Chivalrous (9 page)

And now what was left for her? A life locked away in a castle. Marriage. Children.

Yet gazing at Sir Allen, somehow those prospects did not seem as horrible as they had a day earlier.

Gwendolyn stifled a yawn as her parents chatted with the duke and duchess in the resplendent hall of Edendale Castle. Though she had little use for all the gilt and frippery, or the fancy marble pillars, she had to confess it was pretty enough. And tonight's festivities were far jollier than the stately affair the previous evening.

Minstrels strolled about the room, playing a lively tune within the glow of the torches lining the walls. Couples danced in the center of the floor, while a collection of knights bedecked in the North Britannian crimson-and-black regalia enjoyed a rowdy game of dice beneath the hugest tapestry she had ever laid eyes upon.

The whole place smelled of the fresh meadowsweet and sage strewn throughout the rushes on the floor. She might almost enjoy this evening, were it not for her exhaustion from the day along with her aching muscles and bruises.

A while back she had tuned out the discussion of politics
surrounding her, but now the name Allen of Ellsworth caught her attention.

“Yes, he gave us the finest fight of the day.” The duke nodded his approval. “Were wagering not a vice, he would be my choice.”

Father guffawed a bit too loudly. “Well, I have no such scruples. Perhaps I shall take your suggestion.”

“And his opponent, that Lachapelle fellow, put up a valiant fight. I wonder if either of them is here?” The duchess scanned the crowd. “It is difficult to recognize the combatants when they are out of their armor. But I should like to congratulate both of them.”

Gwen froze in place before she did something that might give her away. Warmth welled within her. It seemed that despite her defeat, she had performed better than she realized.

“I, too, was impressed by Lachapelle,” Father said, “especially for such a young man.”

“Young?” The duke's imposing face twisted in confusion. “Whatever gave you that impression? Lachapelle has been well-known in the continent tournament circle for nigh on a decade.”

“That is odd.” Father scratched his head through his wild mane of black and silver. “I would have sworn I spied a youth, but perhaps the shadows were deceptive.”

“Or perhaps he is young in spirit.” Mother finally spoke, but as usual, only a passing comment in general support of her husband, and not any clear opinion of her own.

“What think you, Lady Gwendolyn?” the duke prompted.

“I think I wish I had been there and not at home with a . . .” Gwen's mind sought for a delicate way to phrase the matter. “Not at home with a fickle constitution.”

“Ah, I did not realize,” the duke said. “We are glad, however,
that you made it this evening. I hope you are feeling well. You appear quite lovely and fully recovered.”

“I am much better, thank you. And I look forward to attending the tournament on the morrow.”

“We shall look for you.” The duchess gave Gwen's arm a squeeze. “I should love for you to join us and share your commentary. You must be quite the expert, what with your renowned brothers training at your castle.”

“I am afraid not,” Mother said before Gwen could answer. “Our daughter mostly stays indoors weaving and embroidering.”

“And playing the pipe.” Father smiled from ear to ear. “You should hear how lovely she is upon the pipe.”

“Perhaps tomorrow you will play for us.” The duke gestured to the grand dais at the front of the room.

“Oh, I could never.” Gwen pressed a hand to her cheek, not needing to feign demureness for once.

Father's chest puffed with pride. “I am afraid our Gwendolyn does not enjoy so much attention. She is rather meek at heart. Perhaps at a more intimate gathering.”

“Excellent.” The duchess pressed her hands together. “We shall arrange for one soon.”

Mother shot Gwen an appreciative glance. She and Father were always looking for ways to curry favor with the duke and duchess. Although Gwen did not share their interest for social maneuvering, she was happy to have brought them some small joy.

The duke and duchess excused themselves to continue mingling among their guests.

“Yes, you should mingle as well, Gwendolyn. Reestablish old acquaintances. Make some new friends,” her father said. “Later, there is a fellow I would like to introduce you to, but I have not
seen him yet. Find someone to dance with. Nothing makes a woman more desirable than the attention of one's rivals.”

Though she did not mind dancing, as it was both a physical and a musical sort of activity, the thought of facing the huge gathering alone horrified Gwen. “But . . . I . . . truly, Father. Might we stay together?”

“Do not be silly, darling.” Despite her simpering smile, Mother gave Gwen a rather forceful shove out of their concealing corner. “We have been preparing for this. Now is your chance to shine. No man will ask you to dance while your frightening father glowers over your shoulder.”

Her mother and father departed in the opposite direction and were soon engaged in animated conversation with another couple.

Gwen took a few hesitant steps, attempting to sway her hips, bend her knees, and tilt her head all at once. She searched out any friendly female face, but her family had been quite reclusive in their craggy tower castle, and Gwen had not gotten along well with the few girls who had visited. She spotted several familiar matrons but had no desire to spend her evening with them.

And of course she recognized her brothers' friends, Randel Penigree included. She knew not whether Hugh had spoken to Randel about courting her as he mentioned, but she would not wish to give Randel the wrong idea. Especially not in this ridiculous gown of girlish pink silk, which showed off far too much of her feminine assets. Gwen pressed a hand to her exposed chest. She had preferred last night's elegant blue concoction.

With a lift of his chin, Randel smiled and caught her gaze. It seemed Hugh had indeed spoken to him, but she managed to blend into the crowd and make an escape. After burrowing her way to the far side of the room, she paused for a moment, and a welcome sight met her eye. A padded bench nestled into an alcove. Perfect.

She ducked her head low and dashed directly for the place of refuge, only to smack into a broad chest that seemingly came from nowhere.

The man grabbed her elbows to steady her. “My goodness, aren't you in a hurry.”

