Dauntless (Valiant Hearts Book #1) (33 page)

Perfect. Everything was finally perfect. Merry lifted Wren into her arms and leaned closer to Timothy as they headed toward the port, well guarded and well disguised. The children fluttered about her in a bright rainbow of silks and satins. The Ghosts of Farthingale Forest could at last be retired to the legends of England, where they belonged. And she no longer needed dream of rescue. Whatever might come their way, she and Timothy could face it together.

Then the jangle of chain mail called out to Merry from down the lane. So like the jangle that had once alerted her to the approach of royal horsemen before her missions. Yet this time it rang somehow deep and awful in its pitch. Nervous energy flashed through her. They had come so close. Though she no longer desired to steel her heart, she steadied its beating and clutched her hands together nonetheless.

An almost palpable wave of fear flooded the group. Everyone froze, but before they could panic and dash into the woods,
Timothy’s uncle held up his hand with understated authority. “Hold tight. Stick with the plan. Merry, into the woods.”

Merry handed Wren to Timothy, and she alone melted into the woods as the king’s soldiers cantered into sight. Her apricot gown blended fortuitously with the golds and oranges of autumn. Though one instinct bade her to scurry up a tree, her gown would not allow, so she stood ready to fly like the wind deeper into the forest. Stealthy like a cat, she peered between the branches.

“My Lord Baron Linden,” the soldier in the lead called out to Timothy’s uncle.

“Yes,” the man answered with a sniff of disdain.

The soldier nodded deferentially. “So sorry to disturb your journey. But I have come with important news. King John has passed from this earth—God rest his soul.”

Merry nearly gasped but managed to restrain herself. She dared to take a step closer.

“I see. I am sorry to hear it. All of England shall mourn the loss of our great king.” The baron somehow managed to keep a straight face as he said it.

As if anyone would regret seeing the awful king gone. But death was death, and Merry had witnessed too much of it. Her heart did not rejoice at the news, although the tension across her back eased considerably and the roiling in her stomach ceased.

“And who will succeed him?” asked the baron.

“There seems to be some dispute. Officially, the boy Henry III has been declared king and Marshal his protector. The barons in the north still insist Louis is their rightful leader. I imagine the battle will wage on for some time.”

And so politics continued as usual. But at least the soldiers seemed not at all interested in her and the ghosts. Her band could yet make their way to France.

“Thank you, my boy. You may go, then.” The baron waved the soldiers off dismissively.

“But wait.” Timothy took a step forward, and the king’s soldiers reined in their horses. “Thoroughgood, what of Merry Ellison and the children of Ellsworth? I have not given up my search nor my ambition to win those twenty gold coins.”

Her stomach twisted at that. But no. She would trust Timothy. He seemed to know the soldier. He must have a good reason for speaking so.

The soldier chuckled. “Nobody cares now, I am afraid. She was John’s enemy, not Henry’s. Marshal wishes to start fresh and leave King John’s policies far behind. Prove to the northern barons that this is a new era. Sorry about that.”

Timothy frowned. “I suppose I will survive. I have my family after all.” He swept his hand to include every one of the young people around him.

“So you do,” said the soldier. With a click of his tongue, he and his men turned and continued on their way.

The immensity of the moment hit her. Now her heart did soar. She was free! Free, free, free! Though she beat her feet excitedly against the ground, she managed to hold in her celebration until the soldiers’ horses turned the bend. Then she danced out onto the lane cheering, “We are free!”

Chaos erupted as the children crowded in around her, dancing and cheering as well.

Timothy grabbed her and swooped her in a broad circle, her feet flying weightless through the air. “We are free,” he echoed, as if he had been one of them all along.

After a time of raucous celebration, Allen struck up a song of thanks to God. The Scripture that Jane had set to music long ago about beauty for ashes.

Tears stroked Merry’s cheeks as she joined them. Timothy
tucked her under his arm again and stared down at her, love shimmering so bright and clear in his eyes. He took up the tune in his strong, rich voice, then shook his head as if he could not believe it.

Merry could not believe it. God had indeed been there all along. His love as clear and true as Timothy’s.

The song concluded and lingered, whispering upon the air.

“But whatever shall we do now?” Cedric broke the silence with the all important question.

“Funny you should ask.” The baron slid from his horse. “It seems I have an entire hamlet with no one to fill it. I would say it has stood empty for far too long. What say you, dearest?”

Timothy’s aunt clapped her hands together. “Oh, splendid idea! I have never heard better. But where on earth shall we find a group of able-bodied workers, not to mention a man and woman of noble birth to manage the place?”

Then she hopped down as well and ran with surprising speed to embrace Timothy and Merry. “Welcome home. Welcome everyone.”

For a moment, they all stood in quiet reverie, drinking in the wonder of it. Merry closed her eyes and breathed deep the scent of the English countryside. For just that instant, the earth seemed to stand still. The tension of the last two years floated away from her. Lightness washed over her from head to toe.

Then she opened her eyes and surveyed her faithful band. The men—Allen, Red, Cedric, and Robert. The young women and boys. The girls—Sadie, Abigail, and Wren.

