Chivalrous (24 page)

“When Merry Ellison taught me to fight, to protect, I knew I had found my purpose in life. But now the council has stripped me of that. I cannot even help the woman who once saved me.”

She thought long and hard before she voiced her next words. Gwen did not wish to encourage treason, but well she knew that sometimes the authorities in one's life bullied rather than ruling with wisdom and respect.

Beyond which, she felt such kinship with Merry, who would soon be wed against her will. “Are you certain you cannot help her? Should you not follow your own heart in such a weighty matter?”

“They refused me outright. This is not like when I rebelled
against the evil King John. I cannot defy such a God-fearing council. I must live up to my duty.”

“I understand your concern about duty. And I admire your willingness to put the good of the dukedom before yourself.” Much as his decisions along that line had caused her pain. “However, this is a different situation. The council is acting foolishly by putting superstition over sound logic, and you have a duty to Merry that precedes your duty to North Britannia. There are two opposing duties, two opposing rights. And I say in such a case you must follow God's leading in your own heart.”

Allen shook his head and buried it deeper into his hands. “But is it God's leading? Or is it my own impulse?”

“Only you can say for certain. But I have never known you to be impulsive or selfish, and I doubt you would start now.”

For a moment, Allen stared into the distance. “You are right. I do feel led to assist Timothy. And as you say, I know in my heart this is right.”

“Excellent!” His sense of peace over the decision drifted toward Gwen and engulfed her as well. “And I shall go with you. I can sneak into DeMontfort's castle. No one will suspect a woman.”

“Don't be silly. You must stay here.”

Her pulse quickened. “Am I not to follow my own convictions as you shall follow yours? Would you bind me to this place as the council attempted to bind you?”

“I cannot be responsible for you at a time like this. I shall be in enough trouble as it stands.”

She leapt to her feet, as her temper flared fully to life. “Who said I was your responsibility? I can take care of myself. Have you not deduced that by now?”

“'Tis just that I shall be distracted by worrying about your safety if you're along.”

“Men! You are all the same.” She stomped her foot and turned her back on him.

He stood now as well and took her by the shoulders. “I am sorry to disappoint you. But this situation is hard enough for me.”

Gwen's heart melted at that. She did understand how difficult it would be for him to defy the council. She turned in his grasp to face him. “I only meant to help.”

“Thank you.” He rested his forehead briefly against hers, causing her pulse to race for a different reason now.

He must have experienced the same rush of feelings, for he shoved her roughly away. “Thank you for your wise counsel and for your cooperation,” he said in a more stilted, formal manner. “I must go and prepare.”

Gwen stood with her hands on her hips as he walked away. She would not trouble him with more arguments, but he had misunderstood entirely if he assumed she would cooperate and sit idly at the castle while Merry Ellison needed rescuing.

“Adventure awaits,” she whispered to herself and headed to her chambers to prepare for her own journey.

Long after the sun had set, Gwendolyn stalked through the patch of trees surrounding the camp of Allen and his men. She pushed through the underbrush and crept as close as she dared to better assess the situation and their moods.

The group sat about a crackling fire, teasing and laughing—except for Allen, who stared pensively into the flames. She spied Randel along with several of his cohorts from among the castle guards—trustworthy and skilled knights, all of them.

After seeing Rosalind off, Gwen had made short work of “sequestering” the necessary supplies for her journey. Along the way, she had stayed a goodly distance from the men, always at least one turn in the trail to their rear. In a moment she would reveal herself and deal with the lectures that she by all means deserved.

An insect tickled her cheek, and instinct bid her to swat it away.

One of the guards leapt to his feet and grabbed his sword. “Halt, who goes there?”

Good for him. She had been surprised to have gotten so far.
Lifting her hands over her head, she stepped out of the concealing shadows into the flickers of firelight. “'Tis only I, Lady Gwendolyn Barnes, attendant to Duchess Adela.”

The man appeared confused. “Have you brought us a message?”

Randel stood and jogged to her with his typical relaxed grin spread across his face. “Ho, Gwendolyn! Perfect. I do not know why I never thought to bring you along. You are just the person to assist us.”

But Allen stood as well and shoved Randel aside. Holding up a stern finger to warn the man off, he grumbled, “Stay out of this, Sir Randel. I shall deal with the lady.”

Thunderclouds seemed to gather over Allen's normal sunshine expression as he stormed in Gwen's direction. Randel, not so easily thwarted, followed a few feet behind.

