Dauntless (Valiant Hearts Book #1) (31 page)

She longed to pull him to her. To wipe the sadness from his face. To kiss away his hurt. But she would not let her heart sway her to foolishness. Nothing had changed.

What else could be said? She would not permit him to travel with them, though truth be told, she could not prevent him from following. Perhaps his family could talk sense to the man.

“Go find your aunt and uncle. They have been waiting for you.”

He swiveled to follow her command, then turned back. “This is not over, Merry.”

Timothy refused to retreat, but for the moment, he would withdraw and recoup. Once the surge of energy from his chase had quieted and the initial shock at finding Merry had worn off, he had sensed the strength ebbing from his body. He still needed to rebuild his blood supply. He must get to his aunt’s home before he collapsed right in front of Merry and proved her right—that he could not handle their journey, should not follow them to France.

He winced at the throbbing in his arm as he gathered Spartacus from Red and continued up the overgrown path. However, a few steps later, a strapping figure fell in step beside him. Allen, of all people.

Timothy braced himself for the lecture—for the command to leave, the threat to stay away from Merry—but Allen just kept walking beside him. If possible, in what seemed to be . . . a show of support?

They passed through the decrepit hamlet and over the rise toward Aunt Isabel’s castle on the outskirts of Linham. Allen pushed aside weeds and branches for Timothy. Before long, he could take the silence no more. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything but you,” said Allen. The words could have been construed as a threat, but his voice held no intimidation. “You look rather pale. I thought I should see you safely to the castle.”

Timothy did not wish the man to assume him weak. “I was wounded battling off your pursuer. If you think I look pale, you should see the other man.”

“How does he look?” asked Allen.

“Dead.”

“I see.” Allen nodded in respect. “And did he appear in any way heartbroken?”

Timothy cleared his throat. “That, my good man, is none of your concern.”

“I’ve been there, you know.”

So Merry had turned him down as well. Timothy expected to feel some satisfaction in that, but Allen had grown on him. Must Merry turn every prospect away? Did the girl no longer possess a heart at all?

“She’s frightened,” Allen offered with no prompting.

“Then why will she not let me help?”

“I suppose she does not wish to open her heart.” Allen stepped on a tall weed to allow Timothy easier passage.

“Does she not understand I would give up everything for her? Power, position. It means nothing now. I would give it all up for love of her.”

Allen paused and turned to him. “Honorable as that sounds—forgive me for saying so—something seems not quite right. Sounds like that new courtly love nonsense to me. I would say the more important issue is, is this God’s path for your life?”

Timothy’s blood might have heated at that, had it not already gone cold. Lethargy filled his veins. Sluggishness weighed down his muscles. He needed to get to bed and let his aunt tend to
him. He felt far too tired to rail at the fellow and call him the pious interloper that he was.

So he continued plodding along. And as he did, he considered again his prayer in Linham for direction, and God’s quick, stunning answer. He supposed this must be God’s path for him. And he had credited God for leading him to Wren in the forest.

Another flash of pain struck his arm. He clutched it and wavered on his feet.

Allen jogged over to catch him. “Come along. We can talk later.” He took charge of Spartacus and slung Timothy’s good arm over his shoulder. Thus with Allen supporting him, they stepped onto the road that led to the castle.

Before they had gone far, jangling behind them caught Timothy’s ear. He managed to disentangle himself and stand on his own strength as a retinue of the king’s blue-and-red-clad soldiers rode his way. He recognized Niles Thoroughgood, son of Baron Thoroughgood and distant cousin to the king, at the lead.

To his credit, Allen remained still and quiet, doing nothing to give himself away. In fact, he seemed almost to shrink in upon himself, until he achieved a servile sort of anonymity.

“Ho, Timothy Grey!” shouted Niles. “My old friend. Am I glad to see you. Have you heard the news of Merry Ellison and the missing children of Ellsworth?”

Children of Ellsworth, drat! So the authorities were after the children too. The king had only mentioned Merry in the missive he had read. Again, the legacy of John Hadley came back to haunt him. Timothy managed to remain calm nonetheless.
Restraint
.
He must keep his wits about him.

Allen remained in ghost mode as he studied the nobleman and his retinue. If Timothy were in full form, they might have
been able to take them, but not with him so close to collapsing from loss of blood.

Yet from the moment the intruders had rounded the bend, Timothy managed to stand firm and proud without wavering. In the flash of an eye, he had switched from a vulnerable human being into as arrogant a coxcomb as Allen had ever witnessed. The man belonged in a performance troupe.

Timothy chuckled. “Think I would give you
my
twenty gold coins so easily? No, I shall capture the girl. I know a bit about her. We used to play in these forests as children, which is why I came directly here.”

“And . . . ?” questioned Niles, leaning forward over his horse, his chain mail clinking.

“Alas, nothing.” Timothy sounded properly dejected. He jerked his chin toward Allen. “My man and I questioned the locals quite thoroughly and scoured every inch of this area. I am thinking to head toward the port.”

In spite of his mixed feelings about the fellow, Allen was impressed with Timothy’s quick thinking.

Niles frowned. “We just came from that direction.”

“Then, perhaps to her home,” Timothy said. “She might return to the familiar.”

And Timothy might have a promising future as an outlaw if he kept up such proficient storytelling.

“Good point.” Niles nodded. “Once I have informed the nobles along my appointed route, I shall loop back that way. I was headed to your aunt and uncle just now, but I assume you have told them.”

