“You did not push your sister off that cliff.”
“I might as well have.”
He turned and watched her hobble to her chair and felt guilty for his callous behavior.
“You made mistakes, I grant you. But you are not that man anymore,” she stated, the softness gone from her tone. “The Ronar I know is honest, honorable, noble, and good.”
“Humph. What do you truly know of me?”
“I know you are a man who follows his conscience, who knows right from wrong, who is kind and brave and who keeps secrets—even those of his enemies—to his own peril.” Her eyes latched upon his, and he saw both anger and sincerity within them. “I know you seek the truth and God’s will above all else. I know your people admire and respect you. That is all I need to know.”
If he admitted it, her words touched a deep place in his soul. But he would not admit it. He could not.
“What happened then?” she asked.
Ronar picked up his mug to refill it, but realized this lady did not deserve any more of his besotted ramblings. He tossed it into the fire with a loud clank that startled Alexia and shot flames up the chimney from the wine. “I buried my sister, left the estate, and joined the Crusades.” He returned to his seat and dug into his pocket for Saint Jude. “The bishop at Jerusalem gave this to me. Saint Jude, patron saint of lost causes.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “The bishop said there was hope for my soul if I vowed to God and King that I would pay penance for every sinful act I committed, even if it took me the rest of my life.”
“Ronar.” She reached out to him, but he shifted away. “You don’t need to pray to a dead saint nor pay for your sins. Our Lord Jesus Christ already did that when He was crucified. Why else would the Son of God have to endure such pain and humiliation?”
Scowling, he shoved Saint Jude back in his pocket. “More blasphemy from your book.”
“God’s Book,” she returned. “For all to read and hear.” She folded her hands in her lap. “There is no sin that cannot be forgiven if one truly repents and changes his ways, save the sin of rejecting Christ altogether. You cannot purchase your way to heaven, Ronar. None of us can.”
Part of him wanted to believe her, but a larger part did not. There had to be punishment for what he’d done. ’Twas the way the world worked—crime, justice, punishment—a world God had created and set in motion.
“I will hear no more!” He leapt to his feet. Mayhap if he was cruel to this angel, she’d leave him as he deserved. “Begone with you.” He waved her away.
She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, merely rose on one foot and stumbled toward him, leaning her head on his arm. The sentiment disarmed him.
“How can you still be so kind?” he asked.
“You would push me away because you are in pain, but God would not have me abandon you, for He wants you to know He forgives you.”
Once again, moisture filled Ronar’s eyes. He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek and eased it behind her ear. “And what of you? Do you forgive me?”
“Forgiveness is not mine to give. I simply offer my friendship.”
He eased a thumb over her cheek, as soft as it looked. Yet he wanted so much more. So much more he could never ask such a lady to give to a scoundrel like him.
She closed her eyes beneath his touch, a web of dark lashes fluttering over cheeks rosy from the fire. He should leave at once, but he found himself frozen in place, their bodies so close he felt her warmth, smelled the elixir of her scent. He wanted to kiss her. Not to satisfy any physical desire, but because he desperately needed her comfort.
She opened her eyes and gazed up at him with a coy smile. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
When shock caused him to hesitate, she reached up and placed her lips on his.
♥♥♥
Alexia had no idea what madness had overcome her to behave the bold, saucy wench, but once her lips touched Ronar’s, and he responded by wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close, and consuming her with his mouth, she didn’t care.
“Alexia,” he whispered, “Sweet, precious Alexia.” His breath warmed her cheek as he ran fingers through her hair, dislodging her circlet and veil.
Heart thumping wildly, she gazed up at him, their eyes but inches apart, and what she saw within them sent a thrill spiraling down to her toes—love and desire and need all churning as one.
He claimed her mouth again, this time opening hers and tenderly exploring within. He tasted of wine and spice and sorrow, and she wanted more and more.
As if it had been dormant all these years, her body suddenly came to life. She returned his kiss, pressing closer against him and gripping the hair at his collar.
