Chivalrous (18 page)

“Perhaps we shall take our bows and try a little hunting while we are out there.” The duchess winked.

“And she embroiders. Trim!” Father pointed to the embellishments sewn upon Gwen's collar somewhat pathetically.

Just then Gawain came crashing into the room with his too-bold energy and his too-loud voice. “Your Grace.” He flung the words to the duchess, and just as quickly turned his attention to Gwen.

“So there is the lovely lady.” He snatched her hand up for a kiss, his glossy black hair falling across it, and she wished to spit upon him in return. “I hope you will be dining with me tonight.”

“I assume so,” was the most polite response she could conjure.

“Dear me.” Duchess Adela pressed a hand to her cheek. “I am afraid you must forgive me, for I made other arrangements. Lady Gwendolyn, I wish for you to sit at our table, and I prepared for my knight, Sir Randel Penigree, to escort you. I hope that will not cause any trouble.”

“Of course not,” Father ground out from between clenched teeth.

Gawain simply glowered.

“How kind of you,” Mother said. “What an honor you do our daughter.”

The duchess wrapped an arm around Gwen's waist and hustled her away from the uncomfortable scene. She whispered up to Gwen's ear, “I assumed you might wish to be rescued from that oaf, but if I am wrong, it is not too late to correct the situation.”

Relief flooded Gwen. “No, you are absolutely correct.”

“Then allow me to introduce you to Sir Randel. He is the most good-hearted knight in my employ, and I suspect perfect for you.”

“Oh, we have known each other since . . . ” But as they approached the pleasant man leaning against the long ornate table, Gwen was not sure she knew him at all.

Where were the big feet? The gangly neck? The awkward nose? Though of course the face was familiar, it seemed Randel had grown into his features to a degree she had not anticipated. And although he had a more slender build than Allen, he stood to nearly the same height. He wore his dark brown hair cropped close, as always, but his skin was now smooth rather than spotted. In one aspect he remained entirely familiar though; his warm brown eyes still glowed with kindness and intelligence.

How had she not noted these changes before? She had seen him several times over the past year. And of course at the recent tournament and feast, but she had been intent only on outrunning him.

“Sir Randel,” the duchess said, “may I present your dinner companion, Lady Gwendolyn Barnes.”

Randel swiveled from the duchess to Gwen and back, and then a smile burst forth upon his face to rival Allen's grin of pure sunshine. “What a wonderful surprise. And this meets with your approval, Lady Gwendolyn?”

“Absolutely.” Gwendolyn offered a warm smile in return. Indeed, how could she resist?

“We shall leave you two to get acquainted while we greet more of our guests.” The duchess bustled off with Allen. He offered one backward glance of support before they melted into the crowd.

Randel scratched his head. “You need not feel stuck with me, you know.”

“And you need not feel obliged to offer for my hand just because my brother asked you to, you know,” Gwen retorted with a saucy quirk of her brow.

The hollows of Randel's cheeks turned an attractive shade of plum, quite different than Father's ugly red flush of anger. Randel's face might not be as strongly chiseled as Allen's, but Mother had been correct. He was quite nice to look at.

“Um . . . I am not sure what to say to that. Are you not supposed to feign oblivion to such issues?” He chuckled and shuffled his foot like a young lad, reminding Gwen that he was only two years her senior. The same age as Allen.

Maintaining a steady gaze, she awaited his answer. She would not play the coquette with Randel. Either he would like her for her true self or not at all.

He met her gaze. “I confess your brother spoke with me, but I did not approach your father out of obligation.”

“Then why?”

Randel glanced away, but then focused on her again. “Gwennie . . .”

His use of her childhood name softened her, and without forethought she melted from her determined stance into a decidedly more feminine silhouette.

“Gwennie, I have always admired you, always adored you as a sister. Surely you know that. But over the last few years, those feelings have shifted. I might have approached you sooner had I not felt certain you would laugh in my face.”

Though tickled by his statement, she restrained herself from laughing now. “Smart of you.”

