Dauntless (Valiant Hearts Book #1) (9 page)

Jane would have cared for the little ones. The men would have gathered food. Perhaps in the beginning they needed Merry to plan and to strategize, to lead with the confidence that the nobility were instilled with from birth, but they didn’t need her anymore—not really.

Lately her thoughts had taken a new and disturbing turn. These English-born-and-bred children did not share her Norman blood, did not speak her French language. Perhaps she should use the gold to buy them apprenticeships and guild memberships in London, and she alone should slip off to France.

If only she were brave enough to let them go. These children had been her family for two years, and she loved them so. Did she love them enough to sacrifice her heart in order to offer them freedom?

She strode back down the hill to rejoin them, even as the question resounded in her mind.

Timothy stumbled toward his horse. Still in a trance. The forest falling in and out of focus about him. He pressed his face into Spartacus’s warm neck, breathing in his scent of hay and oats. Drawing strength and comfort from the mammoth beast.

Merry lived!

Why had she not come to him?

But Timothy knew the answer to that question. Merry was an outlaw now, and any assistance he might offer her would put his life in jeopardy. Besides which, she had never loved him the way he had loved her. He had loved her with his whole heart and soul. When he thought she had been murdered, he vowed never to love again. Never to marry another. Would he have kept that pledge? Now he would never know.

After many dark months spent wallowing in the miry pit of his sorrows, he had dragged himself to Wyndbury and inquired after employment. His plans to wed Merry, to live upon her dower lands, had been dashed as a ship against the rocks. Splintered, devastated, until they floated away upon the tide of his despair.

He had since applied himself to his new station in life. He had contrived new hopes and goals. Shallow hopes and goals to be certain, but they had given him purpose and direction.

And now . . . Merry was still alive. He had no idea what this might mean to him. The stunning revelation might take him days to process. He could not yet grasp the ramifications.

“Come,” tempted Hadley, shaking the dice in his hand. “Come and play with us, Grey. You look as though you’ve lost your best friend in the world. Let us lift your spirits.”

“We might allow you to win.” Bradbury wiggled his brows.

“Or we might fleece his hide,” said White.

Timothy managed a half grin. “I suppose.”

He took his place at the long trestle table, which had been turned into a gaming table after supper. When his lordship entertained guests, they might enjoy minstrels, troubadours, even dancing in the evenings. But he would be away for at least another week. The message he sent mentioned a delay. King John had fallen ill, and his treasure—including the crown jewels—had somehow been lost while he traveled. Wyndemere must stay longer than expected.

As he shook the dice, Lady Merry Ellison’s face floated through his mind once again.

Unfair! He had only once played dice in her presence. She had shaken them for good luck, and indeed he had won.

How those summers spent at their aunts’ adjoining properties had haunted him the two days since he spotted her. And the autumn when her family had visited his home, her father wishing to convince him to join his plot.

He had not been able to escape her lovely face, nor the faces of the children. The ghosts? Surely such ridiculousness could not be true. He could never imprison them. Never order their remains be hanged from the city walls.

Logic said they could not be the ghosts. A group so young could not accomplish such notorious feats. Perhaps they were only the rumored escapees of Ellsworth, living hand-to-mouth in the woods. He had never before allowed himself to believe the gossip true—not before seeing Merry with his own eyes. Until then, he could not have afforded such hope.

“Throw the dice for goodness’ sake, man,” called Hadley.

Timothy let the dice fly, losing soundly, and moved for the next man to take his spot. He leaned heavily upon the side of the table, gripping its edge.

His circular thinking resumed as the other men cheered and bickered.

But if he had found the lair of the ghosts, what could it mean? Merry might be their prisoner—although she had not appeared to be bound or in distress.

If they were the ghosts, perhaps he could administer justice to the leaders alone. Help the women and children settle elsewhere. But if they were the escapees of Ellsworth, nowhere within the reign of King John would they be safe.

