Chapter Sixteen

I sabella leaned her back on the door and stared at a curtain wafting in the draft of an open window. She was breathing fast and her heart thudded.

For so long, she'd prayed for this moment, her husband's return, but now that he was here, all she felt was anger. It was hot and viscous within her and she couldn't control it.

The door handle rattled. "Isabella!" Charles shouted through the wood. "Let me in."

"No."

"I beg you."

"You cannot just show up after all of this time without word and expect everything to return to the day you left." She pushed away from the door. Her scalp was suddenly itchy and she dragged at her headdress, tossing it to a chair. It missed and rolled to the floor.

"I am sorry. Please open the door." The handle rattled again.

" Sorry is not enough."

"So what is?" His voice was a low growl now. He was getting frustrated.

Good.

"I do not know," she said, slamming her hands onto her hips. "I haven't thought about it."

"So think."

"Leave me be."

"I have traveled hundreds of miles to be with you, through forests and over mountains. I have dodged bandits and pirates and sat in the saddle many a long day and night. So if you don't open the door, I'll—"

"What? Go away again?" She marched up to it. "For another four years ?" she shouted at the wood.

He was silent for a moment. "I can see that was too long. It will never happen again."

Her jaw clenched so tight, she wondered if bone might crack. And she balled her fists until her fingernails cut into her palms.

"Isabella, let us talk, face to face, my love."

"I don't want to. Not yet."

Again, he was silent, then, "So when?"

"Perhaps later." She walked to the table and picked up a jug of wine. After pouring herself a goblet, she drank deep. "If my anger with you has abated with the passage of time."

"Dearest Isabella, I love you so. Please do not be angered by me."

"I cannot help it. I have felt so alone for so long."

"But I am here now. You are not alone anymore."

"Perhaps I have gotten used to it." She topped up her wine. "Now leave me. Go and speak with Alvaro. He will inform you of the latest council decisions."

"But…may I see the children?"

"No, they are studying. I do not wish for them to be disturbed." She could practically feel his tension vibrating into the room. Was he going to argue, assert his authority, and disturb the children's lessons? Or would he concede to her decision for the sake of not aggravating her further?

"I understand," he said, his voice calm but strained.

She could imagine him standing with arms crossed, feet hip-width apart and chest puffed up. Keeping a tight grasp of his self-control. He wasn't a man used to being told no . Not getting what he wanted was unchartered territory for the Holy Roman Emperor. Having others deny him his wishes was no doubt a new experience.

But she wasn't any other person. She was his wife and she had ruled with great success in his absence. And he would just have to get used to the fact that he couldn't order her at his whim.

"I can understand why you are so perturbed by me and I will leave you alone so your agitation can settle."

Agitation settle!

"That would be very wise," she said with a frown. "For an empress whose blood is boiling is a dangerous beast to be around." She finished her wine in a few quick gulps then replaced the goblet in her hand with her Bible.

She stilled, waiting for him to reply.

But he didn't and she heard the murmur of voices. Alvaro was at his side, perhaps? And then footfalls fading down the corridor.

She flopped into a chair and rested her head back. The sudden silence seemed to swim around her, making her ears ring and sending waves of dizziness into her head.

How quickly her day had changed. She'd gone from making plans to raise taxes and order the printing of pamphlets to sitting alone with an emotional ball of energy that was bouncing around inside of her like an excited, yapping puppy.

"After all this time…" she whispered, closing her eyes. "He just rides back into town thinking nothing has changed."

She sighed, a long expulsion of air that she hoped would take her frustration with it.

It wasn't that she wanted to be angry with Charles for his long absence, or irritated by his unannounced arrival, but she couldn't help it. They were the feelings that were being thrown at her and she was taking them like slaps to the face and punches to her guts.

She opened her Bible and tried to read, something that always calmed her. But she could barely see the words. They blurred and fused together on the page.

After a few minutes, she closed the velvet-and-gold-bound book and put it aside, reaching for her rosary and playing it through her fingers. She was a patient and prudent woman, she knew that, but Charles could create a passion and fury in her that was off her usual compass.

Luisa had once told Isabella that when she was anxious she thought about relaxing her fingers and toes, and then her arms and legs, then her shoulders and chest and neck. Taking her time. Breathing deep and trying to let her thoughts blow away with each breath.

Isabella tried this now, wriggling then relaxing her toes, flexing and un-flexing her fingers. But after a few minutes, far from being able to rid her mind of thoughts, all that came to her were images of Charles. She remembered the feel of his lips on hers in the courtyard, his urgent embrace, and the heat of his body through his clothing.

She wriggled and her breath hitched. The knot in her shoulder hurt. She was at war with wanting him and not wanting him. A tug between her legs had her remembering the last time they'd lain together, all those years ago.

There was no denying she wanted him still, perhaps more than back then. Her body had been drawn to his the moment she'd seen him through the window. Running like a loca woman into his arms. Throwing all sense of decorum to the ground as she'd kissed him with undisguised lust.

"Oh, Charles," she said, standing and abandoning all thoughts of trying to relax. "What you do to me. God only knows my suffering."

There was a sudden knock on the door.

"Who is it?" she snapped.

"It is me, my love. I have brought more wine, and I have something else for you."

"What do you have?" She glanced at the empty wine jug. She'd made short work of it.

"Let me show you. I beg you."

"You beg ?"

"Yes. I will beg on my knees if that is what you desire."

That wasn't a bad idea. She clamped her lips together, and, irritated by herself, strode to the door. She slid the lock free from the bolt hole but didn't turn the handle, then she marched back to the window and stared out at the city's terracotta roofs and rolling, vine-filled hills beyond.