He shook his head. “But when Hugh came to me and told me your father was determined to see you wed, I realized how
important it would be to you to find a man who would allow you to remain your real self and not attempt to domesticate you.”

Gwen gulped down a lump in her throat. She had not expected any of this. “Smart indeed.” And direct. So very direct—precisely as she preferred.

“I've always thought you something of a hero, and I would not see you changed.”

Now she had no idea what to say. Perhaps she had underestimated Randel on every account.

“I know you do not feel for me in that way.” He reached out and took her hand. “I know you have always thought me silly and weak, but I have grown up as well. Let us start anew and see where this relationship might take us. What say you to that?” He bowed and offered a gallant kiss upon the back of her hand.

Although the kiss did not overwhelm her with a shower of tingles, gentle warmth flowed through her at his touch. The warmth of lasting friendship and heartfelt appreciation. Perhaps Rosalind had been right. She barely knew Sir Allen. But she did know Randel—at least his heart, if not this new more handsome form. Perhaps she should give him a chance.

The haunting melody that floated from Gwendolyn's pipe wrapped around Allen's heart and squeezed tight. Only a pure soul could produce such perfect praise.

Throughout the evening he had sworn to himself that his impending marriage was for the best. Not only for the dukedom. Not only for the duchess. But for him as well. He strove to convince himself that Gwendolyn did not share his passion for God. Yet he sensed through the stirring strands that filled the room—that somehow she did.

Perhaps she did not yet know it. But she longed for the Divine. Needed only to meet God in a tangible way. A high trill of Gwen's pipe soared to the heavenlies, yet managed to stab him straight through the gut.

He could no longer hide the truth from himself. Though he must fulfill his duty to all these precious people surrounding him, must protect this amazing dukedom from an unscrupulous usurper, marrying the duchess would not be the best course for his own heart.

Then again . . . he must trust that God knows the future far beyond the present affliction of his frail human emotions.

Did Gwendolyn look a bit too thin and wan this evening, or was he imagining it? He tried to brush the thought aside. Truly, he had no right thinking about the specifics of her figure and face.

The song melted into silence, and cheering and pounding thundered throughout the room. Gwendolyn offered a quick, bashful curtsey, then returned to Sir Randel's side, where she had been stuck like a burr throughout the evening. Perhaps she did not share Allen's deep affection. Or perhaps she clung to Randel only to protect herself from the similar sight of Allen dancing attendance to the duchess.

He took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to sigh. What a messy situation his heart had gotten him into this time. Why must he continue plaguing himself so? He needed a new perspective on this issue. And so he squinted his eyes ever so slightly and attempted to see her in a different light. From the heavenly sphere.

That is when it came to him. This was his chance to share those Scriptures with her.

Thankfully, the duchess waved Gwendolyn their way. “Darling Gwendolyn, do come and visit with me.”

Gwendolyn managed to detach herself from Randel, although Allen fancied he could hear the ripping sound over the distance of the long gilded table.

“That was beyond lovely,” the duchess said. “Your song shall echo in my ears for days to come. I shall hear it in the whisper of the wind and the call of the birds.”

Gwendolyn ducked her head. “'Tis just a silly pastime. Music brings me pleasure, and I am honored to share it with you.”

Allen recalled her confession that she oft played her pipe high in the trees. How he wished to witness such a spectacle.

“I can hardly fathom that you have kept your gift hidden all these years. It is a crime. Sir Allen, remind me to bring this up at the next council meeting,” the duchess teased.

Gwendolyn's cheeks turned pink, and she glanced about as if seeking an escape. From down the table, Sir Randel offered her a grin that seemed to soothe her.

Allen longed to offer reassurance as well, but she would not so much as meet his gaze. “Lady Gwendolyn, as you played I was reminded of your questions from a few weeks ago. I have been studying the Holy Book in my free time, and I have some Scriptures I would like to share with you when opportunity allows.”

