Dauntless (Valiant Hearts Book #1) (29 page)

Merry held the gasping, blue-tinged Wren upon her lap in the corner of a strange cottage. The scent of dust and mold pushed in upon her, but at least they had found a place to stop, undetected, for the moment. Allen had joined them not long after their escape, and they had run directly east through much of the night toward the port at Bristol.

As a fog rolled in, Wren’s breathing had eased for a short time, but by midday her malady had flared once again. At long last Cedric had discovered this cottage in the forest, and hope had blossomed for a moment—but only until they entered the dank, abandoned place.

They had outrun their enemy for the time being, but how could they outrun this more insidious threat? Merry’s herbs were long gone. She held the child near a steaming pot of water, but there was nothing else she could do. Weariness enveloped her. Between running, lack of sleep, and so much worry, she had no more reserve of strength from which to draw. With whatever last
drops might be left within her, she willed herself not to collapse crying on the wee child.

Between her loud, wheezing breaths, Wren managed, “No wo-wee . . . Ma-wee.” Another rasping intake of air, and then, “Sunshine men . . . here.”

If only that were enough. Merry forced a smile as the image of the child in her lap quavered through her unshed tears. She swiped at them, hoping Wren did not notice.

Wren wrapped her arms around Merry’s neck. Before Merry knew what she was about, the small hands pulled the string from her tunic and clutched onto her crucifix. Merry had nearly forgotten it was there.

“He . . . love you.” Wren wheezed. “He . . . here.”

The chant of prayers reached to Merry from where Allen led the huddled mass in the corner of the crumbling cottage, and she felt compelled to join them. “Father God,” she whispered. The words were oddly comforting against her tongue. Tears that she could no longer hold at bay rolled down her face. “If ever you loved me . . . if ever you cared, if indeed you are even there, please, heal this child.”

Wren cuddled the crucifix against her cheek and a beatific smile crossed her face. The girl took a deep wracking breath in. Did not release it. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her lips faded to an alarming shade of grey.

Merry’s breath stuck in her chest as well, as if the life would seep right out of her along with Wren’s. Pain ripped through her. As her stomach tied into sick, aching knots, she took several attempts to find her voice, then shrieked, “Wren! No!”

Allen rushed to her and tore the child from her arms. Lifting her lifeless body high over his head he shouted. “In the name of Jesus. By His power, by His blood—child, live!”

The group banded round and reached to where she lay in
Allen’s two strong hands, raised almost to the ceiling. Prayers poured from their mouths.

Merry collapsed in the corner, pressing her feet away from the awful scene, which she could barely see now through the downpour of tears marring her vision. She shoved her fist into her mouth to stifle her screams. Somehow she must find a way to be strong for them once they realized the truth.

Helpless. Powerless. Hopeless.
The words bellowed in her head.

She could do nothing for Wren. Just like she could do nothing to save her family on that awful night two years ago.

Then, not fully understanding how or why, she sensed more than saw flashes of white-hot light swirling around Wren’s limp body.

Merry gaped. Did she hallucinate? Had it come to that? The swirling energy formed into a thick streak and entered Wren’s body, where it coalesced into a tight, bright, shining star before shattering into a million sparkling diamonds shimmering about her.

Then all went silent and still.

Merry watched and waited in awe.

With a sharp intake of breath, Wren stirred to life high above them. She pulled up her dangling head and bent her limp body, as if attempting to sit and look around.

Allen brought her to his chest and hugged her tight, as the children crashed in upon them in one huge embrace.

“What wrong?” asked Wren, confused, with not a hint of rasp to her squeaky little voice.

The children cheered, laughed, and cried as they enfolded her again in a massive hug.

“My dear Wren, Jesus has healed you.” Tears streamed down Allen’s face now, and he did nothing to hide them.

“I tell Ma-wee Jesus here,” said Wren.

Robert leaned over to kiss her baby head. “Yes, poppet. Jesus is here. Like I’ve never felt Him before.”

Wren laughed. “He a sunshine man.”

The knots in Merry’s stomach finally released. Forcing herself from her hideout in the corner, she stood and joined the group, resting her chin upon Sadie’s head from behind and wrapping her arms around a clump of children.

She had witnessed a miracle, but she did not understand, was not ready to put the pieces together. Surely such a monumental event must mean something. Did it mean God lived and dwelt among them after all? But she could not reconcile that concept with the shattered remnants of her life.

The next afternoon, Merry trudged through the alleyways of Bristol, Wren dangling merrily from her back once again. But the closer they came to their destination, the more Merry struggled. This journey had sapped her of so much, yet it had given her so much in return. She should have been rejoicing at the sight of the water in the distance, rejoicing at the weight of Wren hanging from her back, but still she wrestled with thoughts of leaving her home, and perhaps even worse, of leaving Timothy Grey.

She could not falter in her plan, though. Somehow she and the children would slip away without him. And when he arrived at his aunt’s home and found them gone, no doubt the wise woman would speak reason to his befuddled mind. As befuddled as Merry’s own.