He tightened his embrace, encasing her in iron. His touch was gentle, loving, and yet, restrained…much like a wild animal trapped in a cage.
Oddly, she felt no fear. He whispered adoring words in her ears, and she wondered what it would be like to be loved by such a man, to be his wife, share his bed. The shame! What was she thinking? She wasn’t thinking—couldn’t think. She’d never kissed a man before, and she’d always questioned what the pother was about. But as Ronar began to trail hot kisses down her neck, her senses spun in such ecstasy, she feared she’d lose control at any moment.
A moan escaped her lips, and she clung to him, longing for more.
He stopped, gripped her arms, and pushed her back. His chest heaved and his eyes darkened as the air heated between them.
Had she done something wrong?
He smiled, planted a kiss on her forehead, and released her. “Forgive me, Alexia. I forgot myself.”
Prithee, I beg you to remember! Catching her breath, she hobbled backward. “Of course.” She’d behaved like a common hussy. And she would have done more if he hadn’t stopped. Eyes filled with horror, she turned and limped away. She heard him start to follow, but she held up a hand. “Leave me be.”
This time he did. She hopped up the stairs and was glad for the pain in her ankle as she made her way to her chamber, for it vanquished the desire still burning through her veins.
Slamming the door shut, she fell onto the bed and allowed her tears to finally flow.
Flow for this man who bore more pain than most could stand, this man who stirred her, soul and body, like no other. And flow for her own lack of control that, if not for Ronar, would have compromised everything she believed in.
Rolling over, she allowed her tears to dribble into her ears as she touched her lips, still on fire from his kiss. For such a powerful knight, he’d been so gentle, so loving.
“Holy Father, I’m so sorry.” Hadn’t the friar told her to control her emotions… that they would be the ruin of her?
She rolled back over and propped her head in her hands. A shaft of silver moonlight speared the narrow window and landed on the floral coverlet upon which she lay.
A bed on which Ronar had entertained many lovers.
She leapt from it as if it had the plague. Ankle throbbing as much as her heart, she lay down on the rug and fell asleep.
♥♥♥
Was it Sir LeGode or was Drogo’s lair colder and gloomier than usual? Mayhap ’twas just LeGode’s foul mood, for as he crept forward, candle in hand, searching for the temperamental warlock, fear nearly choked him at the request he must make. Drogo’s last reaction to the Spear played fresh in LeGode’s mind. Another mention of the infernal object may send Drogo into a rage. And Sir LeGode did not want to be within range of any vile spells spewing from the warlock’s fury.
Even though LeGode had promised Cedric to Drogo as an apprentice in exchange for the warlock’s help in arranging the lad’s marriage to Lady D’Clere, he was sure there was a limit to that help. He feared he may have already overreached it. Now, taking a step forward, he coughed at the usual stench of rotten eggs, mold, and rancid meat.
“Lord Drogo?”
Wings flapped and a raven swooped down from a ledge above. LeGode shrieked and ducked out of the way but in t
he process disturbed a row of sleeping bats. Screeching, they took flight and spiraled up the black cone above him.
LeGode had long since overcome his guilt at the pact. ’Twas only for a year, and it would be good for Cedric. The lad hadn’t a spark of ambition, and no matter how oft LeGode punished or berated him, Cedric remained a fluffheaded toad. Mayhap under the tutelage of Drogo’s strength, power, and wisdom, Cedric would make something of his life.
Drogo appeared rather than entered the room. One minute no one was there, the next, his evil grin slithered over LeGode.
“You disturb me much of late,” the warlock said, setting down the scroll in his hand. A spider as big as LeGode’s hand crawled out from the center and scrambled across the table.
LeGode gulped. “I must cry your pardon, Drogo but ’tis urgent.”
“Isn’t it always?” Drogo arched a dark, crooked brow. “If you continue to need my services, you may soon owe me your grandchildren.”
