Dauntless (Valiant Hearts Book #1) (15 page)

She took another bite of her partridge. “You know what this plum sauce brings to mind, do you not?” Her eyes sparkled with merriment.

“Do not remind me. Tell me you would not mention such a debacle on this pleasant evening.”

“Oh, but indeed I would, Monsieur de le Grand Pied . . . or Sir Big Foot, if you prefer.”

Timothy grabbed at his belly as if punched in the gut. “And whose bright idea was it to steal plums straight out of the kitchen, beneath the fat nose of the cook?”

She slapped down her fork. “It was a perfectly reasonable plan. I, as always, was stealthy as a cat. It was you, good sir, and your gigantic feet that got us into trouble.”

He sensed, more than saw, her smile. “What do you expect? I was a thirteen-year-old boy, skinny and awkward as a colt. You should have planned for that contingency, O master schemer. ‘Consider every contingency, Timothy,’” he mimicked in a singsong voice. “Where was every contingency in that plan?”

“And should I have planned that for some unknown reason your thirteen-year-old eyes, eyes that could hit a target at fifty yards, would not spot the giant copper kettle?”

They both burst into laughter at that.

“Sir Big Foot or Tiny Little Timmy? Choose one, for you cannot have it both ways, cruel, cruel woman.” Delight bubbled through him as he jested with her, so like the old days.

“I am cruel? You are the one who ordered apple tarts for the
final course. The final course! However shall I wait so long? It is torture—torture, I tell you.”

Timothy waved regally to the footman. “Apple tarts for my fair lady, with not a moment to spare.”

The young footman gave a lopsided grin as he brought the treat to them.

Timothy stabbed one dramatically with his dagger. “You shall not escape me. I shall no longer permit you to torment my damsel in distress.” He held the tart before her.

“Yes, well, perhaps you should not joke of such matters while you hold me captive in your tower.”

“You wound me, my lady.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “You are my esteemed guest. I only seek to protect you.”

“Perhaps you shall yet redeem yourself.” She lifted her veil, took one bite of the tart, and made as if she might faint. Her soft brown eyes closed. “Oh, Timothy, you must have a taste.”

She held the tart toward him, and he took the edge into his mouth, purposely nipping her finger in the process. A little gasp escaped her. And as the sweet scent of the apples overtook him, another memory flooded him. Warmth rushed through him as his insides turned to pudding.

Her eyes grew wide. He knew she was remembering their kiss among the apple trees. The tart slipped from her fingers onto the table.

“Yes,” Timothy whispered. “I remember it as well.”

She turned her gaze down to the tart. Though he could not say for certain, he thought he spied a shadow of pink creeping across her veiled cheeks.

How he longed to pull her into his arms and never let her go. It took every ounce of his self-control not to do so then and there, in front of everyone.

This woman would drive him daft.

Merry sipped at her warm, mulled cider, savoring the sweet spiciness. The evening in the great hall had all but overwhelmed her with sights, sounds, and tastes. Not to mention the fire that had flowed through her veins as Timothy brushed his teeth across her fingers. The cider was bold and robust rather than light and sweet like the tart earlier, yet the taste and smell of apples haunted her still. Reminding her again and again of their kiss in the fruit grove.

She knew she could not blame the cider, nor the blazing hearth, nor the fiddlers for the delightful bubbles that filled her head and chest. Timothy Grey bore the responsibility for that sensation. She would not let it overtake her, but if rescue was indeed imminent, she must treasure every moment she could steal with her childhood friend.

At the thought of rescue, she surveyed her surroundings. In addition to the two armed guards at the front portal, a full retinue of soldiers enjoyed their meals not three tables away from her. How could she ever hope to escape this place? She was not
inconspicuous in her gown and veil. Rather, she was the focal point of the entire evening.

Scanning the tables, she spied no friendly faces. No one she remembered from her childhood. To the best of her knowledge, no noblemen or women at all, only castle staff, who had no doubt been instructed to pay close attention to her.

The man Timothy had pointed out as Mister Bainard, the steward, had been eying her all night, and as she perused the room, she caught another man watching her with an inscrutable expression in his eye.

“Who is that fellow at the far end of the back table?” she asked Timothy. “The one clad in brown leather and wool with curly hair?”

“Methinks you refer to the stable master, Greeves.”

“Does he hold some manner of grudge against me?”

Timothy clasped her hand under the table. “Not you, my darling. It is me. I fear I am rather particular about the treatment of my horse.”