Allen took Gwen by the arm and pulled her into the thicket. “I thought we had an agreement!”

Gwen had never seen him angry before. It seemed this idyllic man contained a full gamut of emotions after all.

Yet his anger lacked the bitter disdain of her father's, and so she pressed on. “I dropped the subject but made no promises.”

“This is unacceptable! Where does the duchess think you are?”

Gwendolyn waved away his troublesome question. “Called to Castle Barnes by my mother for a time.”

He dug his fingers into his forehead and rubbed it in frustration. “I am disappointed in you, Gwendolyn.”

“Why do you insist I cannot help when you followed this Lady Merry into raids and forays?” Her temper flared to life now, but she did not intend to lose her control and this battle along with it.

He huffed. “Lady Merry was well-trained, and the circumstances were highly unusual.”

Randel pushed into the thicket beside them. “Sir Allen, my apologies, but I believe you greatly underestimate Gwendolyn's abilities. And I shall take personal responsibility for her.”

Allen swung toward him with a ferocity she had not thought him capable of. “
You
would answer to the council, to her brute of a father, if any harm came to her?”

Randel did not so much as flinch. “I would. For I know, and her brothers know, and I dare say even her mother knows that she is every bit as capable of protecting herself as half the fellows we brought along. Beyond which, her gender might stand in our favor if we must sneak into Warner's castle.”

“You see.” Gwen batted Allen in the arm. She was growing impatient with his stubbornness. “I said as much.”

Allen turned back to her and cocked a brow. “You wish to use ‘I said as much' as your brilliant defense?”

“Oh, hush! Are you going to let me come or not?”

He huffed again and kicked at the dirt like a young boy throwing a tantrum. So much for her perfect Allen of Ellsworth, yet she longed to reach out and smooth his furrowed brow nonetheless.

He pressed his fists into his hips and stood with his feet wide. “You have left me little choice. But if Timothy bids you stay at camp, you will obey, and you will not cause a bit of disturbance. Do I make myself clear?”

“Abundantly.” Gwen conceded, although she was careful to agree to nothing else.

Randel winked to her from behind Allen's back.

Her old friend knew her well. Come tomorrow, she was not about to miss this one last grand exploit before she wed and resigned herself to a life of wretched needlework and board games.

Lady Merry Ellison needed her, and she would not let this kinswoman of the heart down.

“So what now?” asked Sir Randel as they surveyed the valley just outside their prearranged meeting village of Bixby.

Allen scanned the foliage surrounding them. “Give them a minute. I suspect they will come to us.”

Gwendolyn sat still and straight upon her horse. She had done nothing along their route that might draw undue attention to herself. Nonetheless Allen's senses remained highly attuned to her every step of the way.

As she stretched her back in an appealing manner against the strain of their long day's ride, his awareness of her soared to such a precarious height that he nearly missed the call of the crested lark.

“Hold!” He held out a hand to silence them all.

Then it came again. He returned the call.

A moment later his old cohort Cedric came crashing through the bushes with a comic grin stretched so wide across his slender face that it nearly grazed his overly large ears. “Allen! It really is you. I could hardly recognize you in that fine surcoat.”

He ran to Allen, and Allen hopped from Thunder to meet Cedric with a manly hug and several thumps on the back. Cedric pulled away and swiped at his eyes. “Stupid dust. Can't escape it in this dry northern climate.”

But tears pricked Allen's eyes as well. “I never dreamed I might see you again so soon.”

“Come, Timothy is anxious to see you.”

As Cedric led Allen's horse by the reins, the rest of the troop, Gwendolyn included, fell into step behind them.

“So have you had a chance to scout the area?” Allen asked.

“We have. Lady Merry's being held in DeMontfort's small fort of a castle. He looks to have ample soldiers, but they mostly
laze about down the hill. We presume he must be preparing for an attack on North Britannia but not expecting a strike upon his own holdings.”

“Excellent. So stealth will be our best ally.”

Cedric eyed him and cocked a brow. Together they chanted, “‘Stealth. Anonymity. Restraint. These are our allies. These three we shall never betray,'” then chuckled at the pleasant memory.

“What is this?” Randel pulled up beside them.

“So sorry, Randel. I should have introduced you to my friend Cedric, a fellow Ghost of Farthingale Forest.”

“That mantra you just heard served us well for two years. Until Merry stole that chest of gold headed for the king.” Cedric gestured with his chin. “We're nearly there.”

