She Walks in Power

by Tyndall, MaryLu

  His hot breath tickled her neck, making it difficult to settle the mad rush of blood through her veins, but it was his whisper in her ear that warmed her heart. “I will not dishonor you, Alexia. I love you too much for that.”

  With those precious words, this man made her feel more cherished, more loved, than all the passionate kisses in the kingdom. Slowly, her breath settled, her heart slowed, and she snuggled against him. Exhaustion weighed on her eyes, and she knew she was falling asleep in his arms. She knew ’twas most improper.

  But she also knew she never wanted to leave his side.

  Chapter 28

  “She destroyed my wolves!”

  LeGode had never seen the warlock so furious. He took a step back lest a lightning bolt fling from the man’s white-hot glance and strike him dead.

  The stench of sulfur and burnt flesh rose like dragon’s breath from the ever-present pot bubbling in the center of the chamber. Bats, unaffected by the furor brewing beneath them, hung in rows of black, dripping ink.

  After several moments of Drogo mumbling and muttering and stopping to examine red coals scattered across a table, LeGode dared to say, “Can you not conjure up more?”

  Drogo swung about, and LeGode could swear he saw smoke shoot from his mouth. “Conjure? Do you think it easy to pull such beasts from their feasting in hell?”

  LeGode had no idea. Though he knew a certain beast he’d love to send to hell at the moment. He grew weary of this man’s constant complaining and failures. Which reminded him. “The potion you gave me to ensure Lady D’Clere’s affections bears no effect on her at all. She spends what little time she has away from her bed with that maggot, Jarin the Just.”

  Ignoring him, Drogo retrieved a scroll, spread it out on a table, and slid his long, black nail down the script therein.

  “Forsooth!” LeGode continued, his anger growing, “Our laundress, a fat sow of a woman, has taken to following Cedric everywhere, proclaiming her love for him.”

  Drogo growled and glared up at him. “Because she drank the tonic meant for your lady, you half-brained lout.”

  LeGode grimaced. Of course. Could he not trust one maid—one well-paid maid—to do the simplest of tasks? He would see her released at once.

  “We have bigger problems than the lady’s interest in this knight at the moment,” Drogo said, still reading the scroll.

  “I quite agree.” Capturing Alexia and the Spear for one. Then at last the Bishop and this Jarin the Just could finally quit Luxley.

  Drogo slammed his fist on the table. LeGode jerked as the warlock’s eyes narrowed in fury. “She used the Spear against my wolves!”

  LeGode restrained his laughter. “How could any Spear, especially the mere tip of one so old, defeat such hellish creatures?”

  The warlock gaped at him as if he were an imbecile. “Because of where it has been. It is holy.” His lips twisted into a snarl as if the very word burned his mouth. “Know you naught of the battle we are in?”

  The only battle LeGode was aware of was his struggle to acquire Luxley as his own. He shrugged. “Now that we know where she is, it should be a simple task to capture her.”

  “She is not alone,” Drogo spat. “That knight is with her.”

  “Ronar LePeine.” LeGode had suspected as much, for the lady could not have escaped without help. “What is one knight against fifty? I will dispatch a troop right away.”

  “You fool! With the Spear in hand, they can defeat anyone or anything we send against them.”

  Indeed? LeGode tapped his chin. Mayhap there was something to this Spear, after all, for LeGode had never seen Drogo so out of sorts. No wonder the king sought the relic as his own. With such an object, one could conquer the world. LeGode smiled. “Then how are we to steal it from them?”

  Drogo fingered his long beard. “She must come to us of her own accord.”

  “Would that she were that dim-witted.”

  Ignoring him, Drogo held out his arm and whistled. A black raven appeared out of nowhere and landed on his hand. “What one thing would draw her back to Luxley?”

  The raven eyed LeGode as if it wished to peck out his eyes. He swallowed. “Her sister.”

  “Then all you need do is send a message that her sister is dying.”

  “She won’t believe it.”

  “Send someone she trusts. She will come. Those whose hearts are pure always put others ahead of themselves. Weak fools!” He shook his arm and the raven screeched and flapped up into the cavernous hole above them.

