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labor, those who pray, those who fight—his father had drilled that into him again and again. “We are those who labor, a part of God’s great tapestry. His divine plan. Be proud of it, my boy. Embrace it. Never strive against your God-given destiny.”
    Had his father suspected that he secretly wished for more? While Allen loved working the fields and watching the grain sprout and grow beneath his nurturing touch—and was willing to play his role in life—something within him always longed to fight and pray as well. To protect his family. To connect with the Divine. Now he filled all those roles and more.
    The realization stole his breath away at times.
    He turned to study Merry, with her striking features, peachy lips, and softly curling hair the color of roasted chestnuts. As much as his world had changed, there still remained lines he must not cross. Particularly, he must control that lodestone within him that drew him toward her with increasing fervency. Like the other day in town, when the compulsion to rub her trembling fingers in his own, to savor their supple smoothness, had nearly overtaken him. Thank the good Lord that bashfulness had held him back as much as anything else. He might tussle and cavort with the others, offer them embraces of encouragement, but he could not bring himself to give Lady Merry more than the briefest pat.
    From the beginning he had supported her in leading the group. Despite his humble upbringing, he obeyed when she ordered him to learn reading and swordplay. Only in the area of their spiritual educations had he noticed a gap, which he happily filled. He had spent much of his childhood dogging the parish priest, asking question after question about the Scriptures and church traditions, and he slid naturally into such a role.
    Considering their unfortunate position as outlaws, Allen felt all the more compelled to safeguard their spiritual well-being. He encouraged the others to think of themselves as dissidents andwarriors, not thieves. They had been thrust against their wills into this role of renegades, and they did only what they must to survive in a cruel kingdom. Allen held tight to that conviction that eventually a noble ruler would take the throne again, and he longed to take up the sword to assist the noble FitzWalter and his barons from the north in their quest to establish Louis of France as the new and rightful king.
    Looking again to Wren cuddled in Merry’s arms, he suppressed a desire to feel Merry’s arms around him thus and trained his eyes upon Sadie instead. He recalled watching Merry do partner tumbling tricks with the leader of the troupe that had visited Ellsworth Castle all those years ago, a brawny fellow with graying hair. Allen had often thought to try such tricks with her, except that he would never dare to touch her so intimately.
    Perhaps he could give a try with Sadie, flipping her about his shoulders and allowing her to balance on his hands. Although it might not be helpful in battle, it certainly would prove entertaining for the others.
    But he would put first matters first. And the first matter involved gathering supplies to feed the children this winter.
    As he turned to encourage the new trainees, Henry dashed down the hill in a panic, interrupting the day’s practice. “Intruders! Intruders in the forest. To the hideaway. Quickly.”
    The children burst into action. Clearing the circle. Covering the fire pit with leaves. Reinforcing the camouflage. Each having practiced their assigned task to precision.
    Allen gathered the training equipment as Merry hustled Wren into the main building. Within moments he waved the last of the children through the door and ducked inside to join them in the shadowy room. He counted the group, taking a moment to peruse their faces.
    Their silence unnerved him. This was no way for them to live.
    Robert scanned the clearing as he manned the opening. “Methinks ’tis everyone,” he whispered, pulling closed the