“Goodness, Sir Allen,” Randel said. “Sounds as if you have some stories to share tonight. I shall not suffer you to sit in silence again.”

Allen smiled, but the thought of retelling his tales to Gwendolyn made his stomach twist in a knot. Why did the girl not understand that he could never focus properly with her about looking so charming in her men's leggings and boots?

They continued skirting the village and then headed into a copse of trees. Allen quickly spotted Timothy. He felt none of his old jealousy nor discomfort as he gripped Timothy Grey's arm in greeting. Only the affinity of two men determined to save one man's love and the other's friend.

“I am so relieved you have come.” Timothy sighed.

“Nothing, and I do mean nothing, could have stopped me.” Allen reached over and tousled Timothy's hair, both because he knew that Timothy hated it, and because that smooth, white-blond thatch begged to be mussed.

Timothy ducked away and playfully delivered a punch to
Allen's firm stomach. “Ouch!” Timothy chuckled as he shook out his hand. “Seems as though I have called upon the right man.”

“I am so glad to help.” This time Allen made proper introductions, including Lady Gwendolyn, whom the men all eyed with curiosity. Once everyone settled in, they gathered together in a planning council.

“Robert, I think you have the best handle on the situation,” Timothy said.

Shrewd Robert had served as their tactical advisor back in Farthingale Forest. “We noted that a number of village women enter the castle in the morning. Some apparently to bake bread, and others to stay and—we suppose—to serve as maids and cooks and the like. The guards paid them little heed.”

“So we were thinking we could dress as women and sneak in.” Cedric cackled, slapping his bony knee. “We haven't done that in years.”

Allen shook his head. “But we were all much smaller at the time.”

“Which is why I suggested I go alone.” Robert, shorter and slighter than the rest, shot a glare at Cedric.

“Aww, I never get to have any fun.” Cedric's shoulders slumped.

“Your foray as a traveling tumbler into Castle Wyndemere will have to suffice,” Gwendolyn said with a light giggle and a sympathetic smile.

At that comment, all the Ghosts sent pointed glances Allen's way. Allen's air whooshed from his chest. Gwendolyn must have paid close heed to his stories to remember such details. But had he not memorized every word she said, every note she played, every crook of her finger as well?

“Why risk detection?” asked Randel, striding to the center of the gathering. “Lady Gwendolyn is a skilled fighter and
excellent at subterfuge, not to mention an actual woman. I can attest to her abilities.”

“Perfect!” Cedric shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

“No!” Allen shouted louder. “We cannot risk the Lady Gwendolyn on such a dangerous mission.”

“Then why did you bring her along?” Cedric asked, scratching his head of short cropped hair.

“In fact, I did not.” Allen ground out the words. “It is out of the question.”

“You said Timothy could decide,” Gwendolyn reminded him in a gentle tone.

Robert frowned. “Our young women proved quite helpful on missions in the past. I don't understand your resistance, Allen.”

Allen glanced about, but could think of no reasonable answer, other than his absurd level of attachment to Gwendolyn, which he could hardly confess.

“What say you, Lady Gwendolyn?” asked Timothy, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as he awaited her reply.

Gwendolyn lifted her chin and stood firm. “No one understands the plight of Lady Merry Ellison as much as I do. To be forced to marry a brute against your will . . . That is the most horrid fate a woman could endure. If you allow me to lead this mission, I swear to you, I will not fail.”

A hush fell over the clearing.

“Allen?” Timothy pinned him with a gaze. “Have you any further complaint? For I am quite convinced.”

“As am I.” Red spoke up for the first time during the meeting. “The rest of us will be at the ready to offer support.”

Allen's thoughts swirled in his head. Of course they were right, but still he could not bring himself to speak the words that would put Gwendolyn in jeopardy.

Timothy crossed to Allen and wrapped an arm about his shoulder. “Perhaps Allen and I should speak in private for a moment.” He led Allen away from the others to a shadowy spot just beyond their view.

But Allen knew nothing he might confess to Timothy would change the man's mind. It seemed Gwendolyn would have her way, and somehow Allen would have to cope.

Gwen sat before the fire between Cedric and Red as they told her more tales of the Ghosts of Farthingale Forest. She felt as if she knew the cheerful fellows already.

In the orange and gold dance of light, she studied them closely. Cedric, who was even more comical than she had dared imagine. Red, whom she could perfectly picture in his masked knight costume. A piece of her wished she could tell them about her own experience as a disguised knight, but as she had not yet confessed to Allen, she held her tongue.