She Walks in Power

by Tyndall, MaryLu

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and she took the first tread and turned to face him. Even with the advantage, he still towered over her. Black wavy hair crowned his head, while a mustache and well-trimmed beard circled a strong, well-formed mouth. His skin was a shade darker than hers, his brown eyes intense and somber, yet she sensed anger simmering within them.

  And the way he looked at her now, not at all like the knights in the courtyard had looked at her, made her knees suddenly weak.

  “They will not bother you again, Miss. I will see to it. And should any other man at Luxley behave in an untoward manner toward you, inform me immediately.”

  After the way he so easily dispatched four knights, she doubted anyone would dare bother her again. And for the briefest of moments, she relished in the feeling of being protected by such a man. “Why are you so kind to me, Sir?”

  He started to say something, but hesitated, then taking her hand, he raised it to his lips and placed a kiss upon it. “I have taken a vow.”

  “So have Luxley’s knights.”

  “I take mine seriously.”

  She half-hoped there was more to it than that. But what did it matter? Though the incident had been terrifying, it had reminded her that she was naught but a mere servant, a chamber maid. Her pedigree and education forbade her to even be labeled a true companion to the lady.

  Noise drew their gazes to the hall where boys laid white cloths over the trestle tables, then covered them with steel knives, spoons, salt dishes, silver cups and mazers.

  “You wish to leave Luxley,” she said, drawing his eyes back to hers.

  Surprise raised his brows, but he made no reply.

  “There’s a restlessness about you,” she said shyly.

  “I am not a man prone to idleness, Miss.”

  “Nay I wouldn’t think so.” She glanced down, knowing ’twas improper to proceed but unable to stop herself. “Yet there is something else, something that disturbs you.”

  His brow furrowed. “How do you know this?”

  “Ofttimes, I sense things about people.”

  He rubbed his beard and nodded. “There is one I seek.”

  “Someone who did you harm.”

  Anger burst so suddenly in his eyes, her heart started to pound. “Someone who killed my mother and father and left me an orphan.”

  Though she longed to discover more, she said naught, and instead, boldly took his hand in hers.

  The gesture brought a rare smile to his lips.

  “I must away to my lady now, Sir LaRage.”

  “How fares she?”

  “Better.” A look of understanding passed between them. “She will attend the noon meal, and you can see for yourself.”

  “Then I shall see you there as well.”

  Feeling suddenly flushed, she withdrew her hand and started up the stairs. One glance over her shoulder told her his eyes remained upon her.

  ♥♥♥

  Evil surrounded Alexia—dark, insatiable, evil. The hunter was seeking its prey with a ravenous hunger so cold and empty, it sent a shiver down to her bones.

  “What is it?” Ronar asked again, drawing his sword and glancing over the forest with the eyes of a warrior trained to detect danger.

  But this was not a danger one could sense naturally. Nay, this was something far beyond this world, something powerful, something that hunted without conscience, without limits.

  Something that not only killed the body but dragged the soul to hell.

  “’Tis evil,” she murmured.

  Ronar’s eyes met hers. “I feel it as well.”

  Shock filtered through her at his statement. He returned his gaze to the trees as evening cloaked them in shadows. “Can you see it?” he asked.

  Did he believe her? She swallowed, trying to settle her heart. Then taking a breath, she closed her eyes and sought the Spirit’s sight, all the while whispering prayers in the Spirit for power and guidance. And help!

  But only darkness prevailed. She opened her eyes, her nerves bound as tight as twine. “I cannot. I’m too frightened,” she breathed out, hating the terror in her voice.

  Ronar approached, gripped her arm, and started to lead her back toward the manor house. A growl raked across her spine.

  The growl of a beast intent on capturing its prey.

  A wolf, dark as the night, emerged from the trees, white fangs dripping, eyes blood red.

  Ronar froze.

  Another wolf appeared, and then another and another, caging them in a prison of sharp, salivating fangs.

  She turned to Ronar and saw the terror in his eyes. He sees them too.

