Chivalrous (26 page)

Gwen peered down at her raw and chafing hands through a haze of steam. Aching claws dug into her back and beads of sweat trickled down her face. Though she had thought she trained hard at the warrior arts, she had never worked like this in all her life.

She stuck her long stick in the huge boiling laundry cauldron
and stirred some more. Already she had scrubbed cookware, served a meal of which she received only a crust of bread, taken a brush to a soot-covered hearth, and even thrown slops to the pigs. At least while outdoors she had been able to send the birdlike signal she had learned last night. The answering whistles had brought her much comfort.

Yet such reassurance did nothing to save her from these tedious chores. Gwen wondered how much more she could take, and just when she might find the perfect opportunity to sneak off to Merry. Though she had peppered the women with friendly questions throughout the day, she still had no clue where Merry was being held.

And she had only briefly spotted the knavishly handsome Warner DeMontfort. How her hand had twitched to run him through with her sword then and there, but she must remain focused on her mission.

“Gwen, I do wish you'd take off that infernal cloak. You'll never survive laundry duty in that blasted thing. 'Tis like a blacksmith's forge in 'ere.” Millicent had brought up the cloak several times throughout the day.

While Gwen realized the woman only wished to be helpful, she clung tight to her outerwear.

Of course Millicent did not realize that Gwen hid two swords, several daggers, and a leather hauberk for protection within her clothing.

“No, please, Miss Millicent,” Gwen said. “As I mentioned, my dress 'tis quite foul. I would not want to be tossed out on my first day.”

“Ain't none of us are dressed like princesses, luv. 'ow bad can it be?” Millicent grabbed a handful of Gwen's cloak, but Gwen maintained her firm hold.

She bit her lip and scrunched her face, creating a sort of
pressure that she hoped would turn it red. Based on the look of compassion that crossed Millicent's features, Gwen surmised she had succeeded in appearing embarrassed.

“That bad, is it?” Millicent clucked her tongue. “I'll tell you what. Why don't you take a break from this 'eat and run that stack of fresh linens upstairs for me?”

“Eeek!” squealed the woman with the blond braids. “Don't you be goin' up there. There's a witch and a 'ellcat up those stairs. 'Tis not right for you to send the new girl.”

“Would you rather I be sendin' you?”

Hellcat?
Could she mean Lady Merry? Perhaps a clue, finally.

“Morgaine is in the tower as usual. She barely graces her bedchamber anymore. And the guest is well-guarded. You shall be fine,” Millicent said.

“I'm not easily frightened. Just tell me where to go.”

“At the opposite end of the great 'all, turn to the right and up the stairway. Follow the long corridor to the end, and ye shall find a chest for the linens against the far wall.”

“Of course. I'll do anythin' for me wee brother Timmy.”

“You're a good girl, ye are, Gwen.” Millicent smiled to her as Gwen gathered the linens.

Anticipation surged through Gwen as she headed toward the stairs. Her heartbeat sped and her breathing quickened, but she was careful to remain calm in appearance. She clutched tightly to the bedsheets to keep her fingers from trembling and carefully placed one leather-clad foot in front of the other.

At least she was dressed in simple peasant garb that allowed for ease of movement and not some ridiculous gown and flimsy slippers, but how she longed for her chain mail and helmet at a moment like this.

She felt so vulnerable. So exposed. So . . . she hated to admit it, but so female.

Yet it was her gentler gender that had gotten her this far. She must cling to it as her best asset. While she walked down the hall and past the guard, she attempted to sway her hips as Rosalind had taught her. Though the cloak would conceal much, she hoped that its subtle motion might pique the man's imagination.

As she brushed past him in the narrow corridor, she lowered her chin and glanced up through her lashes, fluttering them a few times, a tactic she had noticed Rosalind attempt with Hugh to great success. A tactic that Robert fellow would never succeed at.

The man offered a low-toned “Mmm” along with a mischievous grin.

She continued down the hall with a few backward glances and a light giggle. At the end she fiddled with the linens as she discreetly adjusted her weapons with her free hand. With a toss of her hair, she turned and sauntered toward him, still holding a single cloth for washing.

“What have we here? A pretty new maid for me?” the guard asked.

“Yes, I've come just for ye.” Gwen sidled up next to him and smiled.

“Truly?”

“In truth, I've brought a fresh cloth for your charge. Might I take it in to 'er?”

“Now, now. You don't want to be going in there. Trust me, miss.” He patted his belt, which held the key.

“Is she a 'ellcat as I've 'eard? Surely you can show 'er to me. I would feel safe if a strong fellow like you went along.” She grazed her finger over the man's large arm. Gwen shocked herself with her own easy performance, but Merry's future was at risk.

“I suppose if you put it that way . . .” The man smiled at her and took the keys from his belt.

Gwen stepped back as he searched for the correct one.

He leaned over in the shadowy hallway to find the hole and insert the key.

