She made her way past the cooks and servants preparing the evening meal which, from the scents reaching her nose, consisted of meat pottage, stewed rabbit with onions and saffron, and something else that smelled quite sweet.
None of which was meant for her.
Nay, she’d have to wait and partake of the scraps left over after the lords and ladies ate. But for now, she’d be content with a sip of wine or ale. Well, more than a sip if she had her way. At nine and twenty and with a figure to match a pregnant sow, Marriel had long since given up her dream of marriage and children. Or any reprieve, for that matter, from the long hours of hard labor she’d endured since her father and mother died, leaving her alone in the world. The only thing that brought her any joy was her nightly spirits.
She searched the kitchen—full of stacks of dishes that awaited cleaning—for pitchers of good wine returned from the hall. She always found a few sips left at the bottom which she was happy to consume. No sense in wasting good drink.
But there was nothing tonight.
Passing into the pantry, she spotted a flask of wine set on a tray with fresh bread and cheese. The maid who was in the process of laying everything perfectly upon it, spotted Marriel and looked up.
“’Tis for Lady D’Clere. Sir LeGode ordered a special sour wine to help settle her stomach. She’s taken ill again, I’m afraid.”
Though Marriel had never had the pleasure of speaking to the lady of the manor, she’d oft heard of her long illness. “I’m sad to hear it,” she said, though she meant not a word. She’d rather be ill and lying in a lavish chamber above with a bevy of servants waiting on her than spend day after day scrubbing dirty clothes. Poor, wealthy Lady D’Clere. Marriel could find no sympathy for the lady of the manor.
What she could find sympathy for was her desperate need for a drink. She stared at the flask of wine and licked her lips.
“Oh my,” the maid exclaimed. “I’ve forgotten the yogurt. Milady loves her yogurt. What are you doing here, Marriel?”
“Looking for something to drink,” she returned innocently. “’Twas a long, hot day.”
“Aye, to be sure.” The maid smiled. “There’s some water and wine there in the barrel. Help yourself.” Then off she dashed back to the kitchen.
Aye, bitter wine mixed with slimy water. Marriel eyed the pewter flask on Lady D’Clere’s tray, then glanced toward the door. Before she changed her mind and with a speed that belied her wide girth, Marriel snagged the flask from its perch and drained it in one huge gulp. Spicy and delicious, just as she had expected. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she quickly ladled the watered down wine from the barrel into the flask and replaced it on the tray.
No one would ever know.
Chapter 27
Thoughts and emotions awhirl, Alexia entered the courtyard, silently praising God for His deliverance. She’d never encountered such a ferocious demonic assault. And in truth, she hadn’t been sure of her victory. Fear had gripped every nerve, every organ, until she could hardly breathe, hardly think of what to do. Faith…faith. She had needed faith! But alas, her fear had threatened to trample what little she possessed.
Potz! Why could she not learn this one lesson.
Ronar appeared beside her. “What in the name of all that is holy was that?”
As if the realization of what they had just done struck her all at once, her knees turned to porridge, the sky began to spin, and she stumbled, hating her display of weakness. Wrapping an arm around her, Ronar led her to sit on a bench by the stables. A lamp hanging on a post above cast a circle of light around them, reminding her that God was still with them.
Ronar took her hand in his, a gesture that calmed her more than she wanted to admit.
“That had naught to do with anything holy.” She watched as he scanned the dark courtyard, his other hand fastened to the hilt of his sword. Ever the warrior. Did this knight never fail to surprise her? “You didn’t tell me fighting demons was among your many skills, Sir Knight.”
“I was unaware such a skill existed.” He huffed. “In truth, ’twas learned quickly by your example and the necessity of my own survival.”
The smell of roast chicken and baked pears wafted from the kitchen, tantalizing her taste buds but souring her stomach.
Bridon hurried out the kitchen door and made his way to them. “My lord, when do you require your evening”—horror streaked his hooded gaze—“You are injured, my lord!”