A foul taste flooded LeGode’s mouth. “One last request, Lord Drogo, and all impediments to Cedric’s union with Cristiana will be eliminated.”
Drogo snorted and spun to examine various bottles sitting on a shelf, then took one and handed it to LeGode.
“What is this?”
“Just a little something I concocted for you. Have the lady drink it, and she will become consumed with love for your son.”
“A love potion?” LeGode smiled. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you are a pribbling maggot. Now, what is your request?”
LeGode bristled at the insult. “’Tis this Spear of Destiny. If I find it for the Bishop, he vows to arrange Cedric’s marriage to Lady D’Clere forthwith.”
Drogo spun, his white robes flapping, his eyes narrow coals. “I told you I cannot see where it is. It belongs to Him,” he snapped.
“But you sense it. You knew it was here in the castle.” LeGode’s heart pounded as he chose his words carefully. “Though my guard was unable to find it. Nor do I know who possessed it.”
“Do you not?” Drogo shook his head and eyed LeGode as if he were a gnat.
LeGode searched his mind. “How could I? I never heard of the infernal thing until Bishop Montruse intruded on Luxley.”
“And informed you that Lady Grecia D’Clere was believed to be in possession of it ere she died.” The warlock tapped his long fingernails over the table and sighed.
“Alexia!” LeGode took up a rapid pace, anger shoving out fear. “Of course. Her mother gave it to her. That witch! All this time.” He halted and faced Drogo’s smirk. “We must find her. Then before I burn her at the stake, I will get the Spear and give it to Bishop Montruse.” A sudden thought stole his joy. “How can we find her? You can! I’ve seen you do it before.”
Drogo cocked his head. “Get me a piece of her clothing, a strand of hair, anything, and yes, I can and I will find her.”
Chapter 24
Two days passed. Two days in which, for the first time in her life, Alexia felt like a princess rather than a protector. Aye, the friar had always treated her with love and dignity, but from the moment he’d taken her into the forest, she’d been in training—physically, mentally, and spiritually. She’d had to learn to do battle, both with bow and arrow and without. She’d had to learn the secrets of the forest—how to climb, hunt, fish, and forage. She’d had to learn to receive and hone her spiritual gift of discernment. And most important of all, she’d had to learn the Words of the Holy Book, which the friar told her was the most powerful sword she could ever wield.
Hence, she’d never been treated like a cherished treasure, delicate and precious. In truth, she’d never wanted to be treated thus, as if she were weak, in need of protection, dependent on a man. She was Alexia D’Clere, God’s warrior and Protector of the Spear, a woman who had defeated dozens of knights and sent many more running for their lives.
But here, in this place…with this knight—this man who carried her around as if she were a precious vase—her emotions swirled unbidden to places they’d never gone before.
Thankfully, neither of them spoke of the passionate kiss they’d shared. Nor did they speak of Ronar’s past. In fact, Ronar had made her promise that for two days they would not speak of any of their trials or troubles. A respite from life, he had called it. What surprised her the most was how much she enjoyed this brief foray from reality—how much she looked forward to every minute spent in this man’s company.
They took long rides through fields of wild flowers, and more than once, Ronar stopped to gather her a colorful bouquet. One day, he prepared a picnic beside a crystal blue lake. Another day, he took her to the top of the highest hill where a majestic view stole her breath. And each night they enjoyed their meal at the manor house with an abundance of wine and laughter.
After a fire destroyed two homes in the village, Ronar spent a day helping the people rebuild. Unable to assist, Alexia could only sit in the shade and try to stifle her rising admiration—to no avail—for this humble earl who worked alongside his serfs as if he were one of them. No wonder he had garnered their undying adoration and devotion.
