Chivalrous (Valiant Hearts Book #2) , livre ebook

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186 pages

English

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Sleiman's Valiant Hearts Series Offers Unforgettable HeroinesStrong and adventurous Gwendolyn Barnes longs to be a knight like her chivalrous brothers. However, that is not an option for her, not even in the Arthurian-inspired Eden where she dwells. Her parents view her only as a marriage pawn, and her domineering father is determined to see her wed to a brutish man who will break her spirit. When handsome, good-hearted Allen of Ellsworth arrives in Edendale searching for his place in the world, Gwendolyn spies in him the sort of fellow she could imagine marrying. Yet fate seems determined to keep them apart. Tournaments, intrigue, and battles--along with twists and turns aplenty--await these two as they struggle to find love, identity, and their true destinies.

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 septembre 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441228833
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0374€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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© 2015 by Dina L. Sleiman
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www . bakerpublishinggroup . com
Ebook edition created 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2883-3
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotation identified JPS is from the Jewish Publication Society Version. © 1917 by The Jewish Publication Society
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Paul Higdon.
Cover model photography by Steve Gardner, PixelWorks Studios, Inc.
Author represented by The Steve Laube Agency.
To my readers:
My prayer is that you will be strong and courageous. Follow the path God has laid before you, wherever that might lead. Be a doctor, a lawyer, a professional athlete, a wife, a mother, or even a president.
Chase after your dreams, and if a handsome knight in shining armor should happen to come alongside you, headed in the same direction, and you should happen to fall in love . . . then join together and become partners in your quest.
But please remember—you are complete, you are beautiful, and you are dearly loved by God just the way you are.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Author’s Notes
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Dina Sleiman
Back Ads
Back Cover
A woman of valour who can find? for her price is far above rubies. . . . Strength and dignity are her clothing; and she laugheth at the time to come.
Proverbs 31:10, 25 JPS
Prologue
I am a knight.
Strong like steel.
Ready to conquer any foe.
Energy surges through me, striving to burst out my skin. The moment is ripe. Above my horse’s whipping white mane, I stare into the eyes of my opponent. Though at a distance, I know them well. Bright blue and shimmering with intelligence.
One must always understand one’s opponent. Find a way inside said opponent’s mind. This one will feint to the right before pressing dead center, but with a flicker of hesitancy just before the end. I shall seize that moment. And victory shall be mine.
Pointing my lance to the sky, I ready myself. In my mind’s eye, I picture grandstands made of wood festooned with colorful coats of arms. I can almost see the pennants swaying in the breeze and hear the crowds roaring with anticipation. Just over there, a herald blasts a trumpet. Our names are called. The duke and duchess, arriving just in time, wave to the crowd and take their seats in the ornate chairs prepared for them.
But the picture fades. In truth, our only audience is the tree-lined hillside surrounding this flat patch of grass, the scatter of wild flowers alongside our battle course, and a craggy old mountain looming beyond. Diverting my focus for just a moment, I spy a red bird fluttering past and a squirrel chomping a nut nearby. They alone shall witness my triumph. But it shall be sweet nonetheless. And perhaps someday, against all odds—if dreams come true—I might joust in a real tournament.
I give heed to my opponent once again. With a nod, I lower my lance to the parallel position. The warrior across the field mirrors my every move.
Now !
I slam my heels into my horse’s flank and thrust my weight forward with all my might. Locking fist, wrist, elbow, and shoulder into place, I steel my lance against my side. As the wind whips past, time grows oddly slow. From the corner of my eye, I note as the startled squirrel pivots and dashes toward a tree.
My opponent speeds closer one pounding hoofbeat at a time. Blue eyes squint within the slit of the helmet. A loose lock of black hair slaps against the silver armor. Almost there. As I assumed, the lance headed my way shifts subtly to the right. Before my opponent can straighten once again, I lean yet farther forward for the strike.