“He is quite rude.” She frowned toward the man, who had averted his gaze as she spoke to Timothy.

“Attaining a modicum of power at such a young age has won me no favors. The steward is hardly an admirer of mine either. I imagine Greeves expects I owe him some sort of special acknowledgment, since he grew up in our manor village, but he seems to forget that he rather picked on me as a child.”

“You have done so well. Not yet twenty years of age and running a castle in your lord’s absence. I suppose it must provide you with some consolation for . . . well, you know.”

“No position, no amount of power can ever replace you, Merry.”

She gulped down the lump that suddenly filled her throat.

At that moment, the castle steward gave Timothy a nod.

“It is time.” Timothy grinned from ear to ear. “I still cannot believe my good fortune. I could never have arranged for this on my own. The good Lord gets all the thanks.”

The tables in the center of the great hall had already been cleared, along with a path from the entryway beyond.

A flash of color spun into the room. At first, Merry’s eyes could not gather the information fast enough. Her mind could not catch up with the motion. And then the color ceased to spin and coalesced into the image of Robert, festooned in the rainbow costume of a tumbler, kneeling before them. Next came Cedric, flipping sideways, like a spinning wheel, and then . . . Allen.

Heavens!
Joy struggled with fright in her chest, and she steeled her heart, bade her breathing to slow, rubbed her hands together to quiet the trembling.

She sensed Timothy’s gaze upon her and formed her face into a convincing expression of surprise and delight. The surprise came easily enough. But the delight? Was she ready to leave just yet? No matter. She would do what she must.

Young Sadie followed upon their heels, flipping with one arm and then the other. She took center stage as the troupe bowed and gestured to her. In a few short weeks, Sadie had mastered walking on her hands and forming graceful poses with her legs while upside down.

Merry drew her clasped hands to her mouth. She need not feign her delight. To see Sadie performing thus filled her with true joy.

Last to join the group came Jane, who accompanied them on her lute as they tumbled and cavorted for the audience. Cedric juggled colorful balls while the onlookers clapped and cheered. Merry made certain to clap and cheer along with them, as if she had not a care in the world. She should have known her brave band would contrive the perfect plan, right
down to costumes and supplies. Cedric had finally gotten his wish. They were a band of traveling tumblers after all, with a minstrel to top it off!

As Cedric juggled, Allen finally had opportunity to scrutinize the room, for he had not found Merry as he glanced about earlier. His gaze swept every dark corner, near every guard, then finally the very last place he expected to find her.

Tucked against the side of the nobleman upon the raised dais.

Although a veil covered her face, he would know that form and those eagle-sharp eyes anywhere. She wore a silken gown, just like she had before they were outlawed, and she clapped her hands in delight at Cedric’s performance.

He looked to Jane and nodded in Merry’s direction. Jane caught his meaning, and her eyes grew wide with surprise. They would not be able to slip their gift to Merry unnoticed, as they had hoped, but they had planned for every contingency.

Though relieved to have found her, ecstatic that she was indeed safe and sound, his stomach slowly tied itself into a new sort of knot. She looked far too relaxed, far too at home in this place. This was where she belonged. Not with the likes of him. He had been a fool to ever dream otherwise, to dream of rescuing her and winning her heart for the favor.

Cedric took a bow, signaling the end of his act. Sadie stepped forward and smiled at Allen. Jane switched tunes.

At just the right moment, Sadie tumbled across the floor and Allen caught her midair, sweeping her over his head and around his shoulders. The crowd gasped, and warm satisfaction filled him. He might not be a nobleman, but he did possess some skills. After a quick drop to the floor, Sadie bounced back up with her hands upon his. He hoisted her until her feet were
solidly upon his shoulder. She stood and waved to the crowd as planned before adjusting her weight onto one foot and lifting the other one high over her head.

The audience responded, chuckling and cheering. Sadie flipped down and Allen caught her, only to twist and twirl her around his body once more.

And now for the finale. Allen positioned himself on his back upon the floor and boosted his feet into the air. Using his feet to balance upon, Sadie pressed into a handstand position and formed shapes with her legs.

As she did so, Allen looked again to Merry. She leaned yet closer into the young nobleman and whispered something. The fellow wrapped his arm around her shoulder and nuzzled the soft brown hair that peeked from her wimple with his chin.

Had Allen not been flat upon his back, he might have stumbled. As it was, his knees nearly buckled and Sadie wobbled in her upside-down position. The crowd gasped again. Sadie gripped tighter to his feet and clenched her muscles to finish the final trick, as if it were all a part of the act.

