Chivalrous (33 page)

I surrender our future to prayer.

Surrender our future to prayer. Allen was correct, she must not despair. Gathering her fighting spirit, she crawled to the corner, rose to her knees, and pressed her hands together in desperate petition.

Allen leaned against the bars of his cell listening for any cries. Gwen was somewhere in this prison as well. But hearing nothing amiss, he turned his attention to the nearby Duchess Adela. “So what do we do now?”

“I do not know. I never dreamed that I might see a day like today.” The duchess sighed and shifted to a new position upon the hard stone floor. “I feel as if I know nothing anymore. To think that my own people could treat me this way over a legend, a superstition. . . .”

“I am sorry.” Allen spoke the words that had been plaguing him. “I only tried to do as I felt God leading me, but I fear I made a mistake. The English army would have routed DeMontfort either way.”

The duchess sent him a hard look. “Never apologize for doing what you believe is right. Apologize only for compromising
your convictions. If we had succumbed to their demands, they would have credited that blasted prophecy, and we would be wed, which neither of us wanted. Now they must face the truth.”

Allen peered at her in the dim light and realized that the courageous woman meant every word. “But your dukedom. I might have ruined everything.”

“If my dukedom has in fact been reduced to that crazed mob I watched outside, I know not if I wish to lead any longer.”

Allen turned his heart back to prayer and felt God's soothing balm envelop him. Perhaps he had not made a mistake, for that holy presence was more acute than ever before. Time slipped away as he focused his heart and mind upon that other realm, that spiritual kingdom that always surrounded them, yet so often slipped from view. He had only spoken true. Only done what he believed to be right.

He must trust that God would somehow deliver him to his true destiny.

Allen knew not how many minutes, or hours, had passed before the cell door creaked open.

“You can come out now,” said a kindly guard Allen knew from the barracks. “Promise to cooperate and you will not be restrained.”

“Of course,” the duchess said, standing to her feet and lifting her chin high.

They followed the guard through the dim passageways, up the stairs, and through the stately halls of the castle. Finally they entered the council chamber with its marble floors and its walls festooned with billowing strips of fabric in ivory, crimson, and black. The entire council crowded about the large circular
table. Lord Fulton sat in the head chair that rightly belonged to the duchess.

Duchess Adela took Allen's hand in her own. They stood side by side, unwavering before the council.

Fulton peered at their joint hands. “What is this? Will you mock us yet again by starting a liaison now?”

“Do not be a fool,” the regal Adela said. “But we will support one another against your tyranny.”

Fulton huffed. “We yet await more arrivals before we can discuss our decisions.”

The duchess squeezed Allen's hand. They stood still and quiet, awaiting their destinies.

Then the chamber door swung open, and Gwendolyn entered, likewise of her own volition.

She came forth and stood at Allen's other side.

Her father entered behind her and took a seat to the rear of the chamber.

All that remained was for the council to issue their decree.

Lord Fulton stood and surveyed the gathering. “As most of you are already aware, William Marshall and the king have grown tired of Warner DeMontfort's scheming. They sent an army of their own soldiers to route the dissidents. And I have it upon good authority that DeMontfort is dead.”

Allen was glad that justice had been served. Thankful that North Britannia was now safe. But that did not erase the fact that he had been a party to treason this day.

Fulton took a deep breath. “Despite the travesty that took place this afternoon, the council has decided that the Duchess Adela is yet the best candidate to lead our people.”

The duchess appeared conflicted. “I will do so only if the council decrees an official apology and implements a number of serious changes.”

Fulton nodded with a surprising degree of humility. “We never wished to dishonor you, Your Grace. I think we all lost our heads a bit in the madness of the moment.”

“In that case, I will continue in my role as your leader. And the first change shall be to institute the law, which Sir Allen suggested, allowing me to rule alone and choose my own spouse in my own time.”

“Of course,” Fulton said.

“And what of Sir Allen?” the duchess demanded.

