Free Wild Is My Love by Janelle Taylor

could show mercy, could call back the sands of time, could allow him to live his life of the past twenty-one years over again…
    Alysa took a cloth and wet it in the tepid water from a pitcher. She gently wiped his face and spoke soothingly to him, as if he were a sick child. “I will make you well again, Father. You must have fresh air, and sunshine, and hot food. You cannot lie abed each day and night if you wish to regain strength. Until Baltair returns, I will ask Leitis and Piaras to help us. You must not give up hope.”
    Alric’s bleary green eyes tried to focus on his daughter, and he attempted to smile at her; both were difficult actions. As with a newborn pup, his flesh and muscles refused to obey him, and sometimes his bodily functions did the same. He knew he must look a terrible sight. He did not want his daughter or his subjects to witness such humiliating disabilities, which was why he remained confined to his room and bed so much these days. He wanted no one’s pity or jests, and he did not want any enemies to learn that Damnonia’s ruler was on the verge of total incapacitation or death.
    The prince thought that if people believed he was very ill, or simply too busy to visit or receive them, they would leave him alone to endure his mental and physical anguish as best he could. From reports by the stewards—Sheriff Trahern and Baltair—Princess Isobail was running the land smoothly and prosperously. When he had to make an appearance, Isobail spent several days personally tending him to help him gain enough strength to carry it off without shaming himself, and he was very grateful to her. Too, he had Captain of the Guard Phelan, and Piaras, to see to his knights and soldiers. His feudal lords and seneschal Baltair were trustworthy and intelligent, so he could depend on his vassals to handle everything until he was well again.
    “You should not be here, my child. I am too ill forvisitors. Go and do not worry; my servant will take care of me,” he chided weakly. Alric’s pride was bruised deeply at appearing so vulnerable, so helpless, so forgotten by the gods whom he had offended and wronged. He did not want Alysa to see him like this, and he had agreed with Isobail to keep her away from him. “It is nothing more than the spring gripans. You forget I am no longer a young man, and it takes me longer than you to conquer such a persistent foe. You can tend me no better than my faithful servants. Worry not, I will be riding with you again soon.”
    It hurt Alysa to suspect that her father did not want her with him, just as his last remark pained her deeply—as they had not gone riding or hunting together for two years, and she doubted if they ever would again. “You are hardly old, Father, and it is no longer spring. I will punish the servant who sneaked from his post to play sticks with the knights or to dally in some dark corner with a serving wench.”
    Alric tried to dismiss her vexation with laughter, but the sound of it was unnatural. “I sent my servant to rest while I napped. He checks on me every hour. I am in no danger, need nothing while I sleep. You should visit Lord Orin’s or Lord Daron’s, loyal vassals who have sons soon to be knighted. Perhaps, my child, you are in need of diversion, or of a worthy suitor or two,” he hinted.
    Enforced wedlock, her mind shrieked in panic. Once married, she would be compelled to leave her home and father to live with her husband until she became ruler. What if Isobail had contrived that path to get rid of her? she thought. Her blue eyes sparked with protest, and she replied, “I desire only for my father to be well again and in control of his land and people. How can this ever be when you do nothing to strengthen your self?”
    “Has my child learned the arts of healing since Ibecame ill? Speak only of those things which you know. If all I needed was a good healer, I would be riding with the hound and hawk this day. Pour me some wine to wet my