Dauntless

by Dina L. Sleiman

  Then she recalled last night in the cottage, when she had been so sure Wren had died in her arms. She could do nothing on her own. Her strength had run out. Yet some mysterious entity—she could only assume God—had seen them safely through that awful time. Perhaps she had not been the guiding and protecting force that she assumed herself to be all along. Perhaps it had been the prayers of Allen and the children upholding them through their entire perilous journey.

  Such reasoning still felt unfamiliar, but she could no longer deny the very real possibility of it. Did such thinking mean she should let Timothy in, let him help her, take risks for her, as well?

  “Let us do this thing,” said Allen, offering her his elbow. He looked like a nobleman born. This life had changed him, given him confidence and leadership skills. And he had always been so strong in spirit. A truly rare young man. Perhaps someday they would lead their odd family side by side.

  Merry slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. “I am ready.”

  “I’ll chat with some fishermen and see if word of your arrest order has reached them or not.” Robert took off his weapons and handed them to James, although he no doubt wore a dagger in his boot. “We shall meet back here shortly.” He headed down the lane to the left, toward the fishmongers.

  The time for turning back had passed. She must move forward into the future. Allen led her down the alleyway and toward the ships.

  Chapter 31

  Images flashed before Timothy. Merry along the seaside. Aboard a ship. Her face loomed large before him as her words, “I cannot waste time arguing otherwise,” echoed through his head. He heard them again and again, as the pitch dropped lower and lower.

  He bolted upright on his pallet in the corner of the healer’s cottage. Though he had little memory of how he arrived here, he had an awareness that he had spent several days under the care of the wrinkled and stooped old lady with the wise eyes and gentle hands. Drinking broth and gaining strength. And even if he had not vaguely remembered, the permeating scent of herbs would have given him a clue.

  “I cannot waste time arguing otherwise.” The words sounded again. Merry had no plan to wait for him. Why had he not realized it sooner? She just had not wished to fight with him. What had she said earlier that night in the woods? That she would not let him give up his family, his home, and his country. Pain shot through his head. Of course she would not. She had lost every one of those.

  But he was willing to give them all up, to give up anything to be with her. He must convince her. Sitting up, he held his clanging head between his hands.

  “Now, now. You just lie back down.” The old lady shuffled toward him. “Lost too much blood, you did. Might be days before you build up your strength.”

  She pushed him back onto the pallet with surprising force.

  Timothy tried to resist but failed in even that small task. Lying upon his back, he pleaded with the craggy woman, who now hovered over him against a backdrop of drying plants hanging from the ceiling. “I must go. You do not understand. I lost her once. I cannot lose her again.”

  “Lost who?” The woman placed her hands upon her hips over her loose black tunic.

  “My true love. Please, let me go.” He pressed a hand to his chest, where he had worn Merry’s embroidered token every day since her stay at the castle, and he found it still safely nestled in its spot.

  The woman tsked. “True love, you say. Well, that I shan’t dismiss so easily.” She quirked her mouth to the side, creating even more wrinkles upon her weathered face. “You know this for certain, do you?”

  He took a deep breath. He must convince her. “She is indeed the love of my life. I would have married her long ago, but I thought her dead. Then I found her alive. Now she will leave the country without me if I do not go immediately. I must catch her before it is too late.”

  The woman offered him her hand and helped him sit. “Then I suppose you must. But you won’t be running off without proper supplies and some broth to build your blood. I didn’t go to all this hard work of saving you for naught. You owe it to me to stay alive, young man.”

  “I have every intention of doing so.” Timothy offered a grin. He must stay alive, and he must get to Merry—although, he felt much like death at the moment. Somehow he would summon the strength to find her.

  The woman bustled about gathering supplies and packing them in a sack. “I suggest you tie yourself atop that fine horse of yours. You have barely stayed awake these past days.”

