Chapter Eleven

“So, you are the blacksmith to whom I owe my life,” Julien said, gesturing for Thomas to come closer. “Please, sir, approach so I may thank you properly.”

“Apprentice to the blacksmith, Your Highness,” Thomas said bowing his head humbly and staying where he was.

“Please, I cannot see you well where you stand. Sit beside me, so I may get to know something of the man to whom I owe my continued existence.”

Thomas sighed. He hadn’t been looking forward to this, yet the moment was upon him… and so soon after his earlier humiliation with Charlotte. Could his day get worse?

He did as asked and sat down. “Is it even proper for me to sit in your presence?”

“I asked you, that makes it proper. And for God’s sake, man, we are neither one of us at Court now, who cares if it is proper?” Julien extended his good hand toward Thomas. “Let me, please, shake the hand of the man who saved me from certain death in the water.”

Thomas reluctantly, and gently, offered a calloused hand to the man before him. What a contrast Julien’s hand was to his; though the shake, despite Julien’s weakness, was solid enough, it was clear from the softness of his skin and the delicacy of his fingers he had never done a day’s physical labor in his life.

“Thank you, Thomas Vallery, for saving my life. I am indebted to you, and should I be restored as king, I will make it my aim to reward you very handsomely for your bravery and kindness toward me.”

“I require no other reward, sir, than that you return to take the throne so this traitor in Duke’s clothing does not bring more pain to the humble people of your kingdom.”

“Surely there must be something you wish for that I can give to you as reward,” Julien insisted. “Land? Wealth? You shall have both, all your own. Still, more. A man such as yourself needs a proper occupation to keep from going mad from boredom. Your own blacksmith’s shop, perhaps? Unless you wish to undertake the pursuit of another position? The world will be open to you, Thomas, should I return to rule.”

“When you return to rule,” Thomas corrected, worried. “Or do you doubt you will be able?”

“I am at a loss, Thomas. I know not whether anyone save the Queen would be loyal to me in the palace now; it could be that Frederick has everyone under his spell. He is quite charismatic when he chooses to be, and handsome as well. He could talk the people into almost anything and make them believe it was to their benefit, and that is what scares me the most about him. He does not appear the villain he is.”

“Beautiful villains are the most dangerous of all,” Thomas agreed. “But surely his recalling the debts owed to The Crown all at once have not endeared him to the people? At least not the people outside the center of the kingdom?”

“I wish I knew,” Julien replied sadly. “Were there a way to find out, we would be greatly aided in our cause.”

“Our cause?” Thomas’s brow lifted. “What are you saying, sir, or is there something you are asking of me?”

“I need your help, Thomas. I will need help of others too, those who can be trusted, as this kind family who took me in can be trusted. Soon, when I am stronger, I will need someone to venture out and take measure of the loyalties of the people. I cannot think of anyone I would trust more than you to aid me. If you are willing.”

“I am no knight, sir, nor spy. I am merely a blacksmith.” Thomas rose from his seat and limped toward the exit. “I wish I could help you, but I am not the man you seek.”

“I believe I have chosen my agent wisely, Thomas, in asking you. Will you not, at least, consider?”

“Why do you trust me so?”

“Charlotte trusts you. That is enough for me.”

At the mention of Charlotte’s name Thomas flinched, and a glint appeared in Julien’s eye. “Ah, I see. So that is how it is.” He paused. “The one thing you would ask as a reward from life, for anything you have ever done or shall ever do, is the one thing no man can give you.”

Without a sound, Thomas moved on.

“Think it over,” Julien called after him. “I beg you, sir, think it through!”

Charlotte returned a moment later carrying the bowl of finished salve. “What was that all about?”

“We shall see what this Thomas Vallery is made of yet,” Julien replied. Then he thought a moment before asking his next question very carefully. “Thomas’s limp?”