In an instant lasting an eternity, our weapons clash, tangle, and arc toward the sky. But only I am prepared, and I hold tight. My opponent’s lance continues its heavenward flight, looping through the air. The armor-clad figure is thrown backward by the impact, fights for control, and then topples, flipping feet over head before crashing to the ground.
Our horses fly past each other, but only I remain seated with my weapon in hand. I whoop in victory. Waving my blunted lance in triumph, I turn and bow toward the squirrel, who is now hidden in the branches above.
I long to linger and bask in the glory of the cheering crowd. To kneel before the duchess and receive my tribute. Alas, such favor shall not be afforded me this day. Those such as I are not permitted to fight in tournaments. Not even in this supposed Eden where we dwell. Here on the practice field, in secret alone, can I thrill to the excitement of the joust.
My attention turns to my opponent. The armored figure lies crumpled, facedown upon the well-trampled field. My stomach catches in my gut, for my intention had never been to injure. Only to defeat.
Trotting my horse back in that direction, I hop off. “Are you well? Rosalind, answer me, please.”
I kneel alongside my beloved servant. Dare I touch her? Might I injure her further?
A few pathetic moans emanate from the too-still figure.
Having little choice, I gently roll her over.
She jerks and spasms, coughing several times, and then flops down again with her arm at an odd angle. Through the slits in her helmet, I detect her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth.
My stomach clenches into a tight knot. “No,” I whisper, pressing my hands to my mouth as my heart speeds and my blood chills. I shall never forgive myself if she dies, all for my selfish entertainment.
“Ha, ha! I fooled you.” Rosalind bolts to sitting. She pulls off her helmet, revealing gleaming black hair escaping its braid, milky skin, and berry-tinged lips turned into a wicked smile.
I give her a shove as I attempt to breathe normally and untangle my stomach. “That is not funny! You scared the life right out of me.”
Rosalind frowns. “You deserved it, Lady Gwendolyn. Besides, ’twas not all an act. You did knock the wind from me. I told you this was a bad idea.”
“If I ever wish to improve, I need to test my jousting against a live opponent, not merely the practice quintain.” Removing my own helmet, I allow my long blond braid to fall free, and I breathe deep the fresh summertime air.
Rosalind pants as she speaks. “My old mum never thought I’d be in such danger when she sent me to serve a fine lady in a castle.”
“Oh, you love it.”
“‘Do the lady’s hair,’ she said. ‘Dress her in fine gowns,’ she said. ‘No job like it in the world.’ That’s what Mum promised when she sent me from home.”
Rosalind stands and brushes the dirt away, appearing twice her normal width in her thick padded vest covered with chain mail. “She got the last part right enough. Nowhere else on earth would a handmaiden be set to jousting in a field. I don’t mind a sword match now and again, and I admit to enjoying target practice with arrows and daggers. Even a woman must be ready to defend herself and her children when need arises. But I hate this heavy armor. ’Tis hot like Hades!”
“Hush you and take it off, then.”
“You like to joust because you know you’ll win.” Rosalind tugs at her hauberk.
I help Rosalind lift the weighty chain mail over her head, being careful not to catch her hair. “Hugh has been too busy helping the duke to tilt with me. A girl must keep her skills sharp.”
“Must she? And for what purpose, might I ask?” Rosalind’s blue gaze pierces straight into me. “Have you plans to go on campaign that you have not apprised me of? Perhaps to slay a dragon or a monster along the way?”
The young woman stands nearly my height and can look me in the eye, unlike most females. One of the many reasons I chose her, along with her brash personality and saucy wit. Her astounding beauty almost put me off at the first, but Rosalind has a way with hair and paints that might stand in my favor someday, so I overlook that inconvenience.
Besides, truly, how many maids could be convinced to joust?
Though she is, of course, right that my fighting skills hold little purpose, I do not concede. “I long to protect the weak and the innocent. To defend our just dukedom. Eleanor of Aquitaine led a crusade. One never knows when doors might open for a female warrior.”
“One might suppose that if they are not open in the fair and progressive dukedom of North Britannia, they will never open anywhere.” Rosalind unfastens the heavy, padded gambeson and removes it.
Her linen tunic clings to a figure far more slender than my own, revealing every curve and cranny until she shakes it loose. “Oh, bother with this heat. Jousting in midsummer. Who ever heard of such nonsense? Shall we try swimming in December next? I hear the water is delightful that time of year.”
Ignoring her off-subje