Chivalrous (27 page)

Someway, somehow, hopefully in a manner involving much pain and humiliation, the dukedom would be his.

Once hidden in their dense copse of trees, the entire group celebrated with hugs, hushed cheers, and plenty of slaps on the back. No one seemed to share Allen's intense disappointment that DeMontfort yet lived to vex the dukedom another day.

Allen pulled Gwendolyn tight to his side even as Timothy swung Merry in a circle. The ladies, the Ghosts, and Allen's fellow guards had all fought admirably.

“I am so glad you are safe,” Allen whispered in Gwendolyn's ear.

Unable to resist, he dropped a kiss on her golden hair, which he hoped would seem only the proper chivalrous gesture in the situation.

He had been amazed to see Gwendolyn in the throes of battle—although as he revisited the memory, something about her technique struck him as oddly familiar. . . .

But he was not allowed time to further consider that thought, for the guard they had left at camp rushed toward them.

“A troop of North Britannian soldiers is heading this way.”

Allen let go of Gwendolyn and grabbed at the hilt of his sword. His mind scanned through the possibilities. “Most likely they are here to take me home. Those who came with me.” He beckoned them with a lift of his chin. “We shall not resist, as our mission is complete.”

“Or it could be dissenters en route to join DeMontfort,” Durand said.

Sir Randel gathered their group. “Let us don our surcoats and be ready for either contingency.”

“Timothy,” Allen said, “take Merry and your men and return to the king. Tell Marshall what has been going on here, and that North Britannia needs his help.”

Merry took Allen's hand. The gesture warmed his heart but nothing more. “How can I ever thank you enough?”

“No thanks is necessary. Just marry Timothy quickly and make him a happy man.” He winked her way as the Ghosts, along with Lord Linden's men, prepared for a quick departure.

Finally he turned to Gwen. “It would do no good for the troops to recognize you. You must fend for yourself, I'm afraid, and get back home as fast as you can.”

“Of course.” She stood straight and tall at his side.

How he longed to pull her into his embrace and shield her
from the world forever. Instead he offered her the only gift he could. “You fought well today. I was a fool to doubt you.”

She melted from her warrior stance into a gentler, more feminine shape and blushed prettily. “You did not know, and you only wished to protect me. But I must hurry away.”

Standing to her toes, she pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. It sizzled there like lightning.

However, he could not stand around dreaming of lovely maidens who could not be his.

He pulled on his surcoat and prepared to meet the contingent from North Britannia. Along with the rest of the guards who had supported him, he mounted his horse and trotted toward them along the road.

“There you are, you traitorous whelp! I have been sent to fetch you home.” The words came from a rough, scowling face surrounded by wild grey-and-black hair. Lord Reimund Barnes.

Why the baron of all people? The troops surrounded him and his small group of soldiers.

“We shall not fight you,” Allen said, lifting his hands over his head. “We have completed our mission, and we are ready to return home.” He scanned the surrounding terrain to ensure that Gwendolyn remained well hidden from her ruthless father, and was relieved when he caught not a single glance of her.

“Do you think you shall get away with defying the council so easily? I believe a night in my dungeon along the way back will teach you all a much-needed lesson.”

As the troop led them toward home, Allen groaned. How he hated to be in the clutches of this man, and in the clutches of the tyrannical council he represented. But a night in the dungeon would be a small price to pay for saving Merry from a dreaded marriage. Now if only he could save himself from a similar fate.

But he knew he would not. He must do his duty. He must
honor his commitment. And so he trotted his horse back home toward North Britannia with his head held high.

Gwen peered through the trees as her father led Allen and the men away. Now was her chance. She might slip off to the central part of England and thus escape her tyrant father's grasp. Lady Merry had proven as valiant and honorable as Gwen had dreamed. No doubt she and Timothy would understand and take Gwen along.

Yet Allen and the men needed her help now more than ever. She had no idea what awful plans her father might have in mind to punish them.

