Chivalrous

by Dina L. Sleiman

  Perhaps she had lived in the moment too long. She had no plans. No contingencies for her future. She grabbed hold of Hugh’s huge arms. “Take me with you!”

  He pulled away. “Father would never permit it. ’Tis clear he has plans for you now that he has returned.”

  “Then I must run away.”

  “To where?” He tapped his foot impatiently.

  “To . . . to . . .” She scanned the sky for ideas. “To a nunnery!”

  “A nunnery, you say.” His features twisted in disbelief. “Because you have always been a religious sort?”

  She could hardly lie to this brother who knew her like his very shadow. She had no wish to dedicate her life to God. She still resented Him for creating her a second-rate woman when she would have rather been a knight. “Fine then, I shall run to the forests and become an outlaw. You will come with me, Rosalind—will you not?”

  Rosalind gasped. “I . . . well . . . of . . . it would only be . . .”

  Hugh caressed Rosalind’s shoulder and put an end to her stammering. “Do not give way to her foolishness. If you wish to serve my sister, convince her that all men are not like my father. As well you know.” His gaze turned soft as he ran his hand down Rosalind’s arm and up again.

  Rosalind shivered under his touch and appeared to lose herself in his tender gaze. Her pale cheeks stained to a pretty shade of pink.

  For the briefest moment during their exchange, a touch of longing flared to life in Gwen’s breast. No man had yet looked at her in such a way. But she doused that flame just as quickly, for she would never allow herself to be as vulnerable, as powerless, as Rosalind seemed to be.

  At last Rosalind rallied herself. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are referring to, good sir.”

  Hugh tossed back his head and chuckled. “If you insist. Just promise to keep my sister out of trouble.”

  Rosalind looked to Gwen, and Gwen silently pleaded with her maid. “I will serve Lady Gwendolyn’s best interest. That is all I can promise.”

  “Hmm . . .” Hugh swung onto his giant destrier with ease. “That is not what I asked of you, but as I must away soon, I suppose I have no choice but to accept it.”

  “How soon?” Gwen’s voice sounded small to her own ears.

  “In an hour or so, and I still have many tasks to accomplish before I leave. You, my wayward sister, must be there to see me off and appear every inch the young noblewoman. So I suggest you hurry as well.”

  “Of course.”

  “Take the back route past the kitchen. And be careful,” Hugh said over his shoulder as he trotted off.

  Together, Gwen and Rosalind headed toward the stables. So many thoughts swirled through Gwen’s mind that she could hardly make sense of them. She had lived in denial of the future for too long, and now it would catch up with her.

  Rosalind hid in the shadows of the upper hallway, waiting for Hugh to emerge from his chamber. The family was already collecting outside to see him off, but he had run upstairs to gather a few last items. Though her distraught mistress would no doubt be needing her soon, she could not pass up her only opportunity to bid Hugh farewell in private.

  Her heart ached at the prospect, but surely it was for the best that Hugh should be departing so soon after his father’s arrival. While a man like Lord Barnes wouldn’t give much thought to a dalliance between his son and a servant girl, if he took note of how attached they had grown over the past months, Rosalind might well be tossed out upon her ear.

  Hugh’s door crashed open, and he flew down the hallway, but Rosalind was ready for him. She stepped out of her hiding place and caught his arm just as he rushed past.

  Hugh pulled to a stop and pressed his hand to his chest. “Gracious, Rosalind! You gave me a fright.”

  She tugged him into the shadows of a small alcove. “Shh! I merely wished to say farewell.” Now that she had him in her grasp, she felt uncertain what to do with him. “Have you any idea how long you might be gone?”

  “I wish I knew, but I do know I shall miss you, my pretty little Rosebud.” He gathered her to him and cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking it with his battle-roughened thumb.

  Even in such dim light, she could stare at his chiseled face and blue eyes for all eternity and never grow weary. There was so much she wished to say, but truly, she should not. He was a noble, she a serving girl. She had known from the beginning that this could be nothing more than a dalliance.

