Chapter 28

The stench proved not as awful as Allen had expected. He had noted not a single skeleton nor ghost, nor so far even a rat in Lord Barnes’s dungeon. The place reeked of disuse more than human suffering. The five of them had been tossed in roughly, but were not secured to cuffs or chains.

All in all, Allen would have been a bit disappointed by his first trip to the dungeon, did it not offer a welcome respite from all the wedding preparations and incessant tutoring at Edendale Castle.

In the sparse beams of moonlight that streamed down from the small barred windows near the ceiling, Allen spotted Randel lounging to his right with his head resting on his balled surcoat. “You look surprisingly comfortable over there.” Allen chuckled.

Randel groaned and shifted positions. “I doubt I shall be able to sleep in this place, but we should get what rest we can.”

“Perhaps you can help me with something that might pass the time.”

“What is that?” Randel propped himself on his elbow.

“I need to write a blasted love poem to read to the duchess at the feast before our wedding. The council desires that our love ring true. And ’tis only proper and chivalrous that I do so. Do you not think?”

“Hmm . . .” Randel paused. “I suppose it is. Except that I do not believe you are in love with the duchess.”

“But she is an exceptional lady, and she deserves such a gesture.”

“Agreed.”

“Could we not compose it together?”

“I will try and help.”

“Good.” Allen moved to a comfortable cross-legged position. “All I have come up with so far is this. Your curves call out like a wave in the sea. Your hair as a waterfall beckons to me.”

Randel pursed his lips and nodded his head from side to side as if weighing the words on a scale. “Very pretty sentiment. You surprise me, Sir Allen. I thought you more a man of action than of words.”

“So it is good?” Hope surged within Allen.

“I did not say that.” Randel sat up to face him. “For the duchess is not a particularly curving woman, and her hair is ever caught beneath a wimple. Have you even seen it down?”

“No, although I can tell it is dark, for not all of her wimples hide it well.”

“Well, I’ve seen it. It falls quite straight, not at all frothy like a waterfall, or—for example only of course—the Lady Gwendolyn’s waving hair. And now that I think of it, the Lady Gwendolyn’s curving figure.”

Sir Durand chuckled at that from across the room.

“Mind your own business!” Allen picked up the closest projectile he could find, a leather glove, and threw it at the fellow’s head.

“It seems you’ve made your love life all of our business.” Durand slid closer. “Why not make the waterfall sparkling with golden sunlight and be done with it?”

Sir Agravain, an older married knight, joined their little party. “Since you’re speaking of waves and water how about Your aqua eyes do quench, do intoxicate my soul.”

Everyone but Allen laughed now. God help him, was his infatuation with Gwendolyn so obvious to them all?

“And your bowed pink lips do beseech my kiss,” Durand added.

Allen’s cheeks flamed. “Enough!” he shouted. “This is not funny. Would you so disrespect your duchess?”

They fell silent.

“Besides,” Allen said to Randel, “I thought you wished to marry Gwendolyn.”

Randel blew out a slow breath. “I admire Gwennie, care for her deeply, and desperately wish to save her from Gawain. She would make a good match for me, and I believe we would be happy together. But I have never yet loved any woman with the passion I see in your eyes when you gaze at her.”

Allen slapped the ground beside him. “This conversation has gone too far.”

“I am sorry,” Randel said. “But you asked. Besides which, though I did not wish to mention it, my right arm has been pounding like thunder and lightning ever since I dropped from that rope. I fear ’tis broken, and I shall not be able to fight for her now. We shall have to find a different champion for our Gwendolyn. What of you, Durand?”

“And risk the wrath of Sir Allen? Thank you, but no.”

“Cease this!” Allen raked at his hair.

“Oh, do not be a bad sport, Allen,” Durand said. “Your sulking over Gwendolyn was hard to miss. We know you would not dishonor the duchess. But admiration of ladies in general is well entrenched in the chivalrous ideal.”

