Chivalrous (19 page)

Perhaps those words would somehow put their tension to rest. A simple acknowledgment that he had meant so much to her, but that they could never be together. Then she backed up against Randel, missing his reassuring touch so soon.

Allen watched them as they stood together. He eyed them up and down, and resolution settled over his features. “Sir Randel, the duchess, Gwendolyn, and I shall be riding into the woods on the morrow. Would you like to join us?”

“Certainly.”

Gwendolyn need not see his face to detect Randel's joy over the invitation. He rested his hand upon her shoulder again.

A new path. A new direction. Perhaps it just might work.

She looked just as Allen always imagined she would.

Gwendolyn sat confidently astride a mare of chestnut brown. Her long burgundy tunic, slit up the side, allowed her brown leggings to peek through. She kicked the horse into motion and giggled merrily as she took off with her maid alongside upon her own mount. The two galloped in a circle about the practice field. Gwendolyn moved in perfect rhythm, creating a picture so noble, so free, that it nearly stole the breath from his lungs.

Until Sir Randel Penigree trotted up to join them. Gwendolyn greeted him in a warm, relaxed manner. In the weeks he'd known her, Allen had seen her behave awkwardly in a number of social situations, but with Randel she seemed entirely herself. Open and alluring, confident and strong.

“I chose well, do you not think?” The duchess's voice caught him off guard. Clearly she had been watching as he observed Gwendolyn. “Both to bring her here and to match them together. We need such vibrant young energy to bring this castle back to life.”

“Indeed,” Allen said, barely able to take his gaze off Gwendolyn to offer the duchess due attention.

When finally he turned to her, she was studying him with her keen, dark eyes. “But it seems there might be one complication I did not take into consideration.”

Allen shook himself from his trance. “'Tis nothing. Only the two ladies look so lovely upon their horses. They belong on a tapestry. Why would anyone desire to keep women locked away in castles?”

The duchess laughed. “I am not sure I believe that is all, but I shall let it go for now. You mentioned you had met Gwendolyn before, but I did not suspect . . . Well, we all have a past. If you would rather not have her about, please let me know.”

“She should stay. I love the way she cheers you and brings out your mischievous side.”

The duchess offered an impish grin to prove him right. “I feel so youthful when she is about. And her maidservant is charming as well.”

A groom brought the duchess's horse to her, and she swept into the saddle without assistance. Her long green kirtle was ingeniously split down the middle and sewn into two loose legs, allowing her to perch astride with ease. She looked as lovely on horseback as Gwendolyn, and even more regal.

Allen likewise mounted his faithful steed, Thunder. He must train his focus to the duchess alone. “You look beautiful today. And every bit as young as yon maidens.”

“You and your golden tongue. While I know you to be a man of integrity, sometimes I wonder if the truth of your words lies in your perceived obligation rather than in the depths of your heart.”

After pausing to consider his answer, Allen said, “The heart is a fickle organ. And the truth wears many faces. I try to let sober thinking and sound judgment rule both my speech and my
actions—and the guidance of God, of course.” He would keep his duty to the region in the forefront of his mind. Never would he allow himself to be lured into destruction like Guinevere, who had destroyed her kingdom over Lancelot.

He was too important, too pivotal to this dukedom, and he could not let them down. “I am committed to you and to our coming nuptials. In the truth that is the truest of all truths, I am deeply honored and humbled by this opportunity. You are an amazing woman. I consider it a gift from God that I have been chosen to rule at your side.”

“I am honored as well. Although I would never have chosen to remarry so quickly, I can think of no man I would rather commit my life to.” The duchess brought her horse close to his and leaned in to offer a kiss upon his cheek. She had never done so before, and he marveled at the featherlight stroke of her lips.

Yes, the truth wore many faces. Perhaps he had fallen in love with Gwendolyn. Or perhaps it had merely been infatuation, and this deep admiration and camaraderie he felt with the duchess was the beginning of something more real.

They trotted in the direction of the others. Gwendolyn reached out to swat Sir Randel for something he had said. He ducked away and chuckled. Perhaps the familiar affection and playful exchange between Gwendolyn and Randel might allow them to establish something lasting.

Except that a place deep inside of his heart—that same place that had assured him Merry was never his—still cried out that he and Gwendolyn belonged together forever.

Sitting upon the back of a fine borrowed mare, Rosalind pulled her bowstring and notched her arrow into place. Her turn had arrived; the shot was hers.

She focused on the hearty hare against a backdrop of lush green foliage. It would make someone a fine supper. The shadows from the surrounding patch of trees kept her hidden from its view, but the hare perked its ears and twitched its nose as if sensing something amiss.

“Hurry!” Gwendolyn whispered.

Rosalind took aim straight for its heart. The muscles of its haunches pulled tight, but before it could spring into action, she let the arrow fly. It shot like lightning through the air, but just at the last, the hare leapt forward, and the arrow struck its hip instead of landing the merciful death blow.

The animal squealed and hopped frantically in a circle. Poor thing. Rosalind hated this part of hunting. Wishing to put it out of its misery as quickly as possible, she trotted her horse closer, pulled her dagger from her boot, and tossed it straight and sure. That projectile found its mark, and tonight's main course finally lay at rest upon a bed of damp leaves.

When Rosalind looked up, all eyes were fixed upon her, and only Gwendolyn's mouth did not gape.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Allen asked.

Randel chuckled. “Ah, I see you have not known the Lady Gwendolyn for long.”