Wren sang the happy cuckoo song over Merry’s shoulder, but Merry’s heart could not catch the mood. She had witnessed a miracle on this trip, no doubt, but it raised so many questions.
Where had God been when she had needed Him most—two years ago when her family perished? She still could not understand, but it seemed, perhaps, Timothy was right. God had been with her and the children all along.

Scanning their innocent, healthy faces, she could almost make sense of it. If God dwelt in heaven, He would want to protect these children, oppressed on every side but full of joy. It almost made sense . . . for a moment. And then she thought of her mother’s kind, beautiful face gone from her these two years, and the logic of it flitted away on the wind.

They continued weaving through dim, narrow passageways between the homes and shops, toward the fresh breeze and the squawk of gulls. For now, they must stay out of sight. But upon the open sea, they could breathe more easily once again.

“Look,” shouted Abigail. “Boats just ahead.” Everyone shushed her, but her excitement proved contagious among the younger children as they pressed about her, gazing into the distance.

Henry sniffed at the air. “I smell fish.”

“We’re close. Let us prepare ourselves,” said Allen, lowering Gilbert to the ground from his back.

Merry handed Wren to Sadie and took off her sack and weapons. The thatched roofs of two homes stretched over the alleyway, nearly touching over their heads, creating a dark tunnel for their transformation.

They had worked out their plan along the way. The older girls huddled about Merry, concealing her as she pulled on the apricot gown. She fingered the embroidered collar with a wistful smile. God bless Matilda. They would never have gotten this far without her assistance.

Meanwhile, Allen pulled on the rich, fur-trimmed tunic and finely woven leggings they had stolen long ago for just such a
purpose. Since she could not introduce herself to a ship’s captain as Lady Merry Ellison, they would assume the identities of Lord and Lady Gilly, escaping the fighting in the north with a contingent of servants in tow. Hopefully they would be far out to sea before the captain took note of the unusual number of children in their entourage.

Out to sea. Her stomach churned at the thought of leaving England. Timothy must be scouring the forests between Farmingham and his aunt’s castle even now. She hated to have deceived him so, but truly, it was for the best.

Then she recalled last night in the cottage, when she had been so sure Wren had died in her arms. She could do nothing on her own. Her strength had run out. Yet some mysterious entity—she could only assume God—had seen them safely through that awful time. Perhaps she had not been the guiding and protecting force that she assumed herself to be all along. Perhaps it had been the prayers of Allen and the children upholding them through their entire perilous journey.

Such reasoning still felt unfamiliar, but she could no longer deny the very real possibility of it. Did such thinking mean she should let Timothy in, let him help her, take risks for her, as well?

“Let us do this thing,” said Allen, offering her his elbow. He looked like a nobleman born. This life had changed him, given him confidence and leadership skills. And he had always been so strong in spirit. A truly rare young man. Perhaps someday they would lead their odd family side by side.

Merry slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. “I am ready.”

“I’ll chat with some fishermen and see if word of your arrest order has reached them or not.” Robert took off his weapons and handed them to James, although he no doubt wore a dag
ger in his boot. “We shall meet back here shortly.” He headed down the lane to the left, toward the fishmongers.

The time for turning back had passed. She must move forward into the future. Allen led her down the alleyway and toward the ships.

Images flashed before Timothy. Merry along the seaside. Aboard a ship. Her face loomed large before him as her words,
“
I
cannot
waste
time
arguing
otherwise
,”
echoed through his head. He heard them again and again, as the pitch dropped lower and lower.

He bolted upright on his pallet in the corner of the healer’s cottage. Though he had little memory of how he arrived here, he had an awareness that he had spent several days under the care of the wrinkled and stooped old lady with the wise eyes and gentle hands. Drinking broth and gaining strength. And even if he had not vaguely remembered, the permeating scent of herbs would have given him a clue.

“
I cannot waste time arguing otherwise.”
The words sounded again. Merry had no plan to wait for him. Why had he not realized it sooner? She just had not wished to fight with him. What had she said earlier that night in the woods? That she would not let him give up his family, his home, and his country. Pain
shot through his head. Of course she would not. She had lost every one of those.

But he was willing to give them all up, to give up anything to be with her. He must convince her. Sitting up, he held his clanging head between his hands.

“Now, now. You just lie back down.” The old lady shuffled toward him. “Lost too much blood, you did. Might be days before you build up your strength.”

She pushed him back onto the pallet with surprising force.

Timothy tried to resist but failed in even that small task. Lying upon his back, he pleaded with the craggy woman, who now hovered over him against a backdrop of drying plants hanging from the ceiling. “I must go. You do not understand. I lost her once. I cannot lose her again.”

“Lost who?” The woman placed her hands upon her hips over her loose black tunic.

“My true love. Please, let me go.” He pressed a hand to his chest, where he had worn Merry’s embroidered token every day since her stay at the castle, and he found it still safely nestled in its spot.

