She smiled, an alluring yet innocent smile that would make any man melt. A gown of crimson wool draped to her feet, trimmed and girdled with golden ribbons embroidered with white lilacs. Her rich, chestnut hair had been braided and bound with threads of gold while a golden circlet embedded with pearls sat upon her head.
“A generous offer, Sir Knight,” she said. “One which I shall be happy to accept.” Then giving him a coy smile, she turned and ascended the stairs, her companion at her side. Halfway up, she gave Jarin one last glance ere she disappeared from sight.
Jarin faced Ronar, a grin on his face. “And where, pray tell, have you been all night?”
“Searching for the Spear.” Ronar replied as he started for a sideboard in the hall for a drink.
“All night?”
“I fell asleep.” ’Twas not really a lie.
“In the forest?”
“Is that so strange?” Ronar poured himself a cup of mead from a pitcher and took a sip.
Jarin shrugged. “Did you happen to run across your nemesis, the elusive Falcon?”
“I find her as elusive as always.”
“Unfortunate.” Jarin bit into an apple and leaned back against the high table. A servant girl passed, casting glances toward Jarin, but the libertine never once turned his head. “’Twould have saved us from spending days wandering about the village,” he added.
“What’s this you say?” Ronar stared at him.
“’Tis the bishop’s new plan,” Damien said as he marched into the room. “Discard our knightly garb for peasant cloaks and hide among the villagers until our charitable lady arrives with fresh game. We begin on the morrow.”
Ronar forced down a chuckle. “She is far too clever to bring meat so soon after our encounter in the forest. No doubt she is hiding away until we and the bishop are gone.” At least Ronar hoped the lady had more sense than she had thus displayed.
“Not if she learns that Bishop Montruse has ordered the confiscation of all the village livestock. I imagine the peasants’ cries of hunger will find their way to the benevolent Falcon’s ears.”
Ronar sipped his mead and stared at Damien, waiting for him to start laughing. Instead, the staunch warrior poured himself a drink.
“The bishop would never order such cruelty,” Ronar said.
Damien huffed. “Your unwarranted trust in anyone who wears the chasuble astounds me.”
“Where is he?”
“Taking his afternoon rest, I imagine. I wouldn’t disturb him if I were you.”
Staring up at the banners hanging from the high ceiling, Damien gulped his mead and uttered a curse. “May we find this infernal Spear soon. I grow to hate this place.”
“I find I heartily disagree.” Jarin tossed his apple core into a pail across the room. “’Tis your quest for the man who ruined your family that drives your impatience, Damien. I have no such lure to return to the palace. In truth, quite the opposite.”
Damien shook his head. “Not sampled all the maids yet?”
“How can I when there is one who has stolen my heart.” Jarin placed a hand on his chest and shared a glance with Ronar.
“Jarin smitten by love?” Damien laughed. “Never!”
“I do not gainsay it.” Jarin shrugged and gazed up the stairs where they’d last seen Lady D’Clere.
“Leave her be. It will come to naught, and you know it,” Ronar said more sternly than he intended.
Damien raised his brows at Jarin. “I am intrigued.”
“Well then, Sir Intrigued and Sir Smitten.” Ronar raised his cup toward his friends with a smile. “I will call you whatever you wish as long as we find the Spear—and soon. Or I fear the king’s displeasure will rain down on all of us for months to come.”
Yet…the thought of never seeing Lady Falcon again….Ronar frowned and cursed his weakness. Tush, he didn’t even know her name. She’d done naught but bring him trouble, cause him to entertain the thought of disobeying his king and God. Women. They were the devil’s tools to distract men from their Godly callings.
Taking leave of his men, Ronar stormed the hall, crossed the courtyard, and slipped inside the chapel. The door creaked shut, leaving him in darkness, save for two candles on the altar and a rainbow of sheer light angling in from a small window of colored glass. The scent of mold, aged wood, and heartache filled his nose as he strode toward the front of the small room, crossed himself and knelt on the cold stone. He tugged Saint Jude from his pocket, wondering why no chaplain inhabited Luxley. There were things he must confess, things not meant for the bishop’s ears. Guilt assailed him at that last thought, for surely even that was a sin.
