Sitting beside her, the friar placed his hand atop hers. “She loved you immensely.”
Alexia glanced up at the canopy of leaves fluttering in the wind. “The last time I felt her touch me, she slipped the Spear tip into my hand and closed my fingers over it. At the time I had no idea what it was. Then she motioned me forward and whispered in my ear, ‘You are the Protector of the Spear now, Alexia. Guard it with your life.’”
Alexia fingered the mark on her wrist. “Then this appeared. One minute there was naught but bare skin, the next, the mark of a spear. At a mere eight years of age, how was I to know what it meant?”
The friar nodded, sorrow glistening his eyes. “She asked me to look after you.” He set down his basket and breathed a sigh. “Less than a year after that, I heard of the plot against your life.”
“I still wonder at the truth of such a tale.” Anger surged at all the wasted years.
“I would not have stolen you away if I weren’t convinced your life was in danger. Afterward, ’twas a simple task to spread the rumor of your death by wolves since you so oft snuck from your chamber at night.”
“Yet we still do not know the perpetrator. Or if he is even still at Luxley.”
“I have asked God to reveal the villain, but alas, He’s been silent. He has only told me the threat is still very real.” He gripped her hand, pleading in his eyes. “If you would but use the power God has given you when you are at the castle, mayhap you could discover the truth.”
“I have tried, Friar.” She fisted her hand and groaned. “I am too distraught over my sister, too nervous. I cannot sense things like I can here in the forest.”
“You must seek the peace within. Trust God, and the sight will come.”
She nodded. “I do sense something there. Evil, darkness.” She looked at him. “I simply do not see the source.”
“It will come.” He smiled.
“It makes no sense.” She rubbed her temples. “What threat am I?” A chorus of birdsong filtered down from above as if God were trying to lighten their mood. But how could Alexia find joy when she was kept from her home, from her family? “What threat is my sister?”
“How does Cristiana fare?”
“Worse. In truth, Friar. I fear she’s being poisoned.”
Friar Josef frowned and grabbed the cross hanging on his chest. “This is not good.”
At the lack of his usual optimism and faith, Alexia’s gut clenched. “You suspect someone?”
“Mayhap. But ’tis too early to say.”
Rising, Alexia grabbed her bow. “I know you told me to stay away for a time, but ’tis been a sennight. I must see my sister.”
“What of this King’s Guard?”
“He knows only that I am the Falcon of Emerald Forest. I cannot…nay, I will not leave Cristiana alone. Not when she is ill. What if someone wishes her dead as well?” She flung the bow over her shoulder. “Besides, Sir LeGode will wonder at my absence, and I must discover how the search goes for the Spear—whether they take to the forest and we must be on our guard.”
The friar gave a tilted smile. “You give many reasons for your disobedience.”
Alexia kissed him on the cheek, luring a blush from his lined skin. “You have been a father to me, dear friar, and I love you dearly, but I must follow God’s leading.”
“I fear ’tis your leading you follow.” His dark eyes held censure. “Remember patience, dear one, and listen to the Spirit.”
“You have my troth. Now, see that pine cone?” She pointed to the one she’d missed before. Then, positioning an arrow, she pulled back the string and closed her eyes, seeking direction. Her senses woke, her spirit saw. She released the arrow.
The pine cone shattered into a dozen pieces.
♥♥♥
After a week of searching every crack, corner, and crevice of Luxley Castle, no trace of the Spear had been found. At least not the one they sought. There were spears aplenty, of course, along with crossbows, swords, armor, and pikes, not to mention dust, sewage, slop, and rats. But no spear tip. Would they even recognize it should they find it?
Now, as Ronar and his men rode through the muddy streets of the village, he wondered if the French priest had told the truth. Or had he merely been trying to relieve himself of the king’s emissaries ere they chopped off his head?
Rubbing the sweat from the back of his neck, he exchanged a glance with Jarin, riding beside him.
