Dauntless (Valiant Hearts Book #1) (26 page)

Allen plopped down beside her and picked at the grass by his feet. “So, I guess we’re ready, whatever might come our way.”

Merry turned her gaze to the hazy sky above them. “I guess we are.”

He shifted toward her, but she continued to focus on the sky, which appeared ready to unleash rain. She hoped Timothy would make it with an answer before the storm. “How do you do it, Allen?”

“Do what?”

“You have no guilt. You steal one day and approach God so boldly the next.”

He picked up a stone and threw it. “God judges the heart. My heart is clean. I do it for the children, not my own selfish gain. And the laws of this country are so turned upon their heads, who could ever be innocent according to them? No, God’s laws prevail.”

“And the Ten Commandments say ‘Thou shalt not steal,’” Merry reminded him.

“And Jesus says to love God with all your heart, and love your neighbor as yourself.” He yanked a few more pieces of grass from the ground. “You were right in that tree. We got a bit carried away in our theft from the herbalist. So I paid him back the day we rescued you.”

“You did not!” Good Allen with his good heart. Hers was not so clean.

“I did.”

So much for stealth and anonymity, but she would not fault him for following his conscience.

“Merry . . . ?” Allen waited quietly for her response.

The tenor in his voice made her wary. Nonetheless, she looked him in the eye. “Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened yesterday?”

“I already did. I almost shot Timothy, but I could not.” She steeled herself against a chilling wave of regret.

“What if one of us had done it? Would you have forgiven us?”

Merry tucked her knees to her chest. “I suppose I would have had to. It was my order, after all.”

“And what was the scene with you crying in his arms?” Allen poked at the ground with a stick.

“You saw that, did you?”

“We checked on you, to make sure you were all right. Were you?”

That exhaustion niggled at Merry again. How she longed to close her eyes and curl into the moist ground for a long nap like the little ones enjoyed by the fire.

“Were you all right?” Allen persisted.

“I nearly killed my best friend. I was not all right. And once I started crying . . . well . . .” She could not bring herself to finish the statement. Her heart ached too badly at the memory.

“I understand. You cried all the tears you have been holding back for years. You felt safe with him. Someone from your childhood. But, Merry . . .” He lifted her chin and turned her toward him. “I could have been strong for you.”

She wrapped her arm through his and rested her head upon his firm shoulder. “I know you could have. I just . . . ’Tis force of habit, I suppose, to be strong with all of you. Being with Timothy brings me back to a time when I was a girl. Tough and strong to be certain, but with a feminine side and gentle heart as well.”

“I should like to see that side.”

She smiled up at him. “Perhaps someday you shall. Perhaps once we are settled in France.”

He bent down to place a kiss upon her hooded head. A brotherly gesture, and she realized she still thought of him thus. As a brother. But with time and a bit of determination, he might be more.

“Would you like me to stay with you?” Allen squeezed the hand tucked into his arm.

“Honestly, I would like to be alone. Once we start our journey, I might not get much time to think.”

“As you wish.”

He left her and made his way back to the camp.

Merry picked up the stick he had stuck into the ground. She had not written a word since her time in the castle. An urge hit her to fetch writing supplies, but she could not indulge in such silliness at a time like this. What would she say if she held a quill pen in her hand?

This fertile ground, so moist with tears.

Once hard with bitterness and strife, Once bound to hold in pain and fears, Now broken by the trials of life.

How to beat, to pump anew?

This heart so fragile waits in me.

How to send warm blood, renew?

Face the truth and set me free.

Timothy had galloped most of the way through the rugged forest terrain to get word to Merry as quickly as possible. And there she sat, just ahead, a slender shadow on the next rise, waiting for him against the setting gold-and-orange ball of sunshine. She expected him this time, and no one had reason to follow him . . . yet.

He dismounted and took the last ten yards on foot. She did not move but awaited him with chin resting on her knees. Somewhere during the long ride, his tension and sickness had turned to numb dread. He must rally himself to face the awful task of telling her.

“It is not good news,” she said, without so much as flinching from her position, sparing him from speaking the words.

“Did my face give me away?” He had hoped to break it to her gently, but so much for that.

“It did not have to. I know King John better than I wish.”

Timothy slumped to the ground beside her. There was not much left to say. “Are you ready to move?”

“Yes. But I will not allow you to come with us. You may as well accept it. I have always had the stronger will.”