The woman tsked. “True love, you say. Well, that I shan’t dismiss so easily.” She quirked her mouth to the side, creating even more wrinkles upon her weathered face. “You know this for certain, do you?”

He took a deep breath. He must convince her. “She is indeed the love of my life. I would have married her long ago, but I thought her dead. Then I found her alive. Now she will leave the country without me if I do not go immediately. I must catch her before it is too late.”

The woman offered him her hand and helped him sit. “Then I suppose you must. But you won’t be running off without proper supplies and some broth to build your blood. I didn’t go to all
this hard work of saving you for naught. You owe it to me to stay alive, young man.”

“I have every intention of doing so.” Timothy offered a grin. He must stay alive, and he must get to Merry—although, he felt much like death at the moment. Somehow he would summon the strength to find her.

The woman bustled about gathering supplies and packing them in a sack. “I suggest you tie yourself atop that fine horse of yours. You have barely stayed awake these past days.”

“Yes, of course, Dame Wipple.”
Dame Wipple?
Yes, that was her name. He now recalled several drowsy conversations with the woman. “My horse, how is he? How long have I been here?” He rubbed at his head, which seemed to be clearing now that he had remained in the seated position for several moments.

“Nigh on two days. That horse of yours, he made a terrible ruckus night before last—until the townsfolk found you passed out on the street and brought you to me. Once I had you in my care, he seemed to sense everything would be fine. He’s been camped out front of my cottage ever since.”

Timothy struggled to his feet and shuffled to the window. Spartacus neighed to him and shook his silky mane. “There you are, boy. I suppose I owe you a debt of gratitude.” He turned back in. “And you as well. I shall leave a coin with you now and ask my father to send more later.”

“You just keep yourself alive, like I said.” The woman reached up to tousle his hair. “And find that true love of yours.”

He hoped—nay, offered up a prayer then and there—that he could find Merry before she slipped off to God only knew where.

“And while you’re about it,” the kindly woman said, “you might want to keep an eye open for a Lady Merry Ellison and a group of young people. The king’s offered a fine reward for
her, he has. You just might earn yourself a boon to win your lady love.”

Dread filled him at that. Though he had bested the man at swords, it seemed John Hadley would yet reach out from the grave and strive to destroy them all.

Merry held tightly to Allen’s arm as she headed with heavy steps back toward the alleyway. From the opposite direction, an equally dejected Robert headed toward them. They met near the entrance and stood staring at one another for a moment.

“Well, get in here and tell us what happened,” came Cedric’s voice from the shadows.

Merry sighed and turned toward them.

“You first,” said Allen, kicking at a rotten apple core at his feet.

“No, you, please,” answered Robert, his shoulders slumping.

“I will tell them.” Merry braced herself and faced the group. As her eyes adjusted to the dark crevice between the shops, her band’s hopeful faces came into view and she nearly faltered. But as always, she steeled herself to do as she must. “Because we are such a large group, there is no quick passage available to us. The only ship that can accommodate us will not be leaving port for six more days. When it does, it can take us to Southampton, and from there we will need to find a different ship to France.”

They all moaned at the prospect.

“I wanna go boat,” cried Wren.

“Shh.” Abigail hushed the child and ruffled her hair.

“’Tis not a disaster.” Jane lifted her chin with determination worthy of Merry herself. “We will find a room in town and remain hidden. We can do this.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Jane. It will be fine. Just a delay.” A delay long enough for Timothy to locate them. Merry’s emo
tions warred within her yet again. She could not decide whether she wished him to find them or not. “We will figure this out.”

“I’m afraid it won’t be so easy as that.” Robert stared at the ground as he said it.

Apprehension seized her. What else could go wrong? “Please, Robert. Look at me. Tell us.”

He lifted his eyes to her. The eagle-sharp glint that usually resided there was gone, and in its place . . . fear? “Not only Merry Ellison, but also the missing villagers of Ellsworth are wanted, dead or alive. And their captors will be rewarded with a fortune of twenty gold coins.”

“Twenty gold coins,” Cedric shouted, clearly forgetting his oath of stealth. “That’s more than most folks see in a lifetime. My own mum might have turned me in for that.”

Merry’s chest clutched tight. “I do not suppose anyone will believe me to be Lady Gilly for long. I visited here too often as a child.” Unseen enemies pressed in on them from every side, and for now their best hope for escape had been ripped from them as well.

“We must leave at once.” Allen gripped both her hands in his. “I know you did not wish to, Merry, and the good Lord knows it is the last place I want to go, but we must hurry to Timothy’s aunt. He said she will protect us.”

The sad light in Allen’s eye spoke clearly that he knew what this might mean. They had almost left Timothy Grey far behind, thereby increasing Allen’s chances with Merry tenfold. But Allen would offer any sacrifice for these children, as would Merry.

Robert leaned out of the alley and peeked around the corner. He turned back and swallowed hard. “Nobody panic, but . . . soldiers heading this way.”

And they dashed as one massive entity back toward the forest. Thoughts of Timothy Grey would have to wait.