Alexia followed the steward’s gaze to the blood staining Ronar’s right sleeve. She had forgotten he’d been bitten. “We must tend it immediately.” She started to rise, but Ronar tugged her back down and waved off his steward.
“Bridon, prepare the lady a bath in my chamber and retrieve another gown from Idon—the wardrobe. Then you may lay out our dinner in the hall and retire for the evening. We shall be in anon.”
Though one judgmental brow cocked, the man nodded and uttered, “As you wish, my lord,” ere he strode away.
Rising, Alexia tugged on Ronar, attempting to pull the massive knight to his feet, but it was like pulling a mountain from its moorings. “Your wound cannot wait. Come.”
He didn’t budge. “First, tell me what those fiends were and why we defeated them so easily.”
“Easily?” Alexia continued to yank on him, but finally gave up and released his hand. “Mayhap for you. They were demons sent to kill us, I expect.”
“But they had flesh and bone.” He moved his arm and winced. “And real teeth.”
“Aye, I am as surprised as you.” Something she would have to ask the friar about later.
“Who sent them?”
“The bishop, LeGode. I know not. Someone with access to the powers of darkness. I have seen them before. Once last year, they surrounded and killed a traveler on his way to Luxley ere I could intervene.”
“LeGode then. Not the bishop. I may not be fond of him, but he is still a man of the cloth.” Ronar stood, placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and started for the main entryway. “The name of Christ. You spoke it as you fired each arrow.”
“As you did as well.” She smiled.
“’Twas hard to deny the power it wielded.”
“’Tis the most powerful name in all existence.” That and the Spear in her pocket. “Without it, my arrows would have no impact on such otherworldly fiends.”
“How did you know it would work?” He opened the large wooden door and led her into the entryway, dark save for a single candle perched on a sideboard.
“And these signs shall follow them that believe,” she quoted from Scripture. “In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.”
This time Ronar did not cover his ears. Instead, he shut the door and simply stood there in the dark silence. Finally, she heard him release a sigh. “Simply saying His name? I cannot fathom it. Why do they not teach this in church?”
“Then what need would we have of priests?” she quipped.
“They are God’s chosen.”
Alexia bit her lip as Ronar led her to the foot of the stairway. “It pains me greatly to know that in the future, though all will have access to the Scriptures, people will rely on men once again and many of these men will not teach the power of the Spirit. ‘Having a form of godliness, but denying its power,’” she quoted again.
“The friar has told you this.”
“Aye. And I believe him.” She turned to face him, barely able to make out his features in the dim candlelight. “I do pray he is safe.”
He squeezed her hand. “I pray so as well.”
“Now, Sir Knight. You must teach me more about controlling my emotions.”
“Tush! What need? You did quite well today, Lady Falcon.” He smiled. “Pray, what truth did you seek?”
“The only truth I know is real. That God loves me and will never leave me.
”
He nodded. “And when you sought that truth, what happened to your fear?”
“It lessened, to be sure. Yet I still felt it just a breath away, threatening to rise again.” She cocked her head and studied him. “What truth do you seek when you are afraid, Ronar?”
He looked away. “Penance. That God will not let me die until I have paid the price for my sins.”
Her heart sank, desperately longing to see him free of this torturous burden.
“Next time,” he said. “Simply remember that the truth is always greater than fear’s lie.”
Turning, she took the first step but then faced him again. “I will do my best, Ronar LePeine, Sir Knight, Earl of Rivenhall, whoever you are today.”
Without warning, he swept her in his arms and began ascending the stairs. “Today, I am your humble servant.”
“We really haven’t time for this, Ronar. Nor a bath, nor a meal. LeGode knows where we are. Surely, he will dispatch his knights forthwith.”
“I agree.”
He set her down before his chamber door.
“You agree with me? ’Tis a first. Does that mean you are to release me from captivity?”