“He fell from a tree when we were children, broke the leg in two places,” she replied. “Though it was splinted as best as the physician was able, it was shorter than the other, from then on. That is why he limps.”

“That is why he has not undertaken the path toward knighthood, isn’t it?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Because I know the heart of a knight when I see it,” Julien replied. “And that man has one, if ever anyone did.”

* * *

Charlotte was pleased that she managed to get Julien to eat some vegetable stew before he fell back to sleep. It was the first solid meal he’d had since they’d been caring for him, and seeing him sitting upright today did her heart a world of good. He was making progress now, not only in small bits, but it seemed suddenly in leaps and bounds.

It was as if his grief over his father, which she caught reflected in his face in moments when he was deep in thought and believed no one was looking, drove the fire within him to heal… to return to his life and his role as the rightful king.

Charlotte sat with her mother’s sewing in her lap, repairing the knees of her father’s pants yet again in her mother’s stead, when Julien suddenly cried out in his sleep.

“Father! No!”

“Julien! Wake up!” She didn’t want to shake him but had no choice but to stop his yelling, fearing someone outside the cottage would hear the racket he was making.

“NO!” he cried once more, and he shook violently as he shifted in bed with such ferocity Charlotte feared for his wounds.

“Please, Julien, be still! You’re going to hurt yourself all over again!” Finally she moved closer and grasped hold of his good arm, and a moment later, Julien had hold of her sleeve and was pulling her nearer. He was certainly regaining his strength, and she allowed him to bring her into a sitting position beside him on the bed. Then he did something she never could have imagined.

He placed his head upon her shoulder as all of the emotions he’d been holding back came rushing to the surface. He wrapped his arm around her. Charlotte did not know what she could do but slowly, carefully shift position, gather him up in her arms as best she could, and allow his tears to fall upon her.

Her father came rushing to the door, but Charlotte waved him away. Puzzled, and obviously concerned over the propriety of the situation, Walter hesitated. Charlotte’s eyes were insistent. The old man nodded sadly, and silently vanished once again.

“Oh, Julien,” she whispered, stroking her hands through his hair and away from the wounds on his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“They murdered him, just like an animal on the hunt,” Julien whispered. “He had given up his entire life, everything he wanted, to live in the service of the people. A man in a gilded prison, but a prison nonetheless. The same life meant for me.” He gasped for breath between sobs as Charlotte tried her best to console him.

She reached for a clean bandage from the bedside table and gently dried his tears. “Please, Julien, be careful, if you press your face against me so, the risks…”

“Risks? Why should I care about risks to a face like this?” Julien shook his head. “I will never be able to return to the palace and expect my betrothed to marry a man so scarred.”

“If she is unable to see beyond your scars, then she is not worthy to be your wife,” Charlotte declared. Soon she regretted her boldness, fearing he’d be offended she would speak so of the woman he loved. “She loved you when you left on that hunt, surely she will love you still, and rejoice that you are living.”

“My betrothed does not love me.” He shook his head sadly, “Nor I her. She is a sweet, shy, timid maid with no idea what it would mean to be queen. We were thrown together by arrangement.”

“I don’t understand,” Charlotte drew back slightly, confused. “The ball. The way she swept in and you were obviously so taken with her—then the search for the girl who lost her slipper? The whole story about you, bereft at being unable to find her?”

“Sensational, isn’t it? That is what the Court wanted. Sensation. They had the maid picked out by hand ahead of time, there was nothing magical about it.”

“Why the ruse? Why invite the maids of the kingdom to the ball if—”

“I was playing a part, Charlotte,” he explained, his breathing slowing for a moment before his words came again in a torrent. “The part I was born to play. The one expected of me by my parents, and an adoring kingdom. It was decided that morale in the outlying areas would improve if a country maid was chosen to become the future queen. So a plan was hatched, and I was kept in the dark as to how they selected her or who she would be. I was told only that she would be clearly directed to me at the ball.”