  Someone she trusted. LeGode knew just the person.

  ♥♥♥

  A chilled mist surrounded Cristiana. She rubbed her arms and took a step forward. Trees appeared out of the fog like subjects parting for royalty. Cold mud squished between her toes. She could see naught ahead of her, save misty shadows and a speck of light in the distance. Behind her, darkness pursued—a cloud of thick black rolling toward her, fierce, malevolent, devouring the forest as it went. A raven cawed. She hurried her pace.

  Where am I? How did I get here? Her heart squeezed. Her mind spun with fleeting thoughts.

  Still, the darkness came. And she knew if she didn’t keep moving, keep fighting, it would swallow her whole, and she would be lost forever.

  Shoving aside the misty curtain, she dashed forward. Her foot struck something hard. Pain sent her tumbling to the mud. Laughter barreled over her from behind. Tears filled her eyes. “Help me! Help!” She tried to get up, but the thick clay held fast to her ankle and tugged her back down.

  “Nay!” She jerked from its grip and stood.

  Up ahead, the light grew wider, brighter. A hand appeared from the center and reached toward her.

  She stumbled forward. The mud turned to soft grass, the fog thinned, and birds serenaded her from above. Hope sprouted, and she picked up her pace, suddenly aware she wore naught but a night shift, her unbound hair fluttering about her.

  She gripped the hand, strong and firm. Desiring to see her rescuer, she lifted her face—then her eyes opened, and her chamber appeared before her, distorted by her gauze bed curtains. Beyond them, Seraphina stood by the window.

  A nightmare. ’Twas only a nightmare. She gripped her throat where her throbbing pulse told her ’twas much more than a dream. “Why am I still sick?” she muttered, drawing Seraphina to part the curtains and sit by her side.

  “I have not taken my medicine?” Her lower lip started to quiver, and she pressed fingers against it, murmuring, “Mayhap, I am truly ill.”

  “Nay, milady. I do not believe that.” Seraphina clasped her hands and scanned the chamber as if expecting a specter to leap out from the shadows at any moment. “We must pray for God’s protection.” Though from her tone, Cristiana doubted the woman believed He would come to their aid.

  “And He will surely deliver us,” Cristiana said as much to comfort herself as her friend.

  Dipping a cloth in water, Seraphina dabbed it on Cristiana’s face. “Here you are bringing me comfort when you are the one who is ill, my lady.” She attempted a smile Cristiana knew was for her benefit alone. “However, I quite agree. We have much on which to pin our hope. Sir LePeine will protect Alexia, and soon she will return to reclaim Luxley and defeat LeGode. In the meantime, we have your handsome knight Jarin to protect us.”

  “He is not my knight.” Cristiana smiled and turned her head to the left. Even that small movement drained her of energy, but it was worth it to see the vase of fresh flowers on the table beside her bed. From Jarin the Just. He’d sent fresh ones every day since she’d once again been taken ill. She faced Seraphina. “And his friend is quite handsome as well.”

  Seraphina held a cup of wine to Cristiana’s lips and helped her rise. “I will not deny it.”

  Though the maid’s tone was devoid of emotion, Cristiana knew her friend too well, could sense the joy longing to burst forth on her expression—a joy that seemed out of reach for them both, especially in light of Cristiana’s nightmare. Would either of
them have the chance to pursue love ere the darkness consumed them?

  Setting down the cup, Seraphina drew back the curtains and tied them to the posts. “Is there anything you need? Mayhap I could read to you?”

  “Nay. I fear I’m far too tired. I will rest.”

  With a nod and a tender look, Seraphina returned to the window, leaned against the edge, and gazed out while Cristiana closed her eyes.

  A giggle made her open them again, and she was surprised to see Seraphina holding a hand to her mouth. “What has you so amused?”

  “’Tis naught.” Seraphina giggled again. “Simply that the laundress has become quite taken with Cedric.”

  “LeGode’s son?”