  Sword before him, Ronar retreated, seeking an escape. Other wolves appeared, snarling and growling and staring at them with lifeless, malevolent eyes.

  Alexia sought her breath. She had to calm herself. “Faith not fear, calm not calamity.” The friar’s words repeated in her head, along with a psalm she had memorized. In God I have put my trust; I will not fear what flesh can do unto me. But these beasts were not flesh! Father, help! Another Scripture blared in her thoughts: For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

  “These are not real wolves, Ronar,” she whispered. “We cannot defeat them with arrow or sword.”

  “Real or not, I cannot fight them all.”

  Indeed, at least twenty beasts surrounded them now, forming a circle of fangs and claws that closed in on them with every passing second.

  The one who seemed to be the leader lifted his lips and uttered a howl that severed Alexia’s heart. She slipped her hand into Ronar’s and closed her eyes.

  They were going to be eaten alive.

  .

  ♥♥♥

  Just as he had in Luxley castle, Ronar sensed the evil in these wolves…demonic beings…whatever they were. Terror as he’d never experienced in the fiercest battle turned his heart to ice. He had single-handedly battled a dozen warriors, led entire armies against enemy hordes. But how, by all the holy saints, could he defeat creatures from another realm? He turned to Alexia and found her eyes closed yet again. Fear clenched her features and heightened her breath. He clutched her arms and spun her to face him. “Draw your strength from within, Alexia. Not from what you feel, but from what you know. The truth you know. Feed your fear to the truth.”

  Something he had learned on the battlefield. There was always fear, but ’twas how one used that fear that made the difference.

  Angry snarls stabbed the air as the beasts closed in.

  Nudging her behind him, Ronar took a stance and swept his blade at the closest wolf. His sword struck something solid, and the wolf yelped and retreated. Not specters, after all! Real flesh and blood wolves. With real fangs. He didn’t know which was worse.

  Behind him, he heard Alexia’s breath return, long and smooth and deep. He felt her push from him, heard the strain of her bowstring.

  “Jesus,” she uttered the simple name and let the arrow fly. It struck one of the wolves. The beast shrieked, leapt in the air, and instantly disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

  Ronar could only stare, blinking, too stunned to move. Much to his shame, ’twas Alexia who continued the battle, firing arrow after arrow, the name of Jesus growing louder and bolder on her lips. Each arrow met its mark. And each wolf disappeared in a growl of inky smoke.

  The remaining wolves grew only more ferocious, howling and salivating from devilish grins and eyes of fire. One of them charged Ronar, flying through the air, claws extended, mouth peeled back over pointed teeth.

  He swung his blade, the name of their Savior on his lips. The beast’s whimper faded in a sooty mist.

  An arrow zipped past his ear, striking another charging wolf.

  Pain tore through his right arm. He turned to find fangs embedded in his flesh.

  “Ronar!” Alexia screamed.

  Switching his blade into
his left hand he plunged it into the wolf. “Jesus.” The name emerged in but a whisper, but hatred like he’d never seen speared him from the animal’s eyes before the beast disappeared.

  Wheeling about, he swung at another and another, shouting the name of Christ.

  Arrow after arrow sped through the air around him. Black smoke filled the clearing.

  Then all grew silent…save the flutter of leaves, distant thunder, and the rasping of their breathing.

  Both he and Alexia scanned the forest, turning slowly, weapons at the ready.

  The wolves were gone.

  He stared at her in amazement, his heart and mind awhirl with fear, shock, and thoughts he dared not entertain. “What just happened?”

  But instead of relief, instead of running into his arms, anger darkened her brow. Slinging her bow over her shoulder, she stormed back to the manor.

  “They found us.”

  Chapter 26

  Unable to stomach the fine fare set before him, Sir LeGode rose from his place beside Lady D’Clere at the High Table and now stood at the edge of the great hall eyeing the mindless festivities. He’d arranged a veritable feast—salmon roasted in butter, pheasant baked in golden crusts, a pork fritter in mustard sauce, last year’s plums stewed with raisins, cinnamon, and cloves and served with fresh cream. Endless jugs of beer were added to half-a-dozen precious wines brought from across the Christian world. Each course was accompanied by jugglers, acrobats, poets, or dancers.