“So the rest of us never had a chance.” Charlotte felt sick now, and she tried to extricate herself from her position.

“I never had a chance, either, Charlotte. We were all set up. Or do you truly believe I would be so shallow I would choose my future queen after one dance at a party?”

She said nothing.

“Of course you would, what else were you to think? Because that is how they made it appear. So followed the story about the lost shoe, and the search for the girl, when they knew where to find her all along.”

“So she didn’t even lose her shoe?”

“Oh, she lost her shoe,” he explained. “She tried to run when she realized she didn’t want any part of this arrangement after all, but it was too late. Our fate was sealed.”

“Perhaps you will grow to love her in time,” she said, sickened by the sound of her own words. “You are still betrothed.”

“We’ve never even had a real conversation. We were supervised. Escorted. Handled.” He grasped Charlotte so tight now, she struggled for air. “Now she believes I am dead, she is free. My return will not change that. I will certainly not hold her to the arrangement she wanted out of to begin with.”

“You are so sure she has no feelings for you?”

“Charlotte, how can you have feelings for someone you have spent no time with? Someone who has never seen you at your worst? Tired, dirty,” he paused. “Wounded, and near death.”

His breathing shortened now for a reason that seemed different from before, and his nearness lit a fire within Charlotte, one that terrified and thrilled her all at once. It was a similar fire to that she felt when Thomas had grabbed her and kissed her. She wondered, though, was that a momentary spark ignited by surprise and the answer to the lifelong question of what it would feel like to kiss him? Or was that what real attraction to a man felt like? Was that the kind of affection Julien was speaking of?

Thomas had certainly seen her at her worst, he’d known her all her life. And it seemed somehow, he had developed feelings for her beyond friendship. Did she return them? She could barely comprehend the thought. Her mind swirled now, one emotion piling atop another as Julien began to caress her face and neck with the soft tips of his fingers.

She shuddered. She had never been attracted, really, to any man she’d known in her life… or so she thought until Thomas kissed her, and then she saw him again as if for the first time.

That feeling terrified her, but no less than the fire racing through her veins now at Julien’s touch. He was so close, so warm, and his body, though broken and still healing, was so undeniably masculine…

“Charlotte,” he whispered, reaching up now and cradling her face with his palm. “You said before you did not fear me. Even this close, as we are, can you tell me truthfully that my face does not repulse you?”

“Julien, what must I do in order to prove I mean what I say?” she asked. “I look at you and I see a man. A good man, with a noble heart, and the desire to serve his people as best he can, if only given the chance. I don’t see your wounds, I see you.”

“You do, don’t you? Blessed angel,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over her lips now. He leaned in to kiss her, and Charlotte froze, stiffening in his arms. The risk of infection to him was still too great, she couldn’t allow it. Even if he wasn’t betrothed to another woman, whether he loved that woman or not.

“No, don’t, please.” She backed up and rose, straightening her apron and her hair. “Please.”

“I see.” He leaned back and exhaled a long, slow sigh. “So, the idea of me does repulse you after all.” Julien folded his arm over his stomach and looked away, humiliated. “Perhaps it is the handsome face of the young blacksmith you prefer.”

“I’m afraid of hurting your newly healing flesh, Julien, it, I…” She stepped back toward the door and, fumbling for the knob, turned it without looking up at him again. “I was only worried you might be hurt.”

“I am hurt,” he whispered. “More deeply than you can imagine.”

She closed the door between them and moved into the kitchen. She grabbed her shawl from the hook on the wall and threw it over her shoulders. “Tell Father he will have to sit with Julien a while,” she said, her voice breaking once again with the threat of tears.

“Where are you going, darling?” Her mother asked, “It grows late, and it is not safe for you to roam alone.”

“I need to think. To walk. I won’t go far.”

“Be back before darkness, child, you will worry me sick otherwise!” Marie Rousseau called after her daughter. But it was too late, the girl had gone.