Though she was right, he could not let her win so easily. “Or so I let you think.”

A gentle smile crossed her face, the likes of which he had not seen since he found her again.

It gave him courage. “Before we argue logistics, there is something I must say to you. I was wrong. I see that now. You are correct. God stands upon the side of right. Upon the side of the poor and oppressed. One need look no further than Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount to see it.”

She rubbed a hand against her stomach, though he did not understand why. “Or perhaps God is merely a figment of our hopeful imaginations.” But her words did not contain the bitterness he had sensed last time.

“I do not believe so. I believe He is real. And if I truly believe that, then I must live my convictions. I made a grave error in supporting a ruthless monarch, but I will do so no longer. You were right—if good men will not stand against injustice, we have no hope.”

She ducked her head between her arms, where they rested on her knees. “Or perhaps therein lies the real truth. We have no hope. We live out our lives upon this evil earth, then we die and go to nothingness. Perhaps life is a cruel joke. A game of illusions and shadows.”

Though tempted to do so himself, he must not let her give up her fight so easily. He must find strength for both of them. He sat up straighter and leaned toward her. “Merry, it wounds me to hear you speak this way. I know that I have let you down, but I will do so no longer. The government has let you down. The church has let you down. But God has not. Look at what you have built here.” He gestured to their camp.

“Exactly. Look at what
I
have built. I did this. I took charge. I educated them. Where was God in all of that?” Her voice sounded of a sad little child.

“You think yourself that smart. That resourceful. What of Wren’s sunshine men?”

She looked up with shock in her eyes. “They are not real.”

He stroked a knuckle over her finely chiseled cheekbone. “What if they are? What if God has been here, providing and protecting all along?”

Confusion clouded her face. “But . . . I . . . you cannot begin to think that . . .” She pressed her hands to her temples.

He merely quirked a brow at her. The thought that the sunshine men might be God’s heavenly hosts had not left him since those mystical men led Wren his way in the forest.

“We are thieves, Timothy. Have you lost your mind?”

“You were unjustly outlawed. You did your best under trying circumstances. God forgives, and He looks to the heart. You have a good heart, Merry. Loving, protecting—under normal circumstances, even forgiving. You have allowed your heart to grow hard. Your true heart is still there, though, underneath it all. You are simply afraid to let it out.”

She bit her lip. “You know me too well.” Shifting uncomfortably, she restored some distance between them. “I hope you are right. About everything. Oh, Timothy, I am so afraid. Afraid for all of us. Terrified I will make a mistake and let them down.”

“Shh.” He reached to stroke her back. “You are not alone. I will stand for justice. I will stand for you. And I believe with all my heart that God has been here as well. Though you did not wish to see it.”

She sighed. “Perhaps you are right.”

He sent up a silent prayer that she might accept the truth, and in that truth be set free.

Merry gazed at the handsome face of Timothy Grey. The sun had sunk during their brief exchange, the warm golden glow seeping to the harsher tones of silver moonlight. It played along his pale brows and lashes, created an enticing shimmer along his plump lower lip.

For only a moment today she had allowed herself to consider the possibility of a future with him, and somehow in that moment she had lost her resolve to shut him out. Her body trembled at his nearness. Her cheek and back still tingled from his touches.

Love shone from his eyes as clear and bright as the moonlight above them. He would never leave her willingly, but she would find a way to escape him. She would not rob him of his birthright as she had been so cruelly stripped of hers. And she could not give him what he wished for. Neither her promise of love nor a declaration of belief in God. So she said nothing.

She could no longer avoid his intense stare, though. Nor did she wish to. She allowed him to gaze deep into her soul. This one last time.

When he reached for her and wrapped his hand about that vulnerable place at the nape of her neck, it felt as natural as the tides ebbing or seasons changing. As he lowered his lips, nothing could have seemed more right, more true. His lips touched hers, warm and gentle at first, like that kiss so long ago. But they were no longer youngsters at play.

Something shifted, and their lips moved in a hungry dance. He pressed her body to his with a fervor she had never dared imagine. Too many years, too much distance, too many lost dreams all spilled into that kiss, as for one brief moment, they drank deep of each other’s souls.

Merry found the resolve to break off first, and she leaned her forehead against his.

“I love you, Merry,” he whispered.

