Dauntless (Valiant Hearts Book #1) (17 page)

To His Majesty, King John of England,

May God grant you good health, prosperity, and success in all of your endeavors. I consider it my great honor to serve you and this marvelous kingdom.

It has recently come to my attention that Merry Ellison, daughter of the former Baron of Ellsworth, along with a number of children from their village, might still be alive. I knew that you would want to be alerted to this situation immediately.

However, I also feel a need to beg for your mercy on their behalf. Merry Ellison was a young girl of only fifteen at the time of her father’s indiscretion, and I believe the children to be as young and younger. I will personally vouch for Merry Ellison’s innocence in this matter, as her father always protected her from such issues. Two
years have passed, and I beg you to forgive them for the misfortune of their births and a sin that was never their own.

You have demonstrated your power and your justice in this situation, as a wise king such as yourself must. However, at this time I believe your cause could be best served and your wisdom best conveyed by tempering your justice with mercy. Many in England have not yet chosen sides in this war between Your Majesty and the traitorous barons to the north. Demonstrating your generosity might go far in encouraging the goodwill of the English people and win many to your side.

Again I beg you to declare a decree of clemency for Merry Ellison and these children, that they might come out of hiding and find a place of refuge.

May God preserve the King!

Your loyal servant,
Timothy Grey, ninth child
of the Baron of Greyham,
and assistant to the Earl of
Wyndemere

Every word was in order, each sentence designed to appeal to the king’s considerable pride, but Timothy remained uncertain. His father had promised this was the best course of action. However, his father thought only of his family’s best interest, while Timothy’s heart bade him to consider Merry’s interests above his own.

All that remained was for Timothy to seal the parchment with wax and hand it over to the courier along with other correspondence meant for the king. But he could not bring himself
to do it. He needed to talk to Merry further. The letter did not take into account her involvement with the ghosts. His father had urged him not to mention that possibility, as nothing was definite.

But he could not stand the thought of Merry coming out of hiding only to face a new round of accusations. He had hoped that she might assist him in capturing the ghosts and earn the king’s favor in that manner, but now he realized that would never be possible.

What if the king did not relent and turned against Timothy instead? Hopefully the earl could protect him. But if the king felt driven to search out Merry and the children, neither he nor the earl could stop him.

Timothy crossed the room to the fire blazing in the hearth. A nip of autumn now filled the air as the sun set outside his window. He held his hands to the fire and watched its glow through the thin parchment. Perhaps he should toss the missive into the flames and watch it burn. Be done with it. But he could not bring himself to do that either. He needed time to think and to pray. And to talk to Merry once more.

For now, he placed the parchment at the bottom of a trunk that sat in the corner of the room. He would enjoy another supper with Merry tonight, and he would decide what to do with the missive come morning. But first he would return to his room to change his clothes and wash off the smell of his long day of travel.

Merry could hardly believe another day had passed, and still no sign of her men. She stared out her tower window but could only detect shifting shadows in the hazy glow of torches from the dark courtyard below. They must have decided that she looked well enough, and therefore they needed not rush. Or perhaps they planned to come again in the evening all along, now that she was armed and could assist them.

In the middle of the previous night, while Matilda snored, Merry had dared to investigate the lute they had given her. As she suspected, the head of the instrument popped off the wooden neck near the top, where the strings were secured. When she withdrew it, being careful of the strings, she discovered a sword hidden within the overly long neck, although she had not yet determined the reason for the portion that stretched below the lute. She had only seen one similar instrument before, an unusual shape to be certain.

Merry supposed she must find an excuse to bring it to supper
again tonight. When Timothy came to fetch her, she would offer to play for the castle folk.

Timothy.
She twisted her lips in consternation. Merry knew not what to think of him anymore. His kisses upon her hands and that embrace at the foot of the stairs had left her trembling, confused, and somehow more alive than ever before.

If Merry had been the romantic sort, like Jane, she might say something silly such as
last night was magical
or
the stuff of
dreams.
And while she might be impatient for her men to move, since she was in no immediate danger, she would savor one more evening with the handsome and charming Timothy Grey.

She crossed her arms upon the window frame and rested her head on them.

To think that he might have been her husband these two years. Perhaps the father . . . She cut off her wandering thoughts. They would do her no good. No use in pining after what could never be.

At that moment, she heard a dull thud against the window’s open shutter. She glanced to Matilda, but the woman sewed placidly in the corner, this time adding some embroidered touches to the collar of a yellow gown.