  “Yes, of course, Dame Wipple.” Dame Wipple? Yes, that was her name. He now recalled several drowsy conversations with the woman. “My horse, how is he? How long have I been here?” He rubbed at his head, which seemed to be clearing now that he had remained in the seated position for several moments.

  “Nigh on two days. That horse of yours, he made a terrible ruckus night before last—until the townsfolk found you passed out on the street and brought you to me. Once I had you in my care, he seemed to sense everything would be fine. He’s been camped out front of my cottage ever since.”

  Timothy struggled to his feet and shuffled to the window. Spartacus neighed to him and shook his silky mane. “There you are, boy. I suppose I owe you a debt of gratitude.” He turned back in. “And you as well. I shall leave a coin with you now and ask my father to send more later.”

  “You just keep yourself alive, like I said.” The woman reached up to tousle his hair. “And find that true love of yours.”

  He hoped—nay, offered up a prayer then and there—that he could find Merry before she slipped off to God only knew where.

  “And while you’re about it,” the kindly woman said, “you might want to keep an eye open for a Lady Merry Ellison and a group of young people. The king’s offered a fine reward for her, he has. You just might earn yourself a boon to win your lady love.”

  Dread filled him at that. Though he had bested the man at swords, it seemed John Hadley would yet reach out from the grave and strive to destroy them all.

  Merry held tightly to Allen’s arm as she headed with heavy steps back toward the alleyway. From the opposite direction, an equally dejected Robert headed toward them. They met near the entrance and stood staring at one another for a moment.

  “Well, get in here and tell us what happened,” came Cedric’s voice from the shadows.

  Merry sighed and turned toward them.

  “You first,” said Allen, kicking at a rotten apple core at his feet.

  “No, you, please,” answered Robert, his shoulders slumping.

  “I will tell them.” Merry braced herself and faced the group. As her eyes adjusted to the dark crevice between the shops, her band’s hopeful faces came into view and she nearly faltered. But as always, she steeled herself to do as she must. “Because we are such a large group, there is no quick passage available to us. The only ship that can accommodate us will not be leaving port for six more days. When it does, it can take us to Southampton, and from there we will need to find a different ship to France.”

  They all moaned at the prospect.

  “I wanna go boat,” cried Wren.

  “Shh.” Abigail hushed the child and ruffled her hair.

  “’Tis not a disaster.” Jane lifted her chin with determination worthy of Merry herself. “We will find a room in town and remain hidden. We can do this.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Jane. It will be fine. Just a delay.” A delay long enough for Timothy to locate them. Merry’s emotions warred within her yet again. She could not decide whether she wished him to find them or not. “We will figure this out.”

  “I’m afraid it won’t be so easy as that.” Robert stared at the ground as he said it.

  Apprehension seized her. What else could go wrong? “Please, Robert. Look at me. Tell us.”

  He lifted his eyes to her. The eagle-sharp glint that usually resided there was gone, and in its place . . . fear? “Not only Merry Ellison, but also the missing villagers of Ellsworth are wanted, dead or alive. And
their captors will be rewarded with a fortune of twenty gold coins.”

  “Twenty gold coins,” Cedric shouted, clearly forgetting his oath of stealth. “That’s more than most folks see in a lifetime. My own mum might have turned me in for that.”

  Merry’s chest clutched tight. “I do not suppose anyone will believe me to be Lady Gilly for long. I visited here too often as a child.” Unseen enemies pressed in on them from every side, and for now their best hope for escape had been ripped from them as well.

  “We must leave at once.” Allen gripped both her hands in his. “I know you did not wish to, Merry, and the good Lord knows it is the last place I want to go, but we must hurry to Timothy’s aunt. He said she will protect us.”

  The sad light in Allen’s eye spoke clearly that he knew what this might mean. They had almost left Timothy Grey far behind, thereby increasing Allen’s chances with Merry tenfold. But Allen would offer any sacrifice for these children, as would Merry.

  Robert leaned out of the alley and peeked around the corner. He turned back and swallowed hard. “Nobody panic, but . . . soldiers heading this way.”

