Chivalrous (28 page)

Good heavens, not again!

He managed to take the brunt of the fall, as she landed atop him. Then he rolled over, placing her solidly on the ground. In truth, he must find a better place than precarious tree branches for kissing young maidens.

Once he found his breath, he asked. “Are you well?”

“I am fine.” There she lay, for the briefest moment, staring up at him in the moonlight. Lips parted and seeking. She raised her hand to graze his cheek.

In that moment, a memory pierced through him, and that is when he recognized her! She—

“Lady Gwendolyn! Lady Gwendolyn!” called the guard upon the castle wall from a distance. “Are you well? Should I fetch help?”

Gwendolyn gave Allen a little shove. On instinct, he leapt to his feet and dashed into the trees, but his conscious mind still grappled with what he had just seen.

Lady Gwendolyn Barnes and Sir Geoffrey Lachapelle were one and the same.

He had never realized it until she lay beneath him on the ground as Lachapelle had when his visor flipped open. No wonder she had fared so well in battle this day, no wonder her moves had struck him as familiar. She had stood her own against Allen in the tournament not long ago.

Perhaps he did not know this Gwendolyn at all.

Gwendolyn stood and brushed herself off. She wondered at the odd expression that had crossed Allen's face before he tore into the woods, but she could not waste time thinking about that now.

Waving to the guard who ran her way, she called, “I am fine, Sir Jasper. I must have fallen asleep. So sorry to have startled you.”

She could only hope Allen had faded out of sight before Jasper had spotted him.

“Ah.” Jasper jogged the rest of the way along the parapet to her and leaned over the edge of the wall. “I wondered why my lovely tune ended so soon. Truly, you must take care.”

Her tensed muscles relaxed. He seemed to suspect nothing. “You know me better than that.”

“Well, your father would have my hide if something happened to you and I might have prevented it. So be careful for me, if not for yourself.”

“My apologies, I did not think to put you in any danger.” She checked her sack and weapons to make sure all was in place. “I will return to Edendale straightaway.”

“Not in the dark alone, you shan't. Go and stay the night in the village, and head back where you belong in the morning. Your good luck cannot hold out forever.”

“Excellent advice. I will do as you bid.”

“Be a good girl now.”

“I shall try, although we both know the odds are not great.”

He laughed and turned back to the gatehouse.

She lingered a moment, gazing up at the tree and reliving the wonder of her brief interlude with Allen. Her first kiss.

Running her finger across her tingling lip, she recalled that sweet moment when his mouth first touched hers. She had felt so attuned with him. So safe and right within his arms. So unified in spirit and in heart. Had he experienced those sensations as well? Dare she dream he might rethink his decision to marry the duchess?

Her path toward the village took her past the dungeon wall and the escape route she and her brothers had rigged years ago from both inside and out in case Father got overly zealous with his discipline. The stone was back in its place. She bent down and peered through the small barred window. The dungeon was empty. Sir Allen was gone.

Of course he was gone. Although her heart might cry otherwise, Allen did not belong to her. That one brief moment, that single ecstatic kiss might be all she could ever share with him. She must turn her mind to thoughts of Randel and hope she might grow to experience that same sort of love with him someday.

Though being held in Allen's arms had felt like coming home, though his lips had struck hers like flame to the tinder, he would never belong to her. The sooner she accepted that, the better.

She gathered her horse and meandered toward her old friends in the village. As she continued to replay her interlude with Allen in her mind, a realization washed over her. Only once had she ever experienced a love that overshadowed even the feelings that Allen awoke in her. That day in the cathedral, God's love had completely enveloped and overwhelmed her.

She had thought God abandoned her when she heard Mother's awful report. When she saw with her own eyes the abuse Mother had suffered for defending her. When Gwen herself lay rejected, crushed, and bleeding upon the ground.

Yet that very trauma had gotten her away from her father's clutches and into the duchess's care. God had turned that situation around, much as Allen suggested He might.

Perhaps God yet deserved her trust.

It was not as if she had anywhere else to turn. She had missed her chance to run away with Lady Merry. And given what had just transpired in the tree, she did not feel ready to flee North Britannia just yet.

She would return to Edendale on the morrow and see this matter through to the end.

As the Edendale Castle dwellers gathered for their nooning meal the following day, everyone appeared to be back in their places.

Allen sat at the duchess's right side and Gwendolyn to her left. The castle guards Allen had brought along for his mission joked at their table across the room. And he was happy that somewhere far away Merry was safe with her newly espoused Timothy. Yet nothing was truly the same.

Council members glared at Allen from their various seats about the great hall. Randel's arm was secured in a splint. And the tension between Allen and Gwendolyn was so thick that one would need a well-sharpened sword to slice through it.