He eased hair behind her ear. “And what an enchanting captive you have been. But let us not talk of such things. Not tonight. Let us enjoy a good meal, laughter, and wine one last time. And then we shall leave at first light.”
Though she didn’t want to admit it, that sounded absolutely heavenly. Had Ronar enjoyed their time together as much as she had? He’d had so many women, ’twas hard to believe he found her anything special. But how could she deny the look of complete adoration she now saw in his eyes?
“As you wish, Sir Knight.”
His gaze lowered to her lips, and much to her shame, she hoped he’d remember their bargain for a kiss. But instead, he bowed and walked away.
Inside the chamber she found a large barrel full of warm water, a crackling fire, and a fresh kirtle and bodice. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bathed in water that wasn’t cold and filled with fish, fronds, and frogs. Alas, she could have soaked in the sudsy warmth all night, save for her excitement of the evening ahead.
After drying and donning the fresh gown, she knelt by a chair, reached in the pocket of her chemise, and brought out the Spear. Candlelight shimmered over the aged steel, and she kissed it and drew it to her bosom. “Father, thank You for delivering us today from evil and for showing Your power to Ronar. Please open his eyes to Your grace and truth, and please protect us from the coming storm.”
A storm she felt advancing toward her with ever increasing speed.
“Father, please protect Cristiana, Seraphina, Anabelle, and Friar Josef. Surround them with your warrior angels. Thank you, my King.”
She rose, replaced the Spear, then pressed the folds of her emerald green skirt, relishing in the feel of the soft fabric and the way the gold trim glittered in the candlelight. A belt made of golden chains and embedded with jewels sat lightly on her hips and hung down the front of the gown. Though her hair was still damp, she’d managed to braid the strands around her face and pull them back with a golden tie. Gazing at herself in the mirror, she had to admit she barely recognized the lady staring back at her. She’d never felt as beautiful as she had this past week and as she made her way downstairs, a twinge of sorrow gripped her that her time here would soon come to an end.
Before she was halfway down, Ronar appeared, took the stairs two at a time and hoisted her in his arms.
“You really should stop doing that.”
“Why?” He smelled of wine and lye and man, and she realized he had bathed as well. The wet tips of his brown hair curled at his collar, and his blue eyes beamed with the anticipation she felt in her own heart.
He set her down in the hall, and she was instantly assailed with the savory scents of chicken, onions, saffron, and something sweet. Pears? Steam rose from trenchers upon the candlelit table covered in a white cloth.
Ronar had donned a fresh tunic, doublet and breeches, but she could see the bulge of a bandage beneath his shirt sleeve. “Your arm!” She reached for it.
“Is well. Bridon tended it.” He took her hand and led her to the table. “Come. Let us eat.”
And so they sat and talked and ate and drank wine as if they hadn’t just defeated a horde of demonic wolves and a troop of knights weren’t on their way to capture them.
Somehow those things drifted into the background, merely tales of bad news from a land far away—a land that could never touch them here. All that mattered was this knight, this man with the broken heart and sad eyes, who gazed at her as if she possessed all the gold of Midas.
After the meal, they took seats before the fire as they had done the first night they’d arrived. Fond memories arose of that time only days ago that now seemed years for all she’d learned of him.
“Where will we go tomorrow, Ronar? Emerald Forest?” Or so she hoped. To find the friar and make plans to defeat LeGode.
“We make haste for London to see the king.” He answered without looking at her.
“Nay!” She shouted. “I must discover if my sister is well and protected.”
“She is. I trust Jarin.”
“I do not.” She sprang to her feet. “I don’t know him at all.”
He gave her an authoritative look that brooked no dispute. “You know me, and I trust him with my life.”
Obstinate, arrogant man! “What can we do in London?”
“The king will listen to me…to us. I will request he send us back with his best knights to deal once and for all with LeGode.”
“The king will believe Bishop Montruse. He will think me a witch and have me burned.”