  And they dashed as one massive entity back toward the forest. Thoughts of Timothy Grey would have to wait.

  Chapter 32

  Timothy continued pushing Spartacus to the horse’s considerable limits. He drove his heels deeper into the flanks of the mammoth beast, then leaned down and clutched the reins as they maneuvered around a tight corner in the path. A low-lying branch speckled with brown and gold leaves smacked him in the face, but he paid it little heed.

  He must get to Merry and her group before they left the shores of England. Already he had managed nearly a two-day journey in less than one. Even if they headed directly through the forest rather than taking the more circuitous route near roadways and villages, if they traveled at a walking speed and stopped for appropriate rests for the children, they should only be arriving there now. Surely it would take them at least a few hours to secure a passage. He still had a chance.

  And if for some reason he did not find them there, he had determined he would take the first ship to France and hope to catch them before they melted into that foreign land for good.

  He had another ten miles to cover before reaching the port. In his childhood, the trip to Bristol from this area where his aunt’s home lay could have taken nearly half the day as they dallied along the route. But today he intended to make it in record time.

  “Whoa!” Timothy pulled up Spartacus to a canter as the village of Linham spread before them. He must not trample any innocent children in the streets. It would defeat his whole purpose.

  For once, he would be the hero. He would not be overshadowed by the accomplishments of his older siblings. Nor would he be thwarted by Merry’s incessant stubbornness. This time, he would win the day and prove himself worthy of her.

  He sped past shops and taverns as quickly as he dared, but the side street leading to his aunt’s castle caught his eye. It would only be a brief detour of a few furlongs to her home. Was there any chance Merry and her band waited for him there? No, he knew to the core of his being that Merry planned to leave England without him. He had seen her intention in her eyes as he dreamed in the healer’s cottage.

  Yet something like a lodestone still pulled him in that direction. He could only account it to his wishful thinking that Merry would not abandon him. Fighting the draw, he maintained his course toward Bristol. He would not let rash emotion sway him. He must at last learn to balance decisive action with caution. He could not lose her this time.

  He must get to the port to find them. And if he could not, he must catch the swiftest boat to France and never look back!

  Still his body swayed to the right, though he had passed the turnoff. He did the only thing he could think of. “Lord,” he whispered up to heaven, “if I am making a mistake, please stop me. Please make your plan clear.”

  A few brief moments later, a tiny, giggling girl streaked onto the road in front of him from seemingly nowhere.

  Timothy pulled hard on the reins as he shouted, “Look out!”

  Spartacus reared, with his mighty front hooves flailing in the air over the child’s head.

  The girl dressed in pink, so like little Wren, froze and gaped as she stared up at the beast.

  Timothy jerked the reins sharply to the right, and the horse managed to shift position and land a couple feet from the girl rather than on top of her small head.

  At once the child began to wail. A woman dashed through an open doorway Timothy had not previously noted and snatched up the child. She held her tight while comforting her.

  Turning to Timothy, she gasped. “I saw it all clear as the sun in the sky. Thought my Beatrix a goner for sure. Thank you, sir. Thank you for protecting her.”

  Timothy blinked several times. Though the woman had called the child Beatrix, he still strove to convince himself that she was not Wren. Those children from Merry’s band had entrenched themselves in his soul. “I am just glad she is well.”

  Blood coursed fast through his veins. He blew out a breath and raked his fingers through his hair, whispering up a word of thanks that tragedy had not struck this day. Then he scanned the village streets, unsure of his next move. Though he needed to hurry on, manners said he should stay and comfort the shaking woman and wailing child.

  Unable to come to any logical sort of conclusion, he followed his heart and slid off his horse, offering the mother a pat on the arm and the child a kiss on the head. “All is well now. All is well.”

  For some reason he could not bring himself to move along his way.

  The woman began to settle. “Could I offer you some refreshment? ’Tis the least I can do. I should have never let her dash into a busy street like that.”

