Chivalrous (23 page)

“Do not concern yourself with this, Sir Randel.” The duchess pinned her regal stare on him.

Randel bristled for a moment, but then conceded with a bow.

Dear sweet Randel.

Allen might deny Gwen. Might deny his own heart, yet it seemed some gracious deity in heaven would not see Gwen abandoned. The future was such a mutable and astonishing thing. Good, strong, reliable Randel. The gentlest knight in the realm. If she could not marry Allen, then she must pray with all her strength that somehow she might wed Randel.

The following day as Allen concluded reading his letter from Timothy, members of the council shifted about in their chairs surrounding the huge round table. Not one offered him direct eye contact.

But he had rehearsed his arguments again and again and would not be thwarted. He rolled the crinkling parchment.

Then an echoing silence filled the place.

Finally, Lord Fulton spoke. “No, Sir Allen. Although I have compassion for your situation, it is not possible.”

Allen had known he would not easily gain the council's permission, but he had not anticipated being dismissed summarily.

“Now on to the matter of . . .”

Before Fulton could move to the next subject, Allen rallied himself. “Hold, Lord Fulton. On which issue would you so quickly deny me? Sending troops to rescue Merry, or allowing me to go myself?”

“Both. As we have discussed, you and this city must be
protected at all costs right now. We cannot spare troops for superfluous missions.”

Hot indignation flowed through Allen's veins. “Superfluous! Warner DeMontfort wishes to steal Merry Ellison's power and wealth to come against us. This is at the very core of what we fight. I am a member of this council too. Soon I will be your leader, and at the very least I demand a full debate on this issue!”

By the end of his impassioned speech his pulse pounded in his ears and his breath had grown quick, but he managed to stand firm rather than thump the table—or better yet kick it—as a part of him wished to.

The duchess calmed him with the lightest touch to his arm. “I agree with Sir Allen. We cannot brush this aside.”

The bishop stood and cleared his throat. “And I agree with Lord Fulton. At this time nothing matters more than seeing the prophecy fulfilled. People are calling you the One True Heir of Arthur. All their hope, all their faith is tied to you.”

The bishop's words reverberated through Allen, causing him to waver. They had placed their faith and hope in him, lowborn Allen of Ellsworth. Pride crested within his chest, a towering wave that might toss him from his purpose, but he shoved it down.

This Arthur nonsense had gotten out of hand. “The people of North Britannia should put their faith in God, not in a single man. I never claimed to be Arthur's heir.”

The bishop folded his hands over his abdomen. “North Britannia will settle for no one but you, and DeMontfort is a fool if he thinks kidnapping an heiress will change that.”

“But if William Marshall supports his bid, that could ruin everything.” Allen raked his fingers into his hair. He must make them see reason. “We should put our efforts into proving DeMontfort a murderer and thwarting his plots.”

“No evidence has been found,” said Hemsley, bedecked this day in an outfit that would put a rainbow to shame. “We must stay our course. Once the prophecy is fulfilled, all will be well.”

“You do not understand.” Tears pricked at Allen's eyes now, but he would not suffer these pompous fools to see him cry. “This woman is like a sister to me. Would you allow your sister, your daughter to remain in such jeopardy?”

“I am sorry, Sir Allen. I do understand your desire to protect your friend.” Hemsley fiddled with his striped hat and turned his gaze down to the table.

“I will require only enough guards to travel safely, and we shall rely on cunning, not might, to rescue her.”

Fulton shook his head. “It is not possible.”

Allen had only one more strategy to try. “'Tis not right that you place your hope in me. The Duchess Adela is the one the people trust. She is the one with the experience to lead. You said the king would respect our current legal decisions, so make a law allowing her to rule alone and choose her own husband.”

At that pandemonium broke out. Several men shouted at once. Words like
nonsense, fool,
and
upstart
flew about the room.

The bishop lifted his hands and hollered, “Silence.”

They settled and took their seats once again.

“Let us not disparage our soon-to-be leader,” the bishop said. “He is young, he is new to our ways, and his heart is broken for his friend. But Sir Allen, the matter is closed. If and when Warner DeMontfort attacks, we shall be prepared. But we have the assurance of the prophecy that all will be well.”

Allen scanned the table for any supporter, for a single sympathetic glance. Only the duchess smiled at him with compassion. By a slight dip of her head, she gestured for him to sit.

He wanted to shout, to fight, to draw his sword and dash for the door, but no true noble would do such things. No chivalrous
knight would shirk his duty to his dukedom. He had wanted to live in a place where law and the council of many ruled the day. Yet he could not accept their decision as right. It sank into his chest with a hollow ache.

Somehow he must find a way to help Merry. In the deepest part of him, that conviction still burned.

As Rosalind and Lady Gwendolyn concluded their daily walk, Edendale rose on either side of them, indeed a jewel of a city. Not that Rosalind had ever visited another, but she knew beauty when she beheld it. She doubted even the famed city of London could match this place. Here on the well-protected streets, two young women could stroll alone at leisure, needing not fear thieves or ruffians.

Passing through the row of vendors hawking wares from their stalls in the marketplace, Rosalind drank in the wondrous sight of her mistress wearing a soft and relaxed expression for once. The mood was right.

She must find the courage to seize this moment and approach Gwendolyn with her request before disaster struck. “My lady, you look well today.”

Gwendolyn drew in a deep whiff of the fresh mountain air. “I never suspected city life would suit me so well, but we are allowed such freedom in this place. A freedom that, sadly, does not reach to Castle Barnes.”

