Hogtoes! Was she that obvious? “’Twould seem you have too high an opinion of your charms, Sir Knight.” Then fearing he’d see her rising blush, she handed him the bow and took a position behind him. “Hold it like this.” The man was a fortress. She could hardly reach her arms around him to show him the proper grip. His leather doublet rubbed against her cheek, his warmth seeped into her skin, and his scent made her dizzy. What was wrong with her? She was no fawning maiden. Gather your wits, Alexia!
“I find I’m already getting much out of this lesson, my lady.” He turned his face to look at her.
“Hush, Knight, and pay attention. See that pine cone stuck between two branches.”
He nodded.
“Do not aim the arrow at it, merely keep the target in your sight. Now, stand sideways, feet spread, shoulders back, and pull the bow toward your ear lobe until the fletching touches it. You can use your cheek too, but you must use the same point each time. Do not touch the arrow, and keep your eye on the target.”
His body stiffened as he pulled back the twine and sighted his target. The man was not unfamiliar with the bow. He released the arrow and struck the pine cone, splitting it in half.
“You make me a fool, Sir Knight, for you have no need of my instruction.”
He turned so quickly she stumbled backward, and he caught her by the arms. “’Tis but ten yards, and the cone was large, not the size of a Hawthorne berry.”
“Your form is good, your eye expert, you need but practice.” She limped away from him, grateful to put distance between them.
“For all the practice in the kingdom, I could not hit a moving target at forty yards as you do. Nor with such speed and accuracy.”
A burst of wind tossed Alexia’s hair in her face, and she shoved it aside.
He studied her quizzically. “What is it you are not telling me, Lady Falcon?”
“Something you would not believe, Sir Knight.”
“Try me and I’ll grant you that kiss.”
♥♥♥
Ronar chastised himself for bargaining a kiss with this lady, but he’d been staring at her lips ever since he’d carried her downstairs that morn.
But instead of abhorrence at his untoward suggestion, she laughed. “As I have said, what makes you think I desire another kiss, Sir Knight?”
“Mayhap your reaction to the last one.”
She looked away, pink blossoming on her cheeks. “Vain goad. ’Twas your reaction you speak of. And I do not barter such intimacies.”
“Then what favor have I to grant you?”
“My freedom.” Her tone bore no humor this time.
An ache formed in his gut. “Have you not felt free these past days, Alexia? Free from the constant pain and trouble that plagues our lives?”
She gave a sad smile and nodded. “I have. And I am grateful to you for it.”
Ronar approached and stood before her, longing for a glimpse of those lustrous green eyes.
His wish was granted when she raised her gaze to his, studying him with an intimacy that stirred a part of his heart long since dormant.
Then much to his surprise, she reached up and ran fingers over his jaw, delicate fingers, loving fingers. “I have felt many things this past week, Ronar, things which I never thought I’d feel.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, never taking his eyes off hers, never wanting the connection between them to sever. Though she had attempted to braid her hair, fiery strands had loosened and now danced in the breeze over her bodice and down her back. Lowering her hand, he reached for one, longing to caress it between his fingers, but she moved away, chest heaving. And he couldn’t help but be pleased to see his effect on her.
Hoisting the quiver onto her back, she took the bow and arrow from him, an impish gleam in her eye. “The trick is to learn to pull arrow after arrow from the quiver and fire them all in one fluid movement. Like this.” Positioning an arrow, she scanned the forest with the expertise and intensity of a trained warrior. Then ere he could blink, she fired at something, withdrew an arrow, nocked it and fired again, then again and again—never stopping to aim or even breathe.
Smiling, she lowered the bow and gestured for him to examine her work. Thirty yards away Ronar found a series of shattered pine cones, some in trees, others on the ground, one on top of boulder. Shaking his head, he retrieved the arrows and returned to her.
“Most impressive, Lady Falcon. But how do you maintain such accuracy whilst flying through trees?”
She took the arrows. “Practice. Many hours of practice.”
