She Walks in Power

by Tyndall, MaryLu

  “Potz!” chimed from within the chamber, eliciting a smile from Ronar. Something he’d been doing overmuch of late, though it still felt foreign on his face. Oddly, he longed to assist the lady, but not for the obvious reasons. Surely ’twas difficult to don all the layers required of the fairer sex with only one good foot to stand upon.

  Pushing from the wall, he began to pace and shook his head. Brave, foolish lady! Attempting to escape when she could barely walk. And in breeches that if given half a chance would have slid to her ankles before she was even aware. He chuckled, picturing the anger flashing in those green eyes when she turned to face him, the groan of frustration….

  The defiant line of her lips as she said, “You won’t keep me here forever, Sir Knight.”

  And then her frown at his reply. “Nay, merely as long as I desire.”

  The door creaked open, flooding the corridor with light and with this woman—this sprite who sparked life into his heart long since dead. That new life jolted in pain as memories flooded him at the sight of the ruby red cote she wore, trimmed and laced with silver and garnets that also decorated the girdle at her waist. A golden circlet lay gently on her head from which a netted veil flowed down over her hair.

  She was the picture of feminine beauty just like sweet Idonea had been, and agony wrenched his gut.

  Gripping the door frame, she studied his reaction, understanding simmering in her wise eyes. She stumbled toward him, and he instantly shook off the past and gripped her elbow.

  “Why risk invoking what is obviously a painful memory of one of your many trysts? I was quite content wearing your breeches.”

  Along with the sarcasm, he found an odd care in her tone, invoking emotion that burned his throat. Swallowing it down, he hoisted her in his arms, deciding humor was the better response. “And when those breeches sank to the ground, I fear your contentment would have vanished, whilst my enjoyment would have only risen.”

  “Then I am happy for the gown,” she retorted. “For surely whatever memories it harbors will keep you at bay.”

  He doubted it. Smiling, he carried her down the stairs and set her in the hall where Bridon had laid out a feast of bread, cheese, yogurt, and fruit to break their fast.

  She pushed from him. “No need to carry me about like a child. I shall heal, Sir Knight, and you will wake one morn to find me gone.”

  He led her to the table. “I have no doubt, Lady Falcon.”

  She lowered to her chair and glanced over the fare. “At least you treat me as a guest and haven’t tossed me in the dungeon.”

  “The day is young, my lady.” He took a seat across from her

  She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want from me?”

  “As I said, merely to protect you.”

  “If that were so, you would have let me go. Your vow to rescue fair maidens has been fulfilled, but I doubt that vow includes keeping them against their will.” She studied him. “Or, mayhap from this lady’s attire your man so readily brought me, it is.”

  Ronar poured hot cider into their cups, unsure he wished to respond to an accusation that would surely incriminate him.

  “Or is it this mystical Spear you seek?” Her voice taunted. “Ah ha, forsooth, your pretense of chivalry has been discovered.” She bit into an apple, and he enjoyed the way she ate, not delicately with small bites, but as a woman accustomed to hunger and appreciative of food.

  “I admit I have my duty to perform.” Unable to do naught else, he gazed at her with an admiration, dare he say affection, he could no longer hide. “Yet, if that is all you think this is, you are not as wise as you pretend.”

  She lowered her lashes and picked at her bread.

  Sunlight streamed through the window, transforming the skin above her neckline into golden silk as it rose and fell beneath her breaths. Ronar swallowed. The forest warrior had transformed into a lady, and one he was having trouble resisting.

  She sat back and sighed. “Sir LeGode wishes me dead. All along he wanted me dead so his son could marry Cristiana and inherit our estate.”

  “Aye.” Ronar tossed cheese into his mouth. He had come to the same conclusion during the long night as he lay by the fire unable to sleep. Whether ’twas being surrounded by haunting memories that had kept him awake or being so close to this enchanting woman, he could not say. Either way, he’d risen early to go over the accounts with Bridon.

  Alexia huffed. “What he doesn’t know is that Cristiana thinks Cedric a whey-faced bore. She will never agree to marry him.”