“Just because such admiration is chivalrous does not mean it honors God,” Allen said. “Look at Lancelot and Guinevere and the destruction they wrought. The duchess is to be my wife, and I am determined to be faithful to her in both thought and deed.”

“Good luck with that.” Durand ducked before Allen could send another glove sailing his direction.

Just then, an odd scratching sound met their ears and they all jolted to attention.

“What is it?” Randel whispered.

Allen cocked his head and peered at the outside wall, from whence the sound came. “I know not.”

A moment later, in the dim light he detected a large stone moving slowly outward, smoothly, almost magically, as if on wheels or some sort of conveyance. Then moonbeams broke through the hole, and a figure burst into their dungeon along with a thick cloud of dust from the misplaced stone. In silhouette against the milky haze stood a tall curving figure with her feet placed wide, hands on her hips, and a braid cascading down one shoulder. Gwendolyn!

As she approached, he noted her chain mail and the sword hanging from a belt about her hips. “Come, we must hurry,” said the voice he had come to cherish.

No one moved.

She waved them toward the hole. “Now! What are you waiting for?”

“Gwennie,” Randel spoke first. “We appreciate your efforts, but we should not anger your father nor the council any further.”

Allen stood and stepped forward. “They only plan to keep us here this one night.”

“Do you think you can trust my father? Return to Edendale while you can. The council will be happy enough once you have arrived.” Gwendolyn huffed and tugged him toward the hole.

But Allen stood firm and crossed his arms over his chest. “No. I insist. I have shirked my duties long enough. ”

“You and your insipid duties!” She pressed her fists into her hips again.

That pride Allen still did not wish to acknowledge rankled at her statement. “I will thank you not to insult me in front of my comrades.”

“Then come outside and speak with me in private.”

Allen took a step, then hesitated.

“Please, Allen,” she said, her tone now pleading and feminine. “There is a yew tree I once promised to show you, and we might never have this chance again.”

His heart melted at her soft entreaty. “Are you certain it is safe?”

“Trust me.” Gwendolyn reached her hand to him. “This is my home.”

Of its own accord, Allen’s hand met hers, and they wrapped together. With the gentlest of tugs, she led him out through the hole in the wall.

“This way,” she whispered.

They wove through the dark foliage, but Gwendolyn remained certain and surefooted.

“Here it is.” She placed her free hand on a thick, gnarled trunk which split into a V. “’Tis easy to climb. I shall go first.”

He followed her as she scrambled lightly up the tree. About eight feet up, Gwendolyn scurried onto a thick branch and sat upon it with her legs dangling free.

“What of the guards?” Allen whispered.

“I can take care of them.”

At that very moment a loud, “Halt, who goes there?” came from the castle wall.

Allen froze, but Gwendolyn just smiled. “Trust me.”

She scooched farther down the branch and poked her head out from the dense section of evergreen boughs. “’Tis just me, Sir Jasper. Lady Gwendolyn. I came to fetch something from home, but please do not tell my father.”

“Tsk, tsk.” The guard’s voice sounded friendly and playful, though Allen could not spy him through the thick tree. “Lady Gwendolyn, always into some mischief. But I shall not be the one to tell tales, not after the way your father locked you up and left you to go hungry the last time you crossed him. ’Twas not right.”

Allen’s heart twisted to hear this, but he remained still and quiet as he listened to their conversation from his dark hiding place.

“I say, do you know where my pups might be? I would like to fetch them as well if I can.”

“Not in secret, you shan’t. They’ve been sleeping with your mother since she returned without you.”

It took a rare woman to battle like a soldier one moment and worry about her pups the next. After all this time, Allen still found Gwendolyn utterly charming.

“That is too bad. But thank you for your help. I shall owe you a favor for this,” Gwendolyn said.

“Did you bring your pipe along?” the guard asked.

“Indeed, I never go anywhere without it. Shall I play for you?”

“I would love that.”

“But what of my father?”

“There’s a rowdy bunch of his men in the great hall. They shall not hear a thing. And I will keep a close watch for them from the gatehouse.”

“Excellent. Just give me a moment, then,” she said.

