“Or perhaps he is young in spirit.” Mother finally spoke, but as usual, only a passing comment in general support of her husband, and not any clear opinion of her own.
“What think you, Lady Gwendolyn?” the duke prompted.
“I think I wish I had been there and not at home with a . . .” Gwen’s mind sought for a delicate way to phrase the matter. “Not at home with a fickle constitution.”
“Ah, I did not realize,” the duke said. “We are glad, however, that you made it this evening. I hope you are feeling well. You appear quite lovely and fully recovered.”
“I am much better, thank you. And I look forward to attending the tournament on the morrow.”
“We shall look for you.” The duchess gave Gwen’s arm a squeeze. “I should love for you to join us and share your commentary. You must be quite the expert, what with your renowned brothers training at your castle.”
“I am afraid not,” Mother said before Gwen could answer. “Our daughter mostly stays indoors weaving and embroidering.”
“And playing the pipe.” Father smiled from ear to ear. “You should hear how lovely she is upon the pipe.”
“Perhaps tomorrow you will play for us.” The duke gestured to the grand dais at the front of the room.
“Oh, I could never.” Gwen pressed a hand to her cheek, not needing to feign demureness for once.
Father’s chest puffed with pride. “I am afraid our Gwendolyn does not enjoy so much attention. She is rather meek at heart. Perhaps at a more intimate gathering.”
“Excellent.” The duchess pressed her hands together. “We shall arrange for one soon.”
Mother shot Gwen an appreciative glance. She and Father were always looking for ways to curry favor with the duke and duchess. Although Gwen did not share their interest for social maneuvering, she was happy to have brought them some small joy.
The duke and duchess excused themselves to continue mingling among their guests.
“Yes, you should mingle as well, Gwendolyn. Reestablish old acquaintances. Make some new friends,” her father said. “Later, there is a fellow I would like to introduce you to, but I have not seen him yet. Find someone to dance with. Nothing makes a woman more desirable than the attention of one’s rivals.”
Though she did not mind dancing, as it was both a physical and a musical sort of activity, the thought of facing the huge gathering alone horrified Gwen. “But . . . I . . . truly, Father. Might we stay together?”
“Do not be silly, darling.” Despite her simpering smile, Mother gave Gwen a rather forceful shove out of their concealing corner. “We have been preparing for this. Now is your chance to shine. No man will ask you to dance while your frightening father glowers over your shoulder.”
Her mother and father departed in the opposite direction and were soon engaged in animated conversation with another couple.
Gwen took a few hesitant steps, attempting to sway her hips, bend her knees, and tilt her head all at once. She searched out any friendly female face, but her family had been quite reclusive in their craggy tower castle, and Gwen had not gotten along well with the few girls who had visited. She spotted several familiar matrons but had no desire to spend her evening with them.
And of course she recognized her brothers’ friends, Randel Penigree included. She knew not whether Hugh had spoken to Randel about courting her as he mentioned, but she would not wish to give Randel the wrong idea. Especially not in this ridiculous gown of girlish pink silk, which showed off far too much of her feminine assets. Gwen pressed a hand to her exposed chest. She had preferred last night’s elegant blue concoction.
With a lift of his chin, Randel smiled and caught her gaze. It seemed Hugh had indeed spoken to him, but she managed to blend into the crowd and make an escape. After burrowing her way to the far side of the room, she paused for a moment, and a welcome sight met her eye. A padded bench nestled into an alcove. Perfect.
She ducked her head low and dashed directly for the place of refuge, only to smack into a broad chest that seemingly came from nowhere.
The man grabbed her elbows to steady her. “My goodness, aren’t you in a hurry.”
Gwen dreaded looking into his face, but she had little choice, for he seemed unwilling to let her go until she answered him. As she lifted her head, much to her shock, she stared directly into the sunshine smile of Sir Allen of Ellsworth.
“Sir Allen!” she uttered before she could catch herself.