If she followed Merry, not only would she give up her chance to help Allen, she would relinquish her home, Rosalind, and her mother, even Mischief and Angel, whom she missed so already. She had never meant to leave them this long. Perhaps even her brothers would be lost to her. But if she went back now, she might yet be wed to a fiend.

She glanced in one direction and then the other, her heart pulled in two. What she did in the next few moments would set the course of her life for many years to come.

The stench proved not as awful as Allen had expected. He had noted not a single skeleton nor ghost, nor so far even a rat in Lord Barnes's dungeon. The place reeked of disuse more than human suffering. The five of them had been tossed in roughly, but were not secured to cuffs or chains.

All in all, Allen would have been a bit disappointed by his first trip to the dungeon, did it not offer a welcome respite from all the wedding preparations and incessant tutoring at Edendale Castle.

In the sparse beams of moonlight that streamed down from the small barred windows near the ceiling, Allen spotted Randel lounging to his right with his head resting on his balled surcoat. “You look surprisingly comfortable over there.” Allen chuckled.

Randel groaned and shifted positions. “I doubt I shall be able to sleep in this place, but we should get what rest we can.”

“Perhaps you can help me with something that might pass the time.”

“What is that?” Randel propped himself on his elbow.

“I need to write a blasted love poem to read to the duchess at the feast before our wedding. The council desires that our love ring true. And 'tis only proper and chivalrous that I do so. Do you not think?”

“Hmm . . .” Randel paused. “I suppose it is. Except that I do not believe you are in love with the duchess.”

“But she is an exceptional lady, and she deserves such a gesture.”

“Agreed.”

“Could we not compose it together?”

“I will try and help.”

“Good.” Allen moved to a comfortable cross-legged position. “All I have come up with so far is this.
Your curves call out like
a wave in the sea. Your hair as a waterfall
beckons to me.”

Randel pursed his lips and nodded his head from side to side as if weighing the words on a scale. “Very pretty sentiment. You surprise me, Sir Allen. I thought you more a man of action than of words.”

“So it is good?” Hope surged within Allen.

“I did not say that.” Randel sat up to face him. “For the duchess is not a particularly curving woman, and her hair is ever caught beneath a wimple. Have you even seen it down?”

“No, although I can tell it is dark, for not all of her wimples hide it well.”

“Well, I've seen it. It falls quite straight, not at all frothy like a waterfall, or—for example only of course—the Lady Gwendolyn's waving hair. And now that I think of it, the Lady Gwendolyn's curving figure.”

Sir Durand chuckled at that from across the room.

“Mind your own business!” Allen picked up the closest projectile he could find, a leather glove, and threw it at the fellow's head.

“It seems you've made your love life all of our business.” Durand slid closer. “Why not make the waterfall sparkling with golden sunlight and be done with it?”

Sir Agravain, an older married knight, joined their little party. “Since you're speaking of waves and water how about
Your aqua eyes do
quench, do intoxicate my soul.
”

Everyone but Allen laughed now. God help him, was his infatuation with Gwendolyn so obvious to them all?

“
And your bowed pink lips do beseech
my kiss
,” Durand added.

Allen's cheeks flamed. “Enough!” he shouted. “This is not funny. Would you so disrespect your duchess?”

They fell silent.

“Besides,” Allen said to Randel, “I thought you wished to marry Gwendolyn.”

Randel blew out a slow breath. “I admire Gwennie, care for her deeply, and desperately wish to save her from Gawain. She would make a good match for me, and I believe we would be happy together. But I have never yet loved any woman with the passion I see in your eyes when you gaze at her.”

Allen slapped the ground beside him. “This conversation has gone too far.”

“I am sorry,” Randel said. “But you asked. Besides which, though I did not wish to mention it, my right arm has been pounding like thunder and lightning ever since I dropped from that rope. I fear 'tis broken, and I shall not be able to fight for her now. We shall have to find a different champion for our Gwendolyn. What of you, Durand?”

“And risk the wrath of Sir Allen? Thank you, but no.”

“Cease this!” Allen raked at his hair.

