Free Chivalrous by Dina L. Sleiman

commenced to clawing at Gwendolyn’s gorgeous gown, all the while whining to be held.
    â€œAnd now she shall mess your gown!”
    â€œAll is well, Mother.” Gwendolyn shooed away the dogs and held up her slippers for inspection. “You see. No harm done.”
    Rosalind marched to the door and opened it. “Out, both of you.”
    Angel’s eyes popped open wide, and she scurried through the door. However Mischief stared at Rosalind, clearly taking her measure.
    â€œNow!” Rosalind pointed to the hall.
    After a moment the dog casually trotted away, as if it had been his idea the entire time.
    Once the door was safely closed, Lady Barnes performed a check of Gwendolyn’s attire. “Everything seems to be in order. You truly are divine, darling. Do not let an obsession with your height destroy your confidence.”
    â€œ I am not the one obsessed with my height. Would it not be better to find a man who does not mind? Surely some might prefer a tall woman to give them large sons. I cannot crouch all night.” Gwendolyn stood to her full stature, straight and strong like the female warrior she was.
    Lady Barnes’s smile stretched across her lovely face. She had not smiled so in weeks, her withdrawal from alcoholic drink causing headache after splitting headache. But then again, this was the first time Gwendolyn had spoken of finding a man without throwing a rebellious fit.
    â€œDo not think of it as crouching. Think of it as being demure,” Lady Barnes said, clutching her daughter’s arm with affection. “Men like to feel superior, and we must help them maintain that illusion. We are the pedestals upon which they perch, silent beneath their esteemed feet, elevating their masculine strength with our beauty.”
    Good heavens, pedestals? Rosalind adored a strong man as much as any woman. However, that was taking mattersquite too far. No wonder Lady Barnes let her husband trample upon her so.
    Though the words threatened to burst from her, she managed to exchange them for more tactful ones. “I prefer to think of a man and woman standing side by side, offering mutual support. But never fear, Lady Gwendolyn, all will be well. Everyone shall love you tonight.”
    Or so Rosalind hoped. Gwendolyn had a kind heart and a quick wit, but she also had an explosive temper that could easily get her into trouble. Rosalind offered up a silent prayer that this evening might go well.
    And on the morrow, Rosalind would play squire to Gwendolyn’s Sir Geoffrey Lachapelle. If Gwendolyn could somehow survive the next day with her health, dignity, and identity intact, all might yet turn out well.
    Tension clamped upon Rosalind’s shoulders as she considered the price she might pay if caught as a participant in this addlebrained scheme. Gwendolyn did not fully understand how desperately Rosalind needed this employment. However, as Gwendolyn took the biggest risk—and seemed to somehow require this experience to soothe a wound deep in her soul—Rosalind could fathom no option but to support her.

    Allen patted the firm flank of his horse—bedecked in red and gold, much like Allen himself—as they awaited in the jostle of knights and steeds outside the gate to the tournament arena. Together he and Thunder could do this thing. They had little choice, other than running home to Lord Linden in failure and an awkward existence next door to Merry and Timothy.
    Barely able to sleep last night due to his nervous excitement, Allen had spent hours in prayer, communing with the Divineuntil the wee hours of the morning. In God’s presence alone he had found peace and rest. But it would not hurt to whisper up one last petition. He pressed his face into the shiny brown coat of Thunder’s neck for a moment of private contemplation.
    Lord, not my will but thine be done today. Let me move by your power and your spirit . Give me courage, strength, speed, and agility. But