  “Aye, she follows him around everywhere he goes. She was fawning after him just now in the courtyard, and yesterday, I saw her chasing him through the main hall. ’Tis quite amusing, though I suppose ’tis evil of me to say.”

  Cristiana’s chuckle ended in a cough. “How does Cedric respond?” She hoped favorably. Then, at least the man would leave her be.

  “That is the amusing part,” Seraphina said. “He shouts at her to acquit him. Once, he dared push her away. Yet she continues her love-struck pursuit.”

  Cristiana didn’t have time to remark at the oddity when a rap on the door preceded Anabelle’s pretty face. “Two gentlemen to see you, my lady. What shall I tell them?”

  If they were the two gentlemen she hoped—which surely they were by the teasing look on Anabelle’s face—Cristiana would be glad for their company, regardless of the impropriety. “Give me a moment, please.” She was about to ask for Seraphina’s help, but the lady was already by her side, propping her up on pillows and covering her night shift with the coverlet.

  “How do I look?” she asked Seraphina.

  “Even ill, you are a sight to stir any knight’s heart.”

  Cristiana returned her friend’s smile. If only she felt equally well, for the room began to spin and her stomach vaulted. She sank back onto the pillows as Seraphina opened the door and in walked Jarin the Just and his friend Sir Damien LaRage. Immediately, in the presence of such noble knights, all fears and morbid thoughts vanished.

  Especially when Sir Jarin gazed at her as if she were a spring of water in the middle of a desert. “My lady.” He approached, took her hand, and kissed it. His glance quickly took in the flowers at her bedside.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Sir.”

  “Thank you for receiving us. I know ’tis most unseemly. And I see you are still unwell, hence we will not keep you. But I have urgent information.” He shared a glance with Damien, who stood beside Seraphina at the foot of the bed.

  Had Alexia been captured? Or worse? Cristiana’s heart dashed against her chest as she stared at the knight, afraid to know and yet afraid not to. “Pray, keep it from me no longer.”

  “I am convinced they are now putting the poison in your food and drink. Hence, you must not partake of anything they bring you.”

  “But I still receive the vial of medicine each night.”

  “Which we pour out,” Seraphina added.

  Jarin nodded. “Aye, but LeGode is cunning. He is no doubt aware you are not drinking it.”

  Cristiana breathed out a sigh of relief. “That is why I am still ill.”

  “Aye. Henceforth, you must only accept food and drink from myself, Damien, or Anabelle. We will secretly send up enough for you both morning and night.”

  She reached for his hand, and he willingly took it and began caressing it with his thumb. “You are my savior, Sir Jarin.” Oh, how she wished she were well so she could spend the day with this man, discover his secrets, feel safe by his side. But that was not to be. Mayhap never. “What news of my sister?”

  “None. But that is a good sign.”

  The snort of horse, clank of metal, and shouts drew Seraphina and Damien to the windows, while Jarin remained by Cristiana’s side.

  “What is amiss?” Jarin asked.

  “A squire leaves post haste,” Damien commented, still staring into the courtyard. “Odd, but I saw that same squire leaving LeGode’s study earlier,”

  “Why would he send him out without a knight?” Seraphina asked. “And on a knight’s charger?”

  Damien rubbed his bearded jaw. “I know not. But whatever mission he embarks upon, it does not bode well for our cause.”

  Seraphina hugged herself. “Many things do not bode well. I have sensed”—she exchanged a glance with Cristiana—“I have sensed evil in this room. All around us.” Her fearful gaze shifted to Jarin and then to Damien. “Last night I woke and could have sworn someone was in the chamber.”

  Jarin looked up. “With you and Lady D’Clere?”

  “Aye. I heard wood creak, footsteps, and then a door grind open. But when I lit a candle and checked, it was bolted shut.”

  “From within?” Damien asked.

  “Aye.” She sank against the window ledge as if her strength escaped her.

  Gently taking her arm, Damien led her to a chair, then shared a look with Jarin that made Cristiana’s breath hitch. “What is it?”

  “Is anything missing?” Damien asked.

  “Missing?” Cristiana said. “There is naught of value here, save my jewels.”