Her pipe. That awful, wonderful, mesmerizing pipe. Allen did not wish to hear it now. Not in this tree where he had once imagined he might kiss her.

After the guard walked away, Gwendolyn moved back down the branch and settled herself so close that her thighs and shoulders grazed his. She opened the sack that hung from her belt and pulled out the pipe. Then she began her haunting tune.

It reached out to Allen and wrapped about him, much like her hand had done earlier. Though he could see only the barest shadow of profile, he had studied her often during the past weeks, and he knew every slope of her cheek, every nuance of her skin.

His hands trembled to reach out and touch her. His lips pulsed with the desire to brush against hers. But beyond any of that, he felt God’s presence swathing about him more keenly than he had in these many weeks—which made no sense at all!

Gwendolyn appeared to be every bit as caught up in the music, in the wonder of the moment, as he was. Then something in her demeanor seemed to shift. She abruptly halted her performance and slapped the pipe down upon her lap. “I cannot argue with you whilst playing.”

Yes, better that they should focus on the issue at hand, even spend their time bickering, than risk being overcome by this magical spell. But as he could no longer remember what they had been fighting about, he waited for her to continue.

She shoved the pipe into her sack. “You must leave this castle tonight. You believed I would know my own home. Now believe that I know my own father. He is a ruthless man. I do not trust him, and he quite hates you.”

Allen had suspected as much, yet his blood went cold at the words.

Turning to face him, she continued. “Do not leave your fate in his hands. I think he will remain faithful to the duchess and return you, but I am just not sure. No doubt he will make you suffer along the way. And I suspect he will leave Randel here to rot, for he will not risk setting him free to fight in the tournament for me. Father is still determined that I marry that cruel Gawain.”

His heart mirrored the hurt, even the anger within her words.

How he wished he could save her from it all, but he knew only one way to help her now. “You are right. You know your father better than I do. But might I suggest that I likewise know my Father, my heavenly Father, better than you, who have not claimed Him as your own? My Father is faithful and true. You can . . . No—you must put your trust in Him.”

He gripped her by the forearms in his need to convince her. “Circumstances might look grim for a time, but God can turn matters for the good. He alone can sustain your soul through whatever adversity you might face.”

“So if I will trust in God, you will take your men and flee?” She chuckled, and he realized the absurdity of what he seemed to suggest.

“I do not wish to strike a bargain. I only wish to know you are safe in God’s love, and only because I care for you so much.” He dropped her arms and gently took her hand instead. He traced his finger across her palm. A strong hand with callouses aplenty, yet tender and soft in the center, just like her.

“I confess that your devotion to God has inspired and challenged me,” she said. “And I want you to know that I do trust you.”

Those words warmed him like no others could. Gwendolyn had been wounded by this world. She did not trust easily. “I trust you as well, Gwendolyn. Everything about this situation has confused me, but I know you wish only the best for me and my men.”

He turned and rested his forehead against hers, drinking in her perfume of wild herbs and fresh air.

“Then go,” she whispered. Yet she placed her free palm against his cheek and held him in place.

What had made him think that he could abandon Gwendolyn? How did he imagine he might ever marry another?

His body drifted like a lodestone toward her, but more than that, his heart and soul and spirit cried out to unite with hers. He needed to be closer to her. To breathe in her very presence. No longer moving from any conscious sort of decision, he wrapped her in his arms.

Pressing close, she leaned her head upon his shoulder and sighed. She ran her hands over his chest. All of his senses spiked to high alert. She felt like Eve, come home against Adam’s rib. Needing to drink of her essence, he lowered his lips to hers.

She met him, shy and hesitant at first, and then with more fervor.

But as he shifted his position to draw her yet closer to his heart, he lost his balance. The branch slipped from beneath his legs. The air rose up to meet him, the tree swirled about him, and they both crashed with a hard thump upon the ground.

Good heavens, not again!

He managed to take the brunt of the fall, as she landed atop him. Then he rolled over, placing her solidly on the ground. In truth, he must find a better place than precarious tree branches for kissing young maidens.