“But we made our own fun there.”

Gwendolyn smiled. “We did indeed. But we were always risking trouble as well. This new life with the duchess brings me much joy. And were you there when she mentioned arranging another hunt?”

“I recall something to that effect.”

Gwendolyn must have caught the wistful hint in Rosalind's voice, for she frowned. “Are you happy here, Rosalind?”

“I love living in the grand castle. But . . . actually, your question brings up a matter about which I have been wishing to speak to you.”

“Speak plain. Surely we have no need to mince words after all we have been through together.”

“'Tis just that I have not visited my mother in over a year. And we are so close to my village. Do you suppose I could take a few days off from your service? The castle is full of maids who might attend you. And . . . and . . . I miss her so.”

Gwendolyn ceased her progress and turned to grip Rosalind's shoulder. “Of course! You need not list your reasons so carefully. In fact, I apologize. I should have thought of this, although missing one's mother is admittedly a sensation I am not familiar with.”

Relief washed over Rosalind. How she needed her mother's wisdom and insight right now. She could not afford to lose her employment. She recalled that awful year after her father's death when her siblings had sobbed with hunger. When she herself had been gripped by the gnawing pains. She could never allow that to happen again.

And time was running out. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Lady Gwendolyn. I shall go quickly, and I promise not to cause you any trouble.”

“Stop that! Why must you continually draw attention to the gap between our statuses? We are in Edendale, a place where such differences melt away.”

“Diminish. Not melt away entirely.” Although, had not Rosalind thought the same thing as she played games and did embroidery in the duchess's own solar? As she danced with knights and conversed with ladies over supper in the evenings?

But such thoughts always brought her back to Hugh and gave her hope. Far too much hope for her own good. Especially in her present circumstance, which would not be ignored much longer. “But again I thank you for your kindness. I have been near desperate to see my mother. I shall leave this very afternoon, if that is acceptable.”

“I shall arrange an escort.”

“Absolutely not. My village is less than an hour from here, and the roads are well traveled. I took the trip many times alone before coming to live with you and always found a traveling companion with ease.” Besides which, Rosalind needed to do this thing by herself.

Gwendolyn's features twisted into a look of concern. “I do not like it. Sir Randel is probably free. I know he would not mind taking you.”

Rosalind laughed. “You are being silly now. Not all of us can be pampered noblewomen.” Although for the first time such a statement caused a stab of pain to her gut. Perhaps this place was not as good for her as it was for Gwendolyn. “I will be fine. I promise.”

“You must take a sword. And a dagger.” Gwendolyn wagged a finger in Rosalind's direction. “And a bow!”

“Yes, Lady Gwendolyn,” Rosalind agreed happily, ever so thankful for this chance. Her mother would know just what to do. She would fix everything. She always did.

Gwen still did not love the idea, but she supposed Rosalind could defend herself as well as anyone. She turned to continue down the lane toward the castle. “And if I learn that you did not find a traveling companion, I shall throttle you.”

Rosalind smiled and looped her arm through Gwen's. “Fair enough. But let us hurry. I must pack.”

Gwen smiled in return, glad to see Rosalind so bright and cheerful. Though she had not mentioned the issue, realizing that Rosalind would perceive it as criticism, she had been worried about her maid this past week. The vivacious girl had not been herself, lacking her normal energy and glow.

Perhaps the problem had started longer ago, and Gwen had merely failed to notice due to the tension with her own family and all the trouble she had managed to get into. Now that they spent much of their time in the peaceful company of Duchess Adela, Gwen could not ignore Rosalind's distress. She had feared Rosalind might be ill or troubled in her spirit.

But homesickness—that would be easily remedied.

As they passed through the huge castle archway to the inner bailey, a strange sight caught Gwendolyn's attention. In the corner near the stables, Sir Allen slumped upon a hay bale with his chin nestled in his fists. She had never seen him melancholy before, had not thought such a mood possible in a man so strong, so capable, so focused upon heavenly matters. Today was full of surprises.

But then she recalled his meeting with the council over his dear friend Merry. She glanced about for someone who might cheer him, but saw no prospect in sight. Perhaps she should go find the duchess, as wisdom would suggest. But she could not bear to leave him alone like this for so long.

She nudged Rosalind and inclined her head in Allen's direction. “I shall catch up with you straightaway.”

“Poor fellow. I suppose he shan't be helping Lady Merry after all. Take whatever time you need.”

As Rosalind headed across the sunny courtyard to the castle, Gwendolyn took hesitant steps toward the shadows that en
veloped Sir Allen. Only when she sank down on the hay bale beside him did he even glance her way.

She had no platitudes to offer him, and knew a direct fellow like Allen would not appreciate them anyway. After a few moments, she simply rested a hand on his taut, muscled back and said, “I am here for you.”

“Thank you, Gwendolyn. You alone in this place seem to understand me.”

“I am happy to listen, if you wish to share your troubles.”

He kicked at the dirt and took a few deep breaths before responding. “I know I should be thankful. I know they offer me honor and privilege I by no means deserve. A part of me loves it. It certainly swells my pride. But somewhere deep inside it does not sit well with me.”

Gwen understood that feeling all too well, for somewhere deep in her heart it did not sit well with her for Allen to marry the duchess. But she kept her thoughts to herself and merely rubbed his back in gentle circles, offering her support without pointless words.