Merry knelt upon her chair and leaned her head out the window only a bit. There, with its point buried deep in the shutter, stuck an arrow. Her eyes darted about the courtyard. The night was particularly dark and foggy. Still, she could detect no stir of the guards caused by the thump.

She reached out to the arrow and felt a rope attached to the end. In that moment, she understood the purpose of the lute. Just as she had thought to use her bow to slide down a rope, the neck of the lute reinforced by the sword would provide a strong, flat surface for such a purpose. Her men had designed the long
neck extending past the body for her to grip as she sailed down the rope and safely over the castle wall.

Their plan was perfect, except for one small contingency. She looked to Matilda once again. This time, Matilda looked her directly in the eye.

“The time has come now, has it? I take it ye shall be leaving us.”

Merry’s tongue tangled in her mouth. She could overpower Matilda, with or without the sword, but she would hate to do so. She should move before Matilda could rouse the guard, yet she could not bring her body to launch into action.

“You’ll be needing this, then.” Matilda took a bundle of twine from her basket and held it before her. “And perhaps this as well.” She grabbed a kerchief with her other hand.

Merry stared at her, still frozen in place, kneeling upon her chair, partway in and partway out of the window. Her mind struggled to make sense of Matilda’s words.

“Tie me up, girl. Right good and tight. I’ll not be losing my job or worse for ye.”

Merry let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. “Oh, Matilda, you are the truest friend a girl could have.” She dashed toward the woman and hugged her plump form.

Matilda swatted her away. “No time to waste on sentiment. Get on with it, then.” She reached her hands behind the chair.

Merry smiled as she tied them with twine. Then she picked up the kerchief. She looped it about Matilda’s chin. “Here, I will tie it right below your mouth. Once I am gone, you can call for the guard as if you just got it loose.”

“Godspeed, Lady Merry.”

Merry spied a sparkle of tears in Matilda’s eyes. “And may God richly bless you for your kindness, dear Matilda. You shall
be rewarded.” She would see to it. An entire deer, at the very least.

Merry grabbed up her lute and ran for the window. She tugged at the rope until her men gave her some slack, and wrapped the excess about the heavy bed frame. She tested the rope’s tautness to ensure it was tied tight on the other end. She perched on the ledge and crossed the lute over the rope.

Then she slid away into the night, silent as a feather on the breeze.

Timothy bounded up the tower stairs with a spring in his step. He felt good about his decision not to send the letter and looked forward to another evening in Lady Merry’s fine company. He reached the top and nodded to Bradbury and White, but at that moment, a stir came from within.

“Help . . . escape . . .” came Matilda’s muffled voice through the door.

“Dear God, no,” Timothy whispered under his breath.

Bradbury, usually the picture of composure, fumbled with the keys as he hollered back, “We’re coming. Hold tight. We’re almost there.”

At last, he opened the door, and the two guards rushed inside with Timothy close behind. For a heartbeat he could see nothing but their broad backs. Then the men parted, and revealed the form of the plump Matilda, tied upon the chair.

So many thoughts swirled through his head. First of which was that he never suspected Merry might be so heartless as to bind her maidservant. But then again, she had survived two years as an outlaw, a fact he still struggled to accept. His second thought was that he had lost her again. His stomach tied in knots as a long future without her spread before him.

One final thought surfaced—Merry was safe. Beyond the immediate reach of King John. Outside of the authority of the Earl of Wyndemere. He would no longer have to struggle with how to handle the matter. Though the rational part of him thought it for the best, a more elemental instinct bade him to run after her without delay.

Only then did he remember that in his shock at her admission, he had failed to examine the lute that morning. And assuredly, it was missing from its place against the wall. His gaze next fell to the rope tied about the bed frame, now hanging slack.

“Shall we go after her?” asked White, shuffling in the direction of the window, then back toward the door again in confusion.

Bradbury scratched his head. “How on earth? Is she long gone, Matilda?”

“Aye. Took me a terribly long time to work the kerchief from my mouth,” she said. “I’m so sorry, I am, Mister Grey.”

Timothy shook himself out of his dazed stupor and removed the kerchief from her chin. “No, not at all. I apologize, Matilda. I did not intend to put you in any danger. I did not think her capable of this.” He pulled out his dagger and released her hands from the twine.

“Don’t blame the child. She was frightened, ’twas all. And who wouldn’t be? Being held against her will.”

