Chapter Ten

Charlotte collected herself at last and finally headed home. She knew she would be missed there, and hoped her delay wouldn’t cause her father any difficulty. The poor man was working himself half to death and the strain was beginning to show.

“I’m back, Father. I apologize for being late, it was unavoidable,” she whispered, assuming Julien would be asleep, or, once again unconscious from pain. What she found was so surprising she was rendered speechless.

“Good afternoon, My Lady,” Julien said, nodding to her politely. He was sitting up in bed, and he had one of her father’s old white shirts draped over his good arm and halfway across his chest. It was apparent her father had given him the best possible washing considering his injuries; his hair was wet and drying into curls that came down over the collar of the shirt. More than that, though, was the surprise that her father had removed the bulk of the stitches from the left side of his face. Tender flesh showed where they had been, but his face appeared much more that of a man now and less that of a sad, badly-sewn rag doll.

“Julien, you’re sitting up! What a glorious sight!” She rushed to her father and hugged him tightly. “You are a worker of miracles, truly, and these hands are blessed.” She kissed his face, and the old man blushed.

“Now Charlotte, it is as much because of your meticulous care as it is due to my dubious skills as a surgeon this man is in the condition he now is. Still, we must guard against infection, Julien. You know what that means.”

“Yes, sir, I am aware, I must not touch my face, no matter how it itches.” He winced. “And itch, it does.”

“That means it is healing. I will mix up a salve for that, as well. It will soothe.” Charlotte set about her work, and her father nodded.

“If no one requires me, I shall rest an hour before dinner. Charlotte?”

“Things appear to be well in hand here. Rest well, Father.”

“Thank you again, sir,” Julien said, waving once with his stronger arm.

“I am honored to be in your service,” Walter said, bowing slightly, daring in this moment of privacy to add, “Your Highness.”

“Please, I am but a guest in your home. Only Julien.”

Walter nodded, and then he was gone. A moment later Julien noticed that Charlotte was sniffling as she ran a damp cloth over her face and then took up scrubbing her hands in preparation for mixing his salve.

“What troubles you so, Charlotte?” he asked gently. “You’re weeping,”

“I am merely thankful to see you in this condition,” Charlotte replied, knowing it was only half truth, but not wanting to speak of what had happened earlier to anyone, least of all Julien. “So many times we thought we may lose you, and that was before we even knew how much your life would mean, to so very many people.”

“Ah,” Julien said, looking disappointed. “You weep for joy because the Prince may yet restore righteous rule to the land.”

Charlotte lowered her head, focusing on the mortar and pestle in her hands. “I weep for joy because a fine man escaped such a dark fate. Whether he be future king or local blacksmith, he is entitled to a few tears of joy over his salvation.”

“How is the local blacksmith?” Julien asked now, crossing his good arm over his stomach. “I have yet to truly make his acquaintance, and I look forward to doing so. I wish to thank him appropriately for all that he has done. I will, if I am restored to my rightful place, thank you all much more properly than I have been able.”

“When,” Charlotte answered. “Not if. You must be returned to take power, sir, or we are all facing our damnation.”

Julien shifted as much as he was able in bed to try to turn toward her. “What is the news from town?”

“They have already begun evictions,” she explained, her voice breaking. “Widows, like Thomas’s mother. Those who were barely holding on to what they had to begin with.” Her voice trailed again, and she could not fight her emotions any longer. She set the mortar and pestle down and then slumped into the chair beside the bed. She took her head into her hands and despite her desire not to let him see her break, she broke.

“Now now, dear Charlotte.” He reached out and suddenly she felt his hand on the back of her head, his fingers lightly running up and down the braid at her neck. “I will make it right, somehow. I promise you. If I cannot return to these people what has thus been lost, I will give them better. I swear it. If I can but regain enough strength to return and find out, somehow, if there is loyalty to me in the castle, still…” He stopped. He’d clearly been doing a lot of thinking, but right now his mind drifted to the woman sitting before him, trembling.

“How, Julien? How will you fix everything?”

“I can only try, and try I will. My word upon it.”

She looked up at him, her eyes locking onto him in a way he couldn’t believe, given how he was sure he must appear. It was as though, looking into his distorted visage, she still saw the heart and soul of the man beneath, and he marveled; wondering if any other woman—any other person, for that matter— would ever be able to do the same.

“Charlotte, it is time I saw my reflection,” he whispered, releasing her hair and brushing his hand against her cheek. “Please, will you find me a mirror?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “It’s too soon, Julien.”

“I must see eventually, or are you telling me you and your father are expecting such a miracle of healing that the end result will be much different from what I would see now?”

Her silence spoke for her.

“That is what I thought.” He reached for her hand now and squeezed it. “Please, My Lady. The mirror?”

“As you wish, sir.” She turned to the dresser and retrieved a small hand mirror, the only one she had except the one on the opposite wall, which was covered, intentionally, by a blanket so he could not see the way he looked.

“Not that one,” he said, not so easily fooled. “The other.”

She sighed heavily. “All right, Julien.” She moved toward it slowly, then lowered the quilt that had covered it all this time.

At first sight of himself, Julien inhaled sharply. His hand rushed up toward his cheek, instinctively to touch it, but Charlotte spun and took hold before he made contact. “No, no, remember, the risk of infection, still,” she insisted.

“How will I rule the people when… will they be able to bring themselves to even look upon the face of their own king?”

“You are alive, Your Highness, and you are heir to the throne. All will rejoice that you have come back to them, I promise you.”

“I shall frighten the women and children,” he said, finally waving his hand to indicate she could cover the mirror again. He’d seen enough for now.

“You don’t frighten me,” she whispered, as she laid the cloth back over the glass and returned to her task of mixing the ingredients for his salve.

“You are no ordinary woman. In fact,” Julien shook his head and just the slightest hint of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. “I have never known your like, Lady Charlotte.”

“I’m no Lady, just a girl.”

“And I’m a man, but would be king. What matter are titles to us? There is no one else here. It pleases me to call you Lady. Does it truly bother you?”

Charlotte reddened. “You are the future king, sir. You can call me what you like.”

“Hmm. I think, in that case… ”He stared at her intently, in a way that made Charlotte’s stomach flutter once more. “I prefer to call you Charlotte.” He captured hold of her arm and pulled her nearer to him. As if in a trance, Charlotte allowed it. Her lips were merely inches from his when she finally realized what was about to happen and came to her senses.

“Sir, I, your salve!” She turned away, mixing ever faster and pouring the ingredients into a base of her mother’s homemade balm. “We must tend to your wounds.”

“We are all wounded somehow,” Julien whispered. “I wonder what it might take, Lady Charlotte, to heal yours?”

“Ahem.” Thomas cleared his throat loudly, since both Julien and Charlotte were too absorbed in the moment to hear his telltale footsteps approaching. “I have brought your metals back to you, Charlotte, just as you asked for them.” He held up a small cloth bag and jingled the pieces within. He tossed it toward her and she caught it mid-air. “I shall take my leave now.”

“Thomas, wait. Julien has been asking to speak with you, and I see no better time than the present. If you will both excuse me, I need one more thing to finish this salve.” The last sentence was a pure lie, but Charlotte had to escape the room, one way or another. There was a distinct energy forming in it between the two men, and she had absolutely no idea how in the world to react to it.