  Frivolous waste! He’d only ordered the entertainment to appease the bishop. Yet now the man’s continued drunken laughter stole what remained of LeGode’s good humor. Against his better judgment, he returned his gaze to the boorish man, who was shoving all manner of food in his mouth and laughing with glee at a skit wherein a goat chased a Saxon across the room.

  Buffoon. Speaking of buffoons, where had Cedric run off to? LeGode had placed him beside Lady D’Clere for yet another attempt to charm the lady, but the dog-hearted clod had abandoned her after barely putting forth any effort at all. Giving leave for Jarin the Just to take his place. Which is why LeGode had left. He could hardly stand the flirtatious laughter and whispered affections flowing betwixt the two of them. Vile knight! Even now, his gaze landed on the lady as she leaned to whisper in Sir Jarin’s ear.

  LeGode fisted his hands. Why was she not sick in her bed? There was color to her fair cheeks and a luster in her eyes that hadn’t been there for years. She’d even consumed her meal without so much as a hand on her stomach to indicate her illness.

  He ground his teeth, restraining a curse. Had that witch Alexia told her the truth? Nay, for surely Cristiana would have had LeGode arrested at once. If only his knights would arrive. Not even the two remaining King’s Guard would dare challenge fifty knights—LeGode’s and the twenty he’d already brought over. In addition, many of Luxley’s knights were loyal to him ever since he’d spread rumors of Lady D’Clere’s madness.

  Alack, her sudden recovery put him ill at ease. Her knights would not follow a woman weak in her bed, but they might follow a strong lady in command of her mind and body. Aye, Cristiana could easily put his long-laid plans to ruin—especially with that vain cockerel by her side.

  Grrr! He wanted to growl, shout at the top of his lungs, stab someone with his knife. But instead, he smiled politely at a passing guest.

  ’Twas obvious Lady D’Clere had been warned about the potions. But LeGode had other methods. A smile began to form as plans took root.

  That smile faded when Cedric appeared out of nowhere, glass of mead in hand. At the sight of his father, he spun to go the other way.

  “Cedric!” LeGode shouted, bringing the lad sheepishly to his side. “I told you to stay beside Lady D’Clere, make an attempt at intelligent conversation, lavish her with praises… do something to gain her affection!”

  Cedric seemed to shrink before his eyes. “I have tried, Father. ’Tis obvious she has no interest in me.” He gazed at the lady in question. “See how she plays the coquette with Sir Jarin.”

  “Because you are not there!” LeGode seethed.

  Cedric pouted.

  “Never mind! Be gone. I’ll figure something else out.” Cedric happily skipped away, hooking arms with a jester, who spun him around, eliciting chuckles from the crowd.

  LeGode shook his head and stopped a passing servant bearing a flagon of wine. “How much wine do you have left?”

  “I’m almost empty, Sir. I was heading to the kitchens for more.”

  LeGode grabbed the flagon and stared inside. Enough for half a glass. A juggler who was tossing apples in the air dropped one, drawing jeers and cheers from the guests. The servant looked away for a moment, and LeGode reached into his pocket and pulled out the latest vial of poison Drogo had given him and emptied it into the jug.

  “Before you refill it”—he handed it back to the servant—“be a good lad and pour the rest into Lady D’Clere’s glass. She expressed how parched she was this day.”

  “Aye, Sir.” After bowing, the lad sped off, and did exactly as LeGode had instructed him.

  Slinking further into the shadows, LeGode reached in his pocket for the other vial, while he waited for the lady to take a drink. ’Twould be easier if she did. But whether she did or not—he gripped the vial tightly and smiled—he had another way to get exactly what he wanted.