Ronar frowned. “It will not come to that.”
“You do not know.”
“What other choice do we have?” Ronar stood, his tone softening. “Storm Castle Luxley with one sword and a bow and arrow?”
She lifted her chin. “And God on our side.”
He huffed. “I will not deny what I saw today, but surely God requires prudence and wisdom from his subjects, not foolhardy rashness.”
Alexia swallowed down her frustration. “You sound like the friar.”
“Wise man.” Ronar tossed a piece of wood in the fire, sending sparks crackling up the chimney. “Let us not speak of this tonight.” He reached for her hand. “Alexia, no more secrets between us. You know every detail about my life, and hence, I am surprised you still bear my company.”
“I more than bear your company, Ronar. I enjoy it. Have enjoyed it immensely.”
He caressed her fingers. “As I have yours. No more secrets, then? A pact between us?”
Alexia looked away. How could she make such a pact when she could feel the Spear this man sought for against her thigh? She was the Protector. She must not forget that. Regardless of the way this man made her insides turn to mush, he had come for the Spear—was duty-bound to bring it to the king. Doing so would earn him another rung up the ladder of penance he so ardently sought, no matter how misguided he was.
“No more secrets,” she mumbled out. Save one
“Then let us enjoy the remainder of the evening.” Releasing her hand, he moved to the table and poured them both wine, then tossed cushions before the fire and sat down.
Moments of silence passed as the wind whistled against the stone walls, the flames crackled, and a horse neighed from the stables. He sipped his wine. Firelight flickered over the firm line of his jaw and brought out the sorrow in his eyes. An errant strand of hair fell across his forehead, and he seemed so far away, she longed to bring him back. Rising from her chair, she knelt beside him and ran fingers over the scruff at his chin, turning his gaze to her. “Oh, that I could ease your pain, Ronar.”
He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. “You have, Alexia. More than you know. I have never known a lady like you.”
Feeling suddenly shy, she grinned. “Not courted any women who leap from tree t
o tree and shoot arrows down at you?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “As if that weren’t exciting enough, I find you are so much more than that. Godly, kind, generous, forgiving, courageous, fiercely loyal.” He traced the line of her jaw with his finger. “And exceedingly beautiful.”
Her heart swelled and she glanced down. “Cease, I beg you. You make me blush.”
Placing a finger beneath her chin, he brought her gaze back to his, his eyes so full of affection, her breath escaped her.
Before she knew it, his lips were on hers, caressing her with warm, tender kisses that sent her thoughts spinning and her senses into ecstasy. And suddenly nothing but Ronar mattered. The taste of him, his touch, his scent. His very presence. He wrapped thick arms around her and pressed her against his chest.
Her heart pounded. Heat swamped her, and she couldn’t get close enough to him, wanting more and more of him.
Gently, he laid her down on the cushions, continuing the kiss, going deeper with his need for her. His beard scratched her cheek. His strength surrounded her. And Alexia lost herself in him—utterly, completely lost. Something in the back of her mind told her ’twas wrong to be alone with him, lying atop pillows, receiving his kiss. Wasn’t it?
He pulled back and gazed down upon her, his blue eyes burning with desire…and something else. “I love you, Alexia.”
Too stunned to speak, she could only stare at him. Love? Her? Against her will, tears filled her eyes. One escaped and slid down her temple.
He halted it with his thumb. “Not the reaction I hoped for.”
She embraced him, running fingers through the hair at his neck. “I love you, too,” she whispered.
Once again, his lips found hers, and once again, Alexia entered another world where time and wolves and demons and danger ceased to exist. His grip tightened. His kiss grew deeper and more intense. But then he backed away, breathless, staring at her. He ran the back of his hand over her cheek, and she closed her eyes beneath his gentle touch. Suddenly she felt him lifting her body and rolling her over until her back was to him. Then wrapping an arm around her from behind, he laid down beside her.
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