Gwen dreaded looking into his face, but she had little choice, for he seemed unwilling to let her go until she answered him. As she lifted her head, much to her shock, she stared directly into the sunshine smile of Sir Allen of Ellsworth.

“Sir Allen!” she uttered before she could catch herself.

His smile turned to one of bemusement. “I am sorry. Have we met?”

“I . . . uh . . . no . . . rather, I saw you in the tournament today.” Instantly she regretted her words, which so contradicted the ones she had spoken only moments earlier to the duke. But there was no turning back now.

“Of course,” Allen said. “I am not accustomed to such notoriety.”

“You were quite impressive. One could hardly forget.”

Sir Allen yet held fast to her arms, causing strange bursts of energy to course through her and making it difficult for her to think straight. She looked pointedly to her arm.

He released her and stepped back. “I'm sorry about our little crash. Are you well?”

“Yes, do not fear. I have survived far worse.” Gwen noticed her father glaring her way. Not wishing to incite his anger, she adjusted her position, giggled, and fluttered her lashes, allowing her gaze to fall to Allen's leather boots. Goodness, even his feet were handsome.

“And where did I stop you from rushing to?”

“I was just headed for yon bench. I fear my head grew light in this crowd, and I wished to rest for a while.”

“Then allow me to escort you.” Sir Allen gallantly took her arm, sending a confusing blend of warmth and chills shooting through her. What bizarre sort of malady did he inflict upon her? She was not certain that she liked the many odd sensations he evoked in her.

She did not concern herself with swaying her hips, as she did not wish to bump his, but she twisted herself as small as possible as they moved toward the bench. Once there, she sat and tilted her head while he settled himself beside her, grazing her thigh with his own due to the small space.

Her thoughts set off in erratic directions at his nearness as her mouth grew tongue-tied. Her heartbeat sped, though she remained at rest. She must strengthen her resolve against the strange reactions she seemed to suffer at his nearness.

“Actually, do I know you from somewhere? The more I think of it, the more you look familiar to me.” Allen seemed not to suffer from her affliction of the tongue, although something in his eyes and that playful grin made her think he might enjoy gazing upon her.

At first Gwen could not find the words to reply, but she needed to come up with something before he associated her with his battle from the afternoon. She asked herself what her mother might bid her say. “I wager you say that to all the ladies.”

Proud of her answer, she smiled, a true and natural smile. Sir Allen seemed a safe enough fellow to practice her new skills of flirtation upon. Her parents would never consider him a marriage prospect, so she need not fear a prospective romance, but they might be pleased that she made some attempt to follow their instructions.

He tipped back his head and chuckled. “I deserved that. But truly, I feel I know you.”

Her tongue finally loosened. “Perhaps you have met one of
my brothers. My surname is Barnes. Have you encountered a Reginald or a Gerald or perhaps a Hugh?”

“I do not think so, m'lady. But if you might grace me with your own name, I would be forever grateful.”

She stopped a sigh just in time. No one had ever spoken to her in such a lovely manner, but she was not sure she liked the way it left her feeling weak-kneed and vulnerable. “Gwendolyn. My name is Lady Gwendolyn Barnes, daughter of the baron Lord Reimund Barnes.”

He lifted her hand and kissed it, sending pleasant shivers to dance across her skin, up her arm, and down her spine. Again he stared deeply into her eyes. Though she must steel her heart against any romantic silliness, something told her that she could happily lose herself in the swirling hazel pool of his gaze.

“And are these brothers of yours here tonight?” Allen asked, the taste of her silken skin still heady upon his lips. Perhaps the kiss, though proper and chivalrous, had been a mistake.

“Alas, only Reginald, the one I like the least. And my parents.”

She indicated to a dark-haired young man with a somewhat shriveled and mousy woman hovering in his shadow, and then to an older gentleman with a fierce demeanor flanked by a diminutive blond.

“And they have left you to fend for yourself in this throng? How cruel!” He only half jested, for he himself wished his parents might be beside him for support this night.

The lovely Lady Gwendolyn laughed. A hearty laugh, not the false giggle of moments earlier, and she sat straight now, no longer hunched. “You understand me well, Sir Allen. In fact, if I had my way, I would not be here at all.”

“And where would you be?”

“Perhaps strolling the woods outside the city gate.”

“So you love the outdoors. Would you believe me if I told you that I lived as an outlaw in a forest hideaway for nearly two years?”

With a quick intake of breath, she gave him a little shove on the arm. “You did not!”

Perhaps he should have weighed his words more carefully. Though the evil King John was long dead and never well loved, he had no idea where this woman's loyalties might lie.

But after a moment Gwendolyn sighed and gazed at Allen with a wistful expression upon her beautiful features. “I have only dreamed of such adventures. You have no idea how jealous I am.”

Relief coursed through him. “'Twas not all fun and games.”

“I assume not, but how I long for a great adventure.”

He twisted his head and stared at her curiously. From the moment he walked through the grand archway, this confusing young woman had caught his attention, standing taller than the females around her. One second he had noted the confident tilt of her chin, then she had crouched over and stared at the floor.

He'd watched as she oddly shuffled amid the crowd one moment, and agilely ducked through it with the grace of a huntress the next. Until, of course, he moved just enough to send her crashing into him. He held back a chuckle at the memory. She was a puzzle he simply must solve.

Only one woman had ever surprised and delighted him like this. And unbelievably, Gwendolyn Barnes with her golden tresses and curving figure was even more beautiful than Merry Ellison—at least when she relaxed.

However, he would never make the foolish mistake of losing his heart to a noblewoman again. Facing that sort of humiliation once in a lifetime was quite enough. He planned only to pass a
few entertaining moments in Gwendolyn's charming presence. Something about her suggested a kindred spirit. A person he might befriend in this sea of strangers.