His smile turned to one of bemusement. “I am sorry. Have we met?”
“I . . . uh . . . no . . . rather, I saw you in the tournament today.” Instantly she regretted her words, which so contradicted the ones she had spoken only moments earlier to the duke. But there was no turning back now.
“Of course,” Allen said. “I am not accustomed to such notoriety.”
“You were quite impressive. One could hardly forget.”
Sir Allen yet held fast to her arms, causing strange bursts of energy to course through her and making it difficult for her to think straight. She looked pointedly to her arm.
He released her and stepped back. “I’m sorry about our little crash. Are you well?”
“Yes, do not fear. I have survived far worse.” Gwen noticed her father glaring her way. Not wishing to incite his anger, she adjusted her position, giggled, and fluttered her lashes, allowing her gaze to fall to Allen’s leather boots. Goodness, even his feet were handsome.
“And where did I stop you from rushing to?”
“I was just headed for yon bench. I fear my head grew light in this crowd, and I wished to rest for a while.”
“Then allow me to escort you.” Sir Allen gallantly took her arm, sending a confusing blend of warmth and chills shooting through her. What bizarre sort of malady did he inflict upon her? She was not certain that she liked the many odd sensations he evoked in her.
She did not concern herself with swaying her hips, as she did not wish to bump his, but she twisted herself as small as possible as they moved toward the bench. Once there, she sat and tilted her head while he settled himself beside her, grazing her thigh with his own due to the small space.
Her thoughts set off in erratic directions at his nearness as her mouth grew tongue-tied. Her heartbeat sped, though she remained at rest. She must strengthen her resolve against the strange reactions she seemed to suffer at his nearness.
“Actually, do I know you from somewhere? The more I think of it, the more you look familiar to me.” Allen seemed not to suffer from her affliction of the tongue, although something in his eyes and that playful grin made her think he might enjoy gazing upon her.
At first Gwen could not find the words to reply, but she needed to come up with something before he associated her with his battle from the afternoon. She asked herself what her mother might bid her say. “I wager you say that to all the ladies.”
Proud of her answer, she smiled, a true and natural smile. Sir Allen seemed a safe enough fellow to practice her new skills of flirtation upon. Her parents would never consider him a marriage prospect, so she need not fear a prospective romance, but they might be pleased that she made some attempt to follow their instructions.
He tipped back his head and chuckled. “I deserved that. But truly, I feel I know you.”
Her tongue finally loosened. “Perhaps you have met one of my brothers. My surname is Barnes. Have you encountered a Reginald or a Gerald or perhaps a Hugh?”
“I do not think so, m’lady. But if you might grace me with your own name, I would be forever grateful.”
She stopped a sigh just in time. No one had ever spoken to her in such a lovely manner, but she was not sure she liked the way it left her feeling weak-kneed and vulnerable. “Gwendolyn. My name is Lady Gwendolyn Barnes, daughter of the baron Lord Reimund Barnes.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it, sending pleasant shivers to dance across her skin, up her arm, and down her spine. Again he stared deeply into her eyes. Though she must steel her heart agains
t any romantic silliness, something told her that she could happily lose herself in the swirling hazel pool of his gaze.
“And are these brothers of yours here tonight?” Allen asked, the taste of her silken skin still heady upon his lips. Perhaps the kiss, though proper and chivalrous, had been a mistake.
“Alas, only Reginald, the one I like the least. And my parents.”
She indicated to a dark-haired young man with a somewhat shriveled and mousy woman hovering in his shadow, and then to an older gentleman with a fierce demeanor flanked by a diminutive blond.
“And they have left you to fend for yourself in this throng? How cruel!” He only half jested, for he himself wished his parents might be beside him for support this night.
The lovely Lady Gwendolyn laughed. A hearty laugh, not the false giggle of moments earlier, and she sat straight now, no longer hunched. “You understand me well, Sir Allen. In fact, if I had my way, I would not be here at all.”