“’Tis hotter than Hades out here.” Jarin removed his hat to rake back his hair.
“Might as well be Hades for as miserable as I am,” Damien remarked from Ronar’s other side, holding his gut as his horse ambled along.
“Mayhap if you didn’t take to your spirits every eve, Damien.”
“What else to do? I tire of this search.” He gripped the hilt of his sword. “Warriors sent on a lady’s errand.”
“’Tis important to the king,” Ronar returned, though he quite agreed. Surely their skills could be put to better use. He’d signed on with the King’s Guard because he wanted his life to count for something. He wanted to do good for once, to serve God and king, and to leave his mark. But after a week in Luxley, boredom began to set in, especially since he’d not seen a glimpse of Lady Falcon.
“There are many delights in the castle to entertain besides spirits, Damien,” Jarin interjected, wearing a quite-pleased-with-himself look that always followed a night spent in female company.
Damien only groaned in reply.
Upon spotting the King’s Guard, villagers parted the way, some casting cursory glances toward them, others dipping their heads out of respect. No doubt word of their mission had spread, and Ronar wondered if ’twould do any good to question them as the bishop ordered. Surely if someone knew anything about the Spear, they would have come forward by now to collect the reward.
’Twas the fear he saw in some of their eyes that disturbed Ronar most. He had no wish for anyone but his enemies to fear him. He had tossed the cloak of power away once and had no desire to wear it again. But ’twas well known that the King’s Guards fiercely obeyed his Majesty’s every command, no matter how harsh or cruel it may be.
They passed the wealthier homes made of stone and slate and came upon the smaller peasant cottages of wood and straw. Thatched roofs, made green by moss and lichen, extended down over walls to offer shelter from the rain and snow. Gray smoke rose from openings in roofs, while chickens and geese wandered about yards strewn with piles of firewood, privies, and various houses for hens, geese, baking, and brewing.
The clank clank of a blacksmith’s hammer rang through the street, accompanied by lowing of cows and snort of pigs, and villagers conversing and haggling over wares. The odor of refuse, animals, and pottage pricked Ronar’s nose as he lifted his eyes to gaze over the thatched roofs and beyond the city wall to farmland spread in all directions. Both men and women labored among the crops in the stifling heat, and a vision emerged of the bishop as Ronar had last seen him, lounging in a chair in the great hall while servants attended his every need.
They turned a corner and headed toward the parish church, where all important village business took place. There, shops lined the streets—the apothecary, spice monger, metalworker and leatherworks among them. Hawkers shouted from the front of stores and also from carts they wheeled about, carrying their wares.
“Hot peascods,” one of them shouted.
“Rushes, fair and green!”
“Hot sheep’s feet!”
A troupe of musicians played instruments while a man dressed in colorful attire danced. Children ran and twirled to the music, nearly bumping into two men playing draughts. On the opposite corner, a man in a cowl preached to a crowd.
Ronar was about to give the order to halt when several yards past the church, exclamations of glee hailed from a mob of peasants. A few of them shot gazes toward Ronar, and instantly their gaiety ceased and whispering ensued.
“What goes on there? Disband at once!” Ronar shou
ted as he urged his horse into a gallop toward them.
Shuffling sounded, followed by grunts and groans, and the group moved as one behind a cottage. Within minutes, the peasants reappeared and scattered over the street, none of them daring a glance his way.
Raising a brow toward his friends, who had also witnessed the oddity, Ronar halted Penance before the cottage, now abandoned by all but a mother sow sifting through a pile of refuge. Ordering Jarin and Damien to remain out front, Ronar dismounted and, with a hand on the hilt of his sword, crept around the side of the house toward the back. There, he found naught but an old woman washing clothes over a pot of boiling water, a small herb garden, and a litter of piglets wallowing in the mud. The woman gave him a toothless grin. The piglets began nibbling his boots. Shaking them off, he circled around front and gestured toward the door. With his men behind him, he pushed open the wooden slab that hung crooked on its hinges and entered the dim interior.
