”
“Then should you get up off my lap?” he asked.
She smiled down at him, then cupped his cheeks. “Later.”
She kissed him gently. He was injured and she feared breaking him. But of course he didn’t allow her that. With his good arm, he cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss. But at last he released her, just as Grantham returned to the room. Ilaria stood without haste or embarrassment and faced her brother.
He looked at the two of them and shook his head. “I was devastated that I almost lost you, Ilaria,” he said. “Not as your king—as your brother.”
She shut her eyes. He had said something similar in the carriage when she found him there and it had brought a flood of love for him coursing through her. She felt the same now, despite what his appearance would bring.
“I love you,” he continued.
She pressed her hand down against Jonah’s shoulder, squeezing gently as the warmth of his bare flesh filled her palm. “And I love him.”
“I can see that,” Grantham said softly. “And he has told me he loves you as well, even though I had already guessed. Enough to give you up if it would save you from grief.”
“It will cause me grief,” Ilaria said. “And I know that isn’t fair to say to you, Grantham. I know you ask me to do this duty, to marry someone else, because it is for the good of everyone else. But I selfishly want to do what is good for me.”
“I often think about our father and what he would do in situations I face as king,” Grantham said. “In this case, I’m sure he would point out that walking away from a marriage with Bramwell will put us in a worse position. He would also mention, I think, that Captain Crawford is not only middle class but there is the matter that he is…that his father was…that he…”
“Is a bastard,” Jonah said softly. “I’ve never tried to hide it.”
“No. You haven’t. You have always been unfailingly honest.” Her brother bent his head. Ilaria couldn’t read his thoughts, only his struggle. At last he looked at her. “You know, this man has saved the only princess of Athawick. As king, I have the right…no, the obligation to reward him handsomely.”
She blinked. “I suppose that is true.”
“In the past, men who have behaved with such bravery have been awarded financially, with medals…and also with title.”
Her eyes went wide. “I…have they?”
Grantham nodded slowly. “I’m sure our people, those who still support us at any rate, would agree that naming Captain Crawford to be, say, Count Crawford and award him a ceremonial responsibility over Southern Athawick would be fair trade.”
Ilaria could hardly breathe as she stared at her brother. “What are you…what are you saying?”
“I would never desire to be the cause of the kind of grief that separating you from one you love would create. We had a very personal vantage point to watching an arranged marriage that was resented and all the pain it created. I think I would regret forcing you into our mother’s shoes more than I would regret losing whatever advantage a marriage to the Earl of Bramwell would create. Creating a title for Crawford and tying it to his incredible act of bravery seems a best way to resolve both our problems. And it opens a door to a further solution. Assuming…” He faced Jonah, who looked as confused as Ilaria felt. “Do you wish to marry my sister, Captain Crawford?”
Jonah rose and his hands were shaking as he took hers. “I would like nothing more if you’d allow it, Your Majesty.”
Grantham smiled. “My siblings call me Grantham when we are not in public, Crawford…Jonah. And I hope you will do the same once my sister accepts your hand, which I will allow her to do privately.”
Ilaria stared at him and then up at Jonah. Back and forth between them so long that Grantham laughed. “Once you can get her to understand what has just happened. Excuse me.”
He stepped from the room, quietly closing the door behind himself, and Ilaria pivoted to face Jonah, grabbing for his good arm with both hands. “Did he—?”
He nodded and looked as confused and joyful as she felt. “Yes.”
“He’ll let us—”
“So it seems.” Jonah shook his head. “I rather thought I’d be wearing a shirt every time I pictured this moment. But one makes due with what one has.” He sank down on one knee and stared up at her, his gray eyes dancing with joy and hope and a beautiful future she could see laid out before her.
“Princess Ilaria of Athawick, I have loved you from almost the first moment I saw you. I’ve fought it and denied and surrendered to it in body, but now I ask you, with all my heart and soul, will you please marry me?”
She felt the tears streaming down her face. Joyful tears that warmed her to her very toes and washed away all the regrets she’d had at the thought of losing this man. Now she never would.
“Jonah, I will gladly marry you.”
He stood in a graceful unfolding of long, lean arms and legs and wrapped her into his embrace. She leaned up into him and kissed him. Unlike the earlier kiss, there was no desperation here, only love. No fear, only certainty.
She pulled away and laughed. “Shall we go tell the rest of my family and celebrate with them?”
Jonah held her tighter and shook his head before his mouth descended again. “Perhaps in a moment, love. Just a moment more.”