Chivalrous (12 page)

Two men headed in his direction down the shadowy corridor that ran along the side of the great hall. At last, the moment he had been waiting for.

“Hello, friend.” Sir Gaillard, the slight and grizzled knight from the border area, wisely did not mention Warner's name.

He hid deeper in his concealing cloak nonetheless.

Sir Gaillard was a member of the council, though not one of the favored fellows who had been dining upon the dais this evening. “I have brought the man, as you requested.”

“Ah, Lord Barnes.” Warner eyed the hulking fellow up and down. A military genius, or so many claimed. Yes, he would do quite nicely. With the baron at his side, Warner could move forward with his plans in full confidence. “I hear we have much in common.”

“I am not yet convinced of that,” the man snapped.

“Truly? Well, then. Tell me what you think of the goings-on upon the dais.”

The baron grumbled. “'Tis ridiculous. Who is that fellow? Some lowborn knight from central England. Why do they seek his opinion? Bah!” He swiped his hand through the air in disgust.

“You see! Precisely as I feel,” Warner said. “I believe you are as weary with the duke's progressive nonsense as I am. What is the point of being endowed with nobility by God in heaven if one intends to hand over power to lesser humans? Those created for nothing more than to work the earth and procreate? They have not the intelligence, nor the discernment, to be involved in decision-making. Education only serves to twist their minds and confuse them.”

The baron considered Warner. “I cannot argue any of that,
but I am not sure we see eye to eye on how to bring about change. Whether or not Justus and his council like the fact, North Britannia is yet part of England. In time things shall come back around. The regent shall not tolerate such nonsense.”

Indeed, Warner knew William Marshall well, had fought alongside him, in fact. That was precisely why he needed to seize power now, while his ally might support him. But this Barnes fellow was yet an unknown entity, and Warner's gut told him he should not trust him too far. He had risked much merely approaching him to gauge his opinions. He would certainly not trust the man with his plans, not at a pivotal time such as this.

“Well”—Warner extended his hand to shake Lord Barnes's meatier one—“it is always a pleasure to meet a kindred spirit. I hope that if at some point in the future . . . shall we say . . . matters change, I will have your support.”

“Do not count on that. The duke is well loved. I yet feel a good degree of faithfulness to the man, although I agree we are in dire need of change. I must take time to consider this. Now if you will excuse me, I should get back to my family.”

With that, Lord Barnes took his leave.

“So what do you think?” Sir Gaillard asked.

“I think we had best stick with our original plan. Perhaps once it is under way, the good baron shall join us. But either way, we must move forward.”

“I am still not certain. We would benefit from more support. If we give the baron some time, he might come 'round . . .”

At that moment, Duke Justus stood and tapped his goblet with his knife. Good heavens, what inanity would the man come up with now? If only Justus knew his banished cousin stood watching him from the shadows, conspiring with his own nobles, the fact might wipe that insipid smile from his face.

“Good people of North Britannia and esteemed guests, I am
pleased to announce that Sir Allen of Ellsworth, most honorable knight in all the land, has consented to join my council.”

The lowborn fellow stood beside the duke with false humility pasted across his face.

Warner slapped a hand over his mouth to stop his protest from spewing out. That was it. The final straw. He would proceed with his plan without an ounce of regret.

“Surely he must jest!” Sir Gaillard dug his fingers through his hair. “Does his idiocy know no bounds? He did not even bring this to the full council for approval.”

“Do you see now? Do you understand why we can no longer delay?” Warner fought hard to keep desperation from leaking into his voice. He had waited a lifetime to be afforded the title and power he so deserved. He had no wish to wait any longer.

The man sighed. “Yes. This has gone on long enough. I shall speak with my colleagues and it shall take place a week hence, precisely as you requested.”

“And I shall be able to do it with my own hand?”

“Absolutely,” the man said with a wicked grin. “We would not have it otherwise. You are the only person who can do this thing with impunity.”

Warner rubbed his hands together. He could almost taste victory. How fortuitous the timing of his cousin's addlebrained announcement had been.

Before long, North Britannia would be his.

Back home at Castle Barnes, Gwen snuggled deeper into the pillows on her bed as she studied the weighty words of the book Allen had recommended to her during their extended time together over the days following the tournament. Mischief perched near Gwen's head, and Angel, tucked into her side, commenced to snore. Meanwhile, Rosalind bustled about unpacking Gwen's trunk.

“Tell me again of your glorious evening.” Rosalind scooped up the turquoise gown she had been attending. She held it against her chest, taking one long sleeve into her hand, and spun around Gwen's chamber with its plain grey stone walls as if she herself were dancing at the grand Edendale Castle.