He could never imprison Merry for the crime of being her father’s daughter. His own father had been a breath away from joining the rebellion, but after much prayer and soul-searching, he decided to remain loyal to God’s appointed king and seek legal recourse instead. But for that one decision, it might have
been Timothy and his siblings killed rather than Merry’s brother, Percivale. Where was the justice in that?

His father, Lord Greyham, now avoided all political intrigue and enjoyed his country home and grandchildren instead. He left the war to the barons in the north and east, only sending funds to King John for his mercenary soldiers. And Timothy sought favor and advancement with the king and his nobles. But what if Timothy were the one hiding in the woods, outside of the law?

Bradbury nudged him for his turn again. He took his place, shook the dice, and sent them skittering across the table, not even giving heed to the result.

“Ho!” shouted White to his left.

Timothy could not bring himself to care. The same thoughts had run a circuit in his mind over and again ever since he discovered the hideaway. The same questions plagued him day and night with no answer upon the horizon.

Only one person possessed the answers he sought. Though it might well prove the final death blow to his wounded heart, he must find a way to speak with Lady Merry Ellison.

And soon.

Merry grinned and clapped along with the children as Red emerged from the men’s quarters fully bedecked in knight regalia and sword. A handsome lout indeed. Beneath his arm he held a flat-topped helmet with only a slit for the eyes and several holes for air. “Put it on and let us see.”

Red tugged the helmet onto his head. Beneath it, his features were indistinguishable.

“Perfect,” said Merry.

She crossed to him and straightened the collar of his blue-and-white surcoat—a design she had created to appear foreign
and sewn herself. Smoothing it down over his chain mail and padded vest, she said, “I so wish I could see you astride your handsome destrier, my fine knight.”

“I’m not certain I shall be seeing much of anything. ’Tis all I can do to breathe in this stifling contrivance.” He removed the helmet.

“He shall strike a dashing figure,” said Jane. “The women shall be swooning over you, Red. But remember who swooned for you first.” Jane feigned a swoon, fanning herself, eyes rolling back as her knees buckled.

“Perhaps you should give me a kiss for good luck,” teased Red.

Jane’s cheeks flushed pink as her toe turned inward. The girl was bashful of a sudden?

Merry stood on tiptoes and planted a noisy kiss on Red’s cheek. “Methinks that must do for today.” The children broke into another round of cheering.

“That will be quite enough of that.” Allen shot her a glare, no doubt recalling their own disastrous kiss.

This was precisely what she had been afraid of. The discomfort between them. That one thoughtless moment would forever affect the relaxed atmosphere of their little community. She should change the subject and shift attention away from her jesting kiss. “Be sure to listen for any rumors of the ghosts.”

“I will, Mother Merry,” said Red, using a title they employed only when she grew bossy and patronizing.

Merry laughed. “All right, then. I see you have matters in hand.”

Robert and Cedric joined Red, although they were dressed in long brown cloaks rather than armor—with weapons, which were not permitted past the town gates, sewn and hidden throughout the coarse fabric. They would “sequester”—as Allen liked to say—a cart for transport once inside.

They headed over the hill, and Merry waved to them. “I bid you all Godspeed.”

She bit her lip as the children returned to their chores and play. How she hated to send the men on a dangerous mission without her.

“No use borrowing trouble from the future, Lady Merry.” Allen joined her at her side, nearly brushing against her. How kind of him to comfort her when she had upset him but moments earlier with her dramatic kiss on Red’s cheek.

“I agree, yet I do not.” She experienced a slight tingle at his nearness, but nothing like she had in the tree. Perhaps her response had only been the result of wishful thinking on behalf of that traitorous portion of herself that longed for love. “Worrying shall accomplish nothing. But we must be prepared for any contingency. I shall go into the forest to hunt and think today. Perhaps find a spot deeper in the woods to which we might move.”

“I shall watch over the camp. Big Charles is here, and several of the younger men. You go ahead. And if you think of it, say a prayer while you’re out in God’s green forest. I find it the most effective place to offer petitions.”