“Of course. They have been aware and on the alert for days.” Timothy took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Although I must say, I am surprised the king is spending such effort on this minor issue with the rebellion still under way.”

Niles sat up straight and surveyed the area. “You know King John—once he gets something in his head, he rarely lets go. He sees Lady Merry as a symbol, thinks killing her will break the spirit of the rebels.”

Allen’s heart sank, but he kept his eyes vacant and did not twitch a muscle. He hadn’t realized King John took such a personal stake in Merry’s death.

“True indeed,” said Timothy. “I will not rest until this matter is resolved.”

“Nor I. Men, let us go.” Niles waved the men back toward the village and thankfully away from Merry.

“Whew!” Allen still stood frozen in his spot. “That was close.”

“Too close.” Timothy wobbled on his feet and clutched at Allen. “I suppose I am all in this now, right along with the rest of you.”

Allen smiled. “I suppose you are. Welcome to our world of intrigue and danger. Try not to get yourself killed.”

Timothy had woven an elaborate fabrication on their behalf. The sort of fabrication that could indeed cost him his life. All along Allen had remained uncertain as to whether he trusted the man, but in that moment his doubts melted away and a new camaraderie formed in their place.

“So tell me true.” Allen gathered his courage to ask the question that had pressed on his mind for many days. “Is FitzWalter really a scoundrel? I’d been planning to join his troops, but you’ve given me pause.”

“He has been causing trouble for as long as I have been alive. But who is to say? Perhaps Louis will prove a strong king and take the reins. Perhaps he will grow to love England and care for its people. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“But you cannot support King John?”

“In truth, no. But I try to keep my head low and stay away
from trouble, which shall surely come no matter who is king. That is where Merry’s father made his tragic error, I am afraid. He committed treason alone. One cannot expect a king to forgive such a trespass.”

Allen had not expected Timothy’s answer to tread on so sensitive an area. He winced at the pain that sliced through his chest. “He killed my family too.”

“I know. And there is no excuse.” Timothy patted Allen’s arm. “But one thing I have learned. The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend. Oft as not, he is just another enemy waiting to be discovered.”

The statement struck a chord and resonated deep within Allen.

Timothy turned to look him in the eye. “I think I shall take this opportunity to turn your words back upon you, my man. Is this God’s path for your life? Has He called you to take up this battle?”

Without even pausing to ponder, Allen knew the answer. How had he never seen it before? God had not called him to this battle. His own pride, his ambition, his heartache, and—worst of all—his need for revenge had led him this way.

“Hmph,” Allen grumbled. “I was just starting to like you. Must you ruin it?”

Timothy chuckled as they rounded the bend and the beige stone castle came into view. “The enemy of my enemy might not be my friend, Allen of Ellsworth. But the friend of my friend is most certainly my friend as well. There is nothing you can do about that.”

True enough, although Allen did not wish to concede at the moment. “So is there a just cause anywhere on this earth? Any kingdom, any crusade where righteousness reigns supreme?”

“I have yet to find one. Although . . . I have heard tell of a
small dukedom almost to Scotland. A North Brittania. Legend has it they built a society based on justice and Christian principles. It is probably only a myth.”

Something warm, bright, and hopeful flickered in Allen’s chest. “But what if it is not?”

Timothy scratched his head. “It would be a wonder indeed. I have heard that any man of wisdom and good character can make his way there. Might be just the place for a warrior like you.”

“Trying to get me as far away from Merry as possible?” Allen jostled Timothy’s good shoulder. “I don’t blame you.” Although he jested, Allen wondered if this place might be just the answer he had been looking for all along.

“Where have you been? I was worried.” Merry dashed to greet Allen as he entered the manor house.

“I took Timothy to his aunt. He’s wounded, you know.” Allen moved to the fire and warmed his hands before it.

They could not afford to give off much smoke, but evening had fallen. A chill had filled the air, so they had built this one fire in the main manor house for everyone to gather round.

“I did not know that.” Merry scanned the faces of the smaller children. Perhaps they did not need to hear the specifics of Timothy’s battle, nor the results. “Come. Talk to me in private.”

She led Allen through the great hall. Yesterday the place had barely been fit for human habitation, but after Jane and Kate’s hard work, it would do as sleeping quarters for the week. Merry could almost imagine it as it had once been. Filled with banners, tapestries, and torches. Perhaps a cat roaming the place or a dog curled up by the stone hearth. A home, the likes of which she had not known for several years.

She pulled him into a small side chamber, illuminated by a single candle. “What happened?”

“Much. He has a nasty gash in his arm. Says he lost a lot of blood. A healer in Farmingham found him and tended him. She did not want him to leave, but he insisted he had to find you.”

Merry shuffled her toe. “We owe him a debt of gratitude. I will thank him in the morning.”

“For more than you think. Merry, you admitted to me once that he loved you, but tell me true, do you love him as well?”

She steeled her heart against the question and looked away from Allen’s probing gaze. “I cannot. I should not. Why do you wish to know?”

He laid a hand on her arm. “Because I want the best for you. You must open your heart. Open it to God. And if you cannot open it to me, then open it to this Timothy Grey. He is a good man, and he loves you.”

“I do open my heart. I love every person in this group.”

“You love downward to those you feel responsible for. But you do not allow yourself to be vulnerable. Open your full heart again, Merry. ’Tis time.”

She reached out to touch his shoulder. “What about you? I thought you wished to pursue me.”