She attempted to slow her panting breath. Now
that
was one perfect kiss to last a lifetime. But she could not let him hear the farewell in her voice, lest he never allow her out of his sight. “We have so much to plan. You must return to the castle. Collect your belongings. Write to your family.”

“As much as I hate to part from you, even for a time, I agree.”

She held back her sigh of relief.

He straightened to full alert and scanned the darkening forest. “And if at all possible, I must find my enemy. I hate to leave an unknown threat behind.”

Merry stood and brushed herself off. “Yes, and you will travel much faster on horseback than I shall on foot with all these children.”

He stood, smiled, and took her by the shoulders. “So you will let me come after all.”

“I cannot waste time arguing otherwise.” She hoped he would not detect the strain in her answering smile nor the careful wording of her statement.

“Let us go and map your journey to Bristol. You can wait there with my Aunt Isabel if I do not find you first along the way. She will have plenty of room for us all.”

“Your aunt? Are you certain?” Merry did not wish to put the woman in danger, not that she had any real plans to stop there. No, they would make their way straight to the port before Timothy could find them.

He placed another quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “She has been a secret rebel for years. She and my uncle have ample guards at their castle to protect you.” Unlike Merry’s nearby widowed aunt, who oversaw only a small manor home.

Timothy’s plan held merit, but she would stick to her own. She would not allow him to throw his life into the rubbish heap.

“You must keep to the woods, of course, but I shall point you to a village halfway called Farmingham that supports the rebels.” Timothy led her down the hill toward camp. “You can get supplies there, if needed. I do not think they will betray you to the king, though the Earl of Wyndemere will send out wanted posters tomorrow, so you must exercise caution. Send one of your men in your stead.”

What had he just said? Merry halted her downhill progression as her mind digested the strange words. “The earl has not acted yet?”

Timothy’s grin spread even wider across his face. “No. It seems the world is not as harsh and hopeless as you imagine it. The king placed your arrest in the Earl of Wyndemere’s hands. And he has given us a one-day head start.”

That warmth of hope blossomed in her chest again. Not everyone wished to see her dead. Perhaps somehow, against all odds, they would make it safely to France. But they would do so without Timothy Grey—she would not ruin his life.

Merry moved through the early morning shadows. Though dawn broke over the horizon, thick clouds held the emerging sunlight at bay. As she turned back to the camouflaged camp one last time, the story of Lot’s wife came to mind. How hard it was to leave one’s home, even a temporary one. She had had such hope for this place. But no choice remained. They must leave England for good.

She attempted to distract Wren, who dangled from her back, with a happy song. Merry did not think she could take more
tears from the child this morning. She feared she might break down herself.

“Summer is a coming.

Loudly sing, cuckoo.

Seeds grow and meadows blossom.

Sing again, cuckoo!”

As she sang the words, her eyes adjusted to the dim morning light, and she kept close watch over their departure. Each person over six carried his own pack. The young women took care of their own belongings, plus one child apiece. And the men carried supplies. The gold coins, which would buy their passage aboard the ship and launch their new life in France, had been split among the elders. Merry also toted her weapons and a small stock of herbs, which had decreased rapidly in the last weeks.

Wren’s chest still rattled against her back, and most of Merry’s breathing remedies were gone. They would need to stop at Farmingham, the village Timothy suggested, for more. Surely he would not catch up that quickly. He had too much to accomplish before following them. But after that stop they would veer off his prescribed path and head straight toward the port without him.

She arrived at the chorus of the song, and Wren joined in with her raspy voice.

“Cuckoo, cuckoo, loudly sing, cuckoo

Cuckoo, cuckoo, gladly sing, cuckoo.”

As they left the serene valley behind, Robert and Allen surrounded her on either side. She was the most obvious target, though they had no reason to believe anyone would be after them just yet. According to Timothy, the only name on the arrest warrant would be Merry Ellison. She suspected the men
surrounded her as much to keep her from escaping them as to protect her. But she would not try to leave them behind, not after seeing how heartbroken they all had been by her kidnapping. She had made Wren a promise, and she would keep it.

They were a family. Families must stick together and face together whatever dangers might lie ahead.

Allen reached over to rub her arm. “’Tis not your fault, Merry. We are in this together.”

She forced a grin. The dear, sweet man. He knew her almost as well as Timothy Grey. Again she hoped that once they reached France, her feelings for Allen might grow.