Fortunately, the duchess seemed not to notice. “How was your trip home, darling Gwendolyn?”

“Perfect,” Gwendolyn muttered.

The duchess reached for a slice of fresh baked bread. “Although I hated to see your father chasing Sir Allen down, I did not waste breath dissuading the council, as I assumed matters would be easier for you at home with your father far away.”

“Indeed,” Gwendolyn said, apparently determined to stick to her one word answers. Smart—for to divulge details would require much fabrication.

Allen himself offered not a word. He did not wish to be a party to yet another deception by Gwendolyn Barnes. Gwendolyn and Sir Geoffrey Lachapelle, one and the same. He could still hardly fathom it. A part of him longed to speak with her about it. But a larger part dreaded any conversation between them.

Whatever could he say? Guilt draped over him like a heavy yoke, weighing him down. Why had he kissed her in that tree? He could never undo it. He could never un-know how it made him feel. He could never erase the fact that he had betrayed his intended.

The duchess swallowed down her bread with a sip of wine. “Gwendolyn, is everything well with you?”

Gwendolyn sat up straighter. “I am tired, that is all. I awoke early today.”

“I hope you are not coming down with whatever your mother had.”

“'Twas just a minor illness. Mother can be a bit dramatic.”

Lies, lies, and more lies. Allen understood using subterfuge on a mission, but deception came so easily to Gwendolyn, even with the duchess, who was her close friend.

“Good to hear.” The duchess shifted to include Allen in the conversation. “And I am glad you are back safe and sound and that your friend has escaped that unscrupulous Warner DeMontfort. But whatever shall we do about Sir Randel?”

Gwendolyn shrugged her shoulders. Strong shoulders that Allen should have recognized could wield a sword. “'Twas not as if he had much chance of winning.”

“Have you heard from your brother?” the duchess asked Gwendolyn.

“Only that he has received word of the tournament and will try to come. I suppose we must continue to hope and pray.”

Allen remained silent. How he wished he could be the one to rescue her.

“I have been thinking to suggest a change of rules for this tournament,” the duchess said. “Since Gawain is the reigning champion as well as your father's choice, we could demand that he face all opponents one at a time. Then if only a single person could best him, you would escape your horrible fate. What think you, Sir Allen? You have fought him.”

Unable to be so rude as to ignore her question outright, Allen considered the duchess's plan. He was careful not to meet Gwendolyn's gaze as he answered. “It might work. He tires quickly. Yes, I think it is the best course possible.”

Indeed, the very best course would be for Allen to fight for Gwendolyn himself, but that would never be possible. The dukedom needed him, besides which, he was no longer so sure he trusted the girl.

He had thought he knew her, perhaps that he loved her, but he had not even recognized her as Sir Geoffrey. If she was capable of fighting in a tournament as a man, what other troublesome deception might this enticing woman be prone to? Might she have lured him into the tree for the sole purpose of that confusing kiss?

Following his duty, as he knew he should, he reached over and took Duchess Adela's hand, clutching it tight, as if it were an anchor that might rescue him from his soul-crushing guilt and moor him safely in place.

Adela smiled up at him with her dark, enchanting eyes. So hopeful, so trusting.

There, that was not so awful. Her silky hand fit nicely into his. It bore no callouses, and he had no fear she might live a double life.

Meanwhile Gwendolyn bit her lip and clutched tightly to her dagger. “I must excuse myself,” she said, pushing away from the table. “I fear you are right, m'lady. I am not feeling well after all.”

“I am so sorry, my dear. Go and rest.” The duchess patted Gwendolyn's hand with her free one, for a brief moment linking them all in the oddest sort of charged triangle.

Gwendolyn's maid rushed to her from a different table, and the two of them disappeared through the archway.

Allen would grow to love the duchess in time. He was determined. For good or for ill, soon Gwendolyn would wed another and move away from this castle. His feelings for her would pass with time.

They simply must.

Thankful to be leaving the noisy great hall, Rosalind escorted Gwendolyn up the stairs to her chamber. The two of them had barely had a chance to talk as Rosalind hurriedly prepared her wayward mistress for the meal.

To think that Gwendolyn had taken advantage of her absence to sneak off like that. Why, she should throttle the girl, except that Rosalind seemed to have no energy anymore. Nor even any real will to live left within her.

She was glad to leave her meal behind, for food, along with everything else in life, had lost its savor now and tasted of ashes in her mouth. Eating was just one more obligation to endure. Like moving . . . and breathing.

Once they reached the chamber, she directed Gwendolyn toward the bed. “Lie down. I will fetch a cool cloth for your head.”