He kissed Saint Jude and gazed up at the wooden figure of Christ hanging on the cross.
As much as he had tried not to listen, the friar’s reading of the Holy Scripture refused to vacate his thoughts. Surely God required more than a simple confession and a heart belief? Then even the worst of mankind could be saved—without paying for all their many evils inflicted on the innocent. Nay, ’twas heresy pure and simple.
As for himself, he had more good deeds to accomplish in order to pay the penance for his past evils. And he would not allow a woman—a thief and heretic—to bewitch him into a life of disobedience and heresy.
“Holy Christ, forgive me, for I have sinned.” He continued reciting the prayers he’d learned over the years. But after an hour, he still felt empty. Mayhap he should pray to Saint Jude. After all, he had many requests which seemed naught but hopeless causes—finding the Spear, Lady Falcon’s safety, discovering who poisoned Lady D’Clere.
After uttering more prayers and feeling no better for it, Ronar stood and replaced Saint Jude in his pocket. Rays of sunlight filtered through the colored glass, sending dust swirling in its path. The hollow clang of a blacksmith’s hammer chimed through the room, along with the muffled voices of servants, squires, and knights in the courtyard.
A shadow moved in the corner. Ronar rubbed his eyes. He’d not slept all night and was no doubt seeing things.
One of the candles flickered. He jerked around. The door remained shut.
A cloak of ice settled on him.
Another shadow slunk along the floor—a black fog twisting and turning around the altar and chairs.
What devilment is this? Hand on the hilt of his sword, Ronar backed away, swallowing down his fear. The dank air grew icy still, prickling over his skin. A foul stench arose. He held a hand to his mouth. The flames of both candles sizzled out as if someone had smothered them with two fingers. Smoke curled upward. A sense of foreboding draped over him. Finally, he spun on his heels and barreled out the door into the sunshine. Drawing a deep breath, he soaked in the light, dispelling the darkness, but was unable to dispel the hopelessness that had invaded his spirit—a hopelessness that told him his future was filled with naught but danger and defeat.
Chapter 16
“What choice do I have, Friar?” Alexia stuffed her gray kirtle into her sack.
“You always have a choice. Seek wisdom, my dear.”
“This is the wisdom I know—my sister is being poisoned, and she is defenseless, the bishop has stolen the villagers’ only means of putting meat on their tables, and I am the only hope for both.”
One of the friar’s bushy brows rose. “Have you taken the place of the Almighty now?”
“Of course not.” Flinging the sack over her shoulder, she gathered her knives and slid them into her belt. “But I am His chosen protector.”
“Of the Spear. That is all.”
“The Spear is safe.” Alexia patted her breeches where the relic remained in the pocket of her chemise.
“You should not have taken it.” The friar offered her his usual look of censure. “Nor should you have it now.”
“If I hadn’t, Sir LePeine would have found it.”
Friar Josef merely stared at her with those wise eyes of his, eyes that pleaded with her to see reason.
In good sooth, she did see reason. O
nly ’twas her reason, not his. “’Tis no longer safe here as you well know. I do not trust that bothersome knight to keep our secret.”
“There is good in him—the Father’s light. You have seen it as well.”
“Aye, but ’tis a mere flicker. Ergo, he is not to be trusted.” She glanced around, heart plunging at the thought she had to vacate the only home she’d known for the past nine years. “While I am gone, you must take only what is necessary and move to the woodsman’s cottage deep in the forest. Give me your troth you will do so.”
“Is this to be my lot? Ordered about by the child I raised?” He huffed. “What if you are caught? What if they find the Spear?”
“They won’t.”
“You are not ready, dear one.” His tone softened. “Your powers fail when fear, worry, and sorrow abound. As they so often do when you visit your sister. Your faith needs more training, your emotions more control.”
“I’m eighteen, Friar. Mayhap ’tis you who needs faith that you have done your job well.”
“Holy Saints, ’tis that very thing which keeps me up at night.”
