Chivalrous (5 page)

Mother gave Gwen's hand a squeeze. “Do not be silly. If I can survive such a marriage, so can you.”

“But what if I do not want your life?” Gwen persisted.

“I have everything I desire. A home that is large, safe, and warm. Wonderful, accomplished children. Abundant food. I would be a fool to ask for more.”

Then call Gwen a fool, for that would never be enough for her. “What of happiness?”

“I am happy enough.”

Gwen pulled from her mother's touch and scooched several inches away from her on the bed. “You lie! You are miserable. Why else would you hide away day after day? It is not enough for you, and it will never be enough for me.”

Mother bristled and swiped an invisible bit of dirt from her shoulder. She focused on the grey stone wall to the far side of the room. “I had one goal in life. To marry a rich, handsome nobleman. And I accomplished that goal.”

Gwen snorted. “Perhaps you should have added charming to that list.”

“Everything in life comes at a cost. I have embraced my bitter along with my sweet, and I shall thank you not to belittle my achievements.” Mother raised her chin, and steel fell across her features.

A part of Gwen wished to continue arguing, but she could not alienate both of her parents at a time like this. “I am sorry.”

“You lived with luxury all your life. You have never known the clawing agony of hunger. You have never trudged a rocky trail with bloodied bare feet, stinging with cold until numbness thankfully overtook them.”

Gwen pressed her lips together and stared at her mother with new eyes. When dealing with the beautiful lady, it was easy to forget that she had not been reared in a noble home. Though her grandfather had been a knight, Lady Evangeline had not been born to nobility. When her village was ransacked by invaders, her family had fled to Edendale for refuge. Poor and without prospects, she had used her wit and beauty to claw her way to the top, catching a handsome baron's son in the process.

“I have no regrets,” Mother whispered, but tears slipped down her cheeks.

Gwen gathered her much-smaller mother in her arms and allowed her to weep upon her shoulder for a good long while.

What horrors had her mother endured? What costs had she paid that Gwen would never know? In that moment she could almost imagine sacrificing freedom for safety and security. But what of the bruises she had spied on her mother's lovely face and delicate wrists? Were they worthwhile as well?

Rosalind tapped upon the thick wooden door and stuck her head around the corner.

Mother pulled away and swiped at her cheeks.

“I'm so sorry,” Rosalind said. “I will bring these back later.” She indicated the fresh linens in her hand.

“No, no.” Mother waved Rosalind into the room as she straightened her gown and wimple. “Please come in. Perhaps you can help me convince Gwendolyn that she can hold far more power as a married noblewoman than as some sort of renegade warrior.”

Angel and Mischief, Gwendolyn's beloved little dogs, trotted in behind Rosalind. Just the sight of the furry little bundles of energy took the edge off her frayed nerves.

Mischief hopped onto the highest pillow upon the bed, for he loved to be above everyone in the room. He sat there regally appraising them all with his soft white curls flopping over his eyes. Meanwhile, Angel snuggled herself into Gwen's long, flowing sleeve, as she so loved to do on any occasion Gwen actually deigned to wear a proper gown. She turned herself in a tiny circle and promptly poked her soft, fuzzy head out so as not to miss the action.

Rosalind shook her head at the dogs' antics and then turned serious once again. “I've tried to help your daughter see reason, m'lady, but she will not believe me. As if these absurd little creatures she keeps about do not scream of a woman who longs for a baby.”

Mischief sent a few angry barks in Rosalind's direction as if he understood the slight.

“Oh, hush you!” Gwen said to Rosalind, despite Angel curled upon her lap like an infant. Of course a child would bring her a similar pleasure, but at far too great a cost.

Unwilling to give way to Rosalind's teasing, she said, “Mischief is my dog, and Angel is Mischief's dog. So truly, I only have one.”

“Yes, clearly. Warriors keep deadly falcons, you know, not
toy dogs.” Rosalind turned her attention to Mischief. “Now, get down from there.” With a brush of her hand, she attempted to chase him from the pillow he was rumpling.

But Mischief bared his bitty teeth and growled, releasing his inner wolf, and they all chuckled.

“You see,” Gwen said, “I am well protected.”

“My daughter's penchant for girlish pets aside, I fear I have been lax in my training, but we shall remedy that before the tournament.”

“Tournament!” Rosalind's pale cheeks flushed pink with excitement.

“Yes.” Mother smiled. “You see, Gwendolyn, that sort of enthusiasm is how one responds to news of traveling to Edendale for a celebration. And yes, Rosalind, you shall be joining us.”

Rosalind's hands trembled, and she clutched them together. No doubt she wished to dance a jig but settled for, “Thank you so very much. Won't it be fun, Lady Gwendolyn?”

“I suppose,” Gwen said.

“And if all goes well, your mistress will soon be married.” Mother beamed with pride.

Gwendolyn moaned and fell backward onto the bed once more. Angel licked her face in a show of sympathy.

Rosalind's eyes grew wide. “I see. How . . . nice.”

“My daughter does not think so. Which is why we must work together to convince her. She has three weeks to learn to be a proper, demure young lady.”

“I do believe the nursemaids who preceded me attempted to instruct her. And you have always been a wonderful example, Lady Barnes.” Rosalind busied herself with putting the last polishing touches on the room.

“You see.” Mother hoisted Gwen to sitting with surprising strength. “It shall not be all bad. We shall work on graceful
ways to draw attention from your height. And as Rosalind says, you know how to act a lady, you simply must choose to do so. Your father shall be so pleased.”

Did Gwen want to please her father? She had not considered the question in years. But as she did now, a war ensued inside her chest, pulling and pushing her one way and then the other.