Merry shifted and mumbled, “A prayer, of course.”

Dear, sweet Allen. In some ways he was too good for her. They would never be a match.

Allen gazed into Merry’s haunting brown eyes, which contained a world of sorrow. Thoughts clearly spun through her mind at the mention of prayer, yet he could not discern what they might be. He would pray for her as well, fervently. Merry was wounded, and he suspected she might have turned her back on God, although she had never said as much. But surely her
state of mind was only temporary. A reaction to the trauma she had suffered. It could not last forever.

She turned to him, and their gazes caught, much as they had in the tree.

He tugged at his tunic. She took a step back.

More than anything, he regretted this new unease between them. He must do something to alleviate the tension. Lifting his gaze to the clouds, he spoke without first considering. “I suppose I should apologize again. It was out of line. I didn’t think. I just . . . well . . . in that moment . . . But you are a lady, and I had no right to kiss you.” Did he mean that? Perhaps not quite anymore, but the words came so easily.

“Please do not apologize on account of my being a lady. I told you—we are the same now.”

Her statement, along with her rich voice, warmed his heart. But a single beat later, the fickle organ turned cold again. If they were the same, why must she push him away?

“Then why?” Clearly she was not drawn to him, did not long for him in the same way he longed for her. But he had no desire to hear her say as much. He kicked at the dirt. “No, don’t answer. It would be odd for us to forge a romance. We’ve been friends for too long. And it will affect the others. I understand. I didn’t think. It simply happened.” And since that moment he had dreamed of little other than kissing her again.

“Oh, Allen, it is right and natural that we both long for that sort of love. But it is not profitable. Until we establish a better life than that of outlaws, romance had best wait. Once we are back in society, you shall find someone to love. Someone wonderful, who deserves and suits you. Not just the best possibility in your little group of twenty-three members.”

Not profitable?
His eyes probed hers, but found no satisfactory answer. He could hardly believe that she thought of their
relationship in such a cold and detached way. He would never find another like her. He was tempted to pull her into his arms then and there, and prove her wrong. But he respected her too much, and she had made her position clear.

He dropped his gaze in defeat. “But when will that happen? Will we ever have a normal life again? Sometimes I fear we might be outlaws forever.”

“Matters are always changing. No one knows that more than we do.” She bit her lip and gazed off at the sky for a moment. “And I have been thinking. Perhaps all of you could make a go of it in London. No one knows you there. Change your identities. Use the gold to buy apprenticeships and guild memberships.”

Sick dread filled his stomach. “All of you? What about you, Merry?”

“I . . . I shall never be safe in England.” She pressed her hands together, as if to prevent their trembling.

The forest blurred as frustration flooded him. He rubbed at his head. Was the woman crazy? She would just leave him, all of them, like that? “You want to leave us?” Allen shouted.

“Shh!” She glanced about at the children, but they continued at their play as though nothing were amiss.

Why must she always close him out? How he longed to soothe her soul. To find the rest in one another that they both sought.

“Leaving all of you is the last thing I want,” she said. “It would tear my heart asunder. But we must do what is best for the children.”

“Not a one of us would agree to that. We will never abandon you.” He planted his feet more firmly into the ground.

She gazed into the forest. “Then France is our only other option.”

“Then France it shall be.” His voice filled with newfound hope. “But the northern barons might yet win their war and
put Prince Louis on the throne right and proper. We must bide our time and see.”

He would not admit to his true purpose. He was more determined than ever to head to battle. As much as he hated to leave Merry and the rest of the group, he needed to see this war won, lest she run off for good. And he would prove himself a hero worthy of a noble lady. He might have lost her for the moment, but he yet longed to win her for his own.

Today he had stayed behind, put aside his own desire to be a part of the action, as he so often did for the good of the group. But once Red and the others returned from their trip with supplies for the winter, he would finalize his plans. Soon he would be on his way north to war!