“Well, she is free right now.” The duchess gestured to Gwendolyn. “In my opinion, when it comes to matters of the spirit, one should never delay.”

“I . . . would love to see them, but . . .” Gwendolyn warily eyed her father.

“I understand, my dear.” The duchess gave Gwen's arm a squeeze. “I can handle this.”

She retreated for a moment to whisper to a nearby servant.

Allen and Gwen stood in awkward silence until the duchess returned.

“Just a few moments and my brilliant scheme shall be enacted.” The duchess nudged Gwendolyn with her shoulder.

Allen had not seen this mischievous side of his future bride before, and he rather liked it. Truly, despite their age difference, they could make a good match if only it were not for . . . He cut off his errant thoughts.

“Did you hear of Sir Allen's latest triumph with the council?” the duchess asked Gwendolyn.

“No, I did not.” Gwendolyn's fathomless blue eyes sparkled with interest. “Do tell.”

“'Tis nothing.” Allen shrugged.

“Do not be modest, my dear.” The duchess looped her arm through his. “He devised the grand idea to find childless couples to adopt the orphans from Seaside.”

“Adopt?” Gwen pressed a hand to her lips. “Is that even legal?”

“Not typically,” Allen said. “But it is mentioned in a positive manner in Scripture. And Lord Fulton spent time researching any specific prohibitions against it.”

“It seems that according to English common law, adoption is not allowed.” The duchess nearly bounced in her excitement. “But Fulton was assured that we would not be required to adjust fully to their system for several years, and that any decisions we make now will stand in the future.”

Allen smiled, catching her excitement despite his discomfort with Gwendolyn.

“So the children will have homes,” the duchess said, her voice tinged with wonder. “Real homes, with real parents. I could not be more delighted.”

“I am so happy to hear that.” Something new lit Gwendolyn's eyes. Might she be proud of his accomplishments?

He could not decide if that pleased him or made him more miserable than ever.

The servant returned with a small parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. The duchess made quick work of scratching out a note as Allen and Gwendolyn stood awkwardly once again.

“There you go.” The duchess waved the note in triumph.

Gwendolyn looked to Allen in confusion.

“Come,” the duchess offered by way of explanation.

They followed her across the room to a nearby table where Gwendolyn's parents sat.

“Lord Barnes,” the duchess said with urgency to her tone, “I have an important mission for you. I need you to take this message to the guards at the outer wall immediately.”

“Immediately? Me?” For a moment he looked perplexed. He glanced around the room at the many soldiers of lesser rank who might carry out the mundane chore.

“I would appreciate if you would deliver it personally.”

Lord Barnes swiped a look of ruffled pride from his face and replaced it with one that depicted the respect due the duchess. “Of course, Your Grace. I am at your service.” He offered a small bow and headed off with the note as Allen fought to stifle a chuckle. Once the baron was safely through the archway and around the corner, Allen could hold it back no longer.

The duchess and Gwendolyn joined his laughter over their private amusement.

“What is this?” Lady Barnes asked with humor in her eyes.

“Sir Allen would like to show your daughter some Scripture passages concerning an issue they discussed previously, and we thought
you
might be agreeable to the idea,” the duchess said.

“Of course, as long as you do not mind lending your handsome fiancé for such a purpose.” Lady Barnes offered him a smile. Unlike her husband, Gwendolyn's mother appeared to be kindly disposed toward Allen.

“Not at all. Sir Allen has a keen mind for theology, and he should put it to good use.”

“Naturally they shall take a chaperone.” Lady Barnes offered the suggestion in the most diplomatic sort of way.

“Yes, that is a good idea.” The duchess scanned the room. “Perhaps Sir Randel would accompany you.”

On any normal day, Allen would be thankful for Sir Randel's company. He had grown to appreciate the man more and more
over the past weeks, but he was the last person Allen wanted along right now.

Yet Gwendolyn brightened at the idea. “Yes, I am certain he would.” With a simple flick of her wrist, Sir Randel—who must have been watching the entire exchange—hurried to her side once again. “Randel, would you please accompany Sir Allen and me to the chapel? He would like to show me some Scriptures we discussed the other week.”