Fulton adjusted his tunic and pressed his lips together. “You are our duchess, thus you had the right to stand against us in our clash of wills this day. However, Sir Allen was not yet established as duke. We fear we would set a dangerous precedent by allowing his rebellion against the council to go unchecked.”

“But Sir Allen is new to our region.” The duchess let go of his hand and approached the large round table. “And he only supported my wishes. I will not consent to see him imprisoned.”

Allen braced himself as he awaited their judgment. He had lived out his convictions, now he would bear his consequences with dignity.

“We considered his unfamiliarity with our customs,” Fulton said. “We believe the best course of action is to strip him of his seat upon the council and send him back to Lindy from whence he came. Likewise, the guards who supported him will be dismissed from Edendale Castle and sent home to their families.”

Allen's stomach churned. He would be a man without a purpose, without power or wealth once again. But his pride mattered little. He could survive any fate with God directing his path. At least he would leave with his honor and integrity firmly intact. Lord Linden would welcome him back, and he could start over again.

Only the thought of losing Gwendolyn hit him like a mace to his chest.

Gwen yet tingled from her time spent in prayer. Peeking down at her hands, she would have sworn that she still glowed with God's holy presence. No matter what the council decided, with God's love surrounding her, she would stand strong. With or without Allen by her side, she would press forward, despite how badly her heart might beg for him.

“I agree that your recommendation is fair,” Allen said at long last. “I accept the consequences of my actions. I shall leave the region as the council wishes.”

The duchess pressed her lips tight together for a moment but maintained her regal stance. “If Allen is in agreement, I will not argue.”

Though sadness washed over Gwen at the thought of losing Allen, she maintained her composure and her steadfast faith—until her father stepped forward and clasped her arm in his rough grip. From long-held habit, her muscles clenched with fear. But she bid herself to yet trust in God.

“And what of my daughter?” he asked the council. “I think we can all agree that this day proved a ridiculous mockery. I ask that you give Gwendolyn back into my care and allow me to choose her husband, as should have been my right this entire time.”

Tears glistened in the duchess's eyes, but she dared not cause any more trouble. She had pushed matters to the limit with her bid to save Allen from prison.

Allen lurched forward as if he might argue for Gwen, but he no longer held authority in this place.

“Yes, Lord Barnes, you may take your daughter home now.
This matter is concluded,” Lord Fulton dispassionately announced Gwen's fate.

As her father jerked her roughly, Gwen continued with her silent petitions.
Save me, Father God. Redeem me. Rescue me. Empower
me to stand strong.

Pushed along by her earthly sire, she took several steps toward the door.

Until something deep within bid her to dig in her heels and slow their progress.

I am a knight.

Strong like steel.

Ready to conquer any foe.

Gwen recalled her battle chant. She knew her opponent—not her father, nor even the council—but rather the enemy of her soul who sought to devour her. Who fought with lies and tricks because, in truth, he had no power against her God. She would not concede to the enemy. She would not fear, never give way to despair. She would cling tight to her shield of faith. God would be her defense.

And victory would be hers.

Of a sudden, the doors burst open, and Timothy Grey with his familiar thatch of white-blond hair strode through. At the sight of him, something settled in Gwen's spirit.

“What is this?” Fulton asked, jumping to his feet.

A herald stepped through next. “Council of North Britannia, forgive our interruption, but I present to you Lord Timothy
Grey, the new Baron of Ellsworth, here with an urgent message from King Henry III.”

A high-ranking North Britannian soldier spoke up. “He is the very one who led the king's troops to this place.”

“Is this true?” Fulton asked.

“Yes.” Timothy stepped forward. “I was at Warner DeMontfort's castle to save Lady Merry Ellison, whom I married just a few days past. While there, I noted that DeMontfort had gathered a large rebel army. Sir Allen recommended that I hurry back to warn the king. It seems that although William Marshall was once friends with DeMontfort, his mounting aggression did not sit well with the regent, and Marshall decided that he had best get the situation under control.”

“Of course.” Fulton stretched out his hand. “And we are forever grateful to our beneficent new ruler. We look forward to being an integral part of his reign. Long live King Henry!”

The assemblage echoed his cheer. “Long live King Henry!”