Each evening as they sat before the fire, they spent hours discussing all manner of topics. From the legends of King Arthur, poems of Dante, and music of Jehan de Lescurel, to the king, what type of man he really was, and what the king’s court was like. And together they chuckled at the pompous power struggles that oft made fools of wise men. She particularly enjoyed his humorous stories about his friends Jarin and Damien, some of which she’d have to share with her sister—if Alexia ever made it home again.
Alexia found Ronar to be educated, well spoken, gallant in every way, and growing more handsome with every passing moment—especially when he looked at her with that mischievous twinkle in his eye and a smile that bespoke of a growing affection that matched her own.
In truth, she found it difficult to believe the stories of his past. Alas, she could hardly believe he had been anything but the noble man before her.
Yet now at the dawn of their fifth day at Rivenhall, with her ankle feeling much better, Alexia feared her enchanted world was soon coming to an end. She must return to protect her sister, and Ronar was duty-bound by his king to find the Spear.
A Spear she felt even now weighing down her chemise as they broke their morning fast with eggs, bread, and fresh raspberries.
“Today, Lady Falcon, I insist you teach me your secret of archery.” He winked at her like a naughty school boy.
She raised a brow. “Surely a well-trained knight as yourself knows how to shoot a bow and arrow.”
“Aye, but not with your skill.”
“’Tis more than skill, Sir Knight,” she teased.
“Show me and we shall see.” With that he rose from the table, hoisted her in his arms, and carried her outside.
“You’ve no need to carry me around anymore, Ronar. My ankle is healed.”
“Mayhap, but I rather enjoy it.” His smile, along with the look in his eyes, caused her insides to melt in a most pleasurable way. Something that had been happening much of late.
He placed her down in the courtyard and went to retrieve her bow and arrow. Oddly, though it had been strung over her shoulder more oft than not these last nine years, she hadn’t thought of it once during the past week.
She watched him walk to the stables, admiring the authoritative gait that was uniquely his, the slope of his shoulders as if he carried a heavy burden, and the way the wind played among the strands of his brown hair as he disappeared from sight. He wore his usual leather boots, breeches, tunic and doublet, crisscrossed with belts that housed a sword and knives. Even here on his estate, she’d never seen him without his weapons.
Dark clouds swept in overhead, deepening the shadows, and sending a chill through her. An omen of things to come? She hugged herself and closed her eyes, sensing her angel nearby and something else—she spun around—something dark in the distance.
Not yet, Lord. Allow
me another day.
Ronar appeared, holding her bow and quiver, his smile so bright, all her dour thoughts instantly swept away. He assisted her out the back gate and into a small, forested area beyond the manor wall, then handed her the bow and a single arrow.
“Pray, show me how you fire so fast and accurately that it seems you are an army of archers. And of course, while flying through the trees like a falcon.” He grinned.
Snagging the bow, she gave him a look of challenge, then nocked the arrow and shifted it over the forest, seeking a target that would impress the knight. Why she cared to do so, she didn’t want to ponder at the moment. But for some reason, ’twas vitally important to garner his respect.
Though she could oft tell from his eyes, she’d achieved a great deal of it already.
“The knot on the trunk of the pine.”
He followed her gaze, squinted, and finally nodded.
Closing her eyes, she released the arrow.
Ronar bolted through the trees, returning with it in hand and a look of shock on his face. “You struck it in the center.” He raked back his hair and huffed. “From at least thirty yards.”
“Is that all? I must be out of practice.” Positioning another arrow, she sought a target farther away. “That hawthorn tree. See the berries hanging from the low branch.”
Seconds passed as he squinted in that direction. “I can hardly make them out. Aye, I see it now.”
“The berry at the bottom.”
He laughed. “Surely you—”
She let the arrow fly. With a snort of disbelief, Ronar plunged through the foliage to retrieve it. When he returned, he stared at her as if she were a ghost. “Show me your secret.”
“It’ll cost you, Sir Knight.” She smiled.
His gaze dropped to her lips. “A kiss?”
“That would be your prize. What of mine?”
He gave her that smile that suffocated her senses.
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