A woman and her children huddled in the corner opposite a cow chewing hay. A man stood in the center beside a trestle table and chairs, hiding something with his body. Ronar peered around him to two piles of hay that failed mercilessly in their attempt to hide deer carcasses lying near the back of the room. The smell of some type of stew rose from an iron pot over the fire.
“Where, pray tell, did you get that fresh meat?” Ronar asked.
The man cowered before him, not meeting his gaze. “I know not, Sir.”
“The bucks simply appeared in your home?” Ronar snorted. “The king forbids hunting in his forest. You are to buy meat from those licensed to bring it to market.”
The woman spoke, her voice quavering. “We cannot afford t’ purchase it, Sir.”
“Heed your tongue, Martha!” the man snapped toward the woman, and she retreated into the corner, her little ones diving into the folds of her skirts.
Ronar glanced around the tiny one-room cottage with its dirt floor, two straw mattresses, and scarcely any furniture. And he forced down the anguish in his heart. Not forty yards hence, the lady and steward of the castle lived in excess. How abundance mocked the needy. Yet hadn’t he done the same in his youth?
Glancing at his friends, he snapped his head toward the door. “Leave us.”
Jarin and Damien hesitated a moment, but finally did as he said.
Ronar faced the peasant. “Tell me who brought you the deer, and you will suffer no punishment.”
The man kept his head down, his breath coming fast. The cow snorted, and one of the children whimpered.
“I wish ’er no harm.”
“Her?” Ronar shifted his stance. “No harm will come to her either, you have my troth.”
“’Tis…’tis the Falcon of Emerald Forest, Sir. She is good t’ us. She feeds us when we ’ave naught else to eat. Prithee, leave ’er be.”
“What is her common name?”
“I know not.”
“When was she last here?”
“Only minutes ago, Sir.”
Ronar sped from the hut and found his friends. “Question the villagers about the Spear and report back to the bishop.” He mounted his horse.
“Where are you going?” Jarin shouted after him as he galloped away.
“To catch a thief.”
Chapter 7
No sooner had Alexia entered the village than whispers reached her ears that the King’s Guard were riding down the main street, stopping to question villagers. Potz! Of all the times to come into town. Surely, they hadn’t searched the entire castle yet? Did they even know about the secret tunnels and passageways? Mayhap not. But what did it matter? The object they sought was not there.
And would never be in their hands.
Several beloved villagers surrounded her—her friends—Gwendolyn, the widow and her five children, Fordwin the spice monger and his wife, Wimarc the butcher, Gerald the leather-worker and his wife Ada and their two children.
“Mistress, you must leave at once!” Wimarc shot a quick glance behind him. “The King’s Guard are at the church.”
Over their heads, she spotted the blue feather in Sir Knight’s hat bouncing down the street.
“Take these two bucks and hide them in your home, Wimarc. Mayhap they will pass by.”
“Gramercy of your kindness and good will; God reward you,” he whispered in reply. The mob closed in to keep them hidden as the men unloaded the deer from her cart.
“Wait until they are gone and then divide the meat among the poorest of the village,” she told the butcher.
Wimarc nodded.
“God be with you, Mistress,” Gwendolyn said, her eyes moist with tears.
“God bless you,” Gerald added.
“I will return with more when I can.” She glanced over their grateful faces, then knelt and took the hand of three-year-old Emma. The child flew into her arms. “Thank you,” she whispered into Alexia’s ear, and Alexia embraced her tightly. “God loves you, Emma. Never forget.”
“What goes on there? Disband at once!” That voice. She knew that voice. More angry than frightened, she ducked within the cover of her friends, dashed behind the row of cottages, where she climbed a tree and dropped over the stone wall with ease. She had hoped to visit her sister, or at the very least seek out Anabelle and learn of her condition.
But Sir Knight had ruined her plans.