Just plain Randel, was it? They must have been friends for a very long time.

“I would be happy to. Sir Allen has a keen mind for spiritual matters, I have noticed.”

True enough, Allen and Sir Randel had shared several discussions of a religious nature. Allen sought to consider Gwendolyn only as a lost sheep in need of rescuing, and realized that Sir Randel would be the perfect person to assist him in convincing her of God's goodness and love.

Allen must somehow manage to put aside any ulterior motives that might simmer beneath the surface. If he could not marry Gwendolyn, then Sir Randel would be the best choice for her by far. He simply must wrap his mind around this new turn of events and stop torturing himself with what might have been.

Gwen was still not quite certain how she had gotten herself into this predicament. Flanked by Allen on one side and Randel on the other, she bent over the large tome of Scripture and attempted to read the passage again. On her last time through, Allen had brushed against her arm and sent her concentration flittering into the wind.

Even without such distraction, her mind swirled with the new thoughts of believers submitting themselves one to another. Of
God creating both male and female in His image. Of there being no male nor female in Christ. Of the husband loving the wife like Christ loved the church. It was almost too much to process.

“So what do you think of all this?” Allen turned to look her in the eye.

But he was far too close, and she shifted her gaze to the much safer features of Randel to her other side.

“It need not be as it was in your home,” Randel assured her with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, and then left his arm draped over her. “And look at what comes next.”

He seemed completely engrossed in their study. “‘So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it . . .'”

Gwen should not have been surprised at the ease with which Randel translated the passage from Latin to English. She had never thought him stupid, only weak. Yet she found herself impressed nonetheless.

“Would a man bully or abuse himself?” Randel asked.

Gwen quirked a brow Randel's way. “Have you met my father?”

They all chuckled at that.

Randel nodded. “True enough. He is quite a tough old goat, and as hard on himself as he is on his soldiers.”

“Perhaps therein lies the problem,” Allen said.

Gwen sighed. “And in the fact that he clearly loves himself more than anyone else in heaven or on earth.”

“Yes, I could see how that would make a marriage difficult.” Randel pulled her yet an inch closer and rested his head against hers. “But I promise you, Gwennie, 'twas not so in my home.”

Gwen could not help peeking to see Allen's reaction to the pet name, and thus caught his wince.

But Randel did not and continued. “My father doted upon my mother.”

Gwen certainly felt cherished, tucked safely as she was beneath Randel's arm.

“The same was true of my father, God rest his soul.” Allen crossed himself. “But we are almost finished. ‘For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh.'” Allen paused as if to consider that. But no one offered comment.

Gwen's cheeks flushed hot. She did not wish to think of such matters while pressed close to Randel with Allen nearby. Yet the situation offered ample opportunity for comparison. While Randel did not set her blood aflame like Allen, she realized more and more the similarities between the two.

How odd, truly. A few weeks ago her future had been clear. Allen the obvious choice for her. But now she wondered if the future might be far more fluid than she ever suspected. Perhaps now that Allen had been swept from her grasp, Randel might offer a new and promising prospect.

And although she was not quite ready to contemplate marital intimacies with Randel, she had to admit that Allen had awakened something in her that allowed her to understand how a woman might enjoy such touches. Of course she would rather experience the full awakening of her femininity with Allen, but as Allen was no longer a possibility . . .

Such thoughts put her mind in a dither. Right now, she just wished to conclude this conversation.

“So you see,” Allen said, “if the husband shows true love to the wife, it all falls nicely into place. It becomes a relationship of mutual give-and-take, like that dance of equals we discussed.”

Gwen's mind shot back to their last dance. To their bodies tucked closely together, but she shooed the memory away.

She extricated herself from Randel's grasp and stood up straight. Turning to Allen she said, “Thank you so much for all you have done for me. I sensed that you had come into my life for a special purpose, and I suppose this must have been it.”