In a flash, Gwen pulled her sword and struck him over the back of his head with the flat side of it. The man crumpled at her feet.

She grinned in triumph. Her timing had been impeccable, for the latch opened easily, and she slid into the chamber.

“Who are you?” A small, dark-haired woman stood to her feet in the corner of the dim room.

“Allen and Timothy sent me. There is no time to waste.” She tossed Merry a sword, and the nimble lady snatched it from the air. Then she offered her a dagger.

Merry crouched low and surveyed the area. “What is your plan?”

“Here, put this on.” Gwen tugged off her blasted cloak and gave it to Merry. “Cover up well and hide your weapons.”

As Merry followed her instructions, Gwen checked her own weapons again. She grasped a small dagger and cradled it against her wrist beneath the sleeve of her tunic. Then she peeked around the doorway. The guard still lay in a crumpled heap. “Come. If we move swiftly, perhaps we can escape through the back way near the stables before anyone notices.”

“I am ready.” Though tough looking, the tiny lady barely reached Gwen's chin, and the rough brown wool cloak pooled on the floor around her. For the first time, Gwen doubted they could do this. But they must.

Neither of them could bear the consequences otherwise.

From his perch upon a small stark bed, Warner stared at his half sister as she scribbled in her book of spells by the light of a single candle. He knotted and unknotted the kerchief in his hands.

More and more these days, he found himself drawn to Morgaine's eerie, entangling company in this tower room. It somehow comforted him, despite her constant disdain, but he grew tired of the incessant darkness.

“For the love of all that is holy, Morgaine, let me throw open the shutters. 'Tis a beautiful day outside.”

She crooked a brow but never looked up. “I do not love the holy, and well you know it, you dolt.”

“But I grow bored.”

“That is not my problem. Go taste that noble morsel you keep trapped next to your chamber. She shall be yours on the morrow anyway. I do not understand why you wait.”

“Nor do I expect you to. But never fear. It shall be accomplished this night.”

Morgaine ran her finger through a pile of herbs and paid him little heed. Then of a sudden, her ashen face turned straight to him. Her mouth gaped and her inky eyes popped wide open. “No!”

He hopped to his feet. “What is it?”

“Something is wrong. You have waited too long.”

Warner dashed to the window and threw it open without awaiting permission. He glanced about the courtyard but saw nothing amiss.

“Hurry, you fool,” Morgaine said. “Do something!”

He ran down the spiraling stairs of the tower as fast as his feet could carry him. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. He could not lose Merry now. Too much was at stake. Surely Morgaine only toyed with him, as she loved to do, but he could not risk ignoring her warning.

As he hurried through the great hall to the stairs beyond, he shoved past two serving maids. “Sorry,” he muttered but continued to make haste.

When he reached the top of the stairs, the crumpled form of the guard upon the floor confirmed his worst fears. Merry's door gaped wide open, much as Morgaine's mouth had. Yet he could not quite process the information.

He shook the guard, ran into the room, but nothing. The furniture in the chamber seemed to swirl about him like a whirlwind. He clasped his head and stumbled toward the window, but it was bolted tight. Rushing next door to his own chamber, he ran to the window and successfully threw it open.

That was when he saw them. The same two serving maids. One tall, and the other tiny, with her woolen cloak dragging upon the ground.

“Guards, seize them!” he screamed with all of his might.

Just when Gwen had begun to believe they might escape without a hindrance, the man's voice bellowed over the courtyard.

She and Merry shot each other a look, and they both dashed in the direction of the stable, but it was too late. Soldiers in black-and-green regalia came at them from several directions. Merry and Gwen both drew their swords and squared off with their attackers, and Merry sent out the piercing call of the blackbird.

“Aw look,” one of the guards said. “The pretty little ladies think to fight us.” He tipped back his head and laughed.

“She thinks whistling will help,” mocked another.

Gwen felt no fear, only the surge of battle coursing through her. Steeling her. Strengthening her. She had trained for this moment. Waited her whole life for this opportunity. And she was ready.

Gwen and Merry circled back to back.

Gwen longed to toss a dagger through the mocker's haughty throat, but if they could buy some time, perhaps the Ghosts might come to even out the odds. Besides which, these men were likely innocent fellows seeking only to earn a living for their families.

“I wouldn't laugh if I were you. Yon tiny one inflicted serious damage on his lordship,” a second guard said.

“We can take them.” Yet another guard drew his sword and stepped forward. “Drop your weapons now, and we shall not hurt you.”

Merry made the low-pitched
whoo
of a barn owl, purposely chosen to sound like a heavy sigh, for Gwen's ears only—rightly assuming that the men would have taught Gwen the signals.

The guards all closed in upon them now.

Gwen counted out
Seven, six,
five . . .
in her head.

The one before her smirked and took another step her way.

Three, two
 . . .

At the appointed moment, both Gwen and Merry hurtled toward their foes.