  ♥♥♥

  Though Cristiana felt better than she had in years, she’d been hesitant to attend the noon day festivities for two reasons—one, the annoying attentions of Sir LeGode’s son, who constantly buzzed around her like a pesky fly, and two and far worse, having to be polite to Sir LeGode, pasting on a smile and acting as if she didn’t long to lock him up in the tower. Instead, she must wait, feign ignorance of his evil plans until Jarin assured her the knights were on her side.

  But thankfully, a short while after their meal was served, both LeGode and his son left the table, granting her a welcome reprieve. One that grew even better when Sir Jarin took the seat beside her.

  “Don’t look now, but Sir LeGode is staring our way from the corner of the room.” Jarin’s eyes flashed mischief.

  “I care not. I’m merely happy he left us alone.”

  “Rest assured, he won’t do so for long.” One brow rose in reprimand. “I told you to stay abed, my lady.”

  “Are you not happy to see me?” she replied coyly.

  He smiled. “Quite the contrary. I am most happy to see you. And even more honored to sit by your side.” He drew her hand to his lips for a kiss.

  Warmth swirled within her at the look of affection in the strong knight’s eyes. “Sir, I do feel a blush coming on. And from the looks of things.” She glanced to the table just beneath theirs, where Seraphina and Damien sat side-by-side deep in conversation. “I am not the only one. No doubt your knightly training involved not only the art of war but the art of romance as well.”

  “Nay. With some ladies, it merely comes naturally.”

  “With some men, you mean to say, for I perceive you are naught but a libertine, a rather charming libertine, who has no doubt left myriad broken hearts by the wayside.”

  A spark of sorrow burned in his gaze before he responded. “I fear a fortnight ago your words would have rung true.” He ran a gentle thumb over her hand before his eyes met hers once again. “But now, my heart has but one desire.”

  The sincerity in those eyes threatened to undo her. As it was, she could hardly quell the wild thump of her heart. Nay! She would not fall for his seduction—would not be listed among the many maids he’d chased around and bedded when he’d first arrived. The thought of which made her stomach sour.

  She must change the subject. “No word of my sister or Ronar?”

  A juggler dropped a ball, and laughter ensued as the minstrels began plucking a new tune.

  “Not yet. Never fear. He won’t allow her to return to danger. If I know Ronar, he already has a plan to save not only her but you and Luxley as well.”

 
“And what of your plans, Sir Jarin?”

  “I have convinced some of the knights to your side, but I must be careful not to approach those who will inform LeGode.” He shifted a narrowed glance to the man in question. “I fear he has spread rumors that you are not in your right mind, that you cannot manage the estate.”

  Anger burned raw in her throat. “The snake!” Her gaze snapped to LeGode speaking with his son, who jerked away and began dancing with a jester.

  Jarin shook his head at Cedric’s foolishness. “With your sister gone and you so ill, many see LeGode as the rightful Lord of Luxley. They are accustomed to taking orders from him and demand the assurance of your health before granting you their fealty.”

  “Which is precisely why I appeared today.” She raised her chin. “To show everyone I am no longer ill.”

  “’Tis a fine line you tread, my lady.”

  Against all propriety, she gripped his hand. “A line I am happy to tread as long as you are by my side.”

  “If only you would allow me.”

  “I have not dismissed you yet, have I?” She teased, but then grew somber. “I am most grateful for your protection, Sir Jarin. With my sister hunted, and my trusted steward poisoning me, I find myself quite alone, and oft very frightened.”

  A young boy approached and filled her cup with wine, and she suddenly wished there was no intrigue or danger afoot, and she was but a lady being courted by a handsome knight.

  “You are not alone, my lady. As I have said, I will protect you with my life. You have my troth.”

  For some unknown reason, despite his good looks and flattery, despite the fact that he could charm a beggar from his last coin, she believed him.

  Grabbing her glass, she took a big, long sip.

  ♥♥♥

  Marriel la Lauendere mopped the sweat from her brow and waddled into the kitchen. Like every other day of her miserable life, she had spent hours down by the river cleaning clothes for all the inhabitants of the castle—beating, scrubbing, wringing, and hanging, until every bone in her body ached and she longed for food, a bed—and most of all a drink.