“I fail to see what would prompt you to practice from trees when the game you seek can be easily caught on the ground.”
“Some game is best hunted from above.”
“Like knights?” He cocked a brow.
She looked away and replaced the arrows in her quiver.
“But to your secret, my lady?”
“Very well.” She smiled and scanned the forest once again. “That Birch nigh forty yards away.”
Ronar found it then faced her just as she closed her eyes, pulled back the string, and released the arrow.
Closed her eyes? Impossible. Yet, moments later Ronar found the arrow embedded perfectly in the center of the trunk.
“You closed your eyes,” he said, upon returning, still not believing what he’d seen.
“Aye, ’tis the Spirit that guides me.”
“The Spirit?”
“Of God. He dwells within those who have received Christ.”
He snorted. “God lives within mere humans?”
“His Word tells us thus.”
Ronar frowned, disappointment threatening to unravel his joy of the past few days. “More blasphemy.”
“More truth, Sir Knight. You said it yourself. ’Twould be impossible to shoot so accurately from such a distance while leaping from branch to branch. The Spirit guides me. He reveals things no human eye can see.”
“What things?”
“Spirits, both light and dark, good and evil. Targets too far for me to hit with my natural eye.”
He gave a cynical chuckle. “You see angels?”
She nodded.
“And I suppose devils as well.”
“Aye. The Bible calls it discerning of spirits. I’ve had the gift since I was young. Even as a small child, I saw things in my chamber—beings of light who took me in flight over forest and lakes. My parents bade me keep silent, lest I be hailed a witch.”
Ronar studied her, his doubts rising. “Then why couldn’t you discern the evil within Sir LeGode? Why, after spending two years serving at Luxley, couldn’t you discern who was poisoning your sister, or even that she was being poisoned?”
She released a long sigh and limped to sit on a fallen log. “To my shame, whenever I am overly nervous or fearful, I cannot see into the realm beyond ours, no matter how hard I try. My emotions overwhelm me, and despite my every effort, I cannot quiet them.”
Something Ronar could well understand. After his sister had plunged to her death, rage and agony had consumed him, filling his head with whispers that bade him end it all as she had done, to throw himself in harm’s way in battle or simply follow her off the same cliff. Something or someone had preserved him through those times, and he’d learned to barricade his feelings behind a shield of self-control.
Still—he shook his head—seeing angels and devils? He hated his own skepticism, but more than that, he hated the pain it caused in Alexia’s eyes. “Tell me, Alexia, is there an angel here with us now?”
She pondered his request for a moment, then closed her eyes. Ronar watched as her breath settled and her lips began to move in silent prayer. After several moments, she opened her eyes and lifted her chin. “There are two here with us. My angel and yours. Mine stands to my left and yours is behind you.”
Ronar turned but saw nothing. Not that he expected to. But he’d hoped to somehow validate this lady’s claim, to prove she wasn’t as mad as she sounded, that h
e hadn’t fallen in love with a…in love? Indeed. He could not deny it now.
Alexia stood. “You think me mad. Mayhap even a witch.”
He longed to erase the pain from her eyes, bring back the joy he’d seen just moments ago. “I don’t know what I think.”
“Ronar, you have the Spirit living within you as well. I’ve seen it. You merely have to learn to hear His voice, to recognize His leading.” She glanced around the forest with an awe he’d not seen in her before. “There is a realm beyond ours, one you cannot imagine, filled with good and evil and battles and glory and”—she breathed a sigh and smiled—“endless wonders. ’Tis more real than this place and ’tis the destination of all when we breathe our last—some to the darkness, others to the light.”
“You speak of heaven and hell. I know of these things.”
“They are closer than you think. As are the beings who live in either place.”
Truth beamed from her eyes. He wanted to believe her. To believe God gave powers to His followers, that Ronar had more than his sword and wits to defeat the darkness he so often sensed around him.
But ’twas far too incredible.
She stiffened and her gaze suddenly shifted back to the forest.
Dark clouds swallowed up the sun overhead, drowning the trees in shadows.