Gwen drove straight into the belly of the chortling buffoon. Catching him by surprise, she knocked him to the ground and flung his sword far away. She walloped the hilt of her own sword against his temple, and rendered him senseless. But another soldier already headed her way, and she jumped into a lunge to face him.

From the corner of her eye she caught Merry gracefully tumbling through the air toward her opponent and sending him sprawling in the process. She, too, took his sword and disarmed him.

Gwen met her attacker strike for strike, but more soldiers now hurried their way. Just when she thought all might be lost, streaks of brown and tan rushed at them from the walls.

“Watch out! There are more!” Warner screamed from his perch high over the courtyard, but his men did not seem to hear.

Though the tough ladies fought valiantly, Warner had felt confident that his men would overtake them.

Until he saw their band of forest ruffians descending from both nowhere at all and everywhere at once. Floating down from the sky like autumn leaves upon ropes with a flurry of arrows flying before them. Several careened directly at his men and knocked them from their feet.

He could no longer stand idly by and watch. Grabbing his own sword from its place against the wall, he dashed down the hallway with his steps thundering in his head.

This could not be happening.
Why, God, oh why?
He crashed down the stairs. He had done everything right this time. Merry
Ellison must be his and North Britannia along with her. He flew through the great hall. He could not fail again.

Allen surveyed the action-filled courtyard, wanting nothing more than to make his way to Gwendolyn and protect her.

But a guard stood in his path. And over the fellow's shoulder, Allen noted that Gwendolyn was holding her own. His opponent struck hard, straight for his head, which due to Allen's disguise was not covered with a helmet. Allen ducked and maneuvered. Spun and struck, but he was at a huge disadvantage. Not only did he lack armor, but he had no real desire to hurt this man who was only doing his job. Allen was the invader today.

But he must rescue Merry. Must protect Gwendolyn. Must defeat that villain DeMontfort. The situation was messy indeed. Finally he managed to stab the man's shoulder, and while the fellow grabbed at the pain, Allen whacked him in the head with the flat side of his sword. His foe toppled to the ground and did not rise again.

As Allen turned to rush toward Gwendolyn, a bellowing man dressed in black leather ran through the grand portal of the castle and caught his notice.

Warner DeMontfort himself.

Though Allen's heart tugged him to Gwendolyn, she had matters well under control. She slashed at a guard with expert technique, and the guard's sword streaked from his hand. Allen's head won his internal battle and sent him racing toward DeMontfort, the source of their trouble. Now was Allen's chance to dispatch of him once and for all.

As he headed that way, another guard dashed around the corner and blocked Allen's path. This fellow appeared young
and inexperienced. Allen could take his life in an instant and rush onward to his true target, but something about the combination of fear and determination in the lad's eye would not suffer Allen to kill him. He had no choice but to bandy swords until he could neutralize the man.

Meanwhile one of Allen's knights, a Sir Durand, reached DeMontfort and began clashing swords with him.

Allen's foe tumbled on the ground in an evasive maneuver, forcing Allen to spin about and lose sight of DeMontfort. But he now saw Sir Randel hurrying the ladies through the small back gate. Finally, he managed to knock the sword from the lad's hand, and sent the fellow scurrying away.

He pivoted to again find DeMontfort, but the villain now lay unconscious upon the ground.
Drat!
He could not run a defenseless man through with a sword. Not even the vile DeMontfort.

“Come!” Sir Durand caught him by the arm. “The ladies are safe and the path is clear.”

True enough, nothing blocked Allen's escape. But he yet wished to end the threat of DeMontfort for good. Though they had discussed doing as little harm as possible, Allen had assumed that if faced with Warner himself, it would go unsaid that one might finish him off.

Durand tugged at him again.

Of course Durand had no way of knowing what Warner DeMontfort looked like. And he was right. They must go. The squadron down the hill might be alerted at any moment. Much as it pained him, Allen had no choice but to leave justice and DeMontfort in the hands of God.

As Warner pried his eyes open, the hazy world spun around him. His head throbbed like the dickens. He pressed a hand
to it as he fought to remember how he had come to be lying in the courtyard. Then it came to him in a flash.
Lady Merry!

He stumbled toward the front gate. He must rally the troops beyond to catch the invaders.

As if fate had finally smiled upon him, his hundred-man contingency moved in his direction. Just as he was about to call to them, the lead knight spoke. “Sir Warner, troops from North Britannia are headed this way. Stay inside. We shall protect you. Keep your sister and mother close.”

Warner felt as if he was seeing the man through a shimmer of water. The image undulated before his eyes. His head felt about to explode into fragments.

Blast it all!
He could not go after them now.

He must regroup yet again.

But what he could not do, what he would never do, was relinquish his plan to defeat North Britannia. It was beyond belief that it had slipped through his fingers once more. Someone would pay for this travesty. He would no longer be content to take back the region peacefully.