“I liked the girl,” said Bradbury. “She had spunk. And she was nice to look at too.”

Timothy chuckled softly. “I liked her as well. What of you, White?”

“I suppose as she was a guest, she might have departed anytime she wished. We were here only to protect her, were we not? It looks as if she left fully of her own accord.”

Timothy raked his hair from his eyes. “I am glad to see we are of one mind on this. Truly, I never wished to imprison her.
The situation was . . . delicate. Can we all agree to say that she departed quietly for home?”

“’Tis true enough. She flew out of that window like a phantom in the night. I’ve never seen such a thing.” Matilda stood and rubbed at her wrists, which appeared only slightly chafed from the rough twine. Merry must have been as gentle as she could.

“How did she do it?” Timothy asked. He went to the window and found the arrow outside. The ghosts must have come to the rescue.

“Someone shot that arrow, and after she tied me up, she slid down using her lute for support.”

As he suspected, the lute had been the key. The tumblers must have been her band of thieves. He supposed he need not concern himself over whether they would return to entertain at supper this evening.

“But what of Lord Wyndemere?” asked White. “I would not wish to mislead him.”

“Never fear.” Timothy looked out the window but saw little in the dark, fog-filled night. “I shall explain everything. I intend to hide nothing from our lord, only from the castle gossips.”

“Right, then,” said White.

“We shall support you,” agreed Bradbury.

Matilda reached up to tousle Timothy’s hair. “It will all be fine, my boy. Ye shall see.”

Timothy forced a wry grin and shook his head. They would be fine. Perhaps Merry would be fine. He might even find a way to convince Lord Wyndemere not to send him packing for his failure with the ghosts.

But as for Timothy himself—he might never be
fine
again. Fine had flown out the window that night, never to return.

Merry and her men made their way through the shadowy forest toward the new camp, a league deeper in the woods. The leaves had begun to change their colors, offsetting the lush green scenery with flecks of red and gold. They now crackled more than rustled as they danced in the breeze, and hints of autumn scented the air.

She rubbed at the crick in her back from sleeping on the ground last night, surprised that the activity of their hike had not loosened it. How had she grown so pampered and spoiled in mere days at the castle? Once her men had whisked her safely into the forest, they found shelter for the evening, well shielded in a dense copse of trees. The air had been unusually chilly, but they dared not build a fire.

No doubt her straw tick would feel good to her tonight, although she would miss the fluffy feather mattress for many weeks to come. At least she was back in her preferred leggings and hooded tunic once again.

“Not much farther now,” said Robert. He had stuck close to her side the entire journey.

“I am so glad you took time to move camp before coming after me.”

“It was a hard decision.” Robert swiped at a bush as he walked past it, no doubt reliving the frustration of that day she disappeared. “But we all knew you would wish us to put the safety of the children first.”

“Wait until you see it, Lady Merry. I found it myself.” Cedric skipped at her other side like a child.

Young James jogged just ahead of them, excited to reach their new home as well. “I thought Gilbert spotted it first.”

Cedric’s mood did not dim. “We saw it together, but I investigated and deemed it fitting.”

“Good for you, Cedric. I think you all underestimate how capable you are without me.”

“Be that as it may,” Allen grumbled from behind, “we wish never to suffer through that again.”

Merry detected a note of anger in his voice, and slowed her pace to walk with him. “I am so sorry to have upset you, Allen. And to have put you to all this trouble.”

“That is not the point. You aren’t any trouble, and you know it.” He seemed upset with her nonetheless.

“You were all quite brave to rescue me. Your plan was exquisite.”

“It was our pleasure to serve you, Lady Merry.” He jerked back his head, tossing his waving, sandy hair from his eyes.

Lady Merry? Had not the fellow kissed her in a tree? But she would not challenge him while he was in such a foul mood. “And you looked quite dashing in your tumbling attire. I enjoyed seeing you bedecked thus.”

“Jane and Kate’s idea, but I’m surprised you noticed me for all you were mooning over his lordship.”

Ah, therein lay the problem. “Timothy Grey is not a lord, merely assistant to the earl.”

“He looked lordly enough.” Allen kicked at the dirt of the forest floor.

“I suppose he did. Please do not be upset, Allen. He was a childhood friend. I needed him to trust me.” Though she wished to tell Allen that she had merely curried Timothy’s favor, she knew that would not be the entire truth. Still, she wished to diffuse this tension. “The situation at the castle was challenging to say the least.”