Dauntless (Valiant Hearts Book #1) by Dina L. Sleiman Page B
Authors: Dina L. Sleiman
Tags: Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction, Middle Ages—Fiction, Robbers and outlaws—Fiction, JUV026000, Great Britain—History—13th century—Fiction, Nobility—Fiction, Orphans—Fiction, Conduct of life—Fiction, JUV033140, JUV016070
Ads: Link
the ghosts.
She laughed, a low, bitter laugh, which stole the prettiness from her otherwise striking face. He would have sworn he had seen every emotion known to mankind flit through her doe-brown eyes at some point during their many summers of play. But never before had he seen such disdain. Such disgust.
“When I saw you with Wyndemere, I thought, surely not. Surely Timothy would never turn a king’s man. But here you are, doing his bidding.” She bowed low to the ground, sweeping her hand over her head in a mocking display. “Long live King John.”
Her fear and rejection he had handled with grace all those years ago, but this was too much. He clenched his jaw and steeled his heart against her. He could not allow himself to be swayed toward her rebellion. He would not turn against the king, God’s appointed ruler. Such choices ended in tragedy. Nor would he risk her spewing treason in the presence of Bradbury and White. “You may all wait outside. I would speak to our . . . guest in private.”
Behind him, he heard his guards depart, but he never took his eyes off of the volatile Merry. She glanced to the doorway, then to the window, but even given her bizarre tumbling abilities he recalled from childhood, there was no means of escape.
The maid still sat discreetly in the corner.
“You may go as well,” he instructed.
At that she stood, her plump face turning pink as she wrungher hands. “Oh, I don’t think ’tis proper. Our guest, she is a lady. No common trollop, this one here. Perhaps I should stay.”
Timothy pressed his temple in frustration. He had brought Merry to the castle in hopes of exerting some sort of control over the situation. But perhaps he had made a mistake.
“You may go, Matilda.” Merry crossed to the chair and took a seat—in that subtle and quiet way denying Timothy’s authority over her. She waved a hand to the maid. “We shall be fine. No doubt your master wishes to question me in private. Off with you, before he rallies the king against us both.”
The maid looked to Timothy and then to her newly assigned mistress and back again. She shot him a warning glare before walking out the door and closing it behind her.
He stalked toward Merry and dug his fists into his hips. “A king’s man? Is that what you think me? But if you insist—better a king’s man alive and well than a traitor dead in the grave.”
She gasped. “How dare you speak of my father in that way? He was no traitor. No man loved England more than he.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, and he regretted his rash words.
He rubbed his hand over his face, swiping away the fierce expression that no doubt covered it and allowing his confusion and concern to show instead. “I am sorry. I did not mean it that way. We all do the best we can in troubling times. This is not how I intended to greet you, Lady Merry.”
She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and stared at the wall beyond him. “I am just plain Merry Ellison now.”
So true, not unlike him.
Kneeling before her, he took her hands in his own. “If I had not seen you with my own eyes, I would have never believed you might be alive. I never dared to hope. I mourned you every day for two years. I do not wish to fight with you now.”
So Timothy had decided to switch tactics. Turn sweet and conciliatory of a sudden. His warm skin upon her hands might give her a pleasant shiver, but he was fooling no one. This man had kidnapped her for his own selfish gain, had insulted her beloved papa on top of it. He had never loved her. He had merely seen her as a pleasant path to a bright future.
Though it might be the smarter maneuver, Merry was not ready to play at such games and niceties. Not while the flame of her anger still burned so bright. She snatched her hands away. “I should have guessed if anyone would find me, it would be you. You taught me every trick I know. A true friend to the end. Thank you ever so much.”
He flinched at her words. “Must
She laughed, a low, bitter laugh, which stole the prettiness from her otherwise striking face. He would have sworn he had seen every emotion known to mankind flit through her doe-brown eyes at some point during their many summers of play. But never before had he seen such disdain. Such disgust.
“When I saw you with Wyndemere, I thought, surely not. Surely Timothy would never turn a king’s man. But here you are, doing his bidding.” She bowed low to the ground, sweeping her hand over her head in a mocking display. “Long live King John.”
Her fear and rejection he had handled with grace all those years ago, but this was too much. He clenched his jaw and steeled his heart against her. He could not allow himself to be swayed toward her rebellion. He would not turn against the king, God’s appointed ruler. Such choices ended in tragedy. Nor would he risk her spewing treason in the presence of Bradbury and White. “You may all wait outside. I would speak to our . . . guest in private.”
Behind him, he heard his guards depart, but he never took his eyes off of the volatile Merry. She glanced to the doorway, then to the window, but even given her bizarre tumbling abilities he recalled from childhood, there was no means of escape.
The maid still sat discreetly in the corner.
“You may go as well,” he instructed.
At that she stood, her plump face turning pink as she wrungher hands. “Oh, I don’t think ’tis proper. Our guest, she is a lady. No common trollop, this one here. Perhaps I should stay.”
Timothy pressed his temple in frustration. He had brought Merry to the castle in hopes of exerting some sort of control over the situation. But perhaps he had made a mistake.
“You may go, Matilda.” Merry crossed to the chair and took a seat—in that subtle and quiet way denying Timothy’s authority over her. She waved a hand to the maid. “We shall be fine. No doubt your master wishes to question me in private. Off with you, before he rallies the king against us both.”
The maid looked to Timothy and then to her newly assigned mistress and back again. She shot him a warning glare before walking out the door and closing it behind her.
He stalked toward Merry and dug his fists into his hips. “A king’s man? Is that what you think me? But if you insist—better a king’s man alive and well than a traitor dead in the grave.”
She gasped. “How dare you speak of my father in that way? He was no traitor. No man loved England more than he.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, and he regretted his rash words.
He rubbed his hand over his face, swiping away the fierce expression that no doubt covered it and allowing his confusion and concern to show instead. “I am sorry. I did not mean it that way. We all do the best we can in troubling times. This is not how I intended to greet you, Lady Merry.”
She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and stared at the wall beyond him. “I am just plain Merry Ellison now.”
So true, not unlike him.
Kneeling before her, he took her hands in his own. “If I had not seen you with my own eyes, I would have never believed you might be alive. I never dared to hope. I mourned you every day for two years. I do not wish to fight with you now.”
So Timothy had decided to switch tactics. Turn sweet and conciliatory of a sudden. His warm skin upon her hands might give her a pleasant shiver, but he was fooling no one. This man had kidnapped her for his own selfish gain, had insulted her beloved papa on top of it. He had never loved her. He had merely seen her as a pleasant path to a bright future.
Though it might be the smarter maneuver, Merry was not ready to play at such games and niceties. Not while the flame of her anger still burned so bright. She snatched her hands away. “I should have guessed if anyone would find me, it would be you. You taught me every trick I know. A true friend to the end. Thank you ever so much.”
He flinched at her words. “Must
Similar Books