  “Mayhap not in her right mind.” His sober tone brought her gaze back to him.

  She nodded sadly. “’Tis why he poisons her. To keep her mind addled.” Gripping the table, she struggled to rise and winced. “I must be with her, Ronar. She’s not safe.”

  Warmed by her use of his common name, Ronar resisted the urge to help her and instead spooned peaches into his mouth. “LeGode won’t kill her. He needs her alive to marry his son.”

  “He’s making her so ill she can barely move! I cannot allow it.”

  “And what will you do? Limp into Luxley, bow and arrow in hand, and demand he cease at once? He has everyone, including Bishop Montruse believing you are a witch.” Setting down his spoon, Ronar grabbed his cup. “Not even you can defeat fifty knights, especially if you can’t fly through the canopy like a falcon.”

  She stared at him, anger flaring from her eyes. But finally, after a few moments, she melted back into her chair. “I must do something. I will not sit idly by while they poison my sister.”

  He sipped his cider. “We are not sitting idle. We are planning our next move. Whatever special talents you have, my lady, ’tis not wise to allow sentiment to dictate your course.”

  She flinched as if he’d struck her. “And what is your plan, Sir Knight? Storm Luxley with your steward, cook, and stable boy?”

  Ronar wanted to laugh at the woman’s impudence. “If it comes to it.” Setting down his cup, he leaned back in his chair. “I will devise a plan, rest assured of that. For now, you will rest and heal your ankle, or you will be of no use to your sister or to me. Now eat and regain your strength.”

  Defiantly, she bit off a piece of bread. “I will come up with a plan, Sir Knight. I fear I am not very good at waiting.”

  “On that we can agree.”

  ♥♥♥

  Alexia wasn’t accustomed to taking orders. Not since the friar had given her more freedom at age sixteen. Yet the pompous earl-knight had a point, well, mayhap two points—one, her feelings had gotten her into more trouble than she cared to admit, and, two, she wasn’t much use hopping around like a maimed bird. If only she could sprout wings and fly away, land on her sister’s window ledge, if only to ensure she was well.

  Regardless, she would soon do just that. Minus the wings, of course.

  But for now, she was no match for an elite King’s Guard with the strength of a lion, the wealth and title of nobility, and the wits of a fox. At least not while injured and without her bow and arrows. Nay, she would appease him for now, wait to heal, and then take the first opportunity to flee. Not that she wasn’t enjoying the man’s company. He certainly was pleasing to gaze upon, and she found their witty banter entertaining. Most of the time. Then, of course, there were those moments he gazed at her like no one ever had…as if he….

  Nay, he was only after the Spear. She must remember that. Ronar LePeine was a man who knew naught but duty to King and God—in that order—and she couldn’t see him compromising for the fleeting emotions of an affaire de Coeur.

  Yet…she could not deny there were moments she found him fascinating and longed to discover his secrets. More of which were revealed when later that morning, he hoisted her up onto a bay palfrey and mounted his own horse in preparation to inspect his lands. With no other choice but to accompany him—due to his grip on her horse’s reins—she settled back and enjoyed the splendid scenery. She’d never traveled past the Emerald Forest and Luxley village, and she found the
rolling hills surrounding Rivenhall magnificent. Sheep, cows, and flowers of every color, dotted the carpet of green that was only interrupted by clusters of thick forest and quiet lakes that mirrored a blue sky laden with puffy clouds.

  Ronar was pensive as they traveled, his gaze scanning his estate, his thoughts seemingly miles away. And she wondered what happened to make him turn his back on all this beauty. They exited a copse of trees to a stiff breeze that smelled of earth, sage, and sunshine. Reining in their horses on top of a hill, Ronar studied a village that sat in the distance below the castle she’d seen last night. Farmland circled it like spokes in a wheel, spring crops peppering the dark soil, along with the peasants who worked the land.

  “All this is yours?” Alexia dared ask.

  He simply nodded and started toward the village.