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “You have been . . . quite special to me.”

  Rosalind’s heart fluttered at those words, but she bid it to settle, for surely he would offer no more than that. “You must know I feel the same.” She bit her lip as she continued to stare into his eyes.

  He glanced down the hall and back again. His thumb slid to her lips, brushing across them before he claimed them with his own. But just as quickly, he pulled back. “I would love nothing more than to hide away kissing you all day, but I can delay no longer. Please tell me you understand.”

  “I suppose I do.” Her head understood, but her heart simply would not be convinced.

  “Farewell, Rosalind.”

  “Farewell, Sir Hugh.”

  As he backed away a sad little sigh escaped her mouth. She pressed her hand against it.

  With one last hungry look, he strode down the hall.

  Rosalind attempted to quiet her raspy breathing and still the rapid pounding of her heart, both familiar consequences of kissing Hugh in shadowy corners. She knew that Hugh could never be hers, but she had not expected to talk with him for hours upon end about nothing in particular and to be happy just to hold his hand while watching the clouds roll overhead. Though she could no sooner deny Hugh’s impish grins and kisses than she could stop the sun from turning about the earth, she had tried to hold back a part of herself.

  ’Twas for the best that he was leaving. She must keep telling herself that. She could not afford to displease the baron. Though Rosalind’s own father had once been a reasonably prosperous miller, after his death her family had been left in the most terrible position. Rosalind’s income had put them back on a steady path. Her mother and younger siblings still depended upon her for their daily bread.

  She could not let them down.

  After a few moments she managed to gather herself and went in search of her mistress. As she passed by the great hall she noted that Lord and Lady Barnes had already come inside. Rosalind continued through the grand front portal and found Lady Gwendolyn standing forlornly in the courtyard, waving to Hugh’s back as he headed down the lane with a small retinue.

  Through the shimmer of unshed tears, Rosalind watched her first love depart, but it simply would not do to let Gwendolyn see her crying over her noble brother.

  She slipped quietly next to her mistress. As Hugh rounded the corner and disappeared into the rustling green trees, she reminded herself that he was meant to be the first of many men in her life. There would be plenty of love in her future, and she would find a way to endure this parting.

  However Gwendolyn, despite her brave stance, appeared upon the verge of shattering. Rosalind had spent the last hour dissuading her from dressing up as a squire and following Sir Hugh, for she would be found out and sent back before the sun set. But she understood Gwendolyn’s distress. Hugh and Gerald had always protected her from the harsher realities of life, and now both were gone, leaving her alone to face the father she dreaded.

  Rosalind placed a gentle hand upon Gwendolyn’s shoulder. “Come, m’lady. We shan’t do any good standing here all day.”

  They linked arms and leaned upon one another for support as they trudged through the courtyard.

  “Ugh! I am being such a girl. Enough of these blasted tears.” Gwendolyn pressed thumb and forefinger against her eyes. “They will do me no more good than staring at an empty lane.”

  Despite her heavy heart, Rosalind determined to lighten the moment. “You are right, my lady. Besides which, you look like a swine with the p
ox when you cry.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Gwendolyn said, but she gave Rosalind a shove and began to chuckle just as she had hoped.

  Rosalind pasted a false smile upon her face. “We must appear pleasant for your father. I do hope to please him.”

  “No one pleases Father. The best you can wish for is anonymity.”

  Rosalind sucked in a sharp breath. The servants had been telling her horror stories of Lord Barnes ever since she arrived, but she had assumed them to be exaggerated. Gwendolyn rarely spoke of the man, but when she did an edge of fear tinged her voice, which Rosalind would not have thought possible in her mistress had she not heard it with her own ears. “Perhaps now that the war is over, he might be in a better mood.”

  “Father creates his own wars.”

  As they made their way up the broad stone steps, a booming voice emerged from the portal. “Gwendolyn! Where is that ungrateful chit? Gwendolyn, join us at once.”

  Gwendolyn jumped.