Again the earth held its breath as Allen took a knee before Timothy and Merry. He pulled off his hat and held it to his heart. Then Robert. Then one by one all the children joined him upon their knees in a pledge of fealty.

Timothy motioned them to stand, gently taking charge of
his new people, as if he had been born to do so, ninth child or not. “Come. Let us go home.”

He offered his hand to Merry.

“And what of the gold?” she whispered.

“Perhaps someday we shall be able to return it to a true and rightful king.”

As he took her hand in his, Merry’s heart filled to the brim and burst over with love. She might never be able to close it again. Together, just plain Merry Ellison and just plain Timothy Grey led the way into a future more perfect than she would have ever dared to dream.

I should begin by mentioning that the least plausible scene in this entire novel is the very first one. According to English law, all trees along the highway should have been cleared, but I imagine some nobleman might have failed to keep up with that law. In addition, I have no evidence that the English loaded luggage on the top of their traveling wagons at this time. However, this is the scene that popped into my head and sparked my imagination for the entire story, so I hope you will forgive my fanciful daydreaming.

I do believe that a strong medieval heroine such as Merry Ellison would not only be possible, but probable, given the circumstances. The 1100s and 1200s in England were a time when females were strong and full of spunk, many holding land and titles of their own. One need look no further than King John’s mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, to find an excellent example. According to
Medieval
Lives,
by Terry Jones, the popular “damsel in distress” motif was an invention of later times. An actual medieval woman was often left to protect her castle and lands while her husband was off to battle.

The noble outlaw is also a well-established part of English history, and goes much farther than Robin Hood legends. From the time of the Norman invasion, many Englishmen found themselves outside of the law of the local rulers. These outlaws often banded together and lived in the forest. They were dissidents and guerrilla warriors as often as actual criminals.

While legend often portrays King Richard as good and his usurping brother, Prince John (later the King John of this story), as evil, the truth was more complicated. Richard was not a particularly good king. He never actually lived in England, and he taxed his people excessively to support his crusades in the Holy Land. Some historians view John as a strong king who advanced the English cause, but he was also cruel, unfair, and fickle. At one point the pope excommunicated him, and in the end, half his kingdom turned against him. I have found no direct evidence that King John would have burnt an entire village, including women and children, to punish one man, but since the BBC came up with a similar scenario in their Robin Hood series, and since he did destroy villages in his fight against the rebels, I would say it is a plausible idea.

In fact, King John’s unjust practices proved pivotal to the history of England by provoking the signing of the Charter of Liberties, later known as the Great Charter or Magna Carta, in 1215 to ensure certain rights for its inhabitants. Although John did not honor the charter, the document became foundational to both English and American law. This year celebrates the 800th anniversary of its signing.

The language of this time is complicated. The common English person spoke Middle English, a language we would barely recognize today. The nobles spoke Norman French, and all official communication throughout Europe was written in Latin. While I allude to this at some points in the story, for the sake
of an enjoyable read, I chose a slightly archaic, slightly British version of English for the story.

In addition, at this time in history the Bible would have been read in Latin, and mostly only by priests and other churchmen, but I used the King James Version since it is the earliest English version that is familiar to contemporary readers. I would like to believe there were nobles, like Merry, who took the time to learn Latin and study Scriptures—and pass the knowledge of those Scriptures on to others.

Farthingale Forest, Ellsworth, Wyndeshire, the accompanying titles, and many of the towns and villages are my own invention. I kept the names of the noblemen, their titles, and their holdings similar for ease of reading. Beyond that, I tried to be as accurate to my understanding of the time period as I could. Historians themselves often disagree about the particulars of the Middle Ages, but I did my best, and I hope you enjoy the results.

Thanks so much to everyone who has helped me along my writing journey! I am blessed to have a family and church that support me, as well as affiliations with wonderful writers groups like my local ACFW, the ladies of Inkwell Inspirations, and my medieval group, Wenches Writing for Christ. Thank you to my agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, who has stuck with me during ups and downs, and to the wonderful team at Bethany House Publishers, who gave me this incredible opportunity.

A special thanks to all the ladies who had a hand in critiquing this book, including Roseanna White, Christine Lindsay, Gina Welborn, Susan Diane Johnson, Niki Turner, Debra Marvin, Angela Andrews, and Kim Upperman. And the biggest thanks of all to my wonderful teen beta readers—Megan Maurer, Amalie Andrews, Christi Sleiman, Jerah Welborn, and Rhyinn Welborn. You girls rock!

Finally, I am forever grateful to God and to the whispers of the Holy Spirit in my heart. In you I live and move and have my being. I could never do this alone.

Dina Sleiman
holds an MA in professional writing from Regent University and a BA in communications with a minor in English from Oral Roberts University. Over the past twenty years, she has had opportunities to teach college writing and literature, as well as high-school and elementary classes in English, humanities, and fine arts. She lives in Virginia with her husband and three children. She can be found online at
www.dinasleiman.com
.

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