  “Oh no. Please do not give it another thought. I am on a dire mission to the port at Bristol. I apologize. I slowed a bit on my way through the village. But not enough, I now see.”

  “Just enough, I should say. But go on, if you must. We shall be fine.”

  Still torn, Timothy looked to his horse. The faces of Merry and the children flashed before him. “I really must.”

  “Go!” The woman gave him a gentle shove.

  As he turned to Spartacus, a hooded figure exiting the shop to the far side of the street caught his eye. Something about the form appeared familiar. Peering closer, he noticed a tuft of red hair escaping. Unable to stop himself, he ran and caught the man by the forearms.

  Joy flooded him at the sight of the familiar face, chasing away all the dread and worry of the past days. Though he longed to push back the hood and shout the man’s name, instead he settled for an embrace, and a whispered, “Red, I thought I might never see you again.”

  Alarm spread over Red’s face as he looked around, but he quickly caught up with the situation. “Get your horse and meet me on the lane to your aunt’s home.”

  Timothy gathered Spartacus by the reins and followed Red up the road and around the bend. Relief coursed through him, as strong as the flood of joy moments earlier. Thankfulness soared to the surface as well, as he recalled his prayer and realized the little girl had been God’s shockingly timely answer. He might have passed through Linham and never looked back. Once they had a bit of privacy, Red waved him over to talk.

  Embracing Red a second time, Timothy sagged against the sturdy fellow and strove to hold back his tears. No need to collapse into a complete ninny.

  Red chuckled as he patted Timothy’s back. “Well, well, Timothy Grey. I knew not you loved me quite so much.”

  Timothy pulled away and punched him on the arm, laughing as well, even as his face heated. “I love you not nearly so much as your mistress. But truly, I feared I would never see you again. I had the strongest premonition that she meant to leave England without me. I can still hardly fathom I was wrong, though I am glad I was.”

  Red dragged Timothy deeper into the shadows and glanced about. “I came to the village for some herbs. We are here, ne
arby your aunt. She helped us, just as you said. But I fear you were right in your premonition.” He tugged uncomfortably at his hood.

  “Explain,” Timothy demanded.

  Red grimaced. “We did go straight to Bristol, but we could not book passage as quickly as we hoped. Merry did not wish for you to follow us. We have all lost far too much, and she did not wish the same for you.”

  Despite his fear of losing her, or perhaps because of it, anger now flared at Red’s words. “I knew it! She had no right to take the decision from me. When I see that girl, I ought to . . .” He shook his hands before him as if he might choke the stubborn chit.

  “Kiss her? Marry her?” Red supplied with a wiggle of his brows.

  Timothy’s anger ebbed at that, and he laughed. “I had meant to say throttle her, but perhaps you have the right of it.”

  “Let’s go, then.” Red looped his arm over Timothy’s shoulder and led him down the road. “Though I doubt she will admit it, she will be happy to see you.”

  Timothy, still somewhat in a daze over all the sudden occurrences and dizzying gamut of emotions that had washed over him since learning Merry was near, allowed the man to steer him along. So he had found her. But she had meant to leave him.

  Once he caught up to her, whatever would he do with her?

  Merry sat in the shade of a rickety old manor home as the children played an unusually quiet game of hoodman’s blind in what had once been the village center of a hamlet called Lindy. Weeds now grew through the lanes, and sapling trees encroached upon the area.

  According to Timothy’s Aunt Isabel and Uncle Frederick, the hamlet had been wiped out by a harsh round of the pox some thirty years earlier. They never had the heart to fill it with new tenants and so left it a shrine to their former inhabitants—until yesterday, when she dubbed it the perfect hiding place for the outlawed Lady Merry Ellison and the Ghosts of Farthingale Forest.

  And perfect it had proven, tucked deep into the woods. The path had overgrown long ago, and Merry doubted even most of the locals recalled the place. Though she had played in these woods as a child, somehow even she had never stumbled upon it.