  Rosalind took Gwendolyn’s hands in her own. She inspected the gorgeous concoction of braids and curls she had devised for Gwendolyn’s thick, golden hair. The rich green gown with gold edging clung to her mistress’s enviable curves to perfection. Its long flowing sleeves nearly swept the floor. She looked every inch the lady.

  Pleasure surged through Rosalind at the realization that she had served her mistress well. “You are no longer a little girl. There is nothing to fear.”

  “You do not know him.” Gwendolyn’s voice sounded breathy.

  Rosalind gave her hands a squeeze. “But I know you. You are strong and courageous. Think of your father as an opponent on the jousting field and face him with all the confidence I know you possess.”

  Gwendolyn nodded but did not seem convinced.

  “And I shall go with you.” Rosalind offered an encouraging smile.

  Gwendolyn shook her head. “Father will not want extra servants about. You will only put yourself in harm’s way.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Completely.”

  Perhaps Gwendolyn was correct. Rosalind would not wish to anger the baron upon their very first meeting. Much as she wished to support her mistress, she had her family to consider as well.

  At that moment, a lone rider crashed into the courtyard, flinging himself from his horse and dashing up the stairs, thrusting Rosalind aside in the process.

  “Hello to you too, Reginald,” Gwendolyn muttered to the retreating back of her dark-haired eldest brother. He offered half a wave without turning to look at her.

  “I hate to leave you thus, Lady Gwendolyn,” Rosalind said, looking from the great hall to her mistress and back again.

  Gwendolyn seemed to gather some of her fighting spirit. “I insist. Go.”

  With a backward glance over her shoulder, Rosalind headed down the passage that skirted the great hall and led up the stairway to the bedchambers. In their hurry this afternoon, they had left Gwendolyn’s room looking like a tempest had struck. Gowns in rainbow shades of silk and linen festooned the furniture. Pots of paint sat scattered upon the table. Jewels dripped from a wooden chest.

  And Gwendolyn had no use for any of it.

  Rosalind picked up a burgundy gown and shook it out.

  In the early days Rosalind had resented Gwendolyn over her lack of appreciation for the many blessings she had been afforded, but now Rosalind understood. Her mistress wanted only to be free.

  Rosalind was her own woman. She would have her fun, enjoy her life in the castle, live out romantic adventures with a few handsome knights, and someday settle down to her own husband and family. Perhaps she would even marry a wealthy merchant or a castle steward, as her mother hoped.

  But Lady Gwendolyn was a commodity to be bought and sold.

  Chapter 3

  By the time Gwen reached the great hall, Father seemed to have forgotten her entirely. In her stead, he bellowed at Reginald.

  “ . . . some sort of jest! Surely you have not been off at the duke’s castle while my serfs laze about wasting time.” Gwendolyn’s father—with his dark beard, unruly hair streaked with silver, and mammoth frame—sat ramrod straight in a cushioned chair upon the raised dais.

  Mother sat next to him, a delicate golden flower by comparison, shrunken into her own chair with a look of pain marring her pretty face.

  Gwen turned a deaf ear to Father’s rant and sank into the side of one of the huge purple tapestries featuring the Barnes’s white-wolf emblem that hung from the stone walls. She supposed the banners were meant to appear festive, but the wolf’s bared teeth had ever reminded her of her father’s angry snarl, and she had long preferred to hide behind them rather than face the beast.

  How many dinners had she spent invisible behind the tapestries? But she was too old for such nonsense—besides which, her large form would surely make a lump in the fabric.

  “Why did I trust you? Worthless fool, I told you, there are ways around Justus’s mandates. I taught you better.” Father barely raised his voice, but he had a special way of adding a barbed edge to each word, and the bulging blue vein on his temple bespoke his anger.

  Reginald kept his gaze to the floor. “Yes, Father. I tried to live up to your esteemed reputation, but I lack your experience and wisdom.”

  Smart man not to argue with Father. It only fueled his fury. But a part of Gwen wished he would stand up to the tyrant upon the dais rather than pacify him as Mother had taught them all to do.