“Oh, do not be a bad sport, Allen,” Durand said. “Your sulking over Gwendolyn was hard to miss. We know you would
not dishonor the duchess. But admiration of ladies in general is well entrenched in the chivalrous ideal.”

“Just because such admiration is chivalrous does not mean it honors God,” Allen said. “Look at Lancelot and Guinevere and the destruction they wrought. The duchess is to be my wife, and I am determined to be faithful to her in both thought and deed.”

“Good luck with that.” Durand ducked before Allen could send another glove sailing his direction.

Just then, an odd scratching sound met their ears and they all jolted to attention.

“What is it?” Randel whispered.

Allen cocked his head and peered at the outside wall, from whence the sound came. “I know not.”

A moment later, in the dim light he detected a large stone moving slowly outward, smoothly, almost magically, as if on wheels or some sort of conveyance. Then moonbeams broke through the hole, and a figure burst into their dungeon along with a thick cloud of dust from the misplaced stone. In silhouette against the milky haze stood a tall curving figure with her feet placed wide, hands on her hips, and a braid cascading down one shoulder.
Gwendolyn!

As she approached, he noted her chain mail and the sword hanging from a belt about her hips. “Come, we must hurry,” said the voice he had come to cherish.

No one moved.

She waved them toward the hole. “Now! What are you waiting for?”

“Gwennie,” Randel spoke first. “We appreciate your efforts, but we should not anger your father nor the council any further.”

Allen stood and stepped forward. “They only plan to keep us here this one night.”

“Do you think you can trust my father? Return to Edendale while you can. The council will be happy enough once you have arrived.” Gwendolyn huffed and tugged him toward the hole.

But Allen stood firm and crossed his arms over his chest. “No. I insist. I have shirked my duties long enough. ”

“You and your insipid duties!” She pressed her fists into her hips again.

That pride Allen still did not wish to acknowledge rankled at her statement. “I will thank you not to insult me in front of my comrades.”

“Then come outside and speak with me in private.”

Allen took a step, then hesitated.

“Please, Allen,” she said, her tone now pleading and feminine. “There is a yew tree I once promised to show you, and we might never have this chance again.”

His heart melted at her soft entreaty. “Are you certain it is safe?”

“Trust me.” Gwendolyn reached her hand to him. “This is my home.”

Of its own accord, Allen's hand met hers, and they wrapped together. With the gentlest of tugs, she led him out through the hole in the wall.

“This way,” she whispered.

They wove through the dark foliage, but Gwendolyn remained certain and surefooted.

“Here it is.” She placed her free hand on a thick, gnarled trunk which split into a V. “'Tis easy to climb. I shall go first.”

He followed her as she scrambled lightly up the tree. About eight feet up, Gwendolyn scurried onto a thick branch and sat upon it with her legs dangling free.

“What of the guards?” Allen whispered.

“I can take care of them.”

At that very moment a loud, “Halt, who goes there?” came from the castle wall.

Allen froze, but Gwendolyn just smiled. “Trust me.”

She scooched farther down the branch and poked her head out from the dense section of evergreen boughs. “'Tis just me, Sir Jasper. Lady Gwendolyn. I came to fetch something from home, but please do not tell my father.”

“Tsk, tsk.” The guard's voice sounded friendly and playful, though Allen could not spy him through the thick tree. “Lady Gwendolyn, always into some mischief. But I shall not be the one to tell tales, not after the way your father locked you up and left you to go hungry the last time you crossed him. 'Twas not right.”

Allen's heart twisted to hear this, but he remained still and quiet as he listened to their conversation from his dark hiding place.

“I say, do you know where my pups might be? I would like to fetch them as well if I can.”

“Not in secret, you shan't. They've been sleeping with your mother since she returned without you.”

It took a rare woman to battle like a soldier one moment and worry about her pups the next. After all this time, Allen still found Gwendolyn utterly charming.

“That is too bad. But thank you for your help. I shall owe you a favor for this,” Gwendolyn said.

“Did you bring your pipe along?” the guard asked.

“Indeed, I never go anywhere without it. Shall I play for you?”

“I would love that.”

“But what of my father?”