All along their trip home Rosalind had asked to hear the story of Gwen's magical evening with Allen. Heat filled Gwen's cheeks. “Do not be ridiculous. We need not relive it again and again.”

Rosalind laid the gown over a chair. Then she sat upon Gwen's bed beside her. Rosalind tugged the leather-bound manuscript out of Gwen's hand. “Of course we must. Tell me a tale of romance!”

“Give me back my book!” Gwen reached for it, but Rosalind swept it high over her head.

“Not until you relent.”

“Fine.” Gwen pushed against the mattress and sat up straighter to begin her tale. “But you must stop making such a silly fuss over it. After being introduced to the entire assemblage as the newest member of the council, Allen came straight to me for a dance, and all eyes were upon us. I swear we were the couple of the evening, and a fine couple we made, towering above everyone in our turquoise and blue. I have never felt so beautiful.”

Allen evoked a new softness within Gwen, the likes of which she had not suspected she was capable. And since he was now on the council . . . and since she had to marry someone . . . she had begun to think perhaps she should not resist these feelings after all. “No one has ever looked at me like that before.”

Rosalind gave a little click of her tongue. “I know that is not true, for I have seen men rake you with their eyes as if you were the main course at a feast.”

“I hate that sort of attention.” Gwen hugged her arms over her chest. “Allen looks at me with a tender, pure sort of longing, and 'tis quite different when it comes from a man you admire. There, so I have poured out my heart. Is that quite enough?”

“No, no! Tell me more.” Rosalind patted the mattress in her excitement.

“I suppose, if you insist.”

“I do.”

Gwen sighed. “We danced several dances, and then were forced to switch partners. Father looked perturbed, but he had told me to make myself visible and be certain to dance, for nothing makes a woman more appealing than the attention of one's foes.”

Gwen giggled, and then clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the silly, girlish sound before continuing. “When Gawain asked me to dance, I thought the evening ruined, but it was a lively tune, and even he could not bring down my high spirits.”

“And then . . .” Rosalind wiggled her brows, for she knew the story well.

“And then Allen asked if we might take a stroll through the moonlit gardens. I looked about for Father, but he had been sent on the urgent mission that yet keeps him away, and Mother gave me her permission without hesitation.” Gwen quieted for a moment, recalling the feel of Allen's strong arm beneath her fingers, the brush of his hand along her back, the way she sank into the depths of his eyes as they glimmered with moonlight.

At last, she spoke again. “We just walked and talked for what seemed an eternity. About everything in the world and nothing at all. Then we sat upon a bench together. He told me tales of his adventures in the forest and stories from the Scriptures as well. And then over the following days . . . Oh, Rosalind!”

“I am glad your mother agreed to stay awhile,” Rosalind said.

Gwen smiled as those marvelous sensations washed over her once more. “There is truly not another like him in the world. Neither so good-hearted nor so brave. He gives me hope that all men might not be brutes.”

“And I dare say Sir Allen gives you a new view on the subject of marriage.”

“Perhaps.” Gwen bit her lip. Fear nibbled away at her wonder and awe, as it had so many times since that night. “Although I have still not adjusted entirely to the idea. And I am still afraid Father might not find him suitable.”

“Don't be silly. He is to be a council member.”

“Yes, but Father was none too happy about the decision. I heard him grumbling about peasant upstarts before Allen caught me away.”

Rosalind frowned. “I warrant he shall get past it.”

“But he might not get past the fact that Allen treats me as an equal. He wants a husband who will tame me.” Gwen's stomach wrenched at the thought.

“Allen, is it?” Rosalind shot Gwen a pointed look at the familiar use of his first name.

Gwen batted her with a small pillow. “Stop it!”

At once, both Angel and Mischief perked up and dove for the pillow. Angel caught it first, and began flailing it about, as if it were a squirrel and she would wring its neck in a manner not at all true to her name. But Mischief snatched it away and jumped to the floor with his tail wagging. Angel followed him and they commenced a tugging war.

“Shall I rescue the pillow from the troublesome pups?” Rosalind asked.

“Let them have their fun.” Gwen was thankful for the distraction from their conversation.

“But I am dismayed he did not mention marriage or at least courtship.” Alas, it seemed Rosalind would not let the subject go so easily.

“'Tis too early for any of that. But he did say that once he was settled in his new position we would have much to discuss.”

“That does indeed sound promising. And do not forget that he kissed your hands for much longer than good manners allow. I love that part.” A pang of jealousy surged through Rosalind, for although she and Hugh were closer than Gwendolyn and Allen in many practical ways, they had never made even the
vaguest plans for future meetings. Only lived in the moment when circumstances allowed.