Timothy nodded his approval. “We have been interrogating DeMontfort's soldiers. I think we shall be able to gather ample proof that he murdered the duke, as well as the names of his supporters.”

At that, a few of the council members shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but Gwen still did not understand what any of this might mean for her.

“Is that all the news you have brought us?” Fulton asked.

“In fact, it is not. The king would like to thank Sir Allen of Ellsworth for the role he played in rescuing Lady Merry and in foiling DeMontfort's plan. He has offered him a boon of his choice. Land. Marriage. Title. Perhaps Warner DeMontfort's own holdings, which will now be placed in new and faithful hands. Whatever he might desire.”

Allen stepped forward, his sunshine grin returned to his face.
“I was willing to give up everything, yet God has returned it all to me.”

Gwen's heart blossomed with hope.

Allen paused and tipped his face to heaven, seeming to bask in the wonder of it all. “I ask for the hand of Lady Gwendolyn Barnes along with her dower lands, which I rightfully won this day, and for the pleasure of staying in North Britannia with my new wife.”

Wife.
The word washed over Gwendolyn like warm rain. This could not possibly be happening, and yet it was.

“Well, given the mood I left him in, I dare say the king shall offer you more than mere dower lands, but it shall suffice for a start.” Timothy winked.

Gwen wrenched free of her father's clutches. Even he could not stand against the king of England. She ran to Allen, threw herself into his awaiting arms, and hid her face against his strong chest.

“If, that is,” he whispered in her ear, “the plan meets with your agreement.”

She tipped back her head and cried for all to hear. “Oh, Allen, I love you, and I long to be your wife!”

Her lips melded to his as if by magic. He kissed her in front of the duchess, the council, and her father—in front of God and all the angels, and nothing had ever felt so right. At long last Allen would be hers, for now and eternity.

“I suppose we can say nothing against this,” Fulton said, standing and offering the large throne-like chair back to the duchess.

“No, you cannot.” She took her rightful place. “Lord Barnes, it seems your daughter will bring you honor in a new and unexpected manner.”

“It seems she shall.” Father huffed out the door. He was finally beaten.

Gwen tucked herself in tight at Allen's side, and he squeezed her against his heart.

The duchess beamed their way. “I think when the king comes to visit, we shall have a wedding to celebrate.”

“Ho!” Timothy cheered. “Perfect. Our young King Henry does love a celebration.”

“Perfect,” Allen whispered in her ear.

And Gwen could not have agreed more.

“Your Grace, if you do not mind, might I be excused to speak with my betrothed in private for a moment?” Allen asked.

“By all means.” The Duchess Adela, back in charge as she was always meant to be, swept her hand regally toward the exit.

Allen led Gwen to the door. Timothy offered them both an embrace on their way out, and several of the nobles took the opportunity to offer words and gestures of support as well.

At long last they found themselves alone in the corridor.

Allen pulled her into a shaded alcove and wrapped her in a warm embrace. He trailed a finger along the side of her cheek. “So, Sir Geoffrey, we meet again.”

Gwen threw back her head and laughed. A hearty, solid laugh, the likes of which had not escaped her in some time. “Guilty as charged. I would say 'tis high time for a rematch. I came ever so close to thrashing you.”

He shook his head in wonder. “That you did. I look forward to learning your strategies.”

“So”—she barely dared to give voice to her fondest dream—“you shall let me continue to train?”

Allen pressed a hand to Gwen's flat stomach. “For as long as it is safe.”

Torrents of joy washed over Gwen as images of their life together flashed through her mind. Family, future, children.
“But before we settle down for good, perhaps we should go on one last grand adventure.”

He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Perhaps we can join Duchess Adela and her cousin on that crusade they long to lead. But never fear, my love, one way or another, our lives shall be full of excitement.”

She looked into Allen's warm hazel eyes and knew she had at last found her home. The distance between them faded, and they melted into another kiss so idyllic, her heart could hardly bear it. She longed to start their lives together. To witness the wondrous plans God had in store and discover what marvelous adventures might yet await.