  A thousand questions raced through her mind and a thousand more as they entered the open gates of the town. No doubt they’d been sighted in their approach, for Alexia heard a crier shouting, “Lord Rivenhall! Lord Rivenhall is here!”

  Though smaller than Luxley, the village still boasted a market square, to which Ronar now led them, past several shops—a blacksmith, weaver, cooper, metalworker, and spicemonger among them, indicated by the painted drawings hanging above their doors. Geese, chickens, and pigs dashed about, as well as peddlers hawking their wares.

  A crowd mobbed them as Ronar brought the horses to a halt. Peasants reached toward him, bowing, and exclaiming. “My lord. You’ve returned, my lord. Good day to you, my lord.”

  Dismounting, he greeted them all and even knelt to embrace small children clambering to see him.

  Alexia could only stare at the adoration beaming from their faces. Alack, most of them at least. A few stood at the edge of the square, scowling. One of them pushed through the throng.

  “Where ’ave ye been, milord?”

  “Away on the King’s business,” Ronar replied as he assisted Alexia from her horse. Curious eyes followed her as they crossed the square, weaving through people and livestock.

  They entered a building that served as part barn, part courthouse, from what Alexia could tell. Several of the wealthier peasants entered while the rest scattered to their duties. Ronar led Alexia to a chair and then proceeded to address the crowd, answering their questions with patience and keeping order when too many spoke at once. Alexia had never seen a lord speak so kindly to his villeins and tenants. Forsooth, most rarely spoke to them at all. But this King’s Guard listened humbly to their complaints, nodding his head in understanding, and dispelled their fears with promises she knew he meant to keep. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, attired not as a knight or King’s Guard, or even as the Lord of a castle, but in naught but breeches, tunic, simple doublet, and leather boots. His dark hair fell in waves to just beneath his collar and his eyes repeatedly found her as he conducted his business. He was a leader of men, this Ronar LePeine, Earl of Rivenhall, wise and humble. And she found her admiration for him rising more than was safe for her heart.

  By the time they started back for the manor house, the sun had sunk behind the hills, transforming the grass into waves of gold and the trees to amber.

  “Who protects the people in your absence?” she asked as they rode side-by-side. “Are there knights at the castle?” A chilled wind whipped over Alexia, and she hugged herself.

  “Nay. The castle lies empty since my mother’s death.” He seemed to be searching for something in his pack but gave up. “The King attaches his name to Rivenhall. Hence, no one dares attack.”

  “He must consider you a friend.”

  “My father knew him well.”

  ’Twas the first mention of his father, and though Alexia longed to pry, she bit her tongue, wondering at this man’s close association with the king. What other secrets did he harbor?

  “And what of the wealth generated from the land?” she asked.

  “A small sum goes toward the upkeep of the manor and the rest to the Church. I have no need of it.”

  His voice was curt and somber, and she thought it best to attempt no further conversation.

  Once back at the manor, he carried her inside—despite her protests—and brought her to his chamber, wherein she found a basin of fresh water, lavender soap, and a towel.

  “Refresh yourself, Lady Falcon. I shall return in an hour to escort you to our evening repast.” Then without so much as a glance her way, he left and shut the door.

  Not feeling safe without her clothing, Alexia hurriedly dabbed a wet cloth over her body in an attempt to dislodge some of the grime. Once dressed, she oscillated from sitting, to hopping, to staring out the window, restless with thoughts of the friar and her sister.

  The sun dragged away its light and a sliver of a moon dared peek above the horizon as myriad stars speckled the night sky.

  Alexia’s stomach rumbled, reminding her the last meal she’d eaten was early that morn. Had Ronar forgotten her? Opening her door, she peered out, but saw naught but darkness, dust, and a distant rushlight perched on the wall. She staggered toward the stairs, keeping an ear out for Ronar’s voice, then gripped the banister and hopped down the treads. But instead of heading toward the hall in which they normally sat, curiosity lured Alexia down another corridor to her right and around a corner. There, lit by wall sconces on either side, stood two closed doors that surely must lead to the great hall of the manor.