Hugh's moods ran wild like a tempest, and she never quite knew what to expect from him. Though she hated to admit it, he could behave quite poorly at times.

But she swept aside any envy. Gwendolyn deserved this moment of happiness, and Rosalind loved seeing the new tenderness and femininity that had come over her mistress.

While Rosalind enjoyed hearing Gwendolyn's tales of romance, she herself needed to find a new man to catch her fancy. She had spent too much time dreaming of the unattainable Sir Hugh Barnes, and now had begun to despair. If she could not meet a new fellow in the teeming city of Edendale, there was no hope for her.

“Now, have I earned my book back?” Gwendolyn snapped Rosalind from her reverie.

Rosalind held the book in one hand and tapped it upon the palm of the other. “I can't help but wonder what is so fascinating about it. You've never bothered much with pleasure reading before.”

“Al . . . rather Sir Allen”—a smug look crossed Gwendolyn's face as she corrected herself—“mentioned this book of sermons to me, and I found it in our library, but Father would not like the book if he bothered to read it.”

“That explains everything. Sir Allen is the source of your sudden interest.” Rosalind flipped through the crinkling pages. Though she had learned the fundamentals of reading, wishing to stand out as a candidate for lady's maid, most of these words were not familiar. “And is it any good?”

“I like the perspective, and it is written in French, which is much easier for me than Latin.”

That explained why little seemed familiar. “Would you read a passage to me?” Rosalind asked.

Gwendolyn flipped to a section she had marked with a ribbon and kindly translated into English, for though the Norman nobles could float easily between French and English, Rosalind knew only the basics of French required for her station.

“‘Christ gave His life as a ransom for us and restored us to right relationship with God. Thus we become children of the living, all-encompassing creator of the universe. Love incarnate indwells our very beings, and from our sense of deep gratitude, we are spurred to keep His law and live a holy life worthy of His sacrifice.'”

As Gwendolyn continued reading the powerful words, a sense of awe and humility rushed over Rosalind. Although she regularly attended mass, she had never heard anything quite like this. She had never considered herself indwelt by God, though perhaps she should have. Her chest tightened as she realized that though she believed in God, she had been rather thoughtless about His commands.

Wasn't it human nature to yield to one's passions and desires? Only the clergy were called to holy lives, as their station required. Yet this book caused her to wonder. They sat quietly for a few moments, as Rosalind recounted her many sins with a degree of regret she had never experienced before. “What do you think of the passage?”

Gwendolyn held the book away from her body, as if putting some distance between herself and the powerful words. “I am not certain. This is so different from what I have heard at mass.”

“It occurs to me,” Rosalind whispered in reverence of their holy conversation, “that if these ideas are true, one cannot simply go on one's way and ignore them. They require a change in how we live.”

“Agreed.
If
they are true—which I am not convinced of at this point.” Gwendolyn snapped the book shut. “But I am dis
appointed that I have found nothing on the issue that concerns me most.”

“Which is?”

“How God views women. I do not desire to serve a God who would create me only to serve and pander to men. To suffer their whims and abuses.”

Rosalind believed that God created her to serve her betters, and the idea had never caused her a crisis of faith, but she kept her mouth closed on the matter. “Our job is to trust that God knows best on these issues.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

“And perhaps your experience with your father has clouded your views.” Lord Barnes could make any woman dread marriage. Knowing Hugh was raised by such a man was the only fact that brought Rosalind some consolation in the knowledge that they could never be together. And truthfully, she should keep reminding herself that she had spied some cruelty lurking behind Hugh's charming smile. Gwen might not recognize it, but Rosalind had.

Gwendolyn pursed her lips. “Allen thinks I might have it wrong entirely. He told me stories of other strong women from the Bible, not merely Deborah. And he believes the New Testament calls a husband to serve his wife and treat her with care.”

“This
Allen
, as you persist in calling him, truly sounds like a gem.”

“That he is.” A vulnerable smile transformed Gwendolyn's face.

“Lady Gwendolyn, you know that as your maid I try not to presume upon you too much.”

“Although you tease me like the dickens.”

“True.” Rosalind chuckled. “But I was wondering if you might consider reading this book to me in the evenings before we retire.”

“I like the idea. We can discuss it together, for it is much to digest on one's own.”

“Thank you so much. I will treasure every moment.” For if the book was true, Rosalind had much to consider. She longed to have the relationship with God that it described, but in order for that to happen, some aspects of her life might need to change. And she would require more than one brief recitation to find the strength and determination to make such changes.