Alexia smiled. “I must do as the Father commands. He will be with me. The Spear will protect me.”
“Ah, the plight of a father…to worry so about his child.”
Standing on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “How can one so worried teach me to not do so?”
He sighed and closed his eyes as if seeking a way to make her listen. “They look for you in the village.”
“They will not find me. And when I get to the castle, I shall proceed directly to Sir LeGode and tell him all. He will know exactly how to discover who is poisoning my sister.”
Alexia peered from beneath the hood of her cloak and suppressed a laugh. Did the castle knights think her bird-witted? Regardless of their common garb, she could spot each one of them as they slunk around the village, pretending to tend to various tasks, conversing with each other, or lurking about the market square.
Not to mention that the villagers gave them wide birth.
Outside the village wall, it had been a small task to distract the guard posted there with a pitcher of ale offered by one of the village maidens Alexia had recruited from the fields. Once the man could see naught but the girl and the ale, Alexia hoisted the game she had caught—two deer, four rabbits, and a duck—over the wall with a rope.
Then, all she had to do was bend over like an aged woman and enter through the front gate carrying a basket of beans, peas, and parsnips, as if she’d just harvested them from the fields. She had abandoned her breeches at the edge of the forest for her simple kirtle and belt, and now, with head down, proceeded along the main street. One glance over her shoulder told her the maiden had entered as well. She nodded toward Alexia ere she proceeded to Wimarc’s to inform him of the game.
Keeping close to the buildings, Alexia passed the villeins’ simple homes, then the leather workers shop, the apothecary, and the scrivener’s. She hobbled past the church and market square, keeping her gaze from the castle knights loitering about everywhere. Sir LePeine’s two friends leaned against a post before the weaver’s shop, looking beyond bored. Though the handsome one’s eyes grazed over her, he went on conversing with his friend. What if LePeine was in the village as well? Of all the guards, he would be the most likely to recognize her.
As if the thought of him could conjure up the surly knight, she spotted him helping a young maiden carry pails of milk, his authoritative bearing unmistakable even attired in his peasant garb. The light-haired milkmaid gazed up at him with adoring eyes, and an uncomfortable feeling swirled in Alexia’s belly at the sight.
At that moment, as if he sensed her presence, he looked up, and Alexia jerked her face forward again, head down, body bent.
“Fresh pheasant pies!” a man yelled from his cart.
Other sounds met Alexia’s ears, the shout of laborers, the distant cry of a babe, the clang of hammer on anvil, children laughing. Absent was the cluck of hens or snort of hogs. She passed the wealthier homes made of brick and noticed chickens no longer pranced across the Jenfray’s yard. Potz on Bishop Montruse! What sort of man of God would see these people starve?
She dared not look to see if Sir LePeine followed until she slipped through the back gate of the castle grounds and was halfway across the courtyard. Thankfully, he was nowhere in sight.
Releasing a sigh, she entered the kitchen, where she deposited her basket, then sped through the pantry into the main hall and made her way to Sir LeGode’s study. As a mere servant, she should not enter unannounced. Yet after today, she would no longer be such—at least not to LeGode. Halting at the door, she smiled, excited to finally relieve herself of the burden she’d carried all these years. Especially to a trusted member of the family. A man who had been closer than a brother to her mother and father and who cared for her sister as if she were his own.
The door flew open and Anabelle appeared, carrying an empty tray. She bumped into Alexia, her expression transforming from shock…to glee…to fear. “What are you doing?” she whispered, trying to drag Alexia away.
“I must speak to him. ’Tis important.”
“On what matter?” Anabelle glanced over her shoulder and bit her lip. “Prithee, reconsider. He is not in a good humor.”
“What is all the commotion, Ana?”
“Merely the minstrel, Sir.”
“Announce me.” Alexia gripped her friend’s arm and nodded her head in assurance.
It did naught to reassure Anabelle as she reentered the room, her face awash in fear. “Sir, she wishes to speak to you.”
“Devil’s blood! Whatever does she want? I have work to do. Very well, see her in.”