Ronar listened. His ears were well trained to detect any danger coming—men’s breath, sword’s screeching from sheaths, horse hooves. But there was nothing but the rustle of leaves and whistle of wind and chirp of—wait, why had the birds suddenly gone silent?
“What is it?” he asked.
Alexia tightened her grip on her bow and drew an arrow. “The angels have drawn their swords.”
Chapter 25
Basket in hand, Seraphina entered the back gate of Castle Luxley and started across the busy courtyard. Some of the castle knights staved off their boredom by practicing with swords, others with ax or knife. Most, however, stood idly about, laughing and passing around tankards of ale. With the head knight so oft in his cups and LeGode spending most of his time brooding in his study, discipline among the men-at-arms had grown lax.
Keeping her gaze from them, Seraphina forced down yet another wave of dread. The chilling sensations had been coming more frequently of late, darker and more frightening than any she’d yet experienced. Danger still lurked in the castle, to be sure, but these forebodings were different, sinister, as if a black cloud hovered over Luxley and was about to descend.
So absorbed in her musings, Seraphina nearly ran into a page hurrying past with an armful of tunics recently cleaned by the laundress.
“Pardon me, mistress.” His shout joined the clank of the blacksmith, neigh of horse, and grunt of pig.
She smiled his way and shook off her gruesome thoughts. ’Twas a rare sunny day, warm, with fresh breezes, ripe with the scent of herbs, pine, and spring flowers. Drawing a deep breath, Seraphina lifted her face to the sun and took her time across the courtyard. Cristiana had sent her to gather wild lavender that grew in the fields outside the castle walls. The lady swore that scattering the herbs across the floor of her chamber calmed her nerves and enabled her to breathe better. But Seraphina knew ’twas her mistress’s kindness that had ordered her out on so fine a day, for normally she would never agree to leave Cristiana’s side. In fact, she hadn’t left her side, save to relieve herself, in many months, eating and even sleeping in Cristiana’s chamber. Now, more than ever, she must remain with her, ever vigilant against anyone wishing to do her mistress harm.
Yet she had to admit, it felt wonderful to be outside the castle walls, feel the breeze through her hair and the sun warm her skin. Stepping around a chicken, she slowed her pace, delaying just a little longer her return to the stuffy chamber.
A slurred male voice blared over her. “Look what the sun brought out, the most comely lady in the castle.” Other voices groaned in agreement. “Aye, come hither, mistress. Let’s have a look at ye up close.”
Seraphina dared a glance their way and found five knights dressed in coats of chain mail staring at her as if she were a roasted goose. She suddenly felt like a roasted goose as heat filled her chest and flooded her face. Ignoring them, she hurried to the kitchen.
“Not good enough for us?” The same voice followed her.
Another joined the first. “Why, you’d think a simple maid would be flattered to have the attention of knights of the realm.”
“Yet she ne’er grants us even a look or nary a smile,” another chimed in.
Was that all she was, a servant, a maid to the lady of the castle? A different kind of heat swamped her. ’Twas true, she supposed. Yet she hadn’t felt that way in a long while. In truth, she’d never felt that way. Mayhap she’d allowed the D’Clere family’s kindness to persuade her otherwise—to make her feel she was more of a friend, an equal, mayhap even a sister.
Nay, if she were any of those things, these besotted knights would treat her with respect, not like some common wench.
She heard them approach and rushed forward. But before she could reach the kitchen, one of them leapt in front of her.
“Alack, you forget your manners, Sir!” She stepped around him and proceeded as laughter bounded behind her.
Two more steps and she would be in the kitchen where dozens of people bustled about with their chores.
One more step.
A thick hand pinched her arm and spun her around. Four knights as big as trees surrounded her, crowding out the sun by their sheer size.
One of them fingered a lock of her hair. Another dared to touch the neckline of her bodice, his grimy finger sliding over the bare skin of her chest.
Dropping her basket, she leapt back and slapped both men away. “Pray, leave me be!” A brief scan of the courtyard revealed no rescuers in sight, just curious knights looking on.