  Father’s telltale vein shrunk to half the size at Reginald’s compliance. “Good thing I have returned. And none too soon.”

  “We are thankful to have you back, my noble father.”

  “Of course you are. I only want what is best for this family. Your inexperience has not served you well. But at least the duke speaks highly of you.” Father waved to a servant, and the man hurried forward with a goblet of wine.

  Mother, who had up to that point sat motionless next to her husband, sparked to life at the sight of the rich red liquid, but Father squelched any chance of her requesting her own with a sharp glance in her direction.

  Mother sank deeper into her chair.

  “From this time forward, my wife is to have no wine except at celebrations.” Father handed down his mandate without so much as a blink.

  Mother’s skin turned a sickly shade of grey, but she uttered not a word. She practically subsisted on wine. Some days, it seemed her only reason for waking in the morning. If Father refused her mead and ale as well, heaven help the poor woman.

  The servant stood gaping at the extreme command.

  “Is that clear?” Father ground out between clenched teeth and shot an icy glare at the man.

  “Yes, m’lord.” The normally confident servant scurried away like a scared mouse.

  “Gwendolyn!” her father hollered. “Where is that girl?”

  Gathering the courage Rosalind had assured her she possessed, Gwendolyn took a step away from the wall. Perhaps Rosalind was right. If she pleased her father, they might make a new start. “I am here, Father.”

  Father nearly choked on his wine. “For heaven’s sake, stop skulking about like a rat. Come into the light. I wish to see you.”

  He had ample opportunity to see her when they had bid farewell to Hugh but obviously had not bothered to take notice. Gwen lifted her chin as she approached the edge of the dais and stood next to Reginald, but she kept her gaze down in a demure fashion, which she thought might please her father. He never suffered arrogance, especially in women.

  Peeking through her lashes, Gwen watched as he inspected her head to toe.

  “Hmm . . . lovely hair.”

  Rosalind would be so pleased.

  “Comely figure. Pleasing features, at least when she wears such a gentle expression. I do recall her scowl to bring out harsh planes on her cheeks.”

  Gwen did not appreciate the way her father assessed her like a cow gone to market and would have been happy to demonstrate that scowl, but she held herself in check. She
glanced nervously to Reginald, but he offered no support. Merely slid a few feet to the side, happy to leave her the sole object of Father’s scrutiny.

  “Overall better than expected.” As was her father’s reaction to her appearance. Rosalind must have worked miracles with her paints, for Gwen knew her face to be plain at best.

  Father turned his attention to Mother, who flinched ever so subtly. “But could you not stop her from growing so tall? Good heavens, Evangeline, she must tower over half the men in the dukedom. I thought she might inherit your daintiness.”

  Mother reached out and patted Father’s hand. “There, there, dearest husband. She is your child through and through. You have proven a powerful sire to my brood mare.” Her giggle tinkled through the room. Mother had always known how to handle their father. She had a special knack for soothing him that oft worked wonders, but on rare occasion exploded back upon her.

  Father’s deep chuckle rose to meet Mother’s giggle and wafted across the room. “’Tis true. I sow a powerful seed.”

  “And I do believe I recognize that scowl you mentioned as well,” Mother dared to joke.

  Gwen braced herself for the possible aftermath, but Father tipped back his head and laughed all the louder.

  He leaned over and placed a smacking kiss on her mother’s cheek. “At least she has your legendary golden tresses. That will stand in her favor.”

  Gwen had nearly forgotten that once upon a time her mother had inspired poets and troubadours. She now spent most days hidden in her darkened chamber. And that legendary hair remained covered by wimples and scarves as best befit a married lady.

  “But what is wrong with the child’s skin?” Her father sounded perplexed, more so than angry. “I thought I told you to keep her indoors where women belong.”

  “Our Gwennie loves nature as much as her father, and you know what a soft heart I have. I cannot bear to keep her locked in the shadows when she longs to be a child of the sun. I allow her to tend the herb garden and stroll within the courtyard. These are acceptable activities for a young lady, are they not?”