Grabbing her bow and arrows from where she left them, she sprinted across the open field and within minutes, plunged into the forest, her heart pounding as fast as her feet, her anger rising with each step. The King’s Guard had better not confiscate those deer! Surely, they had more heart than to steal food from hungry peasants. She’d not sensed evil in the one who’d caught her in the hall. In good sooth, he had not taken liberties, though he had the opportunity.
Horse hooves drew her gaze back toward the village, but the trees hid all from view. She hurried her pace. The cool mist of the forest showered away her sweat and livened her step as the sound of birdsong, pattering of creatures, and fluttering leaves combined to create a melody that always soothed.
A sound met her ears not of the forest—a footstep, a breath. She froze, plucked an arrow from her quiver, and turned slowly around…listening…listening… There it was again. The slightest of movements. She ducked behind a tree. “Who goes there?”
More footsteps. Pressing against the trunk, she crept around the side and aimed her arrow over the forest. The footsteps stopped.
“Come out or I shall kill you.”
Sir Knight stepped from behind a boulder, much closer than she anticipated. How had he followed her so quickly? And why was his chest not heaving with exertion?
She leveled her arrow at his heart. “If you think to arrest me, Sir Knight, you will find it an impossible task.”
“Arrest? Nay. If that were my goal, I would have done so already.” He wore that same cocksure smile she’d seen on his face a week past. He took a step forward.
Her anger burned. “One more step, Knight, and I will shoot you.”
His blue eyes pierced, his smile never faded, and, despite her warning, he advanced.
Alexia closed her eyes, sought the peace, and released the arrow.
The knight’s shout echoed through the forest.
♥♥♥
Pain throbbed through Ronar’s thigh. Not enough to topple him. Tush, he’d been wounded far worse than this. But as Lady Falcon dashed for him, a horrified look on her face, he crumpled to the dirt, keeping one hand on his knife on the off-chance he’d misread her.
He hadn’t.
She dropped to his side, tossed aside the bow, and stared at the blood bubbling around the arrow protruding from his leg. “Alack, what have you done?”
Ronar groaned. “What have I done?”
“I warned you, Sir Knight. Did you not hear me?”
“Alas,” he grumbled out. “Prior experience gave me no faith in your aim.”
“Again, you underestimate me.”
“Wait,” Ronar said, as a v
ision of her firing at him cleared the fog in his mind. “You closed your eyes ’ere you shot.”
She laughed. “Hogtoes, what madness you speak, Sir.” Her panic turned to determination. “Stay here.” Leaping to her feet, she searched the ground.
“I find I have no choice,” he replied, admiring the way she filled out men’s breeches and the feminine curves she tried to hide behind her dark green doublet. Leather belts crisscrossed said doublet wherein two knives were sheathed. The quiver of arrows hanging at her back did naught to hide the waterfall of bronze curls tumbling to her waist.
He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze. What was he doing? He should arrest her for stealing the king’s game. And shooting the King’s Guard. Not ogle her like a love-sick squire.
Using her knife, she sliced a vine hanging from a tree and returned to his side with a handful of peat and cobwebs. A stream of sunlight broke through the canopy, igniting her hair in glittering copper. Eyes green as the forest around her, save for tiny specks of gold, stared at him as if she had bad news to convey.
And he lost all sense of pain and discomfort.
“I’m going to remove the arrow now,” she said softly. “I fear ’twill pain you greatly.”
Precious lady. He forced back a smile. If she only knew the battles he’d fought. The wounds he’d sustained. “I trust you will be gentle,” he replied a bit too tauntingly.
Suspicion flashed in her eyes. “You do not fear me?”
“I am at your mercy, Lady Falcon. One more well-placed arrow, and you could be rid of me forever.”
“And why would I wish that?” She studied the wound.
“Three times you have attempted my demise. What else would I think? Alack, what better way to keep me from telling your secret?”
“Have you?” She set aside her forest treasures and pressed a light finger where wood met flesh.
“Nay, as I promised.”
She Walks in Power Page 5