“There's a rowdy bunch of his men in the great hall. They shall not hear a thing. And I will keep a close watch for them from the gatehouse.”

“Excellent. Just give me a moment, then,” she said.

Her pipe. That awful, wonderful, mesmerizing pipe. Allen did not wish to hear it now. Not in this tree where he had once imagined he might kiss her.

After the guard walked away, Gwendolyn moved back down the branch and settled herself so close that her thighs and shoulders grazed his. She opened the sack that hung from her belt and pulled out the pipe. Then she began her haunting tune.

It reached out to Allen and wrapped about him, much like her hand had done earlier. Though he could see only the barest shadow of profile, he had studied her often during the past weeks, and he knew every slope of her cheek, every nuance of her skin.

His hands trembled to reach out and touch her. His lips pulsed with the desire to brush against hers. But beyond any of that, he felt God's presence swathing about him more keenly than he had in these many weeks—which made no sense at all!

Gwendolyn appeared to be every bit as caught up in the music, in the wonder of the moment, as he was. Then something in her demeanor seemed to shift. She abruptly halted her performance and slapped the pipe down upon her lap. “I cannot argue with you whilst playing.”

Yes, better that they should focus on the issue at hand, even spend their time bickering, than risk being overcome by this magical spell. But as he could no longer remember what they had been fighting about, he waited for her to continue.

She shoved the pipe into her sack. “You must leave this castle tonight. You believed I would know my own home. Now believe that I know my own father. He is a ruthless man. I do not trust him, and he quite hates you.”

Allen had suspected as much, yet his blood went cold at the words.

Turning to face him, she continued. “Do not leave your fate in his hands. I think he will remain faithful to the duchess and return you, but I am just not sure. No doubt he will make you suffer along the way. And I suspect he will leave Randel here to rot, for he will not risk setting him free to fight in the tournament for me. Father is still determined that I marry that cruel Gawain.”

His heart mirrored the hurt, even the anger within her words.

How he wished he could save her from it all, but he knew only one way to help her now. “You are right. You know your father better than I do. But might I suggest that I likewise know my Father, my heavenly Father, better than you, who have not claimed Him as your own? My Father is faithful and true. You can . . . No—you
must
put your trust in Him.”

He gripped her by the forearms in his need to convince her. “Circumstances might look grim for a time, but God can turn matters for the good. He alone can sustain your soul through whatever adversity you might face.”

“So if I will trust in God, you will take your men and flee?” She chuckled, and he realized the absurdity of what he seemed to suggest.

“I do not wish to strike a bargain. I only wish to know you are safe in God's love, and only because I care for you so much.” He dropped her arms and gently took her hand instead. He traced his finger across her palm. A strong hand with callouses aplenty, yet tender and soft in the center, just like her.

“I confess that your devotion to God has inspired and challenged me,” she said. “And I want you to know that I do trust you.”

Those words warmed him like no others could. Gwendolyn had been wounded by this world. She did not trust easily. “I trust you as well, Gwendolyn. Everything about this situation has confused me, but I know you wish only the best for me and my men.”

He turned and rested his forehead against hers, drinking in her perfume of wild herbs and fresh air.

“Then go,” she whispered. Yet she placed her free palm against his cheek and held him in place.

What had made him think that he could abandon Gwendolyn? How did he imagine he might ever marry another?

His body drifted like a lodestone toward her, but more than that, his heart and soul and spirit cried out to unite with hers. He needed to be closer to her. To breathe in her very presence. No longer moving from any conscious sort of decision, he wrapped her in his arms.

Pressing close, she leaned her head upon his shoulder and sighed. She ran her hands over his chest. All of his senses spiked to high alert. She felt like Eve, come home against Adam's rib. Needing to drink of her essence, he lowered his lips to hers.

She met him, shy and hesitant at first, and then with more fervor.

But as he shifted his position to draw her yet closer to his heart, he lost his balance. The branch slipped from beneath his legs. The air rose up to meet him, the tree swirled about him, and they both crashed with a hard
thump
upon the ground.