But was Merry’s flirting simply a part of the act, or might she be as happy as she seemed? Had all his worry been for naught? Did she even wish to be rescued?

He pushed the ridiculous thoughts from his mind and sprang to his feet, taking Sadie’s hand in his own for their bow. They must save Merry. She could never be safe in a place like this, and he would never in a million years leave her in the clutches of that preening coxcomb on the dais.

Where had they learned such wonderful tricks? Merry recalled performing them herself as a child, but she had never taught her group such fanciful maneuvers. She turned to Timothy and
laughed. His eyes appeared as though they wished to drink her into his soul and never let her go.

That lump formed in her throat again, but she swallowed it back. Timothy would have to live without her. There remained no other choice. She poised herself. Tensed her muscles. At the ready. She noted Timothy’s dagger lying idly upon the table between them. Surely at any moment her men would attack. She waited for some whistle, some gesture, any signal that it might be time.

Once Allen and Sadie cleared the floor, Jane took center stage. “We would like to close with a song.”

Her soothing voice began a melody she often sang to the children at night to put them to sleep. A song of praise from a Scripture she loved to quote. A beautiful song of lush pastures and calm streams. Merry watched the gathered crowd as they fell under her spell. A hush pervaded the room, lulling some of them nearly to sleep.

Ah, the time must be soon.

But the song concluded, and still her men sat placidly beside Jane.

Jane alone stood and approached the raised dais. “A parting gift, for you, m’lady.” She placed the lute upon the table before Merry.

Until that moment, Merry had not noticed anything amiss with the lute. Her eyes had been trained upon Robert, waiting for his cue for much of the performance. But this was not her old lute. The wooden neck extended longer, stretching both above and beneath the body of the stringed instrument. How odd.

“’Tis especially crafted by our troupe for its strong tones. I hope you will keep it to remember us by.”

“Of course.” Merry stood and clutched the instrument to her heart, hoping Timothy would not detect its thumping rhythm
through the fabric of her dress. The lute must be a clue. The strange shape must indicate something inside. Timothy could never realize. Gathering every ounce of drama and control within her, she acted the role of lady. “How kind of you. Your graciousness shall be remembered in these halls for years to come.”

With that, the entertainers departed as quickly as they came.

She gazed at Timothy and smiled through her veil, then lowered herself onto the chair, still clutching the priceless lute.

“Even I did not suspect they might give you a gift,” he said. “I shall have to reward them in a fitting manner. I take it you enjoyed my surprise.”

She ducked her head and giggled. “Oh, Timothy, it is too much. I can hardly believe it. I shall sleep well tonight for certain.”

“Truly, was it not providential? They showed up on the castle doorstep this very morning looking for work.”

If only he knew how providential . . . but he seemed not in the least suspicious. Perhaps, just this once, a God in heaven did smile upon her.

“We are not finished yet.” He clapped his hands and the fiddlers reemerged, striking up a lively dance tune.

Merry glanced skeptically at his feet. “Should I be afraid?”

“Very afraid, my darling, but not on account of my feet. I promise you they are proportionate to the rest of me these days.” He held up one booted foot for her inspection.

She nodded. Yes, everything about his form fit together quite nicely. “So why am I afraid?”

“Of my prowess on the dance floor. Not to mention my incredible charm and powers of persuasion.”

“Oh please, you do not intimidate me, Timothy Grey, for I have seen you swimming in your breeches.”

“And I you in your shift.” He held out his hand. “Come.”

Merry hesitated a moment as she considered the precious lute in her hands, but she could think of no excuse to avoid the dancing, nor to take the instrument along with her. So she tucked it under her seat and for the first time in years, dared to offer a brief prayer to whatever divine being might have shown her favor this day.

Timothy tugged her to the dance space and spun her in a circle. Between the dizziness the spin invoked and the comfort of his nearness, Merry soon found herself relaxing. She memorized every detail of him while yet she could: his warm, spicy scent and the manner in which his light hair curved over his smooth forehead, highlighting pale greyish-blue eyes with a boyish sparkle, the ruddiness of his cheeks. She reveled in the touch of his calloused fingers against hers, and the tingles they sent flowing through her arm.

Fortunately, the dance required them to move no closer, for even with her veil, she feared he would see too plainly the growing admiration upon her face. They stepped forward and back, shuffled side to side, and spiraled about one another. When the time came for them to run through a tunnel of the castle dwellers’ outstretched arms, Timothy clasped her at the waist and drew her near.