  Gripping the handles, she yanked. The thick doors rattled but would not budge. She pushed. Nothing. Finally, after one more tug, the aged wood creaked in protest and started to open. Darkness as thick as mud slapped her face, along with the smell of mold, aged wood, and something foul.

  She was about to stumble inside when footsteps alerted her to someone approaching. Before she could react, that someone shoved her hands from the door handle, then slammed both doors shut with an ominous thud.

  “What is it, Ronar?” Candlelight sparked fury in his eyes.

  “You are never to go in there.” His harsh tone bit her as he turned and strode away, leaving her to hobble after him. What happened to the chivalrous knight?

  “Why? I don’t understand.”

  “That room is to remain shut forever.”

  “Ronar.” She caught up with him and tugged on his arm. “Tell me why.”

  “Because ’twas in that room that I murdered my sister.”

  Chapter 22

  Cristiana D’Clere gripped her stomach as yet another pain rose to steal her breath. Beside her bed, Seraphina patted her brow with a cool cloth and whispered words of comfort. But Cristiana would not be comforted. ’Twas not only the sudden reappearance of her illness which caused her torment, but her fear for her sister’s safety. A witch! Ludicrous. Madness! How could Sir LeGode ever believe such a thing?

  “There, there, drink.” Seraphina held up a mug of sour wine which always seemed to ease the pain during a bad episode.

  The bitter taste puckered Cristiana’s mouth and burned her throat. She coughed and fell back onto her pillow, her breath coming hard.

  “You must calm yourself, my lady.” Seraphina placed the cup on the table and took Cristiana’s hand in hers. “It does no good to worry so.”

  “How can I remain calm when my sister is being hunted as a witch?” Tears burned in her eyes. “She could already be caught, for all I know.”

  “Nay, Anabelle would have told us. You know your sister. She is no doubt hidden away somewhere safe.”

  Cristiana tried to laugh, but nausea threatened to dislodge the wine. She swallowed it down and drew a deep breath. “Hidden? Safe? The lady who walks unafraid about a manor in which someone wants her dead?”

  Seraphina gave a sorrowful smile. “To your point, my lady.”

  “She will come back. I know it. She is foolish enough to return for me. And she’ll get caught and be burned at the stake.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as another pain struck her, and her thoughts became vaporous clouds as they usually did when the spasm subsided.

&nbs
p; “Do not think of such things. God is with Alexia, and He is with us.”

  Cristiana wanted to say that she believed God had abandoned them, but a rap on the door prevented her from speaking doubts she would later regret.

  With a squeeze to her hand, Seraphina opened it and stepped into the corridor, giving Cristiana time to think before she could no longer do so coherently. As soon as Anabelle had informed her of the hunt for her sister, Cristiana had donned her best gown and gone to see Sir LeGode. Despite her discomfort and an exhaustion that threatened to drag her unconscious to the floor, she had tried her best to reason with him. But he refused to listen, and instead showed her the articles of witchcraft he claimed to have found in Alexia’s possession. Surely such evidence, he informed her, along with the fact that Cristiana’s illness began with Alexia’s appearance in the castle, proved that she’d been poisoning her.

  “I’m sorry, Lady D’Clere. I know this comes as a shock.” He had laid a hand on her shoulder as she sat in the chair in his study, his face folded in such genuine concern that it caused her to doubt her own sister for the barest of moments.

  “But why?” she had muttered. “Why would she do that to me?”

  “For the estate, the manor, land, wealth. Clearly she wants it for herself.”

  She had studied him then, seeing the evil in his eyes for the first time, the slight sneer on his lips, the deception written across his wide brow. And she realized what a devil he was. For the devil was a master of lies, just like this man before her. If Cristiana knew one thing about her sister, ’twas that she cared naught for wealth or land.

  At that very moment, she had opened her mouth to call the captain of the guard to arrest LeGode and lock him below, and then to hail the bishop and defend her sister… but her head had suddenly felt too heavy to hold up, and all air rushed from her lungs.