The door opened, slowly, creaking as it did so.

Instantly, the temperature in the room seemed to change. Her skin prickled and her nipples tightened. Charles was so much more than just a man stepping into her chambers. He was an emperor, a king…her husband and lover.

The door closed. She heard the lock slide into place again.

It was clear he wasn't going to be disturbed now that he'd managed to gain entry.

She watched his reflection walk to the table and refill the jug with wine. He poured two cups full. And then he stared at her, hands on his hips, chin tilted upward.

A tremble attacked her belly. She'd perhaps forgotten how big and broad he was, how strength oozed from him. Far from looking battle weary, her husband appeared to have thrived during his adventures.

"I should have sent word," he said, "of my intention to arrive back in Valladolid. Please forgive me for giving you such a wretched surprise."

"It was not wretched." She turned, arms folded across her chest. "I am glad that you are alive to make the journey, to come back to me. It is what I have prayed for every day."

"So if you are glad"—his mouth downturned and he shrugged—"why do you look like you would set the archers upon me, given the chance?"

"Do you really not understand?"

He picked up a goblet, drank, then set it aside. "I am trying to understand."

"So let me be clearer." She sucked in a breath. "You left here four years ago, and you have barely written to me. I have heard of much of your news through Alvaro's communications with your traveling companions and aides."

"Again, I am sorry. But in my defense, I have been busy."

"Not so busy that you should ignore your wife." She pointed at him. "Allow your wife to spend many months wondering about your heart…your devotion."

"I am utterly devoted to you." He took a step closer but stopped when she frowned deeper. "You are my one and only love. I swear. I have lived like a priest since I last saw you. I am a celibate man."

She studied him through narrowed eyes. "You swear?"

"On the Bible." He reached for it and spread his palm over the top of it. "I swear I have never known another woman since the day we married. I love you, Isabella."

Her heart melted slightly at the words, but she didn't repeat them.

"Please, accept my apology," he said. "I would never have been so remiss had I known it would hurt you so."

"Yes, that is what it did. It hurt me, deeply."

"And upon hearing that, I wish to flay myself for giving you one second of pain."

"That will not be necessary." She folded her arms again. Her body had come to life, just by being in the same room as him. Her blood flowed hotter, a tug between her legs quivered, and the rest of the room, the palace, had faded from her attention. "But what will be necessary," she said, tilting her chin, "is for you to beg for my forgiveness."

"‘Beg'?"

"You said you would." She nodded at the door. "And I would like to see it."

He swallowed noisily and frowned. "I beg your forgiveness."

"Oh, no. Not like that." She nodded at the red rug she was standing on. "Beg on your knees, the way you said you would."

His jaw tensed—it was coated in stubble—and his eyes narrowed. "I am emperor. People kneel before me."

"I am not people . I am your wife."

He was quiet.

"And you have wronged me."

Again, he said nothing.

"Are you not good for your word, Charles?"

"You know I am." His voice had deepened to almost a growl. And his face had darkened. But he stepped forward and then dipped to one knee before her, his sword at an angle, the point tapping the rug behind.

"So tell me," she said, pouting and looking at a patch of dust on his tunic's shoulder. "For what, exactly, are you begging my forgiveness?"

"For not writing," he said. "As often as I should have."

"I will forgive that if you promise it will never happen again. I wish for monthly letters when you are absent."

"That is acceptable."

"That is the least you can do."

His jaw tensed.

"What else?"

"And for…" He paused. "And for not informing you of my return."

"I wish to know in future so I can organize a celebratory feast and have the children prepared to see their father. That is not too much to ask, is it?"

"No, it isn't. I will always see that you are informed."

"Good."

He shifted on his knee.

"And…?"

"My love." He took her hand and stared into her face. "I am so sorry I didn't come to you when our baby son died. I should have. I see that now."

Her eyes prickled instantly at the mention of her loss. "You should have. I needed you."

He kissed her knuckles then pressed her hand to his cheek and closed his eyes. "I never even met him."

"I know." A sob choked her and suddenly, she was on her knees, before him. "I wanted you to. I so wanted him to know you. His father, the emperor. It broke my heart that he didn't."

"Isabella." He released her hand and caught her within the circle of his arms. He pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin.

She cried and clung to him. The pain that had been secreted away burst out in wretched, gut-wrenching sobs.

He was crying too. She could feel it and hear it. His embrace was desperate and needy.

For the first time in so long, she had the sense that someone understood her pain. Ferdinand had been Charles's child as much as hers.

"My love," he said eventually when her sobs were spent. "Look at me." He captured her face from where they were sitting in a heap on the rug. "Look at me and hear this."

She swallowed, her saliva thick and her cheeks wet. "I am listening."

"A wise priest, Gabriel, he spoke to me when I was lost in my grief." He paused.

"What did he say to you?" she asked softly. "Please, tell me."

"He told me that although our child's life was short and he knew not much of the world, he did know love. Your love. His mother's love. And for that, we must be grateful, for is there a greater thing on God's Earth than the love of a mother? Ferdinand had that. We must let that be a comfort." He kissed her brow. "And I am both humbled and grateful that my son knew you, that you are his mother, the most tender, caring, sweet mother he could wish for."

"Oh, Charles." She touched his cheek. "Those are wise words indeed." She shook her head. "And I will pray for Gabriel to bring comfort to others in his flock with his wisdom."

"You will get to meet him," Charles said. "For I have found his company most pleasing and he has traveled here with me."

"I would like that. To meet him."

"Good, for I do not wish to apologize any more to my wife, at least not today."

"I do not wish for that, either."