“And where would you be?”
“Perhaps strolling the woods outside the city gate.”
“So you love the outdoors. Would you believe me if I told you that I lived as an outlaw in a forest hideaway for nearly two years?”
With a quick intake of breath, she gave him a little shove on the arm. “You did not!”
Perhaps he should have weighed his words more carefully. Though the evil King John was long dead and never well loved, he had no idea where this woman’s loyalties might lie.
But after a moment Gwendolyn sighed and gazed at Allen with a wistful expression upon her beautiful features. “I have only dreamed of such adventures. You have no idea how jealous I am.”
Relief coursed through him. “’Twas not all fun and games.”
“I assume not, but how I long for a great adventure.”
He twisted his head and stared at her curiously. From the moment he walked through the grand archway, this confusing young woman had caught his attention, standing taller than the females around her. One second he had noted the confident tilt of her chin, then she had crouched over and stared at the floor.
He’d watched as she oddly shuffled amid the crowd one moment, and agilely ducked through it with the grace of a huntress the next. Until, of course, he moved just enough to send her crashing into him. He held back a chuckle at the memory. She was a puzzle he simply must solve.
Only one woman had ever surprised and delighted him like this. And unbelievably, Gwendolyn Barnes with her golden tresses and curving figure was even more beautiful than Merry Ellison—at least when she relaxed.
However, he would never make the foolish mistake of losing his heart to a noblewoman again. Facing that sort of humiliation once in a lifetime was quite enough. He planned only to pass a few entertaining moments in Gwendolyn’s charming presence. Something about her suggested a kindred spirit. A person he might befriend in this sea of strangers.
Gwendolyn glanced about, her gaze settling on the burly fellow she had indicated was her father. She tilted her head awkwardly to the side and stared at the bench between them. “Well, thank you for rescuing me, Sir Allen, but I suppose I should let you go now.”
Chapter 9
Let him go? Allen could not lose her so soon. He knew not a single soul in this place, and had yet to solve the mystery of Lady Gwendolyn Barnes. “Perhaps I could convince you to dance.”
Gwendolyn’s aqua blue eyes, which contrasted so stunningly with her tan skin, set to sparkling, and her soft rosy lips lifted into that breathtaking smile once again. “Yes, a dance would be perfect.”
He offered his hand, and her smaller one fit nicely in it. Unfortunately, that surge of warm energy he had experienced when they first touched pulsed through him again, but he attempted to ignore it. She continued smiling up at him for the duration of several heartbeats but then dropped her eyes and crouched into that strange position he had seen earlier.
Had someone bid her to disguise her height? Why on earth? She was Venus. She was Aphrodite. A goddess in all her statuesque glory. But as they completed their bow and curtsey and took their first patterned steps, she remained in her awkward position.
How could he right this travesty? He took her fingers lightly in his as they began their stilted progression across the floor. “You seem . . . rather uncomfortable, Lady Gwendolyn. I confess to being rather new to courtly dancing, but my teacher always insisted I stand straight and tall for ease of movement.”
“Oh!” Her cheeks turned pink. “’Tis . . . only . . . just that.” She dared to glance up at him. “Well, it is just that I am so very tall.”
“Not next to me.” He chuckled.
“True.” She appeared to relax. “How kind of you to mention it rather than avoid the subject. Although I have been told it is not a maidenly virtue, I appreciate directness.”
He wrapped his arm around her slender but firm waist and turned her in the other direction. “As do I. Clear communication saves so much time and energy. Do you not think?” It had been a trait he had always admired in Merry.
“Absolutely.” She laughed and stood to her full elegant height, still a good bit shorter than him. They moved well together, and she danced with surprising grace once she was freed from her bizarre crouch.