  Seraphina nodded. “And they are in her chest as always. I saw them this morn when I replaced the ones she wore yesterday.”

  “I don’t understand.” Cristiana breathed out, fear pinching every nerve. “LeGode is already poisoning me, what else could he possibly want?”

  Jarin continued to caress her hand, but his tone bore alarm. “Whatever they sought, it must have been of great value to risk getting caught.”

  Eyes suddenly wide, Seraphina rose and moved to her chest perched in the corner. Kneeling, she opened the lid and began rummaging through the contents, her search growing more frantic as she went. Finally, she stood and faced them, fear and confusion marring her features.

  “What is it?” Cristiana asked.

  “My swaddling cloth.”

  “What?” Damien asked.

  No answer came from the maid, and Cristiana knew she was hesitant to relay her story. “’Twas Seraphina’s when she was a babe and has sentimental value.”

  Seraphina sank into a chair. “Why would anyone want my swaddling cloth?”

  ♥♥♥

  The sweet scent of pine and woman teased Ronar’s senses, the rhythmic puff of angel’s breath filled the air, and something warm and soft moved beneath his arm. Light formed a rainbow of gold and gray on his eyelids. He stirred. Memories returned of his evening with Alexia, the tender moments they’d shared, the kisses, her declaration of love. Had it been a dream?

  He moved his arm. The woman beneath it shifted before her breathing deepened again. Nay. Not a dream. Yet so much better than anything he could have dreamed. Opening his eyes, he remained still, relishing the moment of her sleeping peacefully in his arms, as if they had spent a thousand nights together—the feel of her silky hair against his cheek, the warmth of her body pressed against his, her scent that drove him mad with desire.

  Nay, ’twas so much more than that. He frowned, remembering the dozens of women he’d taken to his bed—their hope set on marrying an earl, his in but a few hours of pleasure. A few hours which never satisfied and left him wanting nothing more than to escort them from the manor and return to his bed alone.

  Not this lady, this Alexia D’Clere, this Lady Falcon. Though he felt more desire for her than all the others put together, he didn’t want to cheapen her by an act reserved for the sanctity of marriage, an act that sealed an eternal covenant between two people to love each other for all eternity.

  Shame landed heavy on his heart. He had abused this wonderful gift of God, treated it callously and for his own pleasure. But no more. Lady Alexia D’Clere deserved to be held in the highest honor, and Ronar intended to do just that. At the right moment, and with the king’s permission, he would ask for her hand.

  She mo
aned, a low moan of pleasure that caused his body to react. He started to back away when she turned, opened her eyes a mere slit, and, upon seeing him, smiled.

  That smile turned into a screech as she sprang to sit and leapt away from him, one hand on her chest, the other gripping her skirts.

  “What have I done? What have you done?” Her green eyes raged.

  Sitting there with her red hair flaming about her head, her eyes swollen with sleep, he realized he could get used to such a sight every morning.

  “Your maidenhead is intact, Alexia.” He stood and held out his hand for her. “I would never take such liberties.”

  “But we slept side by side.” She glared at the rumpled cushions as if they had colluded in her fall from grace.

  “Aye, a night I shall fondly remember.” He grinned.

  Her eyes narrowed, but he found a playful spark within them as she took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  Bridon entered the room, his gaze taking in the cushions and Ronar and Alexia’s disheveled appearance. Uttering a huff of indignation, he turned to leave. Ronar didn’t blame him. The poor man had witnessed far too much debauchery when Ronar had resided here.

  “Bridon, would you have Cook pack bread, cheese, and dried meat. Enough for three days. The lady and I are embarking on a journey.”

  “Very well, my lord.” The folds of his face tightened in an incriminating frown. “And when should we expect your return, if ever?”

  Ignoring his biting tone, Ronar replied. “I know not. Have our horses saddled and ready to go within the hour.”

  The steward swung about, leaving them alone once again.

  Alexia ran fingers through her chaotic hair, looking unusually nervous for the warrior she was. Had she meant what she’d said to him last night? That she loved him? Or had it been merely her passion speaking?