“Come now, sweetheart. You keep yourself hidden away day and night. Surely, you must yearn for male attention.”
“What I yearn for is you to behave like gentlemen.”
“Grant us each a kiss, and you have our troth we will consider it next time.”
“Or mayhap the time after that,” one of them said, licking his lips.
“I’ll grant you naught!” she snapped back, struggling in the man’s grasp.
He tightened his grip. She tried to scream but found her voice had abandoned her.
“Looking for a fight?” A different male voice, deeper and more authoritative, intruded on the knights’ laughter, instantly silencing them. The villains froze and turned to face Sir Damien LaRage, anger stiffening his jaw, and a look in his eyes as if they were but rats he intended to stomp and be rid of.
Armor covered his upper and lower arms, bearing the crest of the King. Belts crisscrossed a leather breast plate into which were stuffed daggers, knives, and axes. His hand rested on the hilt of a sword strapped to his hip.
“We have no quarrel with you, LaRage.”
“You will if you do not release the lady at once.”
“She isn’t a lady. Just a maid that thinks she’s too good for us.”
“I find I quite agree with her.” Damien’s eyes finally met hers, and she saw a smile of reassurance within them before he faced the knights again.
“You took a vow to defend women, not ravish them,” he said.
“I remember no such vow.” The man holding her chuckled.
“Me neither,” another one said.
A third stepped forward, eyeing Damien in challenge. “All we ask is a small token of the lady’s favor—a mere kiss—a gift she has no doubt given to many a—”
Seraphina never saw the fist coming. Neither did the knight. It landed across his jaw and jerked him backward so hard it seemed he was struck by a battering ram. He fell to the ground with an ominous thud. One of his friends drew a long knife, the other two swords. In one swift move, Damien shoved Seraphina behind him, drew his own blade, and quickly dispatched the first knight with a kick to the groin and a hilt-head thump o
n the skull.
Seraphina’s heart seized. She should run to the safety of the castle. But she couldn’t leave this brave man who defended her at such great risk to himself.
Or was it great risk? He went blade to blade with the second man while fending off the third with a knife and kicking the fourth man in the thigh, toppling him to the ground. He swung his sword so fast, Seraphina could hardly follow its movements, save for the sun’s blinding reflections. He sliced the second man’s thigh, sending him limping away, knocked the blade out of the third man’s hand, and then picked up the fourth man beneath his chin and smashed him against the stable wall. “Touch her again, dare to even look her way, and I’ll finish what I started here. Understand?”
Though a sneer rode on the knight’s mouth, fear nodded from his eyes.
Damien released him, then turned to retrieve his sword from the ground. When he saw her still standing there, surprise and another emotion she could not place rolled over his face.
“Are you harmed?”
“Thanks to you, nay.” She smiled and took a deep breath.
He made no reply, simply knelt, gathered the bundles of lavender and placed them back in the basket. When she slid her hand in the crook of his extended elbow, she felt the twitch of his muscles recently used to defend her honor. “You are my champion, Sir.”
She sensed a hesitancy, even a nervousness in the large knight as he led her through the kitchen into the main hall. Servant boys dashed to and fro, preparing the tables for the noon meal while minstrels plucked their instruments in the corner as if naught of import had just occurred in the courtyard.
Yet much had occurred. This knight who walked so close beside her had just defeated four of Luxley’s best knights! She smiled and could not deny the leap of her heart. ’Twas the stuff of romantic ballads—a fantasy she never thought would happen to someone like her.
“I do not know why the knights have become so bold of late.” She broke the awkward silence between them, hoping he would answer. “I have never felt unsafe walking about the castle grounds.”
“’Tis LeGode’s doing. Something has him in a rage.” He glanced around them before adding, “Lady Alexia D’Clere’s escape, I would assume. Regardless, he calls none of the knights to account and allows the master of arms to drink himself into oblivion from dawn to dusk.”
She Walks in Power Page 20