Moving aside, Anabelle allowed Alexia to pass, giving her a look of dismay.
LeGode busied himself with several parchments spread across his desk, quill pen in hand. Sunlight speared through two narrow windows behind him, one stabbing the desk, the other Sir LeGode’s back. Dust coated rows of books sitting haphazardly on a shelf. Coals simmered in the brazier, offering a modicum of heat while two crossed swords, a map of England, and a painting of LeGode himself hung on the walls. The scent of tallow, ink, and smoke drifted past her nose. Alexia took a step onto the silk woven rug and tried to remember what the room had looked like when her father was alive. She couldn’t.
She cleared her throat.
With a huff, Sir LeGode lowered the pen, grabbed his wine, and sat back in his chair, examining her with eyes full of angst and frustration. Before she could wonder why, he snapped at her. “Well what it is, girl?”
“I have important news for you, Sir.” She glanced toward the open door. “Personal news.”
“Ana, fetch me some cheese and bread and close the door.”
After Anabelle left, Alexia slid the hood from her head, removed her cape, and laid it on a chair. ’Twas the first time she had given him a full view of her face, and she hoped he would recognize her. Instead he drank his wine and stared at her as if she were an annoying rodent. That annoyance transformed into appreciation as he continued to take in her features, and she thought she saw a flicker of desire cross his face. But that couldn’t be. Rising, he wove around his desk, a smile forming on his lips. She braced herself for what surely would be a tight embrace of one thought long lost.
Instead, he eased a finger down her cheek and drew even closer. His warm breath on her neck elicited a shiver of unease.
She moved away. “Someone is poisoning Lady D’Clere.” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out so bluntly, but she could think of no other way to halt his advance.
His eyes narrowed. “Peace, froth! Madness!” he blubbered and headed toward the door. “Acquit me at once!”
“’Tis me, Alexia, Sir LeGode. Lady Alexia D’Clere.”
He halted as if he’d struck a stone wall. Moments passed in which the only sound filling the room was the simmer of coals in the brazier. Finally, he turned ever so slowly, his face pallid, his eyes wide, an indisce
rnible emotion brewing within them.
“I am not dead, as you assumed.” She stepped toward him, desperate for a warm welcome from her old friend.
Instead, the breath seemed to flee his lungs, and he stumbled away from her, hand on his chest as if his heart would burst free from the shock.
Taking his arm, she led him to a chair by the brazier. “Pray, forgive me for telling you in so abrupt a manner, but I knew of no other way to garner your trust.”
“How?” He gazed up at her. “Alexia?”
“Aye, ’tis truly me.” Taking his hands in hers, she knelt before him. “Friar Josef stole me away when he discovered a threat against my life. I’ve been living in Emerald Forest these past nine years.”
She thought she saw a streak of hatred, mayhap even anger dash across his eyes, but then it was gone.
“Threat? What threat?”
“I know I should have told you then, but Friar Josef forbid me to return to Luxley.”
“Oh, my dear sweet child.” He squeezed her hands. “If I could only have known you were alive.” His voice emerged in a wail, yet no tears formed in his eyes. “The hours of agony it would have spared me. And your poor sister!”
“She knows. At least she has ever since I began to sing for her.”
He drew her hands to his mouth for a kiss. “All this time you were right here at Luxley, and I didn’t recognize you. How could I have been so blind?” His dark eyes searched hers.
She smiled. “I’ve changed much over the years.”
“You have become a comely woman.” The prurient tone of his voice reminded her of the way he’d looked at her earlier. Not in the way a married man advanced in age should look at a young maiden. Surely she’d mistook him, for he seemed genuinely happy to find her alive.
“I have much to tell you, Sir LeGode, but the matter of my sister is most urgent. Her welfare, her very life, is why I have revealed myself to you.” She rose. “Someone wishes her dead. Mayhap the same villain who wished me murdered. Though I cannot know why. Which is why I must beg for your aid. While I remain hidden as a servant girl, I have need of someone in authority who can help me find the culprit. You are the only one I trust.”
She Walks in Power Page 12