The duchess arched an eyebrow. “Gwendolyn?” she said in the tone of a mother to a naughty child.

Gwendolyn twisted her face in a wry expression and lifted her hands in mock surrender. “We had to do something to keep us occupied in that drafty old castle.”

“She is adept with sword and lance as well,” Randel said. “Has she taught you those, Maid Rosalind?”

“Indeed she has. And I have suffered the sore bottom to prove it,” Rosalind said, though in truth she had enjoyed their afternoons together out in nature. Had, in fact, missed them this past month.

“But I am no match for Rosalind with the dagger.” Gwendolyn nodded toward the hare.

“It seems you two might prove more useful than I ever expected. Who needs a guard when Lady Gwendolyn is near?”

Gwendolyn blushed. “Or Rosalind. I told her these skills could come in handy someday.”

“Yes, Your Grace, if you ever go on pilgrimage, I would be happy to accompany you.” Rosalind giggled.

“Excellent plan. But first we must get through these impending nuptials,” the duchess said.

That seemed to put a damper on their humor. Glances darted about. Allen slumped forward a bit over his horse at the reminder. Poor fellow. Too bad there was no way to put him out of his misery as she had the hare.

In contrast, Gwendolyn seemed in better spirits next to Sir Randel than she had been since the wedding was first announced. He must give her hope that things might turn out well.

Needing to break the tension, Rosalind trotted to the hare and hoisted it up by its hind legs. Her stomach roiled in protest of the dead carcass, but she had learned to ignore it over these last weeks. “He's a plump one. And tender, I'll warrant.”

“And I have the finest cook in the land. I shall send you some, Rosalind,” the duchess said.

“How kind, Your Grace.” Rosalind tossed the hare into the huntsman's sack, along with the other game they had captured that day.

In that instant she was struck hard by the fact that she had been joking and laughing with a duchess all afternoon and had barely given their difference in stations a thought. Were they truly so different? All her life she had been taught to treat the nobility as a separate sort of species. Something akin to a demigod. As if their blood did not flow red the same as hers.

But on some core level, were not all people the same? Were they not all made in the image of the same God, and as the book she read with Gwendolyn proclaimed, were they not all His adopted children?

Lady Gwendolyn had become her closest companion. Sir Allen had risen from obscurity and would soon lead the region. Perhaps she and Hugh were not so different either. There might yet exist some way for them to overcome their disparity in stations and find true love, though she had never dared to consider the possibility before.

Surely she could handle his moods and tame him into a fine husband. He had always been an admirable brother to Gwendolyn. And just think what she could do for her family as wife to a nobleman! They would most assuredly never go hungry again.

There might yet be a future for Hugh and Rosalind.

Gwen and Rosalind entered the townhouse laughing and in high spirits. Late afternoon chill nipped at Gwen's cheeks, but she did not mind. She had not had so much fun since before Father came home.

As she spotted him glowering at her from across the large common room, she pulled up short.

“There you are. Finally. And whatever in God's name are you wearing?”

Gwen glanced down at her split tunic and leggings and then to Rosalind's matching outfit. She took a bracing breath and steadied her temper. “Father, could you please let this go for once? The duchess was dressed in similar attire. One cannot ride astride a horse in a gown.”

“Which is precisely why ladies should not be riding horses,” he grumbled.

Mother rose from her chair and soothed his ruffled temper with calming strokes to his arm as she so often did. “But of course we would not wish to disparage our gracious duchess in even the slightest way.”

Father collected himself. “Of course not.”

Truly it was a wonder Father had not turned against the progressive duke and duchess years ago. But she did not wish to rile him against the duchess now. Gwen turned to head up the stairs. “I shall go change.”

“Thank goodness this will not last long. I imagine Sir Gawain shall not tolerate such behavior and will find some way to prevent it.” Father's statement caught her up short.

She clutched the railing and blinked hard as she processed the horrible statement. “Gawain? Nothing has been settled with Gawain.”

“Indeed it has.” An evil grin spread across Father's face. “All the attention you garnered last night proved just the trick. Sir Gawain wishes to pursue negotiations before someone else snatches you up. His father invited us to dine at their castle a week hence.”

Rosalind slunk quietly into the shadows, even as Gwen took a step toward her parents. “But the duchess wishes me to stay here. I am to move into the castle when you leave for home.”

“No bother.” Father flicked away the inconvenient detail. “We shall work out something.”

“Mother?” Gwen outstretched her hands.

“This is news to me as well, darling.” Mother's incessant rubbing of Father's arm grew frantic in its speed.

“Oh.” Gwen's shoulders sagged. She had hoped Mother might advocate for her, but she had been denied even that chance.

“Oh, what? What is the problem now? Did we not agree she must marry?” Father's vein popped to attendance.

“Of course she must marry.” Mother appeared to brace herself. “But Gwendolyn and I have been discussing other options. Like Sir Randel. The duchess seemed to favor that match, and of course we wish to please our ruler.”

“Randel Penigree is no suitable match for her.” Father's vein commenced to throbbing. “He is a fourth son for mercy's sake.”

“Fourth son of an earl,” Gwen dared to retort. She could not give up now. This battle was too important. Her heart, her very life was on the line. “I think the match is quite reasonable.”

Father pulled away from Mother and began to stomp about the room like a raging bull. “Gawain is heir to a barony! He is by far the superior choice. Beyond which, I do not trust the Penigrees. I would much rather align myself with the Ethelbaums.”