Once he found his breath, he asked. “Are you well?”

“I am fine.” There she lay, for the briefest moment, staring up at him in the moonlight. Lips parted and seeking. She raised her hand to graze his cheek.

In that moment, a memory pierced through him, and that is when he recognized her! She—

“Lady Gwendolyn! Lady Gwendolyn!” called the guard upon the castle wall from a distance. “Are you well? Should I fetch help?”

Gwendolyn gave Allen a little shove. On instinct, he leapt to his feet and dashed into the trees, but his conscious mind still grappled with what he had just seen.

Lady Gwendolyn Barnes and Sir Geoffrey Lachapelle were one and the same.

He had never realized it until she lay beneath him on the ground as Lachapelle had when his visor flipped open. No wonder she had fared so well in battle this day, no wonder her moves had struck him as familiar. She had stood her own against Allen in the tournament not long ago.

Perhaps he did not know this Gwendolyn at all.

Gwendolyn stood and brushed herself off. She wondered at the odd expression that had crossed Allen’s face before he tore into the woods, but she could not waste time thinking about that now.

Waving to the guard who ran her way, she called, “I am fine, Sir Jasper. I must have fallen asleep. So sorry to have startled you.”

She could only hope Allen had faded out of sight before Jasper had spotted him.

“Ah.” Jasper jogged the rest of the way along the parapet to her and leaned over the edge of the wall. “I wondered why my lovely tune ended so soon. Truly, you must take care.”

Her tensed muscles relaxed. He seemed to suspect nothing. “You know me better than that.”

“Well, your father would have my hide if something happened to you and I might have prevented it. So be careful for me, if not for yourself.”

“My apologies, I did not think to put you in any danger.” She checked her sack and weapons to make sure all was in place. “I will return to Edendale straightaway.”

“Not in the dark alone, you shan’t. Go and stay the night in the village, and head back where you belong in the morning. Your good luck cannot hold out forever.”

“Excellent advice. I will do as you bid.”

“Be a good girl now.”

“I shall try, although we both know the odds are not great.”

He laughed and turned back to the gatehouse.

She lingered a moment, gazing up at the tree and reliving the wonder of her brief interlude with Allen. Her first kiss.

Running her finger across her tingling lip, she recalled that sweet moment when his mouth first touched hers. She had felt so attuned with him. So safe and right within his arms. So unified in spirit and in heart. Had he experienced those sensations as well? Dare she dream he might rethink his decision to marry the duchess?

Her path toward the village took her past the dungeon wall and the escape route she and her brothers had rigged years ago from both inside and out in case Father got overly zealous with his discipline. The stone was back in its place. She bent down and peered through the small barred window. The dungeon was empty. Sir Allen was gone.

Of course he was gone. Although her heart might cry otherwise, Allen did not belong to her. That one brief moment, that single ecstatic kiss might be all she could ever share with him. She must turn her mind to thoughts of Randel and hope she might grow to experience that same sort of love with him someday.

Though being held in Allen’s arms had felt like coming home, though his lips had struck hers like flame to the tinder, he would never belong to her. The sooner she accepted that, the better.

She gathered her horse and meandered toward her old friends in the village. As she continued to replay her interlude with Allen in her mind, a realization washed over her. Only once had she ever experienced a love that overshadowed even the feelings that Allen awoke in her. That day in the cathedral, God’s love had completely enveloped and overwhelmed her.

She had thought God abandoned her when she heard Mother’s awful report. When she saw with her own eyes the abuse Mother had suffered for defending her. When Gwen herself lay rejected, crushed, and bleeding upon the ground.

Yet that very trauma had gotten her away from her father’s clutches and into the duchess’s care. God had turned that situation around, much as Allen suggested He might.

Perhaps God yet deserved her trust.

It was not as if she had anywhere else to turn. She had missed her chance to run away with Lady Merry. And given what had just transpired in the tree, she did not feel ready to flee North Britannia just yet.

She would return to Edendale on the morrow and see this matter through to the end.