“I think you could use a rest as well. Come. You need it.”

Rosalind dipped the cloth in the basin, wrung it out, and handed it to Gwendolyn.

“I should not.”

“That is an order,” Gwendolyn barked.

“Fine then.” Rosalind curled up close to Gwendolyn, truly, her best friend in the world.

“And take this.” Gwendolyn pressed the cloth to Rosalind's forehead. “You need it more than I do.”

For a moment they lay side by side, each lost in their own thoughts. It had all sounded so easy when Rosalind's mother suggested it. Visit the herbalist. Take the potion. Save the family. No one would ever need to know. The problem would be solved. Only Mother's plan had solved nothing.

Rosalind felt worse than ever. Her illness had extended from her body alone to consume her very soul. Had she not so recently come to the conclusion that sometimes one must do right and trust God with the outcome? Yet in this situation, she had failed so miserably.

“Did things not go well with your mother?” Gwendolyn finally asked.

“I do not wish to talk about it.”

“I am sorry.” Gwendolyn laid her hand upon Rosalind's shoulder.

“I take it something went amiss on your trip as well.”

Gwendolyn rolled on her back to gaze at the ceiling. “He kissed me.”

That simple statement roused Rosalind's curiosity, if not her spirit. She sat straight up and stared at Gwendolyn. “Sir Allen or Sir Randel?”

“If only it had been Sir Randel, all might be well. No, Sir Allen, and it was the most terribly wonderful thing I have ever experienced. After sitting next to him and the duchess at today's
meal, I am almost glad that I shall soon be married and moving away.”

“Oh, Gwennie!” In her own recent heart sickness, Rosalind had almost forgotten about Gwendolyn's trouble. But perhaps it was indeed a good thing that Gwendolyn would soon be married and would never experience the horror that Rosalind had this week. Surely even marriage to Gawain must be better than the agony she suffered. “I know not what to say.”

And so neither of them said anything for a time. Gwendolyn sat up, and they shared a tearful embrace. Both wounded, both hurting, and yet somehow able to support one another in their grief.

“I know.” Rosalind swiped at her eyes. “Your book. We should return to it. It always brings us comfort, yet we do not read it nearly enough.”

“I have given much thought to God recently. And I do believe I felt His touch that day in the cathedral. Tell me, Rosalind, do you truly believe in Him, or do you simply say so because everyone does?”

Rosalind pondered the question, and felt the answer stirring deep in her soul. “I truly believe. There has to be more than just what we can see and hear and touch. More than just the pain of this world. I find God all around me. In the beauty of the clouds and the sunshine and the birdsong. I catch a glimpse of Him in the loving eyes of friends like you.”

Clenching her eyes shut against the awful words she must speak next, Rosalind said, “Only I have not lived a holy life worthy of His child. I fear I have let Him down too badly this time, and that He might never love me again.”

“Rosalind. Whatever do you mean?”

“Never mind. I have said too much.”

“But that is not what our book says. It says that Christ paid
the price for our sin. That none of us are good enough on our own.” Gwendolyn picked up the beloved manuscript from the side table and commenced reading.

But this time the words did not reach Rosalind's heart. She felt herself shrinking away from them. She was too ugly, too filthy to stand before God and claim to be His daughter. She was not a princess in the kingdom of heaven.

She was a sinner, the greatest sinner of them all.

After Rosalind fell asleep against her shoulder, Gwen slipped away and headed to the castle chapel. The time had come. She would put it off no longer, not allow the enemy of her soul to offer another distraction that might lead her down a deadly path.

And the good Lord knew better than anyone how badly she needed His assistance right now. In just a handful of days, the tournament would be fought and her fate would be sealed.

She tiptoed into the hushed and shadowy room and knelt down before the small altar. In a whispering voice, she poured out her petitions, her love, her new devotion in the general direction of the wooden cross. Tingles washed over her, and tears trickled down her cheeks. God's warm, soothing presence wafted about her. Touched her to her very core. And she did feel it. His love. Better, deeper than any earthly love could ever be.

“Lord, please sustain me over these next days. Take this situation that seems impossible and turn it for good. I pray that you will somehow deliver me to a bright future. Brighter than my frail human mind can even imagine.”

She sensed His eternal arms wrapping about her. Recalled the shimmering love she had witnessed in His eyes. Despite her troubling circumstances, she would leave her future in His hands, for no safer place could it ever rest.

Then the memory of Rosalind, so wan and discouraged, rose to the surface in her mind. She must pray for Rosalind as well, for something was terribly wrong. And just as soon as she had finished, she would head off to find the duchess. She owed the gracious woman a most sincere apology for her lies.