Mother offered one last kiss before standing and sweeping from the room with all the elegance a noblewoman should display.

Rosalind took Mother's place on the bed beside Gwen and smiled. “A trip to the grand castle will be fun. Surely you can look forward to that part.”

Angel, always the jealous sort, wiggled her way between them.

“Father wants to find me a fierce husband.” Gwen scowled, though inside she shook with panic. “One who will not let me ride about on horseback like a hoyden.”

“Then 'tis time to sharpen those feminine wiles. As your mother said, there are other ways for women to hold power.”

Gwen did not know whether to growl like Mischief or melt into a puddle of tears. But Rosalind did not deserve her temper, and if she started crying, she might never stop. Instead she pulled Angel into her arms once again.

“Plus.” Rosalind held up a finger. “There is a tournament involved. Won't that be fun?”

“A tournament, to watch idly, from the stands, stuffed into a silken gown.” Gwen shook her head in disgust. “I do not wish to watch a tournament. I wish to fight in one.”

As the words poured from her mouth, an idea sparked to life in her head and took hold of her. Before succumbing to a life of drudgery, she would enjoy one glorious hour of triumph!

Allen stuffed down a final berry tart as he sat crammed into the long trestle table of the candlelit manor home with all of his old companions. Though he was fed well in the castle, he had missed Jane's exceptional cooking.

His friend Red should make things official and exchange his vows with that girl before someone stole her away. But since matters had settled into some sense of normalcy, Red and Jane no longer seemed as certain of their affection. They now had a whole world of potential mates to choose from, not just their little group of twenty-three members.

Hadn't Merry said something along those lines to him last year in the forest? Allen glanced in her direction, for a brief second taking in her glistening hair and warm doe eyes, noting the faint echo of his old heartache that yet remained.

While he had come to accept that a fellow like him did not belong with the noble Lady Merry Ellison, he was no longer a match for a simple peasant girl either, and had yet to find a new maiden to catch his fancy. Under Merry's tutelage he had learned to read and write and fight like a warrior. Over the past year as he continued to hone his battle skills, he had studied the languages of the nobles, and even learned to craft a love poem.

Perhaps once in the city of Edendale, he might meet a free woman, an educated woman. Perhaps the daughter of a merchant or a clerk. Being so near to Merry made him feel small, somehow beneath the person worthy of honor and respect that he had striven to become.

“Allen!” Abigail, now age seven, managed to squirm her growing frame onto his lap. “You must tell us more stories of your adventures. Shall you truly be a knight soon?”

“It seems so.” He tapped her turned-up nose with a finger. “But I have told you quite enough stories for one day.”

Sadie tugged at his sleeve from beside him. “But you must come and train us. Teach us the new things you've been learning.”

“I thought you were settling into this agrarian life. Young village girls don't train in battle maneuvers.”

“This one does.” Sadie crossed her arms over her slight chest.

“I agree,” Merry said from the head of the table with a wink.

Allen chuckled. “Well then, I suppose I must. On the morrow. Why wait?”

“Huzzah!” Sadie squealed.

“Excellent!” Young Gilbert caught hold of the excitement. “Training with a real knight.”

“A squire for now,” Cedric, just as scrawny and awkward as ever, corrected. “We wouldn't want his head getting too big for his helmet, would we?”

“Wonderful!” Abigail threw her arms about Allen's neck and squeezed tight. “You shall tell me another story, then.”

“Easy there, little one, even a valiant knight must have air to breathe.” Allen loosened her stranglehold.

“We would welcome your instruction,” Robert said. “But you needn't rush. 'Tis not as if we face imminent threats anymore.”

Allen could not yet tell them that he chose tomorrow for he planned to leave soon, and perhaps never return. He would enjoy one last day of training his former troops before he apprised them of his plans and faced the inevitable protests and tears.

“One never knows when we must be ready to fight. We should not grow complacent. This new regent is still an unknown entity.” Merry's eyes took on that battle-hardened glint they had before a mission, despite her soft hair and fine kirtle, reminding Allen that she had once swung from trees to rob passing carriages and feed these children.

Little wonder he had admired her so.

“I think we can relax for the moment. England is at peace now.” Allen climbed from the bench and stood, lowering the dangling Abigail to the floor. “Lady Merry, I must speak to you before I leave.”

“Of course.” Merry pushed her chair from the head of the table and stood as well. “Let us go outside for a bit.”

The tiny lady barely reached the top of his chest. Without thinking, he placed a too familiar hand on the small of her back but just as quickly snatched it away and scratched his head. Finally, he motioned with his hand for her to lead the way.

Once outside, they settled upon the stairs where she had sat earlier that day. The night was warm and glittering with stars. A generous moon cast its silver light upon the village, allowing Allen to make out each of the small triangular dwellings surrounding the common circle in the center.

Merry gazed up at the sky and sighed. “Sometimes it is still hard for me to believe that we are safe and settled in a new home. And now I have my aunt, and Timothy's family, and the children. It is more than I dared to wish for.”

“And . . .” Allen prompted.

“And what?” She twisted toward him with a puzzled expression.

“And you shall be married soon and bear your own children. We both know 'tis true. You needn't spare my feelings.”

Merry patted his knee.

He waited for her to speak, but she had always been a woman of few words. And truly, what could she say?

“Merry, I'll be leaving soon. For North Britannia. It has been my dearest dream for nigh on a year now. Probably long before that, except that I never believed such an idyllic place could exist.”

“Do not leave on my account. The children will be heartbroken.”

“I'm not leaving because of you.” Allen pondered his statement. He valued integrity above all virtues, and it did not completely ring of truth. “Well, perhaps in small part. But this is right. This is God's plan for me. 'Tis time for me to head out and find my own place in the world.”