“Ah, much better. Now I can look into your eyes.” And look he did, attempting to unlock the secrets of her soul. He had never been able to gaze at Merry like this whilst standing, as her eye level hit somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. He rather liked Gwendolyn’s height. It made her seem somehow an equal with him, as he believed a woman should be. Especially a woman one might consider as a wife.
Dangerous territory, that! He steered his mind away from it.
“So tell me something about yourself,” Allen said as they continued through the genteel shapes and patterns of a dance he had learned at Linden Castle.
“I have never been an outlaw, although I have wished to be. And I wish I could say I have gone on a crusade or a pilgrimage, something grand and exciting, but I have not.”
“Something else, then. Something simple and everyday.” He yet needed clues to decipher this enigmatic lady.
She pondered for a moment as she twirled beneath his raised arm. “I play the pipe. There is something quite magical about turning one’s breath into such enchanting tones.”
“Do you now? How wonderful.” Music, dancing, beauty, honesty, a sharp wit, a daring spirit—what other fine qualities might this young lady possess?
“Alas, I feel I owe you the full truth,” she said.
As they moved in unison, her lips turned into a mischievous smile. They joined hands overhead, and she stood a mere whisper away from him. “And what is the full truth?” he asked.
“I play my pipe in the highest boughs of the yew tree beyond our castle walls.”
He chuckled again. “Perfect. I can think of no better place. You must promise to play for me there someday.”
Her step stuttered momentarily, and her eyes grew wide. “Truly?”
“Truly.” But the thought of Gwendolyn upon a bough brought to mind the kiss he had shared with Merry in a tree. Foolish man! If he could not rein his thoughts, perhaps he should get away from this entrancing noblewoman. . . . Except that he had no real desire to leave her.
They found their stride and proceeded with the dance.
“And I ride and shoot a bow as well. What think you of that?”
“I love it.” She was so like Merry. Little wonder he felt drawn to her.
She shook her head in disbelief. “Forgive me for being so forthright,” she said, “but I have spent the last weeks being inundated with instruction to play the addlebrained coquette. I have been told again and again that I must suppress my boisterous nature. That men desire weak, demure women. Is this not so? Please tell me your opinion, Sir Allen, for I am desperate to hear it.”
Ah, so finally, the mystery unraveled! This was but an act she’d been bid to play.
They joined the line of dancers and tunneled their
hands as other couples rushed through. Caught up in the tide of movement, they took their turn running through as well, and he tucked her close to his side. This poor girl, no wonder the contradictions in her behavior. Yet he was pleased he had noticed her true nature longing to break free.
Once they could converse again he said, “I have always admired a strong and courageous woman. A woman with spirit and conviction. Even one with ability to lead. Perhaps I am the exception, but I appreciate a woman I can respect.”
“Ability to lead?” The dance sent them spinning away from each other for a moment and then back again. “Is not such a woman an abomination to God and nature? Does God not wish for women to be subservient to their husbands and masters?” Her eyes pleaded with him to tell her she was wrong once again.
He caught her taut torso within his grip and tugged her close as all breath whooshed from his body. Allen fought off a wave of dizziness as he held her near. Surely the young lady could not affect him so much upon their very first meeting. Yet now that he was beginning to understand her, his determination to resist her draw was wavering.
He did, however, manage to focus his thoughts upon her question about a woman’s role. “I am not the expert on the holy Scriptures that I wish to be. I know there are passages about wives submitting, but I also recall a section about all believers submitting one to another, as well as one about the husband treating the wife with care.”
Her mouth formed a pretty little O shape. “Would you show these to me?”
“I will try. My Latin is not the best.”
“Nor is mine. Still, I long to learn more about this. You seem such a purehearted sort, yet what you say is opposed to all I have been told.”
The music stopped, and his eyes locked to hers as they stood still before each other. This was the true Gwendolyn Barnes. Her soul naked before him and desperate for truth. Though he must somehow resist her pull, he longed to help her, to